10.

  The ever-growing Discord server for the Wrexham fan podcast Red Army has many channels. One is called LALAC.

  ***

  Saturday, August 28

  ButteryCrumpets

  Chester 0 West Bromwich Albion 3

  LOL

  RetiredRed

  Three defeats in a row, no goals, low xG. The wheels have finally come off!

  Saint Derfel

  Haha are you into the xG now, Red? What's next, passes per defensive action? Field tilt?

  RetiredRed

  If it's something I can learn in two pints or fewer, and if it helps me laugh at Jester, I'm willing to learn anything.

  Saint Derfel

  And then unlearn it a week later when Best fixes the problem?

  RetiredRed

  Haha yes exactly.

  Now I'm going to print out the league table and stick it on the fridge. Wrexham in the playoff places, Jester in the relegation zone. Life could not be better!

  LongThrowAGoGo

  We could sign a 6 who could last the full 90 and a dribbly winger.

  ButteryCrumpets

  Wrong channel, lad. This is Let's All Laugh At Chester.

  LongThrowAGoGo

  Ahhhhhh! That's what it means! I couldn't work it out. I thought the last letter was 'Cymru'.

  ***

  Monday, August 30

  Stoop

  All right, transfer deadline day! The mighty Wrex are buying quality players from the Prem, from big clubs in Europe, from elite academies. Let's see what Chester are doing. Oops, they've signed a goalkeeper coach! Dylan, tell your best mate Best that you're supposed to sign PLAYERS on deadline day. You can sign a goalie coach whenever you want.

  BrokenGround

  Haha yeah I'll tell him. I wouldn't expect too much action from Chester today. Max said he's not even going to the office.

  Stoop

  Famously, he doesn't carry a phone with him and he lives in the rainforest where he is uncontactable for large parts of the year.

  RetiredRed

  He did vanish this week, didn't he? No-one knew where he was for, what, two days?

  BrokenGround

  He told a few people where he was going but he didn't say why. Bonnie says he's throwing a big sulk.

  Stoop

  If you do see him today, tell him to score his wondergoals in the first 90 minutes, not extra time, otherwise the bookies don't pay out.

  BrokenGround

  [Thumbs-up emoji.]

  ***

  Stoop

  Right. Wrex are being linked to players of all sorts, we're hitting refresh on Oppenheim ten times a minute, another amazing day where we flex our financial muscles, but there's radio silence from Bumpers Bank. Chester need some players, don't they?

  LongThrowAGoGo

  Their squad is pretty big. Some of their lads who went to Saltney and Gibraltar were on the bench against West Brom. The cupboard isn't bare any more.

  Stoop

  The Chester fans are freaking out because William Roberts wasn't in the match day squad. Why would you leave out your best attacking player when your team is struggling for creativity and goals? Because a player can only play for two clubs per season. Leaving him out of the one match he could play in before the deadline is proof positive you plan to sell him. God, imagine the bedwetting that'll happen if Best doesn't sign anyone but bins off the most exciting thing to happen to Chester since that guy woke up to find a cow on his garage roof.

  BeardedWonderwall

  He's not gonna sell the jewel in the crown. The kid who won the Youth Cup. The one he brings on his side quests.

  Stoop

  He might. He gets depressed and wants to change everything up, right?

  Roberts scored 5 goals in Champions League qualifiers and he looked better than anyone at Celtic. We know Best has turned down 8-figure bids in the past. What if someone smacks 20 million quid on the table and says, here, have some of that.

  BeardedWonderwall

  Maybe.

  Btw, I do enjoy watching the English wet the bed. Where are you tracking the Chester fans? Some forums or WhatsApp groups or what? Hook me up so I can enjoy the meltdown if it does happen.

  LongThrowAGoGo

  I've just had a thought. Best sold us Josh Owens. We're throwing cash around again. We're trying to switch to a more technical player profile, our signings are skewing younger, and the way we're playing, the ownership group might think this is the time to add some serious quality to push us to the Prem.

  Do you think...?

  Stoop

  Let's not get carried away with that kind of speculation but

  Could we?

  COULD WE?!

  ***

  TexanWrexun

  Quite a frustrating day for me! I upgraded my access to Wyscout, thinking I'd get the skinny on the Chester signings so we could laugh at how tinpot they are compared to ours, but nothing's happening. Not even much in the way of gossip.

  Stoop

  If Dylan's right and Best has taken the day off, there's no point tracking the private jets flying into Liverpool and Manchester wondering who might be on them, right?

  And there was that journalist who got banned from Chester because he printed some transfer gossip that Best said was a straight-up lie. Seven-month ban for that. As a journo you're thinking you need to hype things up to get clicks on your stories, but you don't want to become the story.

  TexanWrexun

  Sure but if you're looking to grow your global audience you want media attention. You want stories.

  Stoop

  Never really thought of Best as someone chasing a global audience.

  TexanWrexun

  Huh.

  Well, I've got my program ready to go if there are any solid leads.

  Stoop

  What have Chester done so far this window?

  TexanWrexun

  The big one is Helge Hagen for 4 million but that was announced at the start of the window so the fans have forgotten it. He bought eight kids, which seems to have gone under the radar, and signed two players who will join next season. It's like he's trying to build his squad in the least dramatic way possible!

  Players out. Ryan Jack retired. The goalie Banks went to Magpies and now he's at Newport County.

  Icke and Evergreen went to Saltney with Best. Icke we know is staying for the season but we thought Evergreen would go back to Chester.

  Stoop

  He might stay in Saltney until January and play in some of the Europa League. Last season he stuck around longer to play in the Conference League. This is a step up for him. New level, new challenge.

  TexanWrexun

  The defender Sunday is on loan to Crewe, and the midfielder Alfie Clitheroe is at Wigan.

  It's so uninspiring. It's a good job they have a small stadium because they're never gonna put bums on seats the way Best does transfers.

  It's about 5 p.m. over there, yeah? And they pushed the deadline to 11 p.m. like they used to?

  Stoop

  Yeah, whoever decides these things experimented with setting the deadline to 7 p.m. because all the support staff were getting frazzled every deadline day, but clubs were sending in deal sheets (like, pre-agreements) and then everyone had to keep working all night anyway. The new way wasn't better quality of life for anyone and the old way was better for the broadcasters so they've gone back to that.

  ***

  BrokenGround

  OMG lads! I've been activated! Shit's going down!

  TexanWrexun

  Yeeeeeaaaahhhhhhh come on!

  Stoop

  I'm tumescent.

  BrokenGround

  You always are.

  I'm to go to the shops to get something for Max, and take the items to a secret location somewhere in Chester.

  I'm thinking it's connected to a transfer so shocking they don't want the Chester fans to know about it!

  Wibbers to the exit confirmed!

  Ah, just remembered. I have to pick Angel up first. She's at a test shoot for Jejune (the perfume).

  WOW Max seems super stressed! I only just got the first text and he's sent another one asking for an update. He's not normally like this. I wonder what's going on.

  Stoop

  What's going on is that you're gonna break one of the biggest transfer stories of the summer window!

  BrokenGround

  Huh. You could be right.

  I think I'll switch to the ITK channel, just in case that's what this is. Not saying I'm In The Know, but I know someone who is!!! I'll see you over there in about half an hour, lads!

  ***

  BangorOnMyDee changed the channel name to ITK (6 hours to go).

  MossValleyBoss

  We're in for Chadwick, boys. You heard it here first.

  JasonRhewl

  Chadwick? From Everton? No fucking way. Get lost.

  MossValleyBoss

  My mate's mate is a taxi driver who does airport runs and he says his brother told him that Chadwick got in an unmarked mini van with our head of recruitment five minutes ago. It's on, boys. That's breaking news.

  JasonRhewl

  Piss off. I've never heard such tripe in all my life. What a load of bollocks.

  Stoop

  What's the opposite of ITK? Because that's you, Boss.

  JasonRhewl

  In the no.

  Stoop

  Brilliant! You win the internet today.

  MossValleyBoss

  You'll see.

  JasonRhewl

  We're not gonna drop thirty million quid on a midfielder who isn't an upgrade on what we've already got! Guys making shit up for a few seconds of attention is the worst thing about this sport.

  Stoop

  You're in the wrong room, boyo. That's all we get in here. I'd say there are maybe ten proper ITKs worldwide that you'd actually trust, and most of those only post a handful of times per year.

  JasonRhewl

  You don't mean Romano?

  Stoop

  Of course I don't mean Romano. God knows what happened to that clown. I'm talking about Oppenheim and a couple of others. Guys who actually take the time to filter out all the bullshit and only post truths.

  ManMeat

  Oppy's just dropped a nuke! Rawlins to Chelsea, fifty million quid!!!

  JasonRhewl

  Christ. What a madhouse. How many right-wingers do they already have? Why would you go to a club that already has six players in your position? Can't these players count?

  Stoop

  They can count their wages.

  ManMeat

  And they all think they're gonna be the one who starts.

  Right, that takes the Prem's summer spending to... 3.2 billion quid. And there's still time to add another few hundred mill.

  RetiredRed

  Obscene.

  BrokenGround

  Lads, I've got a live one! I've only been here twenty minutes and it's already the most BONKERS day of the year.

  If you don't want the inside track on what Max Best is up to today, mute me for a day.

  If you want some actual hot goss, saddle up.

  RetiredRed

  Dylan rides again! I'm all a-quiver.

  Stoop

  Me too, but that might be because of what I'm wearing and where I'm wearing it.

  RetiredRed

  Ew.

  ButteryCrumpets

  Dylan, if you get the chance, ask him what he thinks of Wrexham's new signings and the names we're being linked with. Who are the main ones? Topley. Agyemang. Silvestre.

  ManMeat

  Sutton.

  JasonRhewl

  This is legit, is it? BrokenGround is with Max Best right now?

  Stoop

  Dylan's in the army but he does bodyguarding for Best. Best coached his army unit. Dylan's courting Bonnie, one of Chester's women's team who's now an admin for Saltney Town. (Note: do not say he's banging her, or porking her. Dylan doesn't like that.)

  RetiredRed

  Christ, lad, you push your luck sometimes.

