On the way upstairs, I passed a picture hanging in the hall that grabbed my attention. ‘Cannis Dury, Scottish Cup Final 1978’, it said on the frame. How had I missed this? I stared at the photo for a full minute. He’d just scored. None of the Ryan Giggs making a lasso of his shirt. Was barely a glimmer of recognition in his eye. The only reason I knew he’d scored was that he had the ball under his arm. Back to the centre line, more work to do. No messing. That’s how he played.
My father had a rep as a studs first sweeper; shouted himself silent every game. Would have made Vinnie Jones look like a shandy drinker. I once met one of his old adversaries, who summed him up in one word: ‘Fierce.’ I’d never been able to better that.
I turned the picture to face the wall.
I had the key to the flat in my hand as my mobile started ringing.
‘Hello?’
‘Ah, ’tis your bold self!’
‘Milo?’
‘Who did ye think it was? There’s not many have the brogue as thick as me, not since Dave Allen passed, anyway.’
I gave a little laugh. ‘It’s good to hear from you.’
‘Bollocks, isn’t it the life of Riley you’ll be living, not a care in the world, lest of all for an old pot-walloper like m’self.’
He had me, but I couldn’t disguise how glad I was to hear his voice. ‘So how are you, buddy?’
A hacking cough, chased by peals of laughter. ‘Oh, grand, grand. Doctors reckon I’ve weeks ahead of me!’
His patter sounded tremendous for the age of him and the life he led. I couldn’t admire him more. ‘Stop, you’re killing me!’
‘I’ll stop now, I will. To be serious for a second, Gus…’ Milo’s voice dropped to the pits of him, his words came like tremors to my ears, ‘I was wondering, well, hoping really, if you could oblige me-’
I cut him off. ‘Name it, Milo.’
‘Well it’s — you’ll think I’m such an old fool.’
‘Never.’ He had me concerned, he began to sound so fearful. ‘What is it?’
‘If you had some time free, Gus, would you ever be able to pay me a little visit?’
‘Sure I would. God, Milo, it would be a pleasure. Didn’t I say I’d be round soon enough?’
‘No, Gus, you misunderstand. I don’t mean a social visit.’
‘What?’
I heard him shuffle the phone from hand to hand, then his voice sank to barely a whisper, ‘There are some very strange things afoot here.’
‘You’ll have to speak up, I can hardly hear you.’
More shuffling of the phone, then, ‘Some very young women, pale as ghosts they were, and-’ He stopped dead.
‘Milo? Milo, you still there?’
‘I can’t really say any more — it’s the cute hoor.’
‘Gotcha. Stalin’s about?’
‘Ahem, yes, that’s right.’
My mind flipped back to Milo’s black eye. ‘I swear, if that bastard has laid a finger on you-’
‘No, Gus, sure I’m fine — right as rain!’
I sensed he overstated things, he sounded clearly distressed by something. ‘I’ll be round right away.’
‘No! Jaysus, would ye ever listen? Amn’t I fine? All I’m saying is I’d like to get your considered opinion on something.’ He had started to choose his words too carefully for my liking, I could tell he feared they might land him in trouble. ‘When ye have a moment, just drop by. I will look out for you. Goodbye for now.’
He hung up before I could say another word.