The Footballer's Wife (4 page)

Charly had last seen her mother, Shirley, when she was eleven. Her mother had taken a job in a factory about two miles away from Bolingbroke. As Charly remembered it, Shirley had never been the most confident woman, but suddenly she had a personality that shone out from under Len's larger-that-life persona. She went from being just plain old ‘Mum' to a woman with her own money and as a result her own small bit of independence. At first Shirley had used the money just in the home, spending it on Charly and Jimmy. But the more Len seemed to dislike his wife going out to work the more Shirley pushed back and she began to spend her hard-earned cash on herself. She wasn't prepared to just spend it on washing powder and tea towels any more.

Charly remembered the first time that her mum had got dressed up to go into town without her dad. There had been an almighty row. Len was shouting about not having his wife going out dressed like a prozzie and Shirley was saying she could go out in just her knickers and bra if she felt like it, seeing as she'd paid for them. Charly hadn't known what her dad was complaining about: she thought her mum looked really pretty. But she remembered the anger in the room and it hadn't felt normal. Ever since she had tried to avoid conflict although when it came her way the Metcalfe gene did have a tendency to raise its head.

Things at home had gone from bad to worse with the arguments occurring daily and Len spending more and more time out of the house just to avoid Shirley.

Charly remembered the last argument they had clearly. It was a bright summer evening and Shirley had been washing up. Len had come into the house and demanded to know where his tea was. Shirley had wiped her hand on the tea towel and said, ‘Make your own sodding tea.'

Len had hit the roof. But Shirley didn't seem interested in arguing with him. It was as if she'd given up. Charly had hid in her bedroom listening
to music, hoping that the noise would drown out her dad's shouts.

Her mum had opened the door and walked into the room and asked if she still fed her Tamagotchi. Charly had laughed and told her mum not to be daft, she was eleven. She'd got her Tamagotchi when she was nine; they were for babies. Shirley asked if she could have it. Charly didn't like it when her mum cried, so if it meant giving her one of her old toys to make her stop then that was fine. She'd put her arms around her mum. Shirley had taken the toy, kissed her daughter quickly on the head and then stood up quietly and walked out of the room.

That was the last time Charly had seen her mother. No one had heard from her since then. She walked out of her life, out of
their
life, and never returned. At first Charly blamed herself, then she blamed her dad. But ultimately she had to arrive at the conclusion that the only person who made Shirley leave her family was Shirley herself. To begin with Charly thought that her mum had died. Why else would she leave them without even saying goodbye or ever getting in contact? But then they found out that she had been spotted in London. One of her sisters had tracked her down and spoken to her on the phone. Len didn't say much about the
whole episode but from what Charly could gather her mum hadn't been keen on the idea of returning to them or to Bradington. It was as if Shirley had walked out of her own life and blocked out her past.

After her initial contact with her aunt, Charly had tried to contact her mother a few times, but Shirley had moved by the time Charly wrote to her and her sister never heard from her again; or at least that was what she told Len and his family. After that Charly made a pact with herself to forget about her mum; she wasn't worth it but it was easier to
say
she was going to forget about her than to
actually
forget about her. Charly often thought about where her mum was now; she'd even thought she might come out of the woodwork when it became public knowledge that her daughter was seeing a famous footballer, but she'd stayed away. Charly was glad now, if she was honest. If Shirley could turn her back on her own children then she was better off staying where she was.

‘Yes,' Charly replied firmly, turning around to look at Joel with a seriousness that was rare for her. ‘Don't mention my mum. Not my “old dear”, my mum.'

‘Alright, keep your hair on.'

‘My hair is on, Joel, you're just insensitive.'

‘Your mum did a runner and
I'm
the insensitive one?'

Charly looked at him with ill-disguised disgust. ‘You're a complete pig,' she said quietly. There was a lot more she wanted to say but she knew if she pushed it any further he'd pull out of dinner and she'd have to explain to her dad why he wasn't there, which would mean admitting to herself that things were far from rosy in the garden.

