Wings of a Sparrow Read online

  ‘Be careful,’ he said, barely able to conceal the mocking tone in his voice. ‘You’ll go too far one day.’

  ‘Wings of a Sparrow! Get it while you can,’ Rob yelled as the two policemen wandered off. ‘City striker in goat abuse scandal.’

  Jane looked up as the door burst open and the two men in her life entered. She didn’t look too pleased, not that either of them noticed.

  ‘Alright love?’ said Rob with barely a glance at her. ‘Useless twats got dicked 2-0. We'll never get back in the bloody Premiership at this rate.’

  He only spoke out of habit, to make conversation. She didn’t care, he knew that. Football was his thing, his and Charlie’s. She wasn’t involved, at all. Never had been.

  ‘Yes, well while you've been enjoying yourself at football-’

  Rob threw her a look. Surely by now his wife should have grasped the simple concept that they didn't enjoy football, no one outside of the top third of the top tier actually did. Like all true lifelong fans, they endured it in the hope that one day one of those all too rare short-lived periods would come along where they were actually allowed to ride the rollercoaster of success.

  '-and I was out doing our shopping, someone left a message on the answering machine.’

  ‘OK,’ replied Rob as he sunk into his armchair. ‘I’ll get it in a mo.’

  Jane threw a look of her own at him. One which suggested ‘in a mo’ wasn't an acceptable response. Instead, she walked over to the telephone and pressed the play button.

  ‘Rob it's Dave. Love the new fanzine. The goat thing is quali-’

  ‘Hey!’ said Rob as she hit the delete button. ‘That might have been important.’

  The glare she threw him suggested that clearly didn’t really matter to her and he listened as the second message began.

  ‘Mr. Cooper, my name is Lee England and I'm a solicitor from Ellis, Alexander and England. I need to speak to you on a matter of some urgency. Would you be so kind as to call me on 0114 628565.’

  If anything, his wife’s look hardened and Rob visibly sank into his chair as she walked over to him and handed him an official -looking letter.

  ‘This was on the mat as well. It’s from him, that solicitor. So what the bloody hell have you been up to now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Rob in a way which suggested quite the opposite.

  She sighed. ‘I bet this is something to do with the bloody magazine.’

  ‘Fanzine. It's not a magazine, it’s a fa-’

  ‘I don't give a shit if it's a fanzine, a magazine or the yellow bloody pages,’ she said angrily. ‘That poxy thing has dropped us in more trouble…’

  Rob studied the letter in his hand and then tore it open. It was simply a hard copy of the message on the machine.

  ‘Bollocks,’ he muttered.

  Jane looked down at her husband and smiled to herself. He had received plenty of solicitors’ letters over the years demanding apologies or compensation for stuff he’d written in Wings of a Sparrow and had usually either thrown them in the bin or written something even worse in the next issue. But this was different. He obviously had no idea what it was he was supposed to have said or done and as a result, he’d already started to look slightly panicky. Sensing an opportunity to extend her fun for a few hours more, Jane took the letter and pretended to study it.

  ‘Well it must be serious,’ she said in a voice which sounded almost sincere, ‘otherwise why would they write and telephone?’

  Rob snatched the letter back and stared at it, in the hope that it would contain anything that would give him a clue as to why Ellis, Alexander and England were so keen to talk to him. There was nothing.

  ‘The postmark’s Sheffield, so all I can think of is that it’s something to do with the poxy scum. That’s all I bloody need,’ he said.

  ‘You never know,’ said Jane, ‘it might be good news.’

  Rob turned round in his chair and stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘Are you mental? When was the last time any bloody solicitor gave us good news? They’re bastards the lot of them. All they do is take, take, take - and then just when you think it’s all over, they screw you for a bit more. They’re nothing more than legalised villains.’

  With a smug, satisfied grin, Jane turned away and headed for the kitchen, leaving her husband ranting and raving to himself.

  With 36 hours until he could return the call, she was going to have a most enjoyable time.

