Steph, Steph Besant, you do remember me, don’t you?’
A challenge or was she mocking him?
‘Yes, of course. How are you?’
‘I owe you. Do you want to collect?’
Her theory about Wayne? He had just about made his mind up that there was nothing to it.
‘I’m at the ground now. Wayne is getting some injections or something. You work for the club, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
‘Then get your arse down here. I’ll be sitting in the Main Stand in thirty minutes time. If you’re there I’ll tell you what I know.’
Erasmus threw the cigarette on the floor and ran down the street heading for the Cunard Building and his car.
CHAPTER 11
The fog that had settled over the city meant that Erasmus didn’t see the stadium until he was so close that it suddenly loomed up out of the greyness like an ancient ghost ship in a sea fog. He parked in the executive car park and made his way into the quiet and empty ancient stadium. The security guard lounging at the player’s entrance didn’t recognise him but a quick flash of the pass that Ted had given him and he was soon in the bowels of the stadium heading for the treatment rooms under the main stand.
The stadium was old, very old. The corridors were narrow and utilitarian, cutting-edge design in 1892 but now an anachronism in the world of super slick corporate stadiums. This wasn’t one of the new shiny, modern structures funded by oligarch’s billions. It was a relic of a world past, of workingmen’s dreams and hopes. Well, that was what a slightly hurt Pete had told Erasmus when he had commented on the age of the place.
Apart from the security guard there seemed to be no one else around. It was a Wednesday evening and there was no game on but Erasmus would have expected something to be happening, a corporate event of some kind perhaps, but there was nothing. His footsteps echoed off the concrete passageways as they wound down deeper under the main stand.
After two minutes of walking without seeing another soul he eventually reached the lower area where the treatment rooms were located. The rooms were far below pitch level. Erasmus stepped close to the farthest door. He could hear the low muffled sound of two voices coming from inside. He knocked on the door.
The voices stopped and for a few seconds there was silence and then the door opened. A middle-aged and immaculately groomed Asian man in a dark grey suit stood before Erasmus. His lips were pursed in annoyance.
‘Hello, can I help you?’ said the man in the finest public school accent that money can buy.
Behind the man, sitting on a treatment table, was Wayne. His left shirtsleeve was rolled up and he looked flushed. He waved at Erasmus.
‘Raz, how are you?’
‘Hi, I’m Erasmus,’ he said to the Asian man and then smiled at Wayne. ‘Hi Wayne, how’s your head?’
‘Bad, but not as bad as it would have been if you hadn’t got me out there in time. I am rubbish at those drinking games!’
Cheery as ever, even with a needle in his arm. Wayne was similar in so many ways to the squaddies he had worked with over the years. Take away the fame and the fortune and you were left with the same raw material, a young, idealistic kid who needed training to deal with the trials life was going to put in your way.
‘I am Dr Khan. We are in the middle of a session here.’
Polite but assertive. Very officer class
, thought Erasmus.
‘I didn’t know Wayne was injured?’
Dr Khan’s expression didn’t change.
‘I can’t talk about his treatment. Patient confidentiality. You understand, of course.’
Wayne leaned over the side of the bed.
‘I’m not injured, Raz, Dr Khan just gives me vitamin shots, tests my blood, that sort of thing.’
Dr Khan’s eyes flickered ever so slightly in annoyance but he still stood blocking the door to his domain.
‘Is Steph around? Ted wants her to do a piece in the programme about being Wayne’s girlfriend that sort of thing,’ said Erasmus.
‘Good luck
A challenge or was she mocking him?
‘Yes, of course. How are you?’
‘I owe you. Do you want to collect?’
Her theory about Wayne? He had just about made his mind up that there was nothing to it.
‘I’m at the ground now. Wayne is getting some injections or something. You work for the club, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
‘Then get your arse down here. I’ll be sitting in the Main Stand in thirty minutes time. If you’re there I’ll tell you what I know.’
Erasmus threw the cigarette on the floor and ran down the street heading for the Cunard Building and his car.
CHAPTER 11
The fog that had settled over the city meant that Erasmus didn’t see the stadium until he was so close that it suddenly loomed up out of the greyness like an ancient ghost ship in a sea fog. He parked in the executive car park and made his way into the quiet and empty ancient stadium. The security guard lounging at the player’s entrance didn’t recognise him but a quick flash of the pass that Ted had given him and he was soon in the bowels of the stadium heading for the treatment rooms under the main stand.
The stadium was old, very old. The corridors were narrow and utilitarian, cutting-edge design in 1892 but now an anachronism in the world of super slick corporate stadiums. This wasn’t one of the new shiny, modern structures funded by oligarch’s billions. It was a relic of a world past, of workingmen’s dreams and hopes. Well, that was what a slightly hurt Pete had told Erasmus when he had commented on the age of the place.
Apart from the security guard there seemed to be no one else around. It was a Wednesday evening and there was no game on but Erasmus would have expected something to be happening, a corporate event of some kind perhaps, but there was nothing. His footsteps echoed off the concrete passageways as they wound down deeper under the main stand.
After two minutes of walking without seeing another soul he eventually reached the lower area where the treatment rooms were located. The rooms were far below pitch level. Erasmus stepped close to the farthest door. He could hear the low muffled sound of two voices coming from inside. He knocked on the door.
The voices stopped and for a few seconds there was silence and then the door opened. A middle-aged and immaculately groomed Asian man in a dark grey suit stood before Erasmus. His lips were pursed in annoyance.
‘Hello, can I help you?’ said the man in the finest public school accent that money can buy.
Behind the man, sitting on a treatment table, was Wayne. His left shirtsleeve was rolled up and he looked flushed. He waved at Erasmus.
‘Raz, how are you?’
‘Hi, I’m Erasmus,’ he said to the Asian man and then smiled at Wayne. ‘Hi Wayne, how’s your head?’
‘Bad, but not as bad as it would have been if you hadn’t got me out there in time. I am rubbish at those drinking games!’
Cheery as ever, even with a needle in his arm. Wayne was similar in so many ways to the squaddies he had worked with over the years. Take away the fame and the fortune and you were left with the same raw material, a young, idealistic kid who needed training to deal with the trials life was going to put in your way.
‘I am Dr Khan. We are in the middle of a session here.’
Polite but assertive. Very officer class
, thought Erasmus.
‘I didn’t know Wayne was injured?’
Dr Khan’s expression didn’t change.
‘I can’t talk about his treatment. Patient confidentiality. You understand, of course.’
Wayne leaned over the side of the bed.
‘I’m not injured, Raz, Dr Khan just gives me vitamin shots, tests my blood, that sort of thing.’
Dr Khan’s eyes flickered ever so slightly in annoyance but he still stood blocking the door to his domain.
‘Is Steph around? Ted wants her to do a piece in the programme about being Wayne’s girlfriend that sort of thing,’ said Erasmus.
‘Good luck
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