Red or Dead (80 page)

In the house, in their hall. The letters still came and the telephone still rang. The letters from clubs, the calls from chairmen. Clubs with problems, chairmen with vacancies. But Bill wasn’t interested in jobs with other clubs. The problems of other clubs. Problems he had not made, problems he couldn’t solve. Far from home, away from home. In places Bill didn’t know, with people Bill didn’t know. Not now, not these days. Now, these days. Bill wanted to stay close to home, in the place he knew, with the people he knew. The people of Liverpool. The people he knew and the people he loved. The people he cared about –

And in the house, in their hall. Other letters came, other calls. Letters from charities, calls from hospitals. Local charities and local hospitals. The Royal Society for the Blind on Merseyside and the Alder Hey Children’s Hospital. Letters Bill wanted to answer, calls Bill wanted to take. If he could help, if he could make people happy. Then Bill was happy to help. Once or twice a week. Sometimes three, even four times a week. Bill would put on his suit, Bill would put on his tie. Bill would kiss Ness goodbye. And Bill would get in the car –

In the car park of the Alder Hey Children’s Hospital. Bill got out of the car. In the car park of the Alder Hey Children’s Hospital. Bill took out the letter from his coat pocket. And Bill read the letter again. The letter from Alf Thompson, the manager of the Lister Under-16s football team. The letter asking Bill if he would be kind enough to
write a short note to a young lad called Ian Braithwaite. Ian played for the Lister Under-16s football team. But Ian had injured his spine playing for the Lister Under-16s football team. Now Ian was in the Alder Hey Children’s Hospital. Alf Thompson thought a short note from Bill would cheer up the young lad. Because the lad was very down, very disappointed he was going to miss the rest of the season. And he was very worried, very frightened he might never play football again. If Bill didn’t mind, if Bill had the time. In the car park of the Alder Hey Children’s Hospital. Bill put the letter back in his coat pocket. And Bill walked across the car park. Bill walked into the hospital. Bill walked up to reception. Bill said hello to the nurses. The nurses who knew Bill Shankly. The nurses who smiled when they saw Bill Shankly. And Bill asked if he could pop in and see a young lad called Ian Braithwaite. A young lad who had injured his spine. To cheer him up, to give him a boost. If he wasn’t in the way, not under their feet. And the nurses smiled again. The nurses nodded. And one of the nurses took Bill along to the ward to visit Ian –

In the hospital bed. On his back. The young lad could not believe his eyes. In the hospital bed. In traction. The young lad struggled to sit up. But Bill patted his hand. And Bill said, You lie still, son. You lie still. I don’t want to disturb you now. I don’t want to be getting you in trouble with the nurses now. So you just lie still now, son. You just lie still. Because I’ve just popped in to cheer you up. And to have a word. Because your manager, Mr Thompson. He wrote to me. And he says you are not feeling too good. Stuck in here, on your back. Missing your mates …

Yeah, said the young lad. I’ve got to be in here five week. And then they say I can’t play again for the rest of the season. I’ve got to go easy when I get out. Or they say I won’t be able to play again. And so then I’ve been thinking, what if I can never play again …

Bill shook his head. Bill smiled. And Bill whispered, Nonsense, son. That’s bloody nonsense. Of course, you’ll have to take it easy, son. But you’ll be playing again. No danger …

Really, said the young lad. You think so?

Bill nodded. Bill smiled again. And Bill said, I know so, son. I know so. Because I’ve been in the same place you are, son. The very same place you are now. Long before you were born, mind. Probably
before your dad was even born. I was playing for Preston at Halifax. During the war, in a war cup game. I took a kick to my knee, my left knee. And I’ll never forget the night I done it. I was stationed in Manchester. Because of the war. So after the game, I came back to Manchester. On the bus, over the moors. And my leg was a terrible size. Enormous it was. Bloody enormous! And so I knew it wasn’t right. I mean, you always get kicked. You’ll always have bruises. And you’ll always have cuts. But this was different. This was more serious. And so I went to the hospital. In Crumpsall, in Manchester. To let them take a look, to get the knee X-rayed. And when they took a look, when they saw the X-rays. They said I had a broken kneecap. A shattered kneecap. And so they put it in plaster. And when the fluid drained away. And the swelling went down. The plaster was wobbling all over the place. And so I got out of bed. And I remember, this nurse. This sister. She was from Ireland. And she said, What the hell do you think you are doing? You’ve got a broken leg, man. Get back in your bed and stop your messing around. But I said, How can my leg be broken? I’m standing on the thing. It can’t be broken now, can it?