  Chapter Three

  The red Fiesta backed out of the short drive and sped away. From the bedroom window, Rob watched it go and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ he said before sending a silent prayer of gratitude to whichever nursing manager had given his wife an early start.

  He had realised long ago that his obsession with United - and everything that went along with it - had been a source of much resentment on her part, and it had certainly worsened since he’d begun taking Charlie to games. Although that had at least neutralised the use of the guilt trip as her weapon of choice - now she only had his apparent selfishness, irresponsibility and immaturity to wrap around her own bitterness.

  Not that she had any problem wielding these particular weapons of mass irritation. Oh no. But while he knew full well that the grief she gave him was merely a tactic to try and take the edge off of his enjoyment, he could usually handle it with ease. However, there was something about this business with the solicitor that was making him very nervous and amplifying the irritation she was causing him. So much so in fact, that if she’d said one more word about the legal profession he’d have happily throttled her - a situation not helped by the fact that he’d barely been able to sleep for the past two nights.

  Even when he had finally managed to drift into something approaching sleep, he’d had a series of weird dreams, ranging from standing in the dock, with Jeremy Kyle acting as the judge, to being in a boxing ring with his hands tied behind his back while Jane jabbed mercilessly away at him. As a result, he felt even more tired than he had when he’d gone to bed. The thought of climbing back under the duvet did not appeal, primarily because of the sense of impending doom hanging over him and the large knot that had taken control of his stomach.

  Whatever it was that Ellis, Alexander and England wanted of him, they had a lot to answer for. But with over an hour to go until 9am, he had time to kill - and so with a sigh, he grabbed his dressing gown and headed for the bathroom.

  Freshly showered and shaved, Rob carried a mug of tea and a plate of toast into his tiny office and sat behind his desk. It might be small, but other than the home end at United and the bar of The Rosie, this was where he felt most at ease. Pictures of his favourite players and various souvenirs lined the walls, and on the desk in front of him stood a photo of a young and significantly slimmer Rob with his arm around a smiling Gary Rogers. The words On the pitch with a legend - March 1994’ were embossed on a tiny silver plate fixed to the bottom of the frame.

  Rob spent a few minutes staring at the phone as he munched away on his toast and then, as the clock clicked over from 59 to 00, he picked up the receiver and dialled the number on the letter spread out in front of him.

  ‘Good morning, you have reached the offices of Ellis, Alexander and England. Our office hours are 9am till-’

  Rob slammed the handset down, more out of frustration than anger.

  ‘It is bloody 9am you bastards,’ he said. ‘It’s 2 minutes past.’

  To kill some time, he logged on to the Internet and nervously scanned through his e-mails, keeping anything that mattered and deleting those offering him everything from Viagra at knockdown prices to penis enlargements at inflated prices.

  ‘Right you gits,’ he muttered as he hit redial again. ‘It’s nearly 10 past, so you’d better-’

  ‘Good morning,’ said a far too cheerful female voice. ‘Ellis, Alexander and England. How may I help you?’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. Shocked that someone had actually answered. ‘Cou
ld I speak to Mr. England please?’

  ‘Certainly sir. Might I ask who’s calling?’

  ‘My name’s Cooper. I was sent a letter-’

  There was a brief pause and for a second, Rob wondered if he’d been cut off.

  ‘Mr. Cooper? Would that be Mr. Rob Cooper?’

  Rob stared at the phone and frowned. He was confused. He’d spoken to lots of solicitors’ receptionists over the years and most of them had been graduates from the Gestapo school of good manners. Even the one at his own solicitors’ treated him like vermin but this one sounded positively nice. Indeed, if he didn’t know better, he’d have said she sounded almost excited.

  ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘Oh right, goodness, OK,’ said the voice, now more anxious than cheery, Rob noticed. ‘I’ll put you straight through. He’s been trying to contact you for- Well you don’t need me to- Sorry, I’ll-’

  The line went dead again.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Rob as the flock of bats that had awoken in his stomach suddenly decided to take flight. ‘The stupid-’

  ‘Mr. Cooper. This is Lee England speaking.’