  Stoop

  I didn't say it! I said not to say it!

  Bonnie's sister is Chester's striker Angel, and we're not allowed to say what a stone-cold fox she is or post links to tastefully-curated photo collections or earnest, some might say romantic fan fiction. Dylan said he had to pick her up from a photoshoot for that French perfume, and that Best texted with an urgent request. We think it's all about William Roberts, their forward - who did NOT play against West Brom and is ripe for a transfer to a real club.

  JasonRhewl

  Got it. I'm gonna try to keep an open mind.

  BrokenGround

  There I am, minding my own business, when I get a text from Max. Hurry hurry urgent. I'm at action stations, right? Combat ready. What's the mission?

  Max texts: I'm sending you co-ordinates. Get there ASAP!!!

  I go: I have to pick Angel up from the shoot.

  He flies into a text rage. Hurry the fuck up and get her, then!

  Okay, so whatever's going on with him can't be that urgent, can it? Still, I speed to this place where Aurélie Fragonard, Henri Lyons's mother, is with some designers and marketing types. They've been putting Angel in all sorts of different dresses next to different hunky male models, in front of different backgrounds. Sort of brainstorming for the next big campaign they're going to launch.

  I'm getting Max bombs every two minutes so I try to hurry things up. 'Angel, could you get changed? Max is in a tizzy about something and I have to go and help him. I'll drop you home as soon as I can.'

  'It will take a while to get out of this, Dyl. They're letting me keep it because they don't think it's right for Jejune. What do you think?'

  I take a proper look at the dress. It's all curvy, gold, starting with a sort of corset thing that dips in the middle down to the, you know, breast area. At the waist the fabric gets thinner, there's a long leg slit on one side, and on both sides the hems go on for miles. She's wearing gold high heels. 'I think I saw this at Top Shop,' I say.

  She thinks that's hilarious. 'Give me ten minutes.'

  My phone vibrates. I show her the message. DYLAAANNNNNN.

  She laughs. 'He's such a drama queen. Fine, let's go.'

  'What, like this?'

  'Why not?'

  'It's not practical.'

  She puts her hand on my cheek. 'Oh, Dylan.'

  So we go to the car. Me in my normal civvies, looking like a part-time plumber. Angel dressed like she's just walked out of a perfume ad, which is exactly what's happened.

  I drive to the address he gave me. It's a massive DIY store. I call him and it's hard to make out what he's saying because there are super loud animal noises. He sounds like he's in a room with a hundred chimpanzees, which maybe he is. He could be filming an ad of his own, see, for Chester Zoo. He tells me to buy plug socket covers. I ask how many? He shrieks, all of them! All of them! And hangs up.

  'Angel, wait here a second.'

  'Nope.'

  So we're going around this huge B+Q warehouse looking for plug socket covers. Angel's dress is dragging behind her like we just got married. You can imagine the looks on everyone's faces!

  She lingers behind to look at power tools - Bonnie's the exact same - and I'm at the checkout. The guy frowns at the plug covers and he's about to say something but Angel sashays towards us, gold trailing behind. The guy clams up, scans the items, I pay.

  We get back into the car - I have to tuck Angel in because there's bits of her everywhere - and I say, 'Did you enjoy that?'

  'I'm sure I don't know what you mean.'

  'Right.'

  I drive to the next location, which turns out to be a pretty normal semi-detached house in a nice suburb of Chester.

  'Wait here,' I say, but Angel's already getting out.

  We go along the garden path, knock on the door, and there's some twitching of the curtains in the front room. After a short delay, the front door opens.

  JasonRhewl, you're not gonna believe this next part, but stick around and I'll try to sneak a photo to prove it.

  The door opens, and a large man looms over us like a bouncer in a very expensive suit. He's got a toad-like quality to him, and beady little eyes. Slightly unpleasant, but somehow charismatic, too. Very powerful aura. He looks at Angel and his eyes only widen slightly, which is amazing self-control. Then he looks at me. 'Where would you find the Lake of Dreams, the Sea of Clouds, and the Ocean of Storms?'

  'You what?'

  The man turns and shouts down the corridor. 'He doesn't know the password!'

  I hear Max's voice shout back. 'Is he carrying a plastic bag?'

  'Yes!'

  'Take it from him and tell him to clear off.'

  Angel goes, 'The Moon.'

  The guy smiles at her and it's actually quite charming. 'Very good. You may enter.'

  I haven't even seen Max yet, but I'm pissed with him. I plan to throw the plastic bag in his face, demand he pays me in cash, and then flounce out, transfer gossip be damned.

  The guy steps back and I power along and into the front room of the house, ready to tell Max what I think of him.

  I stop, because Max is lying cross-legged on the floor in front of a child. The kid is playing with block toys and looks pretty happy. Max, though, looks destroyed. You saw him at the end of the Celtic game, trying to keep it together? That was nothing compared to this. His eyes are sunken, eyelids poofy, and his hair is a total mess. I've seen him in torrential rain and his hair more or less keeps its shape and looks good. I never thought I would look at Max Best and think of Gollum, but here it is. 'What's going on?'

  He gives me a world-weary look. 'I'm babysitting.'

  I step back. Angel is still making her way inside, and the man is shoving her 'train' forward in great heaps so that he can shut the front door. I turn again to the King of Coefficients, the Supremo of Soccer, the man some football insiders simply call The Outlier. 'How long has it been?'

  My question breaks Max's spirit. 'Four hours.' His lip wobbles. 'And there's four to go. I don't think I can make it, Dylan. I don't think I can hack this. He keeps trying to kill himself. He's got a death wish, I'm telling you. You look away for just one second and he's got, like, knives. He climbs. He clambers. Teeters on the edge of things. He doesn't understand about gravity. He's a fucking idiot.'

  'Is that why you wanted plug covers?' says Angel, sweeping into the room. 'Oh, hi.'

  She's talking to someone I hadn't spotted. In the far corner of the living room is a young man. He looks about 20, Mediterranean complexion, footballer's build and haircut. I'm excited. Here's a secret transfer deal going down, after all! The kid doesn't know what to do with himself. He stands, decides he looks ridiculous, sits again, then stands and steps towards her. He admires her, head to toe, and goes, 'principesa!'

  Angel stretches her hand out but instead of doing a handshake, she holds the back of her hand out, regally.

  'Oh,' says the caballero. He awkwardly gets to one knee, but it's clear he doesn't know what he's supposed to do in the presence of a princess. He leans in and kisses her hand. 'Emiliano,' he says, in a very thick accent, touching his chest.

  'Hmm,' says Angel, judgemental, like the kid did it wrong. As if she'd know! She's from Carlisle.

  It's all a bit exotic for my tastes, and clearly Angel's been spending too much time with Emma. I go, 'Is this Sandra Lane's house?'

  Max says, 'Yeah. You've met Jamie, haven't you?'

  I shrug. 'All babies look the same.'

  'Maybe in Wales,' snaps Best. He frowns and looks left and right. 'Wait, is this Wales?'

  Annoying. I sigh, 'No.' The guy in the sharp suit sits on a three-piece sofa that's facing the TV wall. The young man, feeling dismissed, retreats to the corner and picks up his phone. He tries to take a photo of Angel without anyone noticing, but he spots me glaring at him and gives up. Next to him is another armchair, and there's a jacket and a woman's handbag. I can't work it out. 'But what's going on? Who are these people?'

  Jamie Lane-Beeks, Max's godson, suddenly gets up, clambers up onto the armchair, picks up a big iPad, and threatens to topple backwards. Max is up like a shot, hands outstretched, ready to make the save. He gently prises the iPad out of Jamie's hands. 'No screens until you're 25, mate. We talked about this.' He places Jamie on the floor, sits in front of him, and throws a soft ball at the kid. 'What, Dylan?'

  'Who are these people? What's going on?'

  'Nothing's going on. I'm babysitting. He's Emiliano, as you know. And this is Don Pino.'

  Stoop

  Holy shit!

  ManMeat

  The superagent?

  JasonRhewl

  Aw, come on. All that reading, for that? Give me a break.

  This is worse than my mate's mate's mate's optician saw such-and-such a rumour on Facebook.

  Why would one of the world's top football agents - maybe THE top football agent - be in a semi-detached house in fucking CHESTER?

  Stoop

  Dylan, we have doubters. We need photos. Start with one of Angel's dress.

  BrokenGround

  There's too much going on. Max is trying to make Sandra's house 'death-proof'. He's told me to go upstairs to get all the pillows and cushions I can find. 'We're going to make a protective moat of softness around the child. Then we're going to cover every plug socket so he can't electrocute himself. I've seen cartoons. I know what happens.'

  The superagent says, 'Dylan, tell your friend he should not install safety equipment at his co-manager's house.'

  'Sandra has become desensitised to the danger,' says Max. 'She doesn't see this hell-hole the way I do. Look at that curtain rail! You can't imagine the fight we had about it. And yes, she expressly forbade me from putting the plug covers in but when she gets home tonight and sees her house has been made safe, she will sleep soundly.'

  'She will break your teeth,' says Don. I like that phrase!

  Angel's got her phone out. 'Sandra, as usual, is right. Those plug covers are dangerous, Max.'

  'What the hell are you talking about? They're safety covers. The clue's in the name.'

  I try to get everyone back on topic. 'So, Max, who are you signing today?'

  He gives me evils. 'I'll be signing the child's death certificate if you don't hurry up and plug up the plugs.'

  Angel shoves her phone in his face. 'Look! The bare sockets are super, super safe and these things only make them more dangerous.'

  'Uhh...' Max tries to study the information. 'But... That doesn't make sense.'

  'You think some shitty company you've never heard of is the only way to make things safe, and that every single home in this country has been using deadly plug sockets since the discovery of electricity?'

  'Invention,' says Max.

  'Discovery,' says Angel, snatching the unopened box of shitty plastic covers out of his hand and shoving it into the plastic bag he's holding. 'I thought you wanted these for your office, not to put in front of a toddler. What else have you done that we need to undo before Sandra and Aiden get home?'

  Max looks shifty. 'Nothing.'

  'Max,' says Angel.