And so what did you do, said the young lad. Did you get back in your bed, Bill? What did you do? What did you do?

Bill smiled. And Bill said, I did, son. I did. Because she was fierce, this sister. Kind, but very fierce. But I gave her a dog’s life. And so within a week, she sent me packing. Back to the camp. But when I got back to the camp, the medical officer there, he said to me, It might well not be broken, Bill. But it’s your cartilage. And so I don’t think you’ll ever play again, Bill. Not with that knee. That’s what he said. I don’t think you will ever play again. And I thought, Oh aye? Is that right? Well, I’ll show you. And after a few weeks, I was back training. And I was back playing. But it wasn’t right. The knee was not right. But then three great things happened to me, son. All because of my knee. First, I got a posting back up in Scotland. In Bishopbriggs, in Glasgow. And when I was there, I played for Partick Thistle. This is still during the war, you understand? In the war league. And the people at Partick were good people. And they knew my knee was not right. Because in my very first game for them, I took another knock. And by Christ, it hurt. It bloody hurt. And so they paid for me to have the operation on my knee. They paid for me to have the piece of cartilage
removed. And that was very good of them. Very good of them indeed. And so that was one good thing. The first good thing that happened …

And what was the second good thing, Bill?

Bill smiled again. And Bill said, Well, the second good thing. The very best thing, in fact. After the operation, after I had the piece of cartilage removed. Then I was training every day. Rain or shine. Whatever the weather. Me and my mate Jock Porter. Training and running. Getting back my fitness, building back my strength. Just like you’ll have to do, son. Every day. Rain or shine. Training, running. Until you’ve got your fitness back, you’ve built your strength back. And so there I was, training. Running. Every day. In the rain and in the snow. And while I was doing my training. Doing my running. I used to see this young lass. And I liked her from the first time I set eyes on her. And I kept my eyes on her. And I started to chat to her, to pester her. And I remember, I used to take over toasted cheese to her section. Because she was in the Women’s RAF. And she was stationed at the same camp. And do you know who she was, son?

No, Bill. Who was she? Who was she?

Bill laughed. And Bill said, She was my wife, son. That was Ness. Because I asked her to marry me. And she said yes. And so you see, son. If it hadn’t have been for my knee. Injuring my knee. And then having that operation. And then doing that training. To get back on my feet, to get back playing again. Then I would have never met my wife. I would have never met Ness.

So that was really lucky, said the young lad. You broke your knee. But then you met your wife. That was really lucky, wasn’t it?

Bill shook his head. Bill smiled. And Bill said, Yes and no, son. Yes and no. You see, I don’t think it was luck. To be very honest with you, I don’t believe in luck. I believe in hard work. And not listening to folk who are negative folk. The ones that will tell you you will never play again. And sometimes those folk are you. Your own voice. And so I believe you should never listen to those voices. Those voices that are always telling you what you can’t do. Pessimistic voices. I believe you have to prove those voices wrong. And get back on your feet. Get training again, working again. Working hard to prove them wrong. And so you see, if I had just given up. If I had believed what that medical officer had said to me. When he said, You will
never play again. Then I wouldn’t have gone back to Scotland, to Partick Thistle. And I wouldn’t have had that operation. And then after the operation. If I had just felt sorry for myself. If I hadn’t wanted to get back on my feet, to get back playing again. Then I wouldn’t have started training again. And then I wouldn’t have seen Ness. And so you see, I don’t believe it was a question of luck. I believe it was a question of determination. And a question of hard work.

You are right, said the young lad. You are dead right, Bill. And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to do the same.

Bill nodded. Bill smiled again. And Bill said, Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard all year, son. That’s tremendous. Because you can. You can do it. I know you can. If you put your mind to a thing, you can do anything. If you work, work hard. And don’t give up.

I won’t, said the young lad. I promise you, Bill. But what was the third thing? You said there were three good things …

Bill laughed again. And Bill said, Oh yes. We won the Summer Cup. After the operation, after my cartilage. I thought, Well, I better thank Partick Thistle. For all they have done for me. It is the least I can do. After all they have done for me. And so I helped them win the Summer Cup. We beat the Hibs two–nil. At Hampden Park.

That’s brilliant, said the young lad. That’s just brilliant, Bill. Dead good. What position did you play, Bill? What were you?

Midfield, said Bill. What used to be called a right-half. But what about you, son? What position do you play?

I’m a defender, said the young lad.