  Almost instantly, a sense of relief took hold of Rob and he closed his eyes before taking a deep breath to calm himself. Finally.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘You cannot believe how pleased I am to talk to you at last. Let me tell you it’s been quite an experience tracking you down.’

  ‘Tracking me down?’ replied Rob nervously. ‘Why would you want to track me down?’

  ‘Well, track down is probably a bit dramatic. We already knew where you lived but=’

  Rob held the phone out in front of him and stared at it for a second in utter bewilderment.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Please, Rob. I can call you Rob can’t I?’

  ‘No you bloody can’t.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well this isn’t something we can really discuss over the telephone. We really must arrange-’

  ‘Listen pal,’ interrupted Rob angrily, ‘I don’t know what your game is, but if you don’t give me some idea of what this is about then you’ll be getting another kind of experience.’

  ‘Oh, well let me assure you Mr. Cooper that this is all very much to your advantage. But I really must insist that we conduct this matter face to face. I have certain, erm, procedures that I have to comply with.’

  Rob sat back in his chair as he struggled to take in what was being said to him.

  ‘What does that mean, to my advantage? Am I in the shit or not?’

  ‘Mr. Cooper, I really must insist that you-’

  ‘Alright,’ said Rob. ‘I’ll make a bloody appointment.’

  ‘No, no,’ replied the solicitor with a sense of urgency that Rob found impossible to ignore. ‘There’s no need for that. How soon can you get here?’

  ‘What, to Sheffield? Today? Well I suppose I could be there in an hour or so.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll inform the receptionist that you’re expected.’

  Rob slowly replaced the receiver and stared at the now dead phone. He’d had some weird shit happen to him in his 42 years, but nothing as strange as this. Why on earth would a solicitor want to see him so urgently that he didn’t even have to make an appointment?

  The thought suddenly struck him that it might be a trap. And that when he arrived he’d either be arrested for something or other or jumped by an irate mob of revenge-seeking City fans.

  He considered this for a second but dismissed it, on the grounds that if either the police or some scummers wanted to get hold of him they could just as easily have come round than written him a letter. That’s assuming they could write.

  With a sigh, he scribbled a quick note to the still-sleeping Charlie, pinned a £10 note to it and headed for the door.

  Whatever it was that Ellis, Alexander and England wanted, he had no choice but to go and find out.

  Chapter Four

  As Rob pulled into the car park of Ellis, Alexander and England he couldn’t help but feel that sense of inadequacy only an average working class male driving an eight-year-old Ford Mondeo can feel when suddenly confronted by wealth. In this instance, big wealth.

  Ahead of him towered a seven-storey, glass fronted building which was clearly no more than three or four years old, while outside, waiting patiently for their owners, sat a dazzling array of Mercedes, BMWs, Jaguars and Range Rovers. Whatever legal skulduggery went on here, it was a world away from Rob’s own solicitor, who worked out of a dingy flat above his local dry cleaners. At times, given the less than brilliant quality of his advice, even that had looked extravagant.

  A blast from a car horn shook Rob out of his reverie and he instinctively raised an arm in apology - a move he regretted the instant he noticed his rear view mirror occupied by yet another BMW containing two smug looking twenty-somethings of the type he had grown up hating with a passion.

  ‘Come the revolution,’ he said to himself.

  Thankfully, he managed to park his car and arrive at the revolving glass entrance door ahead of them and took great delight in bringing it to a sudden halt with a perfectly timed heel just as he exited. Although he didn’t bother to look around, he guessed from the resultant thump and curse that he had caught smug bloke number one as he tried to nip into a rapidly closing gap. Childish for sure, but a tiny victory for the working class nevertheless. Rob almost raised a clenched fist in celebration.

  ‘May I help you sir?’

