Sprawled on the sofa with the evening newspaper wouldn’t be everyone’s idea of an idyllic lifestyle. It wasn’t mine either, but I was tired after a long day on the site, I hadn’t changed my clothes and I was covered in dust from head to toe. The sofa suited me just fine.

I had my kids for the midweek evenings while my ex worked the night shift at the local pub. My son, Gary, aged seven, had gone to his first training session with the local football club. My daughter, Charlie, nine, was down in her friend’s house doing God knows what.

I was just getting into an interesting story about government corruption when I heard a knock on the hall door.

“Who the fuck is this?” I muttered to myself as I untangled myself from the sofa.

I opened the door to be greeted by a gaggle of females. I looked from one to the other. A bear wouldn’t hug any of them. The largest of them decided to speak.

“Are you Derek?”

“No.”

“Is young Gary Caldwell your son?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Oh, sorry. We must have got the wrong house.”

They walked away and I closed the door. I went into the kitchen, thinking I’d cook myself some food. I opened the fridge and took some leftover lasagna out with a view to microwaving it. There was another knock on the door. I opened it while still carrying the lasagna. It was the ugly gang again.

“What now?” I asked.

“You are Derek Caldwell. Gary told us.”

“Ok, he’s grounded.”

“You told us a lie.”

“Shoot me. Now what do you want?”

“The manager of the football team has to give it up because of his job. Your Gary, said you’d manage them.”

“He’s seven. He’d say anything.”

“Well they’re all over on the green waiting for you.”

“I’m not doing it. Some of us have to work for a living, you know.”

“You have to, there’s nobody else.”

“What are you paying?”

“Nothing, it’s voluntary.”

“Yeah. Fuck off. I’m about to cook my dinner.”

A man on crutches struggled up the path. The women made way for him to reach the door. He was carrying a plastic bag that obviously held a white football.

“How do, Derek? I’m Paddy Brown, welcome to the club.”

“Paddy there’s some mix-up here, I know nothing about football. In fact, I couldn’t kick snow off a rope.”

The ugly gang stood and listened as we spoke, I looked at them.

“Do you mind? We’re having a conversation here.”

They walked out and congregated at the gate. I brought Paddy inside.

“I know who you are,” he said.

“No you don’t.”

“Derek Caldwell. Kilmore Boys, Home Farm, Liverpool, Bohemians.”

“How do you know that?”

“Do you remember playing against United at The Cliff about fifteen years ago? A reserve match?”

“No.”

“You scored twice against Jimmy Rimmer.”

“No. It was three.”

“It was two.”

“Paddy, it was fucking three. The free from outside the box? Top left corner?”

“No that wasn’t you. I was at that game.”

“Have you got a minute?”

“Yes.”

I ran upstairs and got a newspaper out of a storage box in my bedroom. I opened it out and held it up for him to read.

“There’s the match report in the Liverpool Echo. Read it.”

“Shanks’ Great White Hope. That’s right. What happened to you over there?”

“I’m about to have my dinner, Paddy. Would you mind fucking off!”

“What about the kids?”

“What about them?”

“You can’t leave them standing over there.”

“That sounds like a you problem. I didn’t sign up for that.”

“I know. This is how we all get dragged in.”

“Look, I’m tired and filthy after work. I am not doing this today. You go over and let them have a kick about and I’ll take them on Thursday. If you can get a manager for the team in the meantime, do it. I can’t commit to it.”

“Grand. Thanks Derek. I’ll see you then.”

“Why are you on crutches?”

“My knees. I’m on the list for two new ones.”

He left and I watched as he got among the kids. They all knew him as Mr. B and he showed them what to do by waving his sticks around like a conductor in front of an orchestra. It reminded me of Johnny Sherlock when I was a kid, doing the exact same thing and getting the exact same reaction. It struck at my soul.

I watched as people came up and shook his hand, mothers with children looking for a chat or information. He loved it. He spent an hour with them, finishing with a congregation standing around him, listening to him speak with rapt attention. He occasionally pointed at my house and his watch before handing the ball to Gary, and heading away to the other side of the river that gave Bonnybrook its name.

Gary came in, all piss and vinegar. He was babbling away about Mr. B and two goals that he had scored. I wondered if I had ever been that excited, but he was happy. From my window, I could see my father in him.

Years of standing on a sideline on a Sunday afternoon, watching him doing his thing on the left wing had burned his body shape and playing style into my brain, Gary had the exact same form. They were both left footed and were pretty assertive, the main difference was, I felt, that my father had taught himself to use both feet. I’d have to do that for Gary.