  'Nothing. I'll leave that to the structural engineer I booked.' He looks for an escape route. He comes over and puts his arm around me. 'It's transfer deadline day, Dylan! Loads going on! Why don't you stick around?' He realises he's got a carrier bag full of useless junk.

  'That was six pounds,' I say, significantly.

  'Six quid?' he spits. 'I'm not made of money! What the fuck?' He has reached in and found that I bought five packets of the covers. 'Why did you buy so many? What's wrong with you?'

  You'd go mad if you let it, so I take the bag and take the chance. 'I'll bring them back tomorrow. You won't be sending back the players you buy, though, will you? Is this one?'

  I'm pointing to Emiliano, who I am pretty sure was super bored before I turned up. Now he's trying to look cool and unbothered but Angel is making it hard.

  Stoop

  I bet she is.

  BrokenGround

  Sigh.

  'Have you done any deals, Max?'

  'Deals? Yeah. Got the goalie coach in. Kalvin Ward. Good lad. Not as expert as Sticky but he's got time to learn, right? And his soft skills are top. Sticky likes him and says he'll grow into it. That's fine by me. Like that. Oh my God, leave the iPad alone, mate.'

  'Whose is it?' I say, because it's a woman's bag on that seat.

  'Er, Briggy's,' says Max, as he picks Jamie up and carries him across the room to a similar armchair. 'Goalie!' says Max, and he picks up the soft ball and throws it at Jamie. It bonks him on the head, makes him fall to his arse, and they both laugh.

  I ask the question everyone at Chester is desperate to know. 'Is Jamie a goalie, Max?'

  Max gives me a withering look. 'He's 20 months old. He's a toddler. Can't he just be? Will you let him be, mate? Yes or no?'

  'Yes,' I say, shrinking.

  'When I said goalie, I meant me.'

  Max gives Jamie - best position unknown - the ball. The kid stands, kicks it, Max catches it, tosses it back to Jamie. They do this another ten times. I'm not the only one who spots that Max is catching the fucking thing without even looking at it. The kid Emiliano is gawping at the scene. 'Yeah, Kalvin's a good get.'

  'But that's not it, is it? Why's Don Pino here?'

  'Absolutely no fucking clue,' says Max, and he seems to be serious.

  Don smiles, dangerously. 'I would like Max to sign Emiliano, but he is not interested. Fortunately, it was not a wasted trip because I am learning a lot about curtain rails.'

  I look up. The rail is a beautiful, curving metal thing that goes around the bay windows. Large wooden hoops have been pushed to either side, and a nice curtain dangles from the hoops. What's the problem? Emiliano gives me a mournful look, tugs on the curtain, looks up in shock, and throws his hands up to protect himself from the heavy rod of metal as, in Max's imagination, it crashes onto someone's head. Emiliano rolls his eyes.

  TexanWrexun

  I'm trying to find a client of Don Pino called Emiliano. Get his surname, Dylan!

  ManMeat

  Nothing about this makes sense, though. Why would Don Pino fly to England on transfer deadline day to offer Best a client he didn't want? This is the busiest day of the year for every agent. No way is he just watching Max Best babysit!

  BrokenGround

  I'm still trying to work it out. First we have to calm Max down, then we might be able to get some sense out of him. We're telling him he doesn't need to watch Jamie like a hawk and if he falls and hurts his knee Sandra isn't going to blame him. He says 'Yeah but what if he hits his head? His head is so bumpy already. Seriously, feel his head. How many more smacks can it take?'

  Don keeps leaving the room to take calls, ManMeat. He's busy, all right. But I agree with you. Something big is up. Something really big.

  Stoop

  You're always trying to outwit him, Dylan. Just ask him if he's selling Roberts!

  BrokenGround

  Well, I tried.

  'I suppose you need a superagent here in case you decide to sell Wibbers.'

  Max looks pained and repeats what I said. 'I need... a superagent... here... in case I decide... to sell Wibbers... What?'

  Inspiration hits me! 'But Max! You promised the Chester fans you'd give them all a big surprise. You haven't done that, yet.'

  'So?'

  'So that means there's gonna be some news this evening, right?'

  'I suppose. Who cares, though? It's not news to me. I know it already. Okay, he's bored of the blocks, bored of the balls. Music time!'

  He presses play on a stereo and the Chicken Dance song emerges. He and Jamie do the moves.

  'Come on, Dylan! Come on! Show us what you got!'

  I watch them wiggle and cackle. I've only been there for five minutes and I'm exhausted and infuriated. 'I'm gonna put the kettle on. Anyone want tea?'

  Angel has worked out how to sit down in her dress. With her folds going everywhere and the strange pose she's in, she looks like she's on an album cover. 'Ooh, yeah. Some bickies, too?'

  JasonRhewl

  I'm on Don Pino's Twitter. He's announcing deals left, right, and centre. No way is he in a little house in Chester. Sorry, all, but I'm calling BS on this whole thing.

  Full marks for imagination, though.

  BrokenGround

  The dancing has tired Jamie and he's on the rug quietly pushing a big toy car around.

  Max looks shattered, and takes the tea meekly. 'Thanks.' He stares at nothing.

  'Pardon,' says Emiliano, to Angel. He's about to make his move! I can't wait to see this.

  I don't get the pleasure because the front door opens, closes, and Briggy enters the living room. She nods at me, stops to stare at Angel, pulls a funny face, then goes to her armchair. She picks up the iPad, flops down, lets her legs dangle, and starts reading something. Max is hyper alert. He stares at Briggy intently, then there's the faintest crinkle sound. She lifts the iPad to cover her face, and I see her take a bite of something.

  Max speaks in a low voice, definitely the most dangerous thing in the room. 'Is that a Twix?'

  'Wha'?'

  He points at me. 'Is she eating a Twix?'

  'I think it's a - ' I stop. Briggy's smaller than me but she's deadlier. I survived an explosion. Not sure I would survive her.

  Briggy nods, satisfied that I'm not spilling her secrets, but she lowers the iPad. There's a chocolate bar in a blue wrapper. 'Boost.'

  'The fuck?' says Max, and he looks like he might burst into tears. 'How can you go to the shop and just - '

  She makes a quick move and something arcs across the room. He snatches it, and he's ripping it open almost before he's caught it. 'Star Bar!' he yells. 'Yes! Yessssss!'

  He chomps into it and pulls a face you'd expect to see on a heroin addict. He mumbles something I think is 'employee of the month'.

  Angel says, 'What are you reading, Briggy?'

  'Bethany Alban's latest post on Substack. It's about College 1975 in Malm?.'

  Don Pino is back, and that catches his attention. 'That is an interesting topic indeed. Is she a good writer?'

  'I think so,' says Briggy. 'Max?'

  He pauses his obnoxious munching long enough to say, 'She's a hack dancing from one near-Nazi platform to another.' He finds the room is not appreciative and backtracks. 'She's good. She clings to her theme like a dying industry clinging to a flimsy life raft, but I'm into it. What's she gone for this time? What's the title?'

  Briggy scrolls up. 'It's called... Swede It And Weep.'

  Max's eyes widen and a few seconds later he has bundled Jamie up and they're in a row facing Briggy. 'Story time!' cries Max. 'Auntie Briggy's gonna tell us a story!'

  It's obvious to me that Briggy will tell him to get lost, but no. She clears her throat. 'Swede It And Weep, by Bethany Alban. 13 minute read.'

  'Fucking hell, Beth,' says Max. 'Even the games are only 90 minutes, you know what I mean? She needs a fucking editor.'

  'I'll skip the boring parts,' says Briggy. 'The ones that aren't about you.' She goes hem-hem as she prepares her voice. Don Pino cancels an incoming call. Angel's got a chocolate Hobnob poised near her mouth - the coating melts and nearly drips onto her dress. Briggy begins, and almost at once has us rapt; little Jamie is entranced.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  'In the rivers of Central Europe, thin words are carved into thick stone to tell of the devastating consequence of drought. These 'Hunger Stones' serve as warnings for future generations, sympathetic, generous messages that span deep time. If the text of the stone is visible, something awful is about to happen. The boulders, while noble, are harbingers of doom, and they are distressingly more commonly seen thanks to the devastating impact of climate change on our fragile ecosystem.

  'The world of football is in need of a similar system. When Max Best is at his lowest ebb, when his crops are failing, when his wells run dry, then come the plagues. Will it be locusts? Will it be frogs? Will it be sensational passing moves, counter-attacks, counter-presses, and bewilderingly rapid changes in formation?

  'The story truly begins the week before, when a squad of players hand-picked by Best struggle to assert themselves against a well-drilled Swedish team. Malm?'s win was dour but utterly professional, and blah blah blah. Skip all that.

  'Fast forward to Tuesday night, as Max Best's brave charge flounders upon blah blah blah more aquatic imagery. Okay, here's a good bit.

  'Then came news of Best's disappearance. He read all the Agatha Christie books as a teen, and must have known about the international sensation caused when she vanished. Was he slipping into her shoes? I was desperate to get on his trail. What a challenge! But my editor had already sent me out to Malm? to cover what would be the final match in the Max Best Universe's UEFA qualifying campaign. With all due respect to Henri Lyons, Till Rehder, and the other wonderful players at College 1975, it was not a plum assignment.

  'Er... skip over some of her ruminations on the squad and their chances of winning. She confesses to being utterly uninterested in the match and spends all of Thursday looking for the most Viking-looking guy to bang. She's very thirsty is our Bethany.

  'Okay, then it picks up again.'

  Briggy licks her lips and sits up straight.

  'The effect of College's team sheet in the media centre was nothing short of sensational. Rivers rise, rivers fall, civilisations come and go, but nothing is more epic than seeing a starting eleven that seems to have been picked out of a hat.

  'I was sitting glumly in a corner when the news spread. The TV teams were making the sorts of noises I would normally associate with a cat disturbed from its slumber. The Swedish reporters were angry as they pored over their pieces of paper. Who's this guy? Who's that guy? I stared at the scene, uncaring, for a few seconds, wondering if Sven really had to wash his hair or if that was just an excuse. I shot to my feet. "Max!" I cried. Somehow, I knew.