*

Charly had chosen the restaurant in the Manchester suburb of West Didsbury because she thought that it would make her dad feel comfortable. He hated fancy restaurants, but she knew that he would be able to have a nice well-done steak here and no one would bat an eyelid. She also knew that being with Joel meant that they got attention wherever they went but she liked this place; the staff treated them normally and didn't sneer at her when she asked for ketchup with her chips.

They were greeted at the door by the waitress and brought to their seats where her dad was already waiting. He was dressed in a suit that looked like it had been dragged out of mothballs and he
had already tucked his napkin into the top of his shirt and thrown his tie over his shoulder as if it was proving a major inconvenience. Len jumped out of his seat when he saw his daughter and her boyfriend approach. He thrust his hand out. ‘I trust you're looking after my daughter,' he said, trying to be affable but falling short of the mark.

A wry smile broke across Joel's face. Charly held her breath.

‘I'm doing my best,' Joel said, shaking Len's hand. Charly noticed that her dad had taken her boyfriend's hand in a vice-like grip. He was obviously nervous. Joel kept eye contact with Len until he finally let go; it felt like an age to Charly.

They all sat down. ‘Have you got a drink?' Joel asked amicably.

‘They don't do bitter, so I've asked for a whisky,' Len said, as if the two drinks were similar.

Charly's eyes shot open in alarm. ‘Whisky?'

‘Yes, love, whisky,' Len said dismissively. Charly shifted in her seat. Her dad couldn't drink whisky. Correction, she thought, he loved whisky; it was just that on the odd occasion it could make him belligerent, and there was just no way of knowing if this was such a time.

Len scanned the menu before shutting it
decisively. ‘It's all bloody fancy pants in here. Soup and a steak for me, I think.' Charly smiled awkwardly.

A little boy approached the table nervously. Charly looked at him; his hand was shaking as he held a piece of paper and shuffled his way towards Joel. Charly broke into a smile. She really felt for him. She'd seen this time and time again; little boys and girls, all their hopes, dreams and ideals about their hero bundled up inside their head, their faces begging Joel not to disappoint them.

‘Could I have your autograph, please?' the boy's voice wavered.

‘Ey, look at that. D'you want mine too, lad?' Len asked. Charly saw Joel shoot her dad a look.

Joel looked at the boy for a moment. ‘We're in for a quiet meal, but if you get your mum to ring the club then they'll send you a signed picture no bother.' He said this as if he was being perfectly amicable. Charly's heart sank as the little boy returned to his table, evidently crushed. His mother glared over at their table. Charly hung her head.

‘It wouldn't hurt to just sign something, would it?' Len asked, looking at Joel as if he couldn't believe how he had just handled himself.

Joel sighed. ‘Len, if I stopped and signed
something every time a kid wanted an autograph I'd never have a minute's peace, would I, babe?' He turned to Charly, putting his hand at the back of her neck. It was a deliberate show of affection but had the odd effect of making her feel like he was puppeteering her answer.

‘I know, but he looks gutted,' Charly said, trying to be diplomatic.

‘Well, if he's so gutted why don't you go and sign something for him?' Joel asked tersely.

Charly could feel her dad shifting at the other side of the table. ‘That's a daft thing to say if I ever heard one. You're a football star. He wants your autograph, not hers.'

‘Jesus Christ, alright!' Joel said, jumping to his feet, scraping his chair noisily away from the table. Charly watched as he marched over to the table and turned on the charm. The little boy beamed from ear to ear as Joel signed his Rovers shirt and posed for a picture with him. Charly noticed that his mother wasn't quite as bowled over by the charm offensive as her son was. Joel knelt down beside the boy with a rictus grin as his mother took a picture on her camera phone. Charly looked at her father, who was watching the exchange with disapproval.

‘He should be nicer to little 'uns; people like him are their bloody idols,' Len huffed.

‘Alright, father of the year,' Charly snapped.

‘What's that supposed to mean?' Len was evidently wounded by the comment.

Charly looked at her dad and knew she wasn't being fair. Her father had done a great job raising her, her brother and their twin cousins – who had lived with them since they were ten – despite the circumstances he found himself in. ‘Nothing. Sorry, Dad,' she said as Joel sat back down next to her.

