Chapter 84: People Leaving

"Right, lads... bonuses all sorted?" Saint’s opening line got the whole squad laughing before he’d even finished it.

Promotion had come with a substantial payout for everyone connected to the club, staff included, though naturally the players and manager took the lion’s share.

"Sorted, boss," Rocher said, first to answer, grinning.

Rocher had grown up with genuinely little money behind him, same story for most of this squad, if truth be told. For plenty of these lads, professional football wasn’t just a career choice; it was the one route out of wherever they’d started. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

"Right... enjoy the summer, all of you." Saint had walked into this conversation fully prepared for it. Actually standing in front of them, though, saying goodbye properly stung more than he’d expected.

Most of Villa’s current squad simply didn’t fit what Saint wanted going forward, and this summer was always going to be the moment that reckoning arrived.

What Saint hadn’t quite appreciated was how unbothered most of these players already were about it. Professional football runs on turnover, nearly every man in that squad had already been transferred at least once in his career, sometimes several times.

That kind of perspective simply wasn’t available to Saint yet. His entire coaching path had run through this one club, from academy assistant straight through to first-team manager, without ever once experiencing the other side of a transfer himself.

Give it a few more years, and maybe he’d carry that same easy detachment too.

Once the players had cleared out of Bodymoor Heath, Pratt made his way over to find Saint.

"Good luck, Colin." Saint pulled him straight into a hug.

Back when Saint had first come up through the first team the previous summer, Pratt had gone out of his way to help him settle in. When Saint returned to the first team months later as manager, Pratt had supported him fully despite the awkward optics of it, genuine loyalty that Saint hadn’t forgotten.

"Hoping to see you splashed across the back pages again next season, still doing what you do," Pratt said, offering his own goodbye in return.

Pratt’s early enthusiasm for Saint’s appointment had been genuine at the time, if a little uncertain underneath it. By the end of this season, any lingering doubt had long since burned away entirely.

Somewhere down the line, Saint imagined, Pratt would probably tell this exact story to his own grandkids, ’that lad on the telly, I helped teach him the ropes once.’

"Course you will," Saint said, simply and with total conviction.

Pratt left alongside another member of the coaching staff, Alan Ingram, a fresh environment mattered for both of them, and Saint understood that well enough not to try talking either out of it.

Villa’s coaching staff had always run thin, and losing both Pratt and Ingram in one summer meant recruitment was about to become an urgent priority in its own right.

Once Pratt and Ingram were gone, Saint turned to the three remaining coaches still standing with him. "None of you fancy leaving too, then?"

"Ha!" All three of them burst out laughing, because for once, standing there with that particular expression, Saint genuinely looked his age.

"Right... Paul?" A familiar figure caught Saint’s eye just then, Paul Mannering, the squad’s senior veteran.

"Boss... if I retire, is there room for me on the coaching staff?" Mannering didn’t waste any time getting to the point.

"You’re thinking about hanging up the boots?" That genuinely surprised Saint. At thirty-four, Mannering had kept himself in remarkably good shape, Saint had used him plenty off the bench all season as proof of exactly that, and there was probably another year or two of Championship-level football left in his legs, even if it meant a move elsewhere.

"Yeah. I reckon I’ve got another season or two in me physically, but realistically, I’m not going to add much value chasing that. Better to go out on my own terms." Mannering’s reasoning echoed what most veterans eventually come round to; family, stability, a life after the boots finally come off.

"And I know I’m not part of your plans going forward either way, boss," he added, entirely without bitterness.

"Fair enough. I’ll have a word with Derek, but come by and get something on paper with the club properly." Saint knew Mannering well by this point, and genuinely rated the idea, Saint needed to start building his own coaching staff from somewhere, and a respected veteran with real dressing-room credibility was exactly the kind of foundation worth having.

"Cheers, boss." Satisfied with a clear answer, Mannering headed off.

Mannering, though, turned out to be only the first of several. He’d barely walked off before another familiar face appeared.

"Boss, I want to put in for a transfer." Straight to the point, no preamble.

"You already know the situation... I had a verbal agreement with a club, back when I was still stuck in the reserves." Delgado didn’t need to explain further.

"Which club?" Saint wasn’t remotely surprised. Delgado’s time in the reserves, before Saint’s arrival changed everything, had been exactly the kind of stretch that produces this sort of side arrangement.

"Sheffield United. Just came up from League One," Delgado said.

"Fair enough. If they come back with an offer that genuinely reflects your value, the club won’t stand in your way." Delgado had performed well enough this season, genuinely, but in Saint’s actual plans going forward, he wasn’t irreplaceable.

"Cheers, boss." With a straight answer in hand, Delgado left satisfied too.

Missing out on Premier League football stung a little, sure, but he’d made a promise before any of this season’s turnaround happened, and in this current squad, it wasn’t hard to sense he’d never quite felt fully valued under Saint’s regime either.

"Lee..." Cadman, freshly confirmed as Saint’s permanent assistant now that Pratt had moved on, couldn’t quite hide his concern.

"Relax. Delgado was never central to what I’m building. I’ve already got names in mind for the front line." Saint wasn’t offering reassurance so much as fact, this reshuffle had been mapped out in his head for weeks already.

Delgado didn’t show up again after that, but he was only the opening move. Villa’s summer exodus had barely started, and Saint already carried a full mental list; who stayed, who went, sorted down to the individual name.

That list, though, was a considerable project to actually execute, and it would take real time to work through properly. For now, Saint’s priority was confirming the actual number he had to spend, which meant a trip to see Whitlock directly.

He gathered Cadman and the two remaining coaches and made his way up to the boardroom on the third floor. Sallow’s office sat there too, though these days the space beside it, Pedmore’s old office, stood almost entirely empty.

Inside, Sallow’s office was busier than usual, several staff members gathered, Jasper among them, along with the club’s own legal team and a lawyer Jasper had brought along himself.

"Right, I think we’ve got terms settled." Jasper had come in specifically to finalise Saint’s own contract with the club.

Villa had actually wanted to formalise a proper deal with Saint a month earlier, but both Saint and Jasper had pushed the conversation back at the time.

With the season now officially wrapped, and Villa safely back in the Premier League, there was no reason left to delay it any further.