  'I rushed to the nearest reporter and snatched the team sheet out of his hand. Some of the names of the starters were unfamiliar. Five of the subs had started virtually every match until that moment. Peter Schnakenberg, the Australian goalkeeper. Li Anjie, the winger from Singapore, Andrew Harrison, he of the lung-busting runs, and the unlikely lads, the almost-telepathic strike partnership of Till Rehder and Henri Lyons.

  'I drank it all in, drank that river dry, and nearly jumped for joy. In the corner, unnoticed by the others in the room, the name Alby McHugh was in place, as it had been in the previous rounds, but this time he wasn't listed as the manager. "Co-manager!" I shouted, and ran to the door. Where was I going? I ran back to my desk, opened my laptop, and started my match report.

  'I knew how it would go. What could be more clear? And then it played out before me, beat for beat, as though I was writing the history of an epoch yet to come to pass. Agatha Christie: The Queen of Crime. Bethany Alban: Queen of Deep Time.

  'Seconds before the start of the match, a figure appeared in the away dugout. Wearing a Malm? hat and dark glasses, pacing around like a panther, a wounded animal who had spent 48 hours licking his wounds, reliving his lost battle, storing up his humiliation and resentment to use as fuel. You can hide the eyes, but you can't hide the shit hoodie.

  'Ten seconds into the match, the call was made. Ref! Sub! Five men in College kit. Five subs. Five! After his defeat against Celtic, Best had been mocked for making four rapid changes. His response? To go harder. To be bolder.

  'Boulders in the Elbe carry warnings. No-one warned Malm? this might happen. There are no laws against managers turning up and working at whichever clubs will allow them. Best could show up anywhere, anytime, and there's nothing any of us can do to stop him. Onto the pitch went College's five best players. Perhaps the Malm? players realised who that sinister figure in the technical area was. Perhaps there was a chill wind, a collective premonition of doom.

  'For 45 minutes, College's players swarmed like locusts, leaped like frogs, played their parts in sensational passing moves, counter-attacks, counter-presses, and bewilderingly rapid changes in formation.

  'It was three-nil at the break. It could have been six.

  'As the players strode towards the tunnel, Henri Lyons was all smiles. This incensed his manager. Max Best surged towards the Frenchman, wielding his finger like a blunderbuss. "What are you smiling about? We haven't done shit, yet! Job's not done! Get that fucking smile off your face and get back to fucking work!" Henri looked shocked, offended, haughty, and with great dignity, peeled himself away from his friend. Lyons crunched up his fists as though he would like to pummel the young man who had the temerity to tell him what to think.

  'The media room watched the scene in stunned silence before bursting into noise and activity. I kept my eye on the tunnel camera a little longer than most and saw Henri exchange a glance with Till Rehder. The grizzled vets smiled at one another. Standards. Leadership. An almost insane commitment to quality. To such men, Max Best is manna from heaven. In a world of drought, of failing rivers, failing economies, failing health, we must heed the warnings.

  'When Max Best asked Malm? for a small loan, no-one warned them what it might cost to refuse. Now we must put up warnings all across Europe. Carve the words into stadiums. Light them up when he appears.

  'Wenn du mich siehst, dann weine.

  'If you see me, weep.'

  Stoop

  That was incredible!

  BrokenGround

  I mostly liked it but it sounded like she was trying too hard. I made the mistake of saying what I thought.

  I go, 'A bit over-poetic, don't you find? She didn't even say the final score!'

  Max explodes. 'When it's a beautiful moment, you end the piece! That's art, mate! Who cares about the final score? Live in the moment for fudge sake.'

  'I just think if you're writing a match review - '

  'It's not a match review! It's a moodscape. It's a meditation on an aspect of the human condition!'

  He's getting my back up. 'So she's not a near-Nazi hack since she watches you petulantly shout at your players and assumes there's some kind of higher, purer motive to it? Instead of you being a brat.'

  'Beth knows best,' he says, settling back like a peacock after a good squawk.

  '3-1 final score,' says Don Pino. '3-2 on aggregate. College advance to Europa League. The Swedes drop to Conference.'

  There's quiet in the room and I'm annoyed to realise I preferred it when the score wasn't mentioned. Strange, that.

  RetiredRed

  I love long-form content!

  BrokenGround

  Angel is asking the questions now. She goes, 'How gutted are you, really? It's still so snatched, what you did.' That's her current word for 'good'.

  Max picks up three blocks and builds a quick podium. 'Would you prefer to win one gold medal or two silvers?'

  'One gold.'

  'Yeah. We were cruising the four by four hundred metre relay and lost it on the last leg because one guy grabbed his dick instead of taking the baton.' He knocks over the podium. 'One day I'm gonna read what Beth had to say about that night. Not today, though. Not for a long while.'

  BeardedWonderwall

  I wouldn't mind bedtime stories like that!

  So Best went and smashed Malm? because they wouldn't give him a loan?

  BrokenGround

  That's what Angel asked! He said no, he gets more bonus if College go through. It's nothing to do with who the oppo is. She said, but if they had given you the loan would you have done it? He said today's not a day to imagine the counter-factual, which she found super annoying but which made her laugh. The Emiliano guy is watching their interactions really closely. I think he's starting to realise that Max is, like, not the husk of a demented babysitter.

  TexanWrexun

  Get his surname!

  BrokenGround

  How would I do that without sounding like a crazy person?

  TexanWrexun

  You're a smart fella! Work it out!

  BrokenGround

  Hold up, Max just decided that we're all going to the park. If I can get the lad alone, it'll be easier to ask him.

  TexanWrexun

  Great.

  ***

  BangorOnMyDee changed the channel name to ITK (5 hours to go).

  MossValleyBoss

  I'm hearing we're not in for Chadwick any more. Couldn't agree personal terms. But we're balls deep into a move for Carlos Gardellini.

  JasonRhewl

  Right. That rules that one out, then. What a crock this channel is. ITK my arse!

  Stoop

  You're dead wrong, mate. The hierarchy of ITKs goes Oppenheim, Dylan, everyone else. The only thing is, Dylan doesn't know what he knows!

  BrokenGround

  Guys, it's all kicking off! We went to the park - the superagent, the kid, Angel in her perfume fantasy dress, me, Max carrying Jamie on his neck - but Max saw that two kids were playing on the swings and went, 'Fuck that, Jamie don't share'. So we went back to Sandra's house and people started turning up. It's MENTAL. It's bonkers and there are transfers happening. I'm In The Know, guys! And soon you will be, too. I just need a way to type it all out without it being obvious what I'm doing.

  LongThrowAGoGo

  Take your time, Dylan, there's ages to go.

  BrokenGround

  So we get back from the park. Oh, I forgot that Briggy didn't come with us. She said, nah, that's not for me, dog. So she let MD in. MD is Chester's managing director, and he's the money man behind Saltney Town. He must have made a killing from Max getting the team into the Europa League.

  Okay we're all back in the living room, mugs full of tea again. Max is trying to keep Jamie busy and out of danger. Sometimes we have to say things twice because he's, like, hovering behind the kid waiting for him to fall off a sofa or side table.

  MD sips his tea. 'Everything good, Max?'

  'Top. Nothing has ever been topper. Can't top this. Anyone got an MC Hammer CD?'

  Angel frowns. 'Why doesn't Sandra have a smart speaker? CDs are so 2010 or whenever.'

  MD shakes his head. 'Max, can we talk about transfers?'

  Max flops to the rug like he's diving for a penalty. 'On my day off?' he wails. Jamie thinks this is great, so Max grabs him and holds him up and pulls him in for a cuddle. 'Kick uncle Mike in the shins. If he doesn't yelp, we can talk about work.' Jamie laughs and points to the toys. 'Urgh, fine.'

  'We signed the paperwork with the Magpies.'

  I sit up straight. Chester bought players from Newcastle? Then I remember there's a team in Gibraltar. Not sure why my mouth starts running. 'You brought those guys to Chester? I thought they were a level below. All due respect,' I add, because Max doesn't seem pleased I've interrupted.

  'They're going to Saltney,' he says. 'A left-back and a striker. Fills the gaps in the squad. Crazily overpowered for the Welsh Prem, a bit underpowered for the Europa League. I have to fine-tune my skills when it comes to that stuff but they're by far the best players we could have got. It's a big, big win.'

  'Wow,' I say, which looks lame when I type it but I meant it.

  Don Pino punches the air. 'Yes!'

  Max smiles. 'What did you do, you cheeky scamp?'

  'Total agreement on Taffarel. Paperwork is going through as we speak. Ha.'

  'How much?' says Max, which even I know is not a suitable question.

  'Undisclosed,' says Don Pino, clamming up. He sort of creates a vacuum and it's a challenge. A threat.

  Max lies back on the rug and throws a ball up. After a while, he smiles and says, '34 million.'

  'No,' says Don.

  'Pounds.'

  Don frowns and taps on his phone. I swear I see a light sheen of sweat appear on his forehead. 'No,' he lies.

  Max laughs, throws the ball up, and lies with his hands behind his head as he kicks it from foot to foot, effortlessly, endlessly. 'MD, you happy with how Saltney's looking for the rest of the season?'

  MD can barely take his eyes off the ball. 'Uh, I think so. We've lost most of the loan players but Henry Dunston has extended until the end of the season.'

  'What?' I cry.

  Max is amused. 'What? You think he should be Wrexham's tenth-choice centre back? We're paying some of his wages. He's had Champions League qualifiers and he'll get eight Europa League games. It's amazing for him and Wrexham might get a transfer fee next summer instead of paying some other club to take him. It's a great deal all round.' He turns his head sideways and shows me all his teeth. It's annoying enough, except he's still doing kick-ups! 'Don't worry, Dylan. Don't have to thank me.'

  He chuckles as he faces upwards again, deciding he wants to switch to bigger kicks. Instead of biffbiffbiff the ball goes duff... duff... dufffff....

  'What about Magnus?' says Angel.

  MD says, 'He's staying at Saltney until January.'

  'Aww,' says Angel, which causes Max to miss one of his kicks. So he is human!

  He rolls onto his belly and looks up. 'You're gonna see him every day! What's the difference?'

  'I just like him.'