‘Happy now, everyone?' Joel said, trying to sound jocular but missing the mark.

‘Yes, and so's that little boy.'

‘Len, Manchester Rovers is the biggest team in the world, always has been, and we're hassled everywhere we go . . .' Joel was about to go on with his poor-me, who'd-be-a-footballer speech but Len cut him off.

‘Manchester Rovers?' Len said, shaking his head. ‘Everyone forgets they were no good twenty years ago, scraping along, they were, then. That was when Bradington were in the first division. It was proper football then, mind.'

Charly squeezed Joel's knee, wishing that the meal was over and done with and that her boyfriend
and father hopefully wouldn't have to set eyes on one another again until they got married, if that was ever on the cards. ‘So it's not proper football now?' Joel asked.

‘I'm just saying that it was in the days that men played for passion, not so they could see how many Porsches a week's wage would get them. And if some young kid asked for an autograph they'd be flattered.'

‘Dad, don't have a pop . . .' Charly said quietly, smoothing down her napkin.

‘Who's having a pop? I'm just saying . . .'

Joel leaned across the table. ‘I play because I love football. And I happen to be good at it. Just because it pays well now and most lads would give their right arm to do it as a job is to me just an added bonus.'

‘Course it is, son, I'm not suggesting any different.' Len nodded thoughtfully, and Charly breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that the conversation was coming to a close. Len turned his attention to his daughter. ‘So then, our Charly . . .' he said with a smile, obviously about to try and lighten the mood. Charly winced; she could sense one of her dad's bad jokes brewing. ‘What do you see in the millionaire Joel Baldy?'

‘Dad!' Charly hissed.

‘Len,' Joel said angrily.

‘Mr Metcalfe . . .' Len corrected.

‘You weren't christened Mr Metcalfe . . . Have you got a problem?' Charly knew that Joel was livid.

‘I'm not the one with the problem, lad.'

Charly looked at her dad; how had things gone so badly? she wondered. Joel was just about to retaliate when the waitress arrived.

‘Soup?' Joel looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he restrained himself.

‘Me, love. Thanks,' Len said, smiling. ‘And grab us another whisky and water, would you?'

Charly stared at her starter. She had suddenly lost her appetite.

The rest of the meal continued in a similar if uneventful vein as the three ate their food and stuck as much to pleasantries as was possible.

After Len polished off a sticky toffee pudding and a large brandy, he asked for the bill. ‘Hope you don't mind me giving you the third degree, lad. Just my little joke really.' Len smiled drunkenly at Joel, who was sipping water. ‘Just want to make sure you're serious about this one.'

‘We've been together a year, Dad, how much more serious can he be?' Charly asked angrily.

‘Bloody hell, love, don't get your knickers in a
twist,' Len said, his eyes sparking, suddenly angry. Charly looked at him, worried what he might do next. His moods were unpredictable when he drank whisky. Len looked at his daughter and his face thawed; as if he was mentally bringing himself back from the brink. He patted her hand as the bill arrived. ‘Good girl.' Len momentarily looked at the bill and took out his wallet. He was carefully leafing out notes as Charly looked on gratefully. Her dad shouldn't have to get this but she was proud that he was offering.

‘I've already paid, Len,' Joel said.

‘What do you mean? I wanted to get this.' Len looked almost wounded.

‘It's done. Gave the waitress my card when I came in.'

Charly could tell her father's pride was hurt. He liked to pay his own way.

‘It's alright, Dad, you can get the next one,' she said, praying to God there wouldn't be a next one. Len smiled weakly at his daughter.

‘Thank you, Joel,' Len said humbly.

‘No prob.' Joel got up from his seat. ‘Shall we?' Charly looked at her boyfriend. He couldn't wait to get out of there.

Charly and Joel drove home in silence. She stared
out of the window, willing the angry tears that were threatening to overwhelm her to go away. Joel was trying to keep below the speed limit as his car was a police magnet but Charly could tell that he wanted to put his foot down and drive at one hundred and twenty miles an hour along the Parkway into town.