that there’s no room for any doubt that he killed himself. And in case that seems a rather laborious matter of dotting the “i”s and crossing the “t”s, it is; however, we live in an age of conspiracies and it won’t be long before someone who read a book called Who Killed Kurt Cobain? Or Who Killed Princess Diana? Or Who Killed Michael Jackson? is tempted to write a book called Who Really Killed Matt Drennan? That’s what I’m hoping to avoid. For his sake. For the sake of his family and friends.’
‘Fair enough. And I appreciate you saying so.’
‘I’m glad you think so. I certainly wouldn’t like you to sue the Met again because of my incompetence or dishonesty.’
I nodded. ‘I’m beginning to see why they sent you to see me.’
‘Oh, good. Then we’re making progress.’
‘You are. I’m not sure about the Met.’
‘Do you mind if I ask you a question you might find a little insensitive?’
‘You mean the comments about Drenno being a waste of space weren’t?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
I shrugged. ‘Be my guest.’
‘Thank you. Well then, it’s this. I’m puzzled. You have a university degree. You speak several languages. You live in a fifteen-million-pound apartment in Chelsea. Why would someone as obviously successful as you, Mr Manson, still have a friend who was as big a loser as Matt Drennan?’
‘That’s not insensitive. It’s just a little ignorant of what football is about, Miss Considine. You see football is an international club, a fraternity – a bit like the Freemasons. Wherever you go it’s almost inevitable that you’ll run into someone you once played with, or against. Matt Drennan was my team mate. What’s more, he was the only team mate who came to see me when I was in prison. He came even though he’d been advised by the people who were trying to manage his image not to come. At that time it was me who was the loser, not him. I was scum. A rapist. That picture by Peter Howson. That’s what people thought of when they thought of me. Everyone but Drenno. Not many people know it, but Drenno lost a sponsorship deal with a pharmaceutical company because he came to see me in the nick. So, for all his faults, he had a good heart and I loved him for it.’
She nodded and placed her coffee cup on the low table in front of her.
‘Thanks for your help,’ she said. ‘And thanks for the excellent coffee. By the way, did you win yesterday?’
‘Yes. We won. 8–0.’ I smiled. ‘That’s good, by the way. Very good. In case you were wondering.’
11
In the week leading up to the Newcastle match, Kenny Traynor arrived at the club and gave his first interview on the Press Bureau TV Sports Channel. Our new goalkeeper was a big fair-haired lad with an easy smile and an accent that was as thick as the head on a pint of heavy. When he spoke it was like listening to Spud in Trainspotting . As a result Zarco insisted on my appearing with them in front of the invited newsmen, to translate , which added a usefully comic touch to these dull proceedings. Otherwise it was the usual bullshit about how Traynor was ‘really looking forward to the challenge of the Premier League and working with a world-class manager like João Zarco’. Asked why he had decided to join City instead of another club like MUFC, Traynor made no mention of fifty thousand quid a week, but instead talked about the quality of the squad and the attractions of living in a great city like London. Asked what he thought he could achieve at a club like London City – which is more or less the same question, when you think about it – Traynor declared he wanted to keep a clean sheet for as long as possible and to help City to win the Premier League. Champions League… FA Cup… Zzzzz.
Traynor and Zarco were also filmed in the doorway of Hangman’s Wood holding up Traynor’s new silver goalkeeping shirt with his name on the back. That’s the thing I hate most about football: the clichés. You
‘Fair enough. And I appreciate you saying so.’
‘I’m glad you think so. I certainly wouldn’t like you to sue the Met again because of my incompetence or dishonesty.’
I nodded. ‘I’m beginning to see why they sent you to see me.’
‘Oh, good. Then we’re making progress.’
‘You are. I’m not sure about the Met.’
‘Do you mind if I ask you a question you might find a little insensitive?’
‘You mean the comments about Drenno being a waste of space weren’t?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
I shrugged. ‘Be my guest.’
‘Thank you. Well then, it’s this. I’m puzzled. You have a university degree. You speak several languages. You live in a fifteen-million-pound apartment in Chelsea. Why would someone as obviously successful as you, Mr Manson, still have a friend who was as big a loser as Matt Drennan?’
‘That’s not insensitive. It’s just a little ignorant of what football is about, Miss Considine. You see football is an international club, a fraternity – a bit like the Freemasons. Wherever you go it’s almost inevitable that you’ll run into someone you once played with, or against. Matt Drennan was my team mate. What’s more, he was the only team mate who came to see me when I was in prison. He came even though he’d been advised by the people who were trying to manage his image not to come. At that time it was me who was the loser, not him. I was scum. A rapist. That picture by Peter Howson. That’s what people thought of when they thought of me. Everyone but Drenno. Not many people know it, but Drenno lost a sponsorship deal with a pharmaceutical company because he came to see me in the nick. So, for all his faults, he had a good heart and I loved him for it.’
She nodded and placed her coffee cup on the low table in front of her.
‘Thanks for your help,’ she said. ‘And thanks for the excellent coffee. By the way, did you win yesterday?’
‘Yes. We won. 8–0.’ I smiled. ‘That’s good, by the way. Very good. In case you were wondering.’
11
In the week leading up to the Newcastle match, Kenny Traynor arrived at the club and gave his first interview on the Press Bureau TV Sports Channel. Our new goalkeeper was a big fair-haired lad with an easy smile and an accent that was as thick as the head on a pint of heavy. When he spoke it was like listening to Spud in Trainspotting . As a result Zarco insisted on my appearing with them in front of the invited newsmen, to translate , which added a usefully comic touch to these dull proceedings. Otherwise it was the usual bullshit about how Traynor was ‘really looking forward to the challenge of the Premier League and working with a world-class manager like João Zarco’. Asked why he had decided to join City instead of another club like MUFC, Traynor made no mention of fifty thousand quid a week, but instead talked about the quality of the squad and the attractions of living in a great city like London. Asked what he thought he could achieve at a club like London City – which is more or less the same question, when you think about it – Traynor declared he wanted to keep a clean sheet for as long as possible and to help City to win the Premier League. Champions League… FA Cup… Zzzzz.
Traynor and Zarco were also filmed in the doorway of Hangman’s Wood holding up Traynor’s new silver goalkeeping shirt with his name on the back. That’s the thing I hate most about football: the clichés. You
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