  Max scoffs and shakes his head. For once I agree with him. He falls still, closes his eyes, and mumbles, 'CA 97.'

  'What?' I say.

  He opens his eyes and is surprised to see us all there. 'Ummm. You know Soccer Supremo? They rate players and teams out of 200. Based on the squad they have now, Saltney could start a match with 97. It wouldn't be very balanced, but that's pretty good. Amazing, really. Being in Europe is quite a hack in terms of attracting players. We're paying quite a lot to those two because we think they will help us to get a couple of draws, and because of the coefficients. We got 5 and a half coefficient points from the qualifiers alone and if we do that for the next four years, we'll end up as the 77th ranked team in Europe, ahead of Dynamo Kyiv and Brighton. I mean, that's impressive.

  'The more we go like that, the easier it'll be to sign players. If we keep pushing the limits, we'll raise our ceiling and if we keep grafting, we'll raise our floor.' He looks up. 'Does this ceiling looked warped to you? Jamie spends most of his time under that light fixture, have you noticed? When it drops, he's gonna get it right in the skull.' Max rubs the back of his head.

  MD leans forward. 'Max, can you help me find something in the kitchen?'

  Max frowns. What an odd request! But then he jumps to his feet like a kung-fu fighter. He scans the room. 'Angel,' he says. 'You're subbing in for me.'

  'I'm in a fancy gown!' she complains. 'I'm in heels!'

  'What size are your feet?'

  She replies but I'm not typing the answer because of the pervert.

  Stoop

  Oh my God this is the cruellest thing you've ever done.

  BrokenGround

  Max points to Emiliano, then to the ceiling. 'Find a pair of size X trainers.'

  Angel sighs but unclasps her shoes and slides onto the rug. She rubs Jamie's head. 'Wow! It is bumpy!'

  Max and MD go into the kitchen and talk in secret. Discussing the sale of Wibbers, maybe!!!

  ManMeat

  I'm crazily invested in this! I wonder what they were talking about?

  ***

  Wearily, I followed MD into the kitchen, and closed the door behind us.

  He leaned on a counter and appraised me. "Taking your duties seriously, I see. Jamie is alive and well. It's going swimmingly!"

  "Mate!" I complained. "The little cretin doesn't understand the many ways the world can bite him on the arse. He needs constant vigilance! I don't understand how Sandra comes from this and puts in a full day of work at Bumpers."

  "Some might say it benefits her to know how to deal with a toddler who has no sense of self-preservation."

  I tried to work out what he was saying, but knew I could skip most of the steps. With a grin, I said, "Are you rinsing me?"

  He licked his bottom lip, enjoying the moment, but then he stared at some point on the tiled floor. "I can't believe we did it!"

  "We did fuck all," I said.

  He tutted. "Max, come on. We made 8.7 million pounds in eight weeks. No, you did. You made 8.7 million pounds in eight weeks. It's incredible."

  On Saturday, before the West Brom match, we had got together to go over the numbers to make sure we were singing from the same hymn sheet. We had spent 200,000 on wages during the qualifying period, which was artificially low because of my relationships with Chester and Bayern Munich, and because Wrexham were happy to have one of their players feature in the matches to be played at The Racecourse.

  The wages for the rest of the season would be lower on a per-week basis, but would come to a hefty 800K. We had committed to a 10% bonus, which totalled 870K. All the travel, hotels, food, and so on, had come to 150 grand. That left Saltney Town with a net profit of 6.68m as of the end of the playoff round.

  MD had invested 10 million pounds in turning a run-down building and some land into a high-quality training centre. The deal we had was that he would be paid 15 million by Saltney, which would bring ownership of the training centre and stadium back into the club's hands. He would also get 10% of the transfer fee profits generated for the next 20 years, excluding the 3 players bought with the money from Henri's syndicate. I had suggested to MD that the vast majority of his profit from this venture would come from his cut of the transfer fees, but as much as he trusted my skills, that felt a very nebulous promise.

  Before the match on Saturday, I had suggested that Saltney pay him 1.5 million this season. I could see in his eyes he had been expecting more, but the moment had passed. "I need it," I had whispered, unable to make eye contact. He had let it go, but now he wanted to pick up that thread.

  "Can I ask about your, ah, consulting fees? You're in line for 5.18 million from Saltney. What will you get from Gibraltar?"

  There was no reason to lie to him. "With College in the Europa League and the Magpies getting to the Third Round of qualifying, after costs and bonuses, revenue share with owners, all that jazz, I'll get 1.6 million. That's 6.78 million total from my UEFA scams."

  MD smiled. "That's a lot of money, Max."

  I looked away, picturing a referee holding up a red card. "Yeah," I said, glumly. "Better than a kick in the teeth."

  "What about tax?"

  "Yeah," I said. If the clubs dumped millions of pounds into my bank account in one go, I would get absolutely dicked in taxes. There were probably millions of ways to skirt the issue, and in general I wasn't averse to paying my fair share, but I'd prefer to save my mum's life first. "There are concepts," I said, vaguely.

  "Like what?"

  "Just, like..." I tried to remember some of the things Mateo and Henri's mum had been blabbing about. Only one came to mind. "Just as an example, if I wanted to do the stadium at West, I could set up a mini-bond to fund it, except the clubs in Gibraltar would, you know, buy all the bonds. The clubs already made 5.5 million in total, so the money's already there, in a way. They would basically be paying me up front for the next couple of years of work, and I would own a stadium worth five million and so on and so on. It's not a perfect solution, but it would seem to be pretty good in terms of not losing a huge whack to taxes right away. Henri's mum was talking about deliberately defaulting on the loan at the last minute so that I wouldn't have to repay the money and she would get a big loss that she could use as a tax write-off."

  MD was alternating between frowning and smiling. "It would ruin West's credit score, but they wouldn't need another loan for 30 years. You could move money around in an interesting way. I can see pitfalls, but I can see benefits. She's very clever, that woman!"

  "Yeah," I said.

  "We could still make a lot more money this season," he said. "Wins and draws in the Europa League come with significant rewards, and we will play four home matches at The Racecourse. If we draw Tottenham or similar clubs, we can make a good profit on ticket sales. I think another half a million is achievable, and depending on the draw, perhaps we could get up to a million. A million! That covers our entire wage budget. The prize money from winning the Welsh competitions could total a hundred grand, people are buying tickets to our home matches, and we're suddenly very appealing to sponsors. We could finish the season with more money than we planned. What do you want to do with it? You said you need it..."

  I scrunched up my face. "Yeah." A few quid here and there wouldn't help, though. "Whatever extra we make in the rest of the season, we put it into the club. Hire a couple of - what is it you call them? - marcomms people. Raise our profile. Let's low-key build a club that can fill the stadium. I was watching Wibbers wave his arms around at Celtic Park, demanding more noise from the away fans. But the away fans were Briggy and Angel and Dylan, right? A little bit of money might go a long way. Reinvest it. Create a few jobs." I sighed. "We have to go again next season. But better. Spend some money and we'll be able to rinse some sponsors. And you're always telling me that cash is king. The biggest problem companies have is running out of cash. So let's keep some lying around. What do you think? I'm too tired to read your face."

  "I agree. I'm happy to hear you being so reasonable. And I'm beyond happy to discover that you actually listen to me."

  "Mate," I said, in a whiny voice. "Don't be like that. You're my role model. I want to be like you." I looked at a tea towel, then my head snapped back towards MD. "What?"

  "I'm waiting for you to say something like, 'but more handsome'."

  I smiled and slapped him on the arm. "You're sex on legs, mate. Here's what I look like." I gripped a piece of paper that was attached to the fridge by means of a magnet, and pulled it off. It showed a load of mad squiggles. I pointed to a patch of energetic lines. "That's Jamie. Guess where I start and where I finish."

  MD laughed. "You're on the fridge, Max. That's something."

  I squashed my eyes closed. "I'm on the fridge and it's better than two gold medals. Let's get back to the living room before he smashes into something. That kid's head is so bumpy. Emma's mum has this thing by her sink. It's a weird metal thing, like a lumpy oval - I think she called it a stainless steel bar of soap - and when you've finished cooking you rub your hands with this thing and it takes away the odours. No, don't pull that face! It takes away the smell of whatever you've been touching. It's completely crazy but it works. Jamie's head feels like that, but your hands smell terrible when you're done rubbing it."

  When we went back into the living room, loads more people had turned up.

  ***

  BangorOnMyDee changed the channel name to ITK (4.5 hours to go).

  JasonRhewl

  Holy crap, I just saw an ITK who said that we're going in for Chadwick!

  MossValleyBoss

  I TOLD you. Oh ye of little faith!

  Stoop

  Actually you said we wanted him but when we called you out on your obvious fabrication, you backtracked. That's the problem with guys claiming to be ITK. They tweet that we're in for 100 players, get lucky twice, delete the other 98 posts.

  Dylan, ask Max Best what he thinks of Chadwick.

  BrokenGround

  There's no chance! Things here keep getting stranger. When he went into the kitchen to talk to MD, loads of people turned up. Even the guys who believe this is real won't believe what's happening. I need to listen carefully and type it all out when I get a minute. Back in a while.

  ***

  BangorOnMyDee changed the channel name to ITK (4 hours to go).

  BrokenGround

  It has finally settled down a bit. We're going to the park again. When I'm there I'll take a photo and type up all that madness.

  Stoop

  Aw, yeah! Here it comes!

  BrokenGround

  Right, I took a

  from far away so that you can't sell it to a newspaper or whatever. You can see Max and Angel on the roundabout with her dress going everywhere. The guy in the suit is Don Pino. Emiliano is on the bench, on the phone.

  JasonRhewl

  On the one hand, it's so far away it's not conclusive. On the other hand, it feels real. Huh. Okay, I'm listening.

  MossValleyBoss

  They don't sell dresses like that in Top Shop! Never a truer word spoken! Wow!

  Stoop

  Where's the kid? Jamie?

  BrokenGround

  He's on the slide near Don Pino. Goes up the stairs like a rocket, slides down really slow, big smile. Very cute.

  I'm gonna sit on the bench near the footballer and get his surname.

  Nope! As soon as I got there, he rushed off because the bottom of Angel's dress fell off the roundabout. He picked it up before it got too dirty. What a gentleman!

  Back to the story.

  I was up to the point where Max and MD came back in the room. Who had turned up? Brooke, Chester's blonde American finance lady. Ruth, Angel's agent. The Brig, Chester's head of performance, who is courting Ruth.

  And, get this, two football players! And I got both their names!

  Owen Elmham, this huge guy with yellow hair. Very strong Norfolk accent, talks slow, real farmer vibes. Oi've got a combine 'arvester, that kind of thing. He's a goalkeeper, isn't he? I've seen him around but he's crazy. Isn't he the crazy one?

  TexanWrexun

  Looking him up!

  BrokenGround

  And then do Lewis Lamarre. I think he's a left back, but that can't be right, can it? Chester have tons of those.

  Stoop

  I just gasped while reading this. All the bigwigs at Chester had to assemble to talk Best into, or out of, selling Roberts!

  BrokenGround

  His name didn't come up, but there's still plenty of time.

  Right, how did it start?

  Best shook hands with Owen Elmham and checked he knew everyone's name. 'This is Angel.'

  'I watched the documentary afore making my mind up,' goes the big, brutish farmer. The house seems too small for him, and for good reason - he is barn-sized. 'Good larf, that. Oi'll be in that, will oi?'

  'Nah,' says Max. 'It's for the women. They're more interesting than us, aren't they?'

  'You'll get no barney from me o'er that, lad! I'm pulling me hair out wond'rin why this here Angel's dressed as an Elie Saab perfume.'

  Angel goes from interested politeness to being Owen's biggest fan. 'That's right! That's what it was! How did you know?'

  'Oh, I've dated the odd model or three,' laughs the guy. He's so at ease in this room of strangers!

  Max gives him a sceptical look and goes, 'I wonder what it is they see in you?'

  Owen does a big smile. 'That'll be my giant... haystacks.' He gives Angel a wink. 'Roight. I'm to sign summat.'

  MD says, 'Is this one all done? Everyone's happy? We sign and announce it.'

  'Whoa,' says Max. 'Announce. Announce what? Why?'

  Brooke says, 'We need to tell the fans we've got another first-team goalie.'

  'On transfer day?' says Max, horrified. 'Like the rest of the plebs? We do things different round here. We announce the day after. We're not one of a thousand deals, lost in the mix, but we are the only news in town. That's the benefit of signing free agents.'

  Brooke moves her lips in a way that speaks of her finding some patience. 'Today is the day fans like to hear about transfers. It's the day that will have the maximum impact on ticket sales, interest, engagement.'

  'Owen?' says Max. 'Any preference?'

  TexanWrexun

  Owen Elmham, GK, age 36. Tons of Premier League experience, lots of controversy. Two seasons ago he was a backup. Last season he was third-choice. He could be amazing in the Championship, or he could be days away from hitting the cliff.

  Stoop

  There's nothing on Chester's socials about this.

  JasonRhewl

  Could be that Dylan has invented this whole exchange to cover for the fact that there won't BE an announcement, today, tomorrow, or ever.

  BrokenGround

  Owen says he doesn't care either way. Doesn't engage much with the media after all they've done to him. Max frowns at that, which makes me think he hasn't been fully briefed about Owen's life story. He picks Jamie up and asks the kid a question. 'Why are so many goalies called Owen?'

  Brooke says, 'Focus, Max.'

  He smiles. 'I am focussed. Focussed on my mission!' He places Jamie on Briggy, then turns to Angel. 'Be one of a thousand stories on deadline day, or the only story on a normal Tuesday. What do you want to be?'

  She considers it. 'It's not one of a thousand stories for Chester fans, is it? Yeah, they'll be watching the nonsense in the Prem and the gossip coming out of Wrexham, but when we announce, the fans will devour it. Better today when they're hyped.'

  Max looks up, down, says, 'Truth accepted. Let's get our ducks in a row, see how many announcements we've got, then bosh them out in 20 minute intervals. Let one wave of news and reaction crash over the fans... then hit them again.' He mimes talking into a handheld device. 'Hit them again!'

  Owen points at Max. 'Die Hard.'

  'You like movies, mate?'

  'Aye, oi do.'

  'Movies and models,' says Angel, smiling. This has a devastating effect on Emiliano, who has been kicked to the side of the room, sitting on the back of an armchair.

  'Hang on,' says Max. He stares at his phone. 'Soz, everyone. One sec.' He presses a button and takes a call. Imagine his eyes popping wider after almost everything he says. 'Max Best. Yeah. No, I'm off work today. Why would I do that? Sorry, is this a prank? Is this a radio station pranking me? How did you get this number?'

  Pause.

  'How many million? Are you - ? Like, is this a medical emergency you're having? Do I need to call you an ambulance, mate? No, I will get snippy because you do this every deadline day. Wait - didn't I ban you in January? I gave you a 7-month ban from calling me because you are the worst thing to happen to my blood pressure since the invention of streaky bacon.'

  Max starts counting on his fingers. How many months has it been? I see him mouthing the words January, February... The guy on the other end says something that stops the count.

  'Everyone has a what? Okay, here it is: one hundred million pounds. One hundred million or get off the phone! He's not for sale! He's not for sale! Why do you keep coming back at me like it's a tactic I'm doing? If you want him, come to Chester with a gun because the only way you're getting him is over my dead body, and by the way, even if you do that, the sale's not gonna happen today, is it? It's gonna happen after the funeral and an exhaustive process to find a new director of football.' Pause. Max grinds his teeth and gets quiet. 'That's your new bid, is it? Okay, here's my new bid. One hundred and one million. Yeah, I'm serious.'

  He puts the phone in his pocket, grimaces, stretches, tries to relax but ends up scowling again. He relaxes, finally.

  'Wrong number.'

  Stoop

  Mental.

  TexanWrexun

  In the season that Owen Elmham set a Premier League record for being the fastest goalie to make 100 saves, he also became the first player in the Premier League era to be sent off twice in a season for fighting his own team mates.

  BrokenGround

  Oof. I was only in the room with him for ten minutes but he seemed lovely. Attacking his own team? Are you sure that's the right person? Anyway, he seemed to like Max's phone manner. Brooke and Max took him into the kitchen to sign his contract.

  Brooke came back but the goalie didn't. The front door opened and closed but it wasn't just Owen leaving. Someone came in at the exact same time.

  Zoran Bratko, the Bayern Munich striker, poked his head in the living room. 'Max? Bathroom?'

  Max was in the middle of the rug, turning slowly as Jamie sprinted around him in a loop. 'Up the stairs. First on your right.'

  LongThrowAGoGo

  No way. No way is Chester signing a 100-million-pound striker. No way.

  RetiredRed

  If that happens, I'm gonna retire from football.

  BrokenGround

  All this time, Don Pino has been on his laptop, typing away, sometimes on his phone. When he sees Bratko, his jaw drops.

  Oh, and spare a thought for Lewis Lamarre. He's wedged in on the sofa between Don and Angel, and so far he's just had to wait his turn. Max looks at him now.

  'There used to be a tradition at Liverpool, where the manager would go in the dressing room and hurl a ball at someone and if they couldn't control it, he was dropped from the team. It wasn't squad rotation in those days. Dropped meant dropped. Out. Donezo.'

  Lewis looks like a nice boy, kind of a typical B-list footballer, if you get me.

  TexanWrexun

  Lewis Lamarre. Left back, 27. Highly rated as a youngster, his team turned down a ten million quid offer from Liverpool. They later sold him to Newcastle, where his performances were unimpressive. He got dropped, hasn't played for them since. He had a brief stint in Brazil (!!!) and now he's a free agent.

  RetiredRed

  Signing free agents who haven't played for years. Typical Jester. Tinpot little club.

  They came from non-league, and to non-league they will return.

  Stoop

  Amen.

  BrokenGround

  Well, look, I'm pretty sure Max had no interest in the lad. Remember he said this had a less than 1% chance of happening?

  Lewis goes, 'Are you gonna throw a ball at me to see if I can control it?'

  'Yeah,' says Max. 'And ask you to do 20 kick ups.'

  Lewis doesn't look too happy about it, but Angel gives him a little push, sort of encouraging, and a little nod, too. So he gets up, expecting Max to throw the ball really hard, but he gets Jamie ready and bounces the ball up at an easy height. Lewis does some kick ups while Max yells things. 'Jamie's excited! Jamie's loving this! Yeah! Is he too left-footed, Jamie? What do you think? Oh! Glory be! He's found his right foot. What a legend! Heh. Okay, Lewis. We're happy. Thanks.'

  Lewis is smiling weirdly, like he actually enjoyed that. Zoran comes down the stairs and pops his head in. He looks around the room and sees Angel in her dress, Don Pino in his suit, a lovelorn boy, babies at play, women reading quietly. 'English house still look like Jane Austen. I win 60 Euro from my mother.' He looks at Max. 'Thanks for bathroom.'

  That's it! He's about to leave. Just wanted to use the toilet! Max goes, 'Hey! Zoran, do me a favour.'

  'Yes.'

  'Lift Jamie high.'

  'High?'

  'Yeah, high. Jamie go to Zoran. He's gonna lift you up.'

  Jamie runs over to what I assume is a complete stranger and Zoran Bratko, one of Europe's top strikers, picks him up. They go into the hallways because the ceilings are higher, so all I know is what I hear. Jamie cackles with delight, twice. Zoran says, 'How many times?'

  'Two's great. Thanks!'

  Jamie runs back inside, giddy, and flops to his arse. 'Haha!' he goes.

  Max opens his mouth, but Zoran is back. 'Where is Emma?'

  'With some mates. I told her I needed to do this alone.'

  Emiliano sits up, eyes bulging, and looks around the room as though he's the only person who knows how crazy Max sounds. Zoran says, 'Briggy?'

  She's in the same spot. She looks up and goes, 'Oh, right!' She puts the iPad in her handbag and goes out. The front door closes.

  I point. 'What's going on there?'

  'Who knows what these foreigners get up to?' says Max. He looks at me. 'No offence.'

  'I'm not - ' I splutter, but I've fallen into his trap.