In the centre, asked Bill.

Yes, said the young lad. In the middle of defence …

And is that how you did it, asked Bill.

Yeah, said the young lad. I jumped for this ball. I went up for it. And this other lad, their lad. He come in. And he clattered me. And I fell dead funny. I lost my feet. And landed on my spine …

Bill nodded. And Bill said, Now you see, that tells me everything I need to know about you, son. You saw the ball. You saw their man. And you saw him coming. But you still jumped. You still went up for that ball. You did not hide. You did not shirk your job. You jumped. For the team, for your mates. And so you’ll do for me, son. You’re the kind of player I’d have in my team …

Really, said the young lad. Really, Bill?

Oh yes. Without a doubt, son. You’d be the first name on the team sheet for me. Without a doubt …

In his hospital bed. On his back. The young lad blinked. Blinked back tears. The young lad struggled. Struggled to say –

Thank you, Bill. Thank you …

Bill shook his head. And Bill said, Don’t thank me, son. At least, not with words. Don’t thank me. You just promise me you’ll keep your head up, son. And you’ll not get down. And you’ll just think about playing again, son. And not listening to them voices. Them voices that say you can’t, that say you won’t. When you hear them voices, you just stick your fingers in your ears, son. And you remember what we talked about. You remember our little chat, son.

I will, said the young lad. I will, Bill. I promise …

That’s great, son. That’s all I want to hear. Now I’m going to go and let you rest. But I’ll be back to see you before too long …

Thank you, said the young lad. Thank you, Bill.

Bill smiled again. Bill patted the young lad on his arm. And Bill walked away, back down the ward. And out of the hospital.

In the car park. The car park of the Alder Hey Children’s Hospital. In the car. Bill rubbed his eyes. Bill rubbed his face. In the car. Bill turned the key in the ignition. And Bill drove back home. Back home to Ness. Back home to his dinner. And in the house. In their kitchen. Bill ate his dinner with Ness. Their sausage and chips. Their tinned fruit and cream. And then Bill got up from the kitchen table. Bill picked up the plates. Bill walked over to the sink. Bill put the plates in the sink. Bill walked back over to the kitchen table. Bill picked up the salt and pepper pots. Bill put them in the cupboard. Bill walked back over to the table. Bill took the cloth off the table. Bill walked over to the back door. Bill opened the back door. Bill stepped outside. Bill stood on the step. Bill shook the cloth. Bill stepped back into the kitchen. Bill closed the door. Bill folded up the tablecloth. Bill put it in the drawer. Bill walked back over to the sink. Bill turned on the taps. Bill squeezed washing-up liquid into the sink. Bill turned off the taps. Bill picked up the scrubbing brush. Bill washed up the plates. Bill washed up the pans. Bill washed up the knives and forks. Bill put them on the draining board. Bill pulled out the plug. Bill dried
his hands. Bill picked up the tea towel. Bill dried up the pans. Bill dried up the plates. Bill dried up the knives and forks. Bill put the pans in one cupboard. Bill put the plates in another. Bill put the knives and forks in the drawer. Bill walked back over to the sink. Bill picked up the dishcloth. Bill wiped down the draining board. Bill turned on the taps again. Bill rinsed the dishcloth under the taps. Bill turned off the taps. Bill squeezed the water out of the dishcloth. Bill put the dishcloth down next to the bottle of washing-up liquid. Bill turned around. Bill looked round the kitchen. Bill turned back to the sink. Bill bent down. Bill opened the cupboard under the sink. Bill took out the bucket from under the sink. Bill bent back down. Bill opened a box under the sink. Bill took out a Brillo pad from the box. Bill closed the cupboard door. Bill picked up the bucket. Bill put the bucket in the sink. Bill turned on the taps again. Bill filled the bucket half full. Bill turned off the taps. Bill took the bucket and the Brillo pad over to the cooker. Bill put down the bucket in front of the cooker. Bill opened the oven door. Bill looked inside. Bill could see the darkness. Bill could smell the fat. Bill knelt down on the kitchen floor. Bill unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. Bill rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Bill picked up the Brillo pad. Bill sank the Brillo pad into the bucket of water. Bill pulled the Brillo pad back up, out of the water. Bill squeezed the water from the Brillo pad. The wet, steel wool. Bill squeezed it tighter. Bill put his hand inside the oven. Into the darkness, into the fat. In the kitchen, on his knees. Bill began to scrub. On his knees. Bill began to scour. Bill began to clean. To clean, and to clean, and to clean.