  Without altering his pace, Rob swerved toward the extremely pretty brunette sitting behind the reception desk - a move that took him directly across the path of the two men who were only just emerging from the revolving door, forcing them to stop and let him pass. 2-0.

  ‘I’m here to see a Mr. England. He’s expecting me.’

  ‘Might I have your name please?’ she said, reaching for the phone.

  ‘Cooper,’ said Rob as he lowered his gaze slightly to obtain a better view of the ample cleavage now on display as a result of her new posture.

  ‘Oh Mr. Cooper. We’re expecting you,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll just call up.’

  Rob stood admiring her curves as she spoke quietly on the phone, and then turned away - not because he wanted to, but because he thought he should.

  ‘Someone will be down in a minute, Mr. Cooper. Can I get you anything?’

  Dismissing the fifteen or so answers which immediately entered his consciousness, Rob smiled and declined - primarily because he had long ago realised that nothing a lawyer did was free and so if he had accepted her offer, it was fairly certain that a charge of some kind would have been added to the bill that would appear on his doormat sooner or later. More importantly, he was also starting to feel seriously nervous. For while he was enjoying being in very close proximity to a fit female, he was still none the wiser as to why he was standing in front of her at all.

  ‘Mr. Cooper?’

  Rob turned and stared as a middle aged and immaculately dressed woman approached., her hand outstretched and a beaming smile on her face.

  ‘I’m Julie, Mr. England’s secretary,’ she said as Rob shook her hand, holding on longer than was really necessary as he struggled to work out how someone of a similar age to him could look and sound so overtly sexy. ‘Would you please follow me?’

  ‘I’d follow you anywhere,’ thought Rob as she turned and led him towards a lift, affording Rob a decent close-up of her perfectly proportioned rear end.

  ‘Is there any chance you could give me a hint as to what this is all about? I’m kind of in the dark.’

  She laughed. Not a polite giggle of the type you give when someone tells a joke you’ve heard a thousand times before, but a real throaty, filthy laugh. Rob fell in love.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’d get shot. Mr. England will explain everything. Here we are.’

  Rob followed her out of the lift and across an open plan office where yet more attractive women were sitting at desks. The thought struck him, that as perks of the job went, staring at this lot all da
y every day would be pretty high on any list. God only knows what their Christmas parties must be like.

  The few women he worked with were all dog-rough, except Katie. But since her dad was an old mate and he’d known her since she was three, he always felt uncomfortable thinking of her as anything other than simply, well- Katie.

  ‘Go straight in,’ said a still smiling Julie. ‘He’s waiting for you. Could I get you some coffee?’

  Rob smiled in thanks and walked into a large, airy office where a grey suited and staggeringly average man was standing in front of a desk. Both looked like they had escaped from an Ikea catalogue only that morning.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ he said as they shook hands. ‘I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you at last. Please, do sit down.’

  Rob settled nervously into a large leather armchair and waited patiently for Lee England to drop whatever bombshell was coming his way. However, before he could speak, Julie entered carrying a tray of coffee.

  ‘What a beautiful woman,’ said Rob the second the door closed behind her.

  ‘Julie?’ replied England in a tone which suggested that he had never even noticed. ‘Yes, I suppose she is.’

  ‘Suppose? What’s up with you? She’s bloody stunning.’

  ‘If you like that kind of thing,’ said England, who had suddenly, and unwittingly, formed a previously unimagined mental image of his 45- year-old secretary spread-eagled naked across his desk.

  Rob took his coffee and glared at the solicitor. The inference that he had some kind of odd older woman fetish hadn’t been well received. Not in the slightest.

  ‘So, come on then, what’s this all about?’

  ‘Oh right,’ said England before lifting a thick beige folder from a drawer and opening it, the action seemingly dragging him back into real time, as the second he looked back at Rob, the grin was back. ‘I suppose I should start at the beginning really.’

  ‘It’d be nice if you started somewhere,’ said Rob. ‘’Cos judging by the size of this place, me sitting here is costing someone a small fortune.’