  He cackles - wonder where Jamie got it from - and looks at Lewis. 'Er... Brig. Can you babysit for one minute?'

  The Brig cricks his neck and cracks his knuckles, which makes Ruth laugh. The big soldier gets on the floor and starts assembling blocks on top of one another. Jamie slaps them over. The Brig patiently rebuilds. It's fascinating to watch, but then I realise Max and Lewis are gone.

  ***

  I closed the kitchen door behind us. "Sorry about all this," I said. "It's a bit manic."

  "This is Sandra Lane's house," said Lewis. "Where is she?"

  "She's gone to watch John Liner in our stadium. She didn't think it was funny what I did with him, so I hope she finds him funny tonight." I opened the fridge and peered inside. "They went for a fancy lunch, spent some time together doing whatever. Dinner and a show. Decent Monday, innit? And when she wakes up in the morning she'll have some new toys to play with."

  Lewis smiled. "Owen? Me? Both?"

  "That depends," I said.

  I wasn't really interested in signing another left back, but Lewis had got in touch with Ruth about joining R.E.M. Maybe a new agent was what he needed to get his career back on track? Lewis was damaged goods in some unknown way, but he had been a top prospect at one time. What had gone wrong? Was there still something there?

  The curse thought so.

  First, he wasn't just a left back, but could play all along the left of the pitch. Wing back, midfield, attacking midfield. He didn't look it, but he was a two-way player. Aff on speed - literally.

  His PA was 156, which was a big, big plus. And while his CA was 'only' 117, that could be explained. He hadn't played a match in England for years. If Chester signed him, we could get him back to his previous highest level pretty fast. What would that have been? CA 140 at least, surely? He had won awards in the Championship.

  "I need to blast through some questions."

  "Yeah."

  "You're a free agent. You're so desperate for a new club you've come here." I waved my finger around. "Why not go to the PFA thing? 8 weeks of training, the chance to shine. Show people like me you've still got it." He took in a breath but didn't know what to say. I went, "This will go better if you're totally honest. Go on, just hit me with it."

  He shifted his weight left and right while doing tiny nods. "Yeah, kay, it's just... It's beneath me. I won medals in athletics and football. I was the star in every team I ever played in. I know it sounds arrogant, but..."

  "I don't mind arrogance," I said. "But I do mind bad choices. If you were at the PFA trials I would have seen you ages ago and you could have played Champions League with me. You could have been there instead of Danny Prick and maybe we'd have got through instead of, you know, not."

  He did the shifty thing again. "Yeah. Something to think about."

  That seemed to be the end of that thread. "Okay. Er, when you got froze out by Newcastle, you went to Brazil for a bit. Only played a handful of games. What happened?"

  He clicked his tongue. "So frustrating, Max. I was, like, clubs in England won't touch me so fuck 'em, there are other countries. World's a big place. I went out there, felt like a million dollars, was loving it. Got injured almost straight away. Missed the start of the season, couldn't get it going. The clubs agreed to cancel the loan and I was stuck back in Newcastle, in the bomb squad."

  "Injury? You sure that's all it was? I've got that club's sporting director on speed dial, you know? I'm gonna check this. If there was something else, let me know, like, before I hear it from someone else."

  He nodded, but he was bristling. No-one believed in him, and no-one believed him. "I was aight, Max. I tried hard but it didn't work. Nothing else to say." He felt he was coming across too strong. I was his last hope, it seemed. He softened. "Honest."

  I leaned against the kitchen table, facing him. "Okay, last question."

  "Yeah."

  "The big one."

  "Yeah. You want to know what happened at Newcastle."

  I smiled. "Yeah. Everything starts with that, right? You struggled in the team when you got there. Pretty normal when you step up a level. I've got 20 players going through the same thing right now and it'll be the same again when we go from the Champ to the Prem. But you weren't so bad you got binned off completely, right? They let you rot in the reserves. Alan Turner was the manager who froze you out and while I don't like the guy - You know we have beef, right?"

  "Of course."

  "I don't like him but the only time he's been properly vindictive with a player was when one was a total dick to the club Turner used to manage, and when Turner took over Newcastle, that prick was there and Turner put him in the bomb squad. To me that's not a black mark against Turner, that's football karma." I noticed that every time I said the name of the former Newcastle manager, now in charge of England, Lewis winced. "So what happened?"

  He didn't want to say. It must have been something so horrific that it would put anyone off signing him. He took so long to reply that my mind went haywire trying to guess. Drink driving? It would have been in the news. Drugs? Would have been in the news. It had to be something the club would be able to hush up, but what could be so severe it warranted ruining his life?

  He didn't answer, and I mentally backed out of the deal. Lots of upside, but I didn't like the risk. He would take the same wages at Owen, another former Premier League player, a whopping 9,800 pounds a week. Half a million a year. For a player of his talent, that was cheap. He was a free agent, so there wouldn't even be a transfer fee. Owen was coming in for a year - a spectacular win for me and Chester, seeing as the guy was CA 134 - but it wouldn't make sense for me to take the same short-term approach with Lewis.

  Wherever he played, he would be blocking the paths of other players. Yeah, we could train him up, make him look good, but we would only guarantee ourselves a transfer fee if we gave him a 3-year contract. 1.5 million to sign a guy considered too toxic by every other club in England?

  Nah, dog.

  Nah.

  "All right," I said, pushing myself off the table. "I think - "

  The words tumbled out of him in a rush. "I slept with Alan Turner's daughter."

  ***

  BrokenGround

  Max has just burst back into the living room. 'Put up the bunting! Paint England flags on all the surfaces! It's a frabjous day!'

  Ruth jumps up from the arm of a chair. 'Are we on?'

  'We're on like Donkey Kong! Play the victory music!'

  He skips to the CD player, ejects, switches the disc, pushes one of the buttons, then another, and suddenly loud chimpanzee noises come out of the speakers. Max and Jamie act like monkeys for ten seconds before Ruth presses stop. She ejects the CD and looks at the label. 'Royalty-free animal noise sound effects. Why do you have - Actually, never mind. Do we have a deal, yes or no?'

  Max eyes us all, and it's clear that he's genuinely happy. He picks up a cylindrical block and holds it like a microphone. 'All right, lads, listen up. My favourite movie is Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead Good. A woman leaves her kids while she goes on a date, and we follow the brave, attractive main character who has to look after the kids while absolutely boshing the world of business. It ends with a big party at the house, attended by loads of crazy characters who shouldn't be there. No offence, Dylan.'

  'What?'

  'At the end of the party, everything turns to shit, but the babysitter is so warm and kind and creative that everyone forgives him and Lewis gets a three-year contract.'

  Ruth yelps, leaps into Lewis's arms, then does the same with the Brig. She eyes Don Pino, who's really enjoying himself, I think. 'Watch and learn, Don.'

  'I'm learning a lot.'

  MD is smiling, same as everyone. 'Don't we have enough left backs?'

  Max goes, 'Yeah but Lewis is oven-ready. We reheat him, let other clubs get a whiff of his delicious scent, and we sell him for five million quid in the summer. Lewis, bro, you're gonna pay for half of my new stand. Sound good to you?'

  'Delicious scent?' he says, sniffing himself, which makes two people laugh: Jamie and Angel.

  'Ah, amazing,' says Max, standing under the big light as though it were raining sheer bliss upon him. 'Who knew good things could happen to good people? Uh... to the park! You lot, go and sign documents and prepare social media posts. One every twenty minutes and all that stuff. We're going to the park, aren't we, Jamie? Aren't we, Jamie? Because it's Maxy Two-Signing's day off!'

  'Three,' says MD.

  'Huh? Oh, yeah. Three. Can't forget the big one.'

  Lewis looks interested. 'Who else is coming in?'

  Max frowns. 'Are you some kind of ITK on social media?'

  'I'm gonna play for Chester!'

  'You're gonna be registered to Chester. You'll play if you're selected. You'll be selected if you train properly.'

  Lewis takes this in the jokey spirit with which it was intended. 'All right, gaffer. All right. I can see the information is handled on a need to know basis. And I don't need to know,' he says.

  Stoop

  Christ, I need to know! It's driving me bonkers.

  And what the hell did they talk about in the kitchen? What makes Best go from not wanting the player to being over the moon about him in, what, a couple of minutes?

  BrokenGround

  I don't think we're ever going to know.

  JasonRhewl

  Do you think if Wrexham sign Chadwick, Ryan Reynolds is gonna play a CD of animal sounds and dance around?

  Stoop

  I bloody well hope so.

  ***

  BangorOnMyDee changed the channel name to ITK (3 hours to go).

  MossValleyBoss

  My sources are telling me we're close to getting Chadwick AND Gardellini.

  BeardedWonderwall

  Your sources, bloody hell, the state of people today. You mean your ketchup and your salad dressing? They chatting to you?

  MossValleyBoss

  I'm in the know, boys. What can I say? I'm the oracle round these parts.

  ***

  Don Pino said he would stand guard near the slide as little Jamie went up and down in a happy loop, and I took Angel over to the roundabout. I stood on the edge, and sometimes put my foot on the ground and gave us a push. We circled. The world changed behind her.

  "How's Henri's mum?"

  "Really good. Very, ah, determined. Busy. Bossy. Busy bossy."

  "Your dress is getting mangled."

  "I know. It's not really made to be worn. They were only gonna throw it out. At least it gets one day in the sun."

  I looked up. The sun was finally getting ready to call it a night. "Party's nearly over."

  "You all right?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Kinda. Listen, I need your advice."

  "On plug covers?"

  I smiled. "That, too. But, ah, I need money. Loads of money."

  "Are you in trouble?"

  "No. It's for my mum."

  "Oh."

  "Right. So, ah, I did all right out of UEFA but that's kind of me done for the season, you know? The men's team is done, your squad is sick. Like, Chester's fine, West is fine, etcetera. It's all brilliant but it's not anything that's gonna make me any cash this season, so I'm thinking I might have to do some things I wouldn't have considered."

  "Like what?"

  "Like celebrity boxing."

  She giggled. "Funny." I didn't laugh, so she turned stern. "You had better be joking, Max Best! You're still recovering from your last head injury."

  "Donnie Wormwood says - "

  "I don't care what he says! It's one thing you sparring with him but if he tries to put you in a boxing ring for real I'll take his dick."

  I rubbed my eyebrows. "I could get half a mill, Angel. For jabbing some washed-up celebrity in the mush a few times a minute. It's free money."

  "I'll quit. We'll go on strike. No. Pick something else."

  I sighed. "This... Fine. What else? What can I do that won't dilute my brand or whatever?"

  Her eyebrows twitched. "But you're really good at that. You've always given me good advice."

  "You can't scout yourself, right? It's easy to say what's a good fit for Angel, on and off the pitch. I don't even know what my brand is. Everyone sees what they want to see. What am I supposed to do with that? I need to make more money but don't want a million now if it stops me getting ten million later. If I get an offer to do something, can I come to you? I need someone smart to tell me for real whether it fits or whatevs."

  "What about Emma?"

  "She's too close, isn't she? And she would encourage me to do something stupid like those ice dancing shows so she could watch it with her friends while they all get smashed. She's top but she's got a twisted sense of humour. You're perfect."

  "Of course I'll help," she said, smiling brightly. "I always wanted to be a brand consultant! We can turn that brooding intensity into cash. Hey, that boy's coming over. Quick, what's his deal?"

  "Attacking midfielder, great player, no team work, total show pony, histrionics for days. Remember Tyson? He's that on a high level. His current club are sick of him. Don Pino wanted me to sign him and rehabilitate him, but nah."

  "He's Italian? We've got a spare ESC slot."

  "We don't. But he's got a British passport from some relative so that's not the issue."

  Emiliano rushed over, babbling, and he took Angel's dress off the ground and piled it onto the roundabout, as though that were any cleaner. He stood up, proud of himself.

  Jamie clambered up into the space in front of me, and Don Pino and Dylan wandered over.

  "Show me his reel," said Angel, magnificently.

  I tapped on my phone a few times and handed it over. She pressed play.

  Emiliano quickly realised what she was watching, and he grew about four foot taller.

  "Wow," said Angel, as she watched the best moments of the young man's career so far. "Holy shit! Fuck me! Whoa, top bins! Shit, I need to see that one again. Hey, quick feet! Oh, and he's strong, too." She was laying it on pretty thick, I thought, but maybe she was being sincere.

  "Here," I said, asking for my phone back. I loaded up another video.

  "No, mister," said Emiliano. "No, please."

  I shrugged and gave my phone back to Angel. She pressed play and watched a compilation I had prepared of the stupid brat making shit passes, shooting wildly, then flapping his arms about when teammates made mistakes. It was pretty brutal of me, but nothing compared to what Angel did.

  She handed the phone to me and turned away from Emiliano. About an inch, but the snub hit him with the force of a thousand exploding volcanos.

  Don Pino watched, taking it all in, then turned around to take another one of his calls.

  "Let's head home," I said. "Got to get the house ready for when Sandra gets back."

  ***

  BrokenGround

  Right, whoever this Emiliano kid is, Chester aren't signing him. I'm expecting three announcements. We're walking back to the house now.

  Wait, I'm gonna ask him about Wibbers.

  'Max, that phone call before, was that a bid for Wibbers?'

  'Don't know. I am learning how to delete unpleasant memories from my head. It's liberating.'

  'Come on. What I don't understand is why you're stringing the Chester fans along.'

  He smiles - I see it! He sorts his face out and tries to look innocent. 'What?'

  'You haven't registered for Chester as a player this season. Why?' I swear Don Pino has super-hearing. He is marching ahead of us but he slows, comes close enough to listen in.

  'I was in Sweden, mate. There's no rush, is there? I'm covered in bruises and shit.'

  'I know. I saw the photos Emma posted on Insta. When the referee lets the game flow. Brilliant. But okay, you were in Sweden for some of the time but you could have done it anyway. You didn't. And you left Wibbers out of the last squad knowing the fans would put two and two together to make...'

  'Four!' says Max. He punches the air. 'I'm great at maths, these days.'

  'Max, talk to me. Why are you aggravating your own fans?'

  His head jerks backwards in surprise. 'Aggravating? Nah, mate. I'm building an emotional world for them to live in. If they want to bury themselves in the world of transfers twice a year, and if that desperation and fear and hope connects them to the club more strongly, I'm gonna milk it. I'm tormenting them. I'm tickling them. I'm giving them what they say they want.' He laughs.

  'So Wibbers is staying?'

  'A lot could happen before now and the deadline.'

  'You're really annoying.'

  'Annoyingly good at babysitting.'

  'Wrex are on the verge of signing Chadwick and Gardellini. What do you think about them?'

  He stops walking, frowns. 'Chadwick's got three offers. If he chooses Wrex, it's because they drenched him with cash and good luck to him. Gardellini's going with Marseille. 8 million pounds? That seems low. He's way better than that. Huh. Strange. The market's pretty inefficient, Dylan.'

  'You were hard on the kid. You must have known he would want to impress Angel. Okay, you don't want to sign him but you don't need to crush him.'

  'I do want to sign him.'

  'What?'

  'I've ascended, mate. It took me years of effortful work to fix Tyson. Why work hard when you can let a beautiful woman do it for you? The kid's gonna go home and think, I never want that to happen again. I'm gonna become a team player extraordinaire. Right? Wouldn't you?'

  'And if he doesn't?'

  'If he doesn't, it's not my problem.'

  Max smiles as Don Pino picks up the pace again. He gives me a pat on the back and nods. I have played my role in the scene perfectly!

  I wish I knew what it was.

  Stoop

  I told you all!

  Dylan's the only ITK who doesn't know he's in the know!

  ManMeat

  OppDrop!

  OppDrop!

  OMG there's been an OppDrop!

  Stoop

  @OppenheimSportsman: Wrexham have achieved total agreement for the signing of Chadwick. Initial fee expected to be in the region of 15 million pounds. He rejected offers from two other clubs.

  JasonRhewl

  Fuck me, that's what Dylan said!

  Stoop

  He's beginning to beliiiiiiieeeeeeeeve!!!!

  RetiredRed

  How does Best know?

  TexanWrexun

  He's ITK.

  All right, facts and figures for Chadwick, incoming!!

  ***

  Chester FC are delighted to announce the signing of experienced Premier League shotstopper Owen Elmham. He joins the club on a 1-year deal. Manager Max Best said of the deal, "Owen't you pleased to see him? Owen't. Aren't. Well, what do you expect? It's my day off!"

  ***

  We went into Sandra's living room and flopped onto the sofas. Emiliano stared at the blocked-up fireplace and the chimney breast. It was the only breast he would be seeing any time soon.

  Lol.

  Actually, wait. Cut that.

  Don Pino scanned the latest news on his laptop, then spoke rapid Italian to the lad. He clapped back, but another blast from Don made him get to his feet. He took a breath and went into the kitchen.

  'He makes coffee,' said Don.

  I made eye contact with Angel and jerked my head towards the door. She frowned. Really? I nodded. Yes, really. She stood up, her gold dress coming to the end of its final journey. It had been a hell of a ride. Angel tapped the side of her cheek while she considered her role. "Team?" she said.

  "Team," I said.

  "What do you want from him?"

  "He's got a months to suffer until the January window, and his contract's up in the summer. So he's unhappy, so what? He can train. He's got coaches and physios and a psychologist and a gym. He can get better and sort his mentality out while he's at it."

  She pursed her lips. "All of the first video, none of the second."

  "Bingo."

  She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Piece of piss."

  She went out, closing the door behind her. I turned to Don Pino. "Okay. Why are you here?"

  He gave me a flat smile and indicated the doorway. "For that."

  "Sure."

  Jamie was starting to flag, finally. In about ten minutes I would kick everyone out, gather all my stuff, and put him to bed. Then I'd come down here with fake reading glasses on and when Sandra and Aiden came in, I would ask them what all the fuss was about. 'Kids? Easy.'

  Dylan stirred and read aloud from his phone. "Chester FC is delighted to announce that Lewis Lamarre has signed on a 3-year deal. The former Newcastle United player hopes to force his way into the England team. That's optimistic, isn't it?"

  I kept a straight face - I think. "Optimistic is one word."

  Dylan sighed as he scrolled around. "Here I am with two of the biggest movers and shakers in football and I don't know the first thing that's going on."

  Don Pino smiled. "Do you want to be ITK, Dylan?"

  He got a bit sheepish. "It's not bad, is it? Everyone trusting you. Looking forward to when you speak."

  Don leaned back, nodding. He liked that answer and he liked that feeling. I said, "Dylan, if you want to be ITK, you need to be in the room where it happens. Do you get it?"

  "Get what? Was that a joke?"

  I shook my head, frustrated. "To be ITK, you need to be ITK."

  "What on Earth are you blabbing about?"

  "What was the room where everything happened today?" He still wasn't getting it. "Mate! You need to be ITK. In the kitchen!"

  Dylan stared straight ahead, horrified at how bad my 'joke' was. Angel and Emiliano came back in. "Perfect timing," said Dylan. "Angel, it's time to go. I never expected to be here all day and I'm bloody starving."

  "Oh?" said Don Pino, perking up. "Hungry?" He looked from Angel to me and a playful smile crossed his lips. "Are you sure you don't fancy an Italian?"

  ***

  BangorOnMyDee changed the channel name to ITK (1 hour to go).

  Stoop

  The big Chester news is out!

  And I've just worked out why Zoran Bratko was in town. He was getting treatment with Chester's magic physio and then he's gone out to dinner with the German contingent. Briggy, Peter Bauer... and his teammate from Bavaria. Right?

  RetiredRed

  Hold up. We're paying silly money to buy squad players from Everton, while Jester are getting Champions League players? Are we sure we're winning the transfer window, lads?

  ***

  @Chester_FC. We are delighted to announce that the Bayern Munich star Cheb Alloula will join us on loan for the rest of the season! The versatile Algerian international has played under Max Best twice before and is keen to get regular first-team minutes at a challenging level. Manager Max Best said, "Chester? You're welcome."

  ***

  Post-Transfer Window Squad List