I microwaved the lasagna and brought it into the sitting room. I handed a plate of it to Gary and he looked like I had shot him.

“I don’t like this, Da. Can I have waffles or something?”

“For fuck sake, Gary. It won’t kill you.”

“Are you going to be the manager?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mr. Brady had to stop because he got a new job. He was a great manager. He played for Bonnier when he was young. He knows everything about football.”

“Does he?”

“Yes. Did you ever play for anyone, Da?”

“Run down and get Charlie. She has homework to do. I’ll make some waffles while you’re gone.”

I fed the kids and set about tidying the house up. Gary had thrown his football bag into a corner of the kitchen. I picked it up and had a look inside. I took the boots out, they were filthy with dried mud, caked into and between the studs. I brought them into where he sat picking his nose and eating a biscuit.

“Gary! Look at the state of your boots. Get off your arse and clean them.”

“I can’t. It’s too hard.”

“If I’m the manager I’ll be making rules. One of them is about boots being clean. You’ll be dropped if you come training, or to a match, with dirty boots.”

“But nobody cleans their boots,” he whined.

“I’m looking forward to this on Thursday now. I’m going upstairs. Don’t disturb me.”

“What are you going?”

“I’m making rules.”

At about 8:00 there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see an older man wearing a fedora on his head. He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Billy Judge, chairman of Bonnybrook Boys.”

I had a recollection of the name. I shook his hand.

“Come in, Billy,” I said, and opened the door wider to allow him bring a large kit bag through.

We went to the kitchen.

“Tea?”

“I prefer coffee,” he said with a cheeky grin.

“It’s in the press and the kettle is over there. Make your own coffee.”

“You haven’t changed much, Del.”

It was a long time since someone called me Del. I looked at him closely without recognition.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“No, Billy, I don’t.”

“John Oglesby and I tried to sign you when you were a kid.”

“I remember John. Good guy.”

“Yes, but you told him to fuck off.”

“He never held it against me.”

“We could have won everything if you signed.”

“I did win everything, Bill, in the A league. Your lot were a C team at best.”

“What happened to you in Liverpool, Del?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I heard you developed a problem with drink.”

“Did you? Who told you that?”

“I can’t remember.”

I sat down and looked at him. Maybe it wasn’t such a secret after all. He closed the kitchen door, pulled his chair over near me and sat down. He placed his hand on my knee.

“Do you go to meetings, son?”

“Sometimes, when I can.”

“You’re welcome at mine.”

“Thanks, Bill. I’ll pass.”

“I understand. If you’re ever feeling it, here’s my number.”

He handed me a card. I squeezed his hand.

“I appreciate that, Billy, thanks, now what's in that filthy bag you dragged into my house?"

"Gear. I won't open it now. A few balls and stuff for training. I'm looking forward to watching this team, if they play anything like you did."

"They're only seven, Billy. Let them enjoy it for a while."

He looked through me.

"I'm looking forward even more to seeing you in action on the line. You were a contentious little bastard when you were younger.”

"Nobody likes losing, Billy, especially me. Drink that fucking coffee, will you?"

He laughed and took a sip.

"You'd be a good addition to the committee, you know."

"Yes, and pigs might fly."

"Do you still have your caps?"

"I have a few, most of them are up in my parent's house."

"Do you have the one for the match against Holland when you scored a hat trick?"

"I don't know, I might have. Why?"

"I was at that game. You were brilliant. If it was me, I'd frame that one with the match report from the Indo."

"I never saw that."

"I have it at home, if you want a copy."

"Aw yeah. That'd be fantastic."

"What time is training on Thursday?"

"Mr. B is sorting that out."

"I'll drop over and have a shout."

"See you then, don't shout anything abusive."

"We could sell tickets for this, Del."

"I’d want half, Billy, now get out of my house."

"Where's the little woman tonight?"

"She's been gone a while, Bill."

"Sorry to hear that."

He left the house. I thought about the conversation for a while and then let it go. The past was in the past. I rounded the kids up and sent them to bed and switched the TV off, preferring the radio instead. At 9.30 there was another knock on the door. I opened it to find a young woman holding the hand of a young boy.

"Are you the new manager of the Under 8's?" she asked.

"I believe so, but I haven't signed the contract yet."

"Is there room for one more player?"

"Is it him?" I pointed at the scrawny little urchin with the surly mouth.

"Yes, his name is Graham."

"There's loads of room, what's your name?"

"Cilla."

I shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Cilla. Yes, there's loads of room. I'll be sorting them out on Thursday. Will you bring him down?"

"Yes, either me or my Da. Probably my Da, he knows you."

"What's his name?"

"Franner Dempsey."

"I remember Franner. Good player."

"He's still playing."

"For who?"

"Strand."

"I never heard of them."

"I'm gonna bring him home, Derek. Does he need anything for training?"

"Just clean boots and a good attitude, if he hasn't got that, he's not training."

She screamed with laughter.

"My Da said you'd be a clean boots Nazi."

"Ok, I'll see you on Thursday, Cilla."

I went upstairs to make sure my two little Nazis were securely locked up. Gary met me at the top of the stairs.

"Graham Dempsey is the best player in the school, Da."

"Why didn't you bring him down before now?"

"His Da said that Mr. Brady was a wanker."

"What's a wanker, Gary?"

"I don't know, but it must be bad."

"It's someone who wanks, Da," Charlie piped up from her room.

I nearly had a heart attack. Then I pissed myself laughing.

"Ok, children of mine, get to sleep while I get some peace."

"Are you picking the teams for training?"

"We'll see how many have clean boots, there may not be enough for a match, Gary, you included."

I went into the spare bedroom where my pile of unused crap was stored. Somewhere in the pile, I knew, were a few pairs of boots I would had worn during my playing days. It took me a while but I eventually located the bag I was searching for. I had a quick peek inside and, happy I had found what I needed, brought it down to the sitting room.

I placed some newspapers on the floor to protect the carpet and upended the bag to see what I had of use. The smell of Dubbin brought me back to the dressing rooms in Liverpool and a feeling of melancholy that I had fought for years, poked my brain. I shook it off and paired each boot with its partner.

I inspected every millimetre of every boot and they were still supple and pliable. They were professional grade boots that were supplied by sponsors to clubs in England and I chose my favourite pair and turned one of them in my hands, wallowing in nostalgia for a while.

I remembered the feeling of them when they were new and still in the box. The first time I had smeared them with Dubbin to protect the leather and soften them for comfort. They were new on the market at the time and we’d all been given them by Puma.

They had a beautiful white Puma slash along the outside, they were lightweight and gave you the feeling that you could do anything with a ball. My name was etched in white on the instep and it still made me smile when I remembered Bill Shankly remarking on how we were treated like babies. I put them back in their protective covers and picked up another pair.

These were also spotless. A pair of plain black Power Points that I loved more than beer. They were the first pair of boots I had ever salivated over. They were cutting edge at the time because they had screw in studs which gave a little more grip on rainy days. They also made a satisfying clicking noise as you walked on concrete surfaces.

Once again, they were spotless and still retained their suppleness. I wiped them down, removed the brown paper stuffed inside and slid my leg foot into one. I flexed my foot and smiled. My father was rarely wrong. I placed the other one on my other foot, it was just as good. I felt like going for a run with a ball at my feet. I felt happy for an instant.

These were the ones. Not flash by current standards but made to last from a time when everything had a value. I had bought these myself from my wages as an apprentice electrician, having saved up for a month to get them. The first time I used them was in a match against Belvo down in Fairview and I had played a stormer. Johnner Reilly and I had torn their defence apart that day. We beat them 6-1 and we scored five between us, me getting four of them.

I wouldn't wear them at training. I chose a pair of Adidas boots instead. I wasn't a big fan of Adidas boots but they were effective and comfortable. Perfect for a training session where I'd just be standing around for most of the time, and they had a tongue that extended out over the laces.

On my way home from work next day, I stopped off in Northside Shopping Centre to get the makings of a spaghetti bolognaise for Charlie. Gary wanted waffles. I was queuing up to pay when Cilla stopped on her way past me.

“Hey, Derek, shopping on your own?”

“Ah, Cilla. Yes, if i didn’t we’d starve.”

“Does your wife not do it?”

“I’m sure she does. If you see her you can ask her.”

“Oh. Did I put my foot in it?”

“You weren’t to know, Cilla. We separated some time ago, it’s all good.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’ll see you at training tomorrow.”

She ran off to catch a little girl and left me to my own devices. I paid for my stuff and left the shop. I needed smokes, so I walked down to The Mascot. On my way out I ran into Cilla again, literally. Our bags went in opposite directions and we scrambled to pick them up.

“We’ll have to stop meeting like this, Cilla,” I said with a laugh.

“You certainly know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” she said, self consciously putting her long blond hair back in order.

“It looks like I’m quite good at knocking them off their feet too, Cilla. Sorry about that but you should be looking where I’m going.”

“Let me take a couple of those and I’ll drop you home in the car,” I said, and she thanked me.

“My dad said you played for Liverpool, did you?” she asked on our walk to the car park.

“Yes, for a while until I got injured.”

“What happened?”

“One of those things that happen, really. A mistimed tackle, an awkward fall, a knee popping. Nothing malicious. The usual.”

“Which knee?”

“The left one.”

“Can you still play?”

“Yes. For short bursts.”

We reached the car and I opened the boot for her bags. I held it open for her and she moved closer and touched my face.

“You seem a bit sad, Derek,” she said.

“I’m not really. I’m tired, that’s all. Sadness comes in waves, but not right now.”

“Have you got somebody?”

“Who’d want me?”

“I know of a few.”

I laughed.

“You’re a good laugh, Cilla.”

“I’m serious. A few of my friends are asking me about you.”

“Are they. Can I have their numbers?” I said with a laugh.

“No. I want you to myself.”

She kissed me then. In the car park of Northside Shopping Centre. At 4:50 in the evening. In daylight. So I kissed her back.

“Let’s get you home,” I said quickly.

“I’m in no hurry, Derek, we can stop at yours for a bit, if you like.”

“The kid are there today.”

“Oh, I see. When do they go back to your ex?”

“8:00 tomorrow night.”

“Can I call down at 8:01?”

“Yes. I’d like that, Cilla.”

I dropped her off and went home. Surprisingly, my two little nuisances were working away at their homework. Charlie leapt from her chair and grabbed a bag from the floor where I had left them.

“Spaghetti Bolognaise?” she asked, knowing it was.

“Yep!”

“I’ll help.”

It was a thing we did. Charlie loved my bolognaise, so we made a thing of it. She knew the logistics and stuck to them rigidly. I chop the tomatoes while she assembles everything else onto the kitchen worktop. She chatted away about her day as we worked. I always loved this time with her. She was the apple of my eye and my mother’s favourite grandchild.

After dinner, I decided to go for a run and clear my head. Gary wanted to tag along so I grabbed my training boots and a couple of balls out of Billy’s bag. We drove up to Priorswood Park and found an empty pitch to use.

I sat on the grass and pulled my boots on. There was a process, honed over twenty years of wearing boots and playing ball, that had to be observed. Left boot first, then the right. Pull the laces most of the way out and then pull them tight at each eye before a final tightening, two turns clockwise under the studs, and tied in a bow just off the leg side of the instep.

“You have Adidas boots, Da?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get them? Did you buy them!”

“No, I have them a long time.”

“Did you used to play?”

“A long time ago, Gary.”

“They don’t sell those boots anymore.”

“Probably not.”

“Who did you play for?”

“Different teams.”

“Did grandad teach you?”

“I suppose he was an influence. He taught me the basics and some moves.”

“He shows me things too.”

“He was a great player in his day, Gary.”

“Better than you?”

“He thinks so, come on let’s run.”

We did a lap of the pitch, a ball each at our feet. Gary copied my dribbling technique but it wasn’t a coaching session so I didn’t correct him all the time.

“Come in, Gary.”

I kicked my balk about fifty yards, aiming to stop it on the centre spot. It arced deliciously from right to left and the spin caused it to bounce once and stop dead.

“I’ll race you to the ball, see how close it is the the spot.”

I gave him a fifteen yard start and then sprinted after him. I timed it so he’d just barely win the race.

“Great shot, Da. It’s on the spot. What’s next?”

“I’m going to run out to the wing and you’re going to pass it out to me. Keep it low and put a bit of zip behind it. Aim about ten yards ahead of me. I’m trying to hit the crossbar.”

He had a good feel for kicking a ball and it arrived at pace, just nicely weighted, into my stride. A quick scan with my eyes and I struck it sweetly with my instep and watched it careen off the crossbar on to Gary’s head for him to score. I chased after him to celebrate the goal and we rolled around on the grass, laughing our heads off.

An hour later it was turning to dusk and the park was filling up so we went home. To teach him a lesson, I took my boots into the kitchen and gave them a good cleaning, smearing them with Dubbin at the end. Gary watched me with fear in his eyes. I knew he hadn’t cleaned his boots and I wasn’t going to do it for him.

Next evening I strolled over to the green, boots in one hand, footballs in the other. To show off, I wore the international training gear I was given when I played for the National under 21’s, a green and navy blue top and navy blue tracksuit bottoms. Both had the Irish and sponsor branding that hadn’t been seen for at least ten years. I had pumped a few balls up and let Gary kick one around the pitch while I greeted Mr. B, who had arrived on the sideline.

“You look the part, Del,” he said, with a smile.

We shook hands.

“It helps. Let’s hope I can get these kids playing.”

“You’ll be grand. I’ve no doubts, Just don’t let them away with anything.”

“I won’t. I’m gonna do this session the same way we did it at the ‘pool.”

“Good luck with that. Eight-year-olds tend to go off beam. Give it a chance, see how it goes first.”

A swarm of kids and mothers arrived and started messing with the balls. I had a whistle, which I hated, and blew it. They all came running over, the mothers, fathers and sisters too.

“Ok lads, my name is Derek, and I’m going to be doing your training for a while.”

That got a cheer.

“First things first, a few rules.”

Gary looked at me in trepidation.

“You can train with us once you’re early and your boots are clean, so, before we start, I need you to put your boots on the ground in front of you so I can see them.”

There was a grumbling sound for them so I blew the whistle. Two of them kept yakking. I blew it again.

“You two,” I pointed at them, “names please.”

“Jason Morgan,” the first one said.

“Liam Judge,” was the other.

“Ok, Jason and Liam. When you hear this whistle, you shut your mouths, ok? We’ll start with you two, show me your boots.”

They were filthy.

“Ok lads, these are a disgrace. Look at my boots. What do you think of them?”

“They’re clean.”

“Yes, how old are your boots?”

“They’re only new.”

“These are nearly fifteen years old, and they’re like new. Why didn’t you clean them, are you made of money? Right, go stand over beside Mr. B. You aren’t training tonight.”

There were twenty five kids there and, by the time I was finished, sixteen were standing beside Paddy on the line. I walked over to them.

“Okay, boys, you’re excused for this evening. You can come back again next Tuesday. If your boots are still filthy you can go and play for Knacker United or Kilmore Boys. You won’t play here.”

There was an outpouring of complaints from parents, a leader emerged in the shape of Angela Morgan, Jason’s mother.

“Who do you think you are, Jackie Charlton? It’s only a game of football for kids.”

I laughed as I remembered leaving Jackie Charlton on his arse at a clinic in Preston.

“I agree, Angela, but we need to instil good habits in them. The traditions of the game need to be preserved and no team of mine will ever run out on the pitch looking like ragball rovers. Now if you want to manage this team, let me know, because I have plenty of other things to do.”

“I’m just saying,” she said.

“We’ll say it out of earshot of those who cared enough to clean their boots. Say it on your way home, and, by the way, you were two minutes late this evening. Training starts at 6:00 so they need to be here twenty minutes beforehand, otherwise they won’t train either.”

“That’s a bit much,” she said loudly.

“My team, my rules.”

I took the other ten kids out to an area I had marked off as a pitch, threw five yellow bibs and five red bibs on the ground and told them to grab one.

“Are you not picking the teams, Da,” Gary asked.

I pulled him to one side.

“Gary, do yourself a favour, don’t call me Da here, and shut up fucking moaning. Take a bib and put it on or fuck off home.”

I picked up a ball.

“Ok, Reds v Yellows, I’ll play for both teams and you can use me as a sixth player in possession.”

I could hear muted conversations from the sideline. I stopped the ball and blew the whistle. Gary immediately passed it to me. Graham Dempsey reacted and flew into me to win the ball. I turned him and passed it to another player in yellow. A few passes later, the red team had it. Graham passed it to me and stopped to admire the pass. I put my foot on the ball and stopped play.

“What was that, Graham?”

“I passed it to you.”

“You don’t stop, you find space and demand it back. Now we try that again? It was a great pass, though.”

He looked over at the line and turned red. I followed his gaze, Cilla and their father were nodding their heads. We set it up and he played the same pass, this time he kept running towards the goal. Another little fellow lunged into my path and I flicked it with the outside of my left foot just over his shoulder. The ball curled slightly and the spin put it on a plate for Graham to smash home. He ran around and came past me, low-fiving me in the process. I had got the attention of those that knew the game and I ended the session ten minutes later.

“You never lost it, Caldwell,” Franner said, as I walked off the pitch.

We shook hands.

“How are you, Demo?”

“Not bad. You handled that well. You’re still a prick about clean boots?”

“I know, it irritates the shit out of me.”

“Some good little players out there, you’re good with them.”

“Yes, let’s hope we can get them where they need to be.”

I caught my ex making a beeline for me out of the corner of my eye, her current man was beside her. I excused myself and walked in her direction.

“What the fuck are you up to? Trying to relive your youth?” she shouted in a whisper.

“I wish I could wind the clock back, I wouldn’t have to look at your sour face.”

“I need you to keep the kids until Sunday.”

“I have plans tonight, you’re out of luck.”

“What plans?”

“Yeah. Like I tell you anything, now