The Footballer's Wife Read Free Page A

Suddenly he was surrounded by six policemen. Charly couldn’t see where they’d come from but they were wrestling her father to the ground and pulling him out of the stadium. She felt her jaw fall open and quickly shut it again, knowing that was the photo any long-range lenses that were trained on her were waiting for. She grabbed Jimmy’s arm. ‘Come on, we’ve got to go after him.’
    â€˜But it’s not even half time!’ Jimmy complained.
    Charly slid her glasses down her nose and eyeballed her brother. ‘Get your arse out of that chair, now!’ she said menacingly. Her brother did as he was told.
    *
    Len was sitting in a police cell somewhere on the outskirts of Manchester, holding his head in his hands. He hadn’t wanted any aggro, especially not today. Charly had tried to do something nice for him and Jimmy by bringing them to the game and what happens? He gets slung out on his backside for all to see and ends up in the cop shop.
Nice going, Len,
he thought. He had sat quietly in the back of the police van on the way to the station. Gone were the days when he would wax lyrical about the arresting officer’s wife or make a meal out of asking if the coppers in the front of their van enjoyed their jobs – invariably they did and it wouldn’t get him anywhere being mouthy.
    The door opened and a young policewoman asked Len if he’d like to follow her. He was being released now that the match crowd had been dispersed in their different directions and he was no longer a threat. They were not going to press charges this time; they were going to let him off with a caution and some friendly advice to not attend a Rovers match for the foreseeable future.
    Len walked out of the police station onto the anonymous road in South Manchester. He didn’t know how he was meant to get home. He had a mobile phone but he’d forgotten it – he didn’t reallylike the things and only used them for emergencies – forgetting that emergencies rarely announced themselves and that he should probably keep it with him rather than placing it next to his landline as if that was where phones lived.
    â€˜Dad!’ he heard Charly shout, and looked up. She was getting out of her sports car, quickly followed by Jimmy. Len smiled, shamefaced.
    â€˜Sorry, love,’ he said, and he genuinely was. He knew that it was a big thing for her and he was meant to be meeting her boyfriend, Joel, after the game for the first time; something Len had managed to put off until now simply because he wasn’t so sure of this flash young super-stud.
    â€˜Get in the car.’ Charly’s voice was stern. Jimmy was standing next to her doing his usual impression of a useless lump. Len opened his mouth to try and apologise to her again when a round of flashes went off in his face. He turned to see two photographers standing with their cameras flashing away. Len could feel his blood boil, and angrily turned on the men.
    â€˜What the bleeding hell do you think you’re doing?’ he asked menacingly.
    Charly grabbed his arm.
    â€˜That’s a right temper you’ve got on you, MrMetcalfe,’ one of the snappers goaded. Len lurched forward but he felt a far stronger pull on his other arm. Jimmy had hold of him and was pulling him towards Charly’s car.
    But Len wasn’t finished. ‘And who the bloody hell are you, you twat? This how you make a living?’ Len spat.
    â€˜Dad!’ Charly shouted. ‘Get in the car now!’
    Len glared at the photographers before pulling his gaze away and allowing himself to be bundled into the car.
    Charly and Jimmy jumped in quickly after him, Charly turning the key in the ignition and pressing the accelerator to the floor. ‘Jesus Christ, Dad,’ was all she could muster as the car shot away from the still-snapping paparazzi.

chapter two
    LEN METCALFE HAD a job, which was more than could be said for the rest of his