Page 11 of Playing the Field
‘Is it Crawford-related?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ he says, grinning so widely it must be making his cheeks hurt.
‘Come on, Dad, put us out of our misery,’ Cassie groans.
‘Okay, okay. Well, as you know, Redmarsh Rovers were quite hasty in their decision not to ground share with us.’
I grip the back of the chair I’m standing behind, anticipation quickly building. Is he about to tell us one of the remaining two has been in touch while I’ve been out– to finally offer us a deal?
Let it be Southmoor, I silently pray. They’re easily the next best option, and once we know where we’re playing, we can put our season tickets on sale.
But Dad’s still talking about Redmarsh Rovers when he says, ‘It seems they’ve had a rethink and concluded they might in fact be able to benefit from all the press and social media attention we’ve been getting. So they’ve reversed their original decision and are now willing to deal.’
Cassie punches the air in delight. ‘Oh, Dad, this is awesome!’
But there’s something in the way he glances at me that makes me hesitate. I think I can guess what he’s going to say next– the rent is not going to be cheap.
‘Can we afford it?’ I ask.
‘It’s a big commitment financially,’ he admits. ‘I’ve got some savings, but they were meant to be for me to pass on to you two for when I’m no longer around. The hope, obviously, is that we’d make it all back, but there’s no guarantee. So I wanted to see how comfortable or otherwise you both feel with the risk.’
I don’t think either of us wants to think about when he might not be here any more.
‘I’ll also look into loan options or, failing that, I’m not too far off being eligible for an equity release from my pension, so one way or another I can cover the cost,’ Dad says. ‘For the first year at least. But I didn’t want to agree to anything without running it by both of you first.’
It’s a lot for him to take on board, but I know how much this club already means to him now the feeling of being part of something that Hamcott Park used to give him has gone. So I throw the question back at him. ‘Areyoucomfortable with it?’
‘It’ll be the biggest gamble I’ve ever taken, but I still feel in my heart like I’d regret it if I gave up on all of this now.’
‘Then you have my blessing,’ I tell him.
‘Mine too,’ Cassie agrees.
His smile is back immediately. ‘Then I officially declare this a celebration.’
7
I’m not sure any of us sleep particularly well that night after the excitement of Dad’s news. I wake up in the early hours and can’t stop thinking about the money. We will make some from ticket sales and we’ve received a few more donations in the crowdfund, but I can’t help wishing there was a bit more in the pot already to give us at least a modicum of security. I know I said I was okay with it yesterday but I don’t want Dad to have to eat into his pension if we can possibly avoid it.
I wonder if Olly will let us hold a fundraising event in the garden at The Fox. It’s got to be worth asking. If we can organise a raffle and a few other payable activities, it might take the pressure off Dad just a little bit. Maybe Helen could put something in theHeraldto help us advertise it. The idea starts to grow on me.
Dad and Cassie share my enthusiasm when I suggest it to them over breakfast. It’s a brief reprieve from the apprehension we’re all feeling about the player tryouts today. We have no idea what to expect– hopefully enough candidates will turn up for us to put together a full squad, but who knows what kind of skill level they’ll display.
‘We just need eleven half-decent players,’ Cassie reminds us, drumming her hand restlessly on the kitchen table while Dad makes a hearty fry-up to see us through the day. ‘Some subs would obviously be ideal, but we can make a start if we just get eleven.’
‘We’vegotto get eleven,’ Dad says, flapping a tea towel to dispel the acrid smoke that’s started rising from the toaster. I know he’s stressing about it because I’ve never seen him burn toast before. He extracts two charred black squares and chucks them in the bin. ‘Open the window for a minute, would you, love? Breakfast is going to be slightly delayed.’
We still end up heading to the park two full hours before the advertised start time, though. There’s only so much anxious pacing round a kitchen a person can do.
Cassie has borrowed cones, balls and a whistle from the school that’s behind her Saturday soccer classes. A few of the kids will be joining us too, having volunteered to retrieve any runaway balls while Cassie is putting the prospective players through a series of exercises to judge their ability. Dad, Bob, Marge and I will be watching closely too, so we can all share our opinions at the end.
Meanwhile, I’m armed with my laptop and a folding table and chair, so I can note down names, ages, contact details and footballing experience when the candidates first arrive. That we didn’t set up an online form and get people to register themselves now seems like a massive oversight, not just in the time it would have saved, but because we would also have known how many we were expecting. But it’s too late to worry about it now.
An hour before we’re due to kick things off, our first prospect arrives. He introduces himself as Bailey Pryce, with a y, and apologises profusely for being so early. ‘I just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss out,’ he explains. ‘But don’t mind me, I’ll just do some warming up over at the side.’
We all try not to stare too obviously, which is hard when there’s not much else to look at yet. He’s athletic, that much is obvious, but he’s so slightly built he doesn’t look like a footballer– not helped by the fact that he has such enviable eyelashes he almost looks like a cartoon version of his own face. I remind myself we were never likely to hit the jackpot with our first contender, but we’ve still got plenty of time.
Barbour is next to arrive, but not because he wants to join the team. He’s brought his wife and kids along and sets them up on a picnic blanket close enough to watch the action but far enough away so as not to get in Cassie’s way. He salutes by way of greeting and I laugh and wave back. Luckily we’ve got decent enough weather for it. It’s a balmy nineteen degrees thanks to a largely cloudless sky. We couldn’t have asked for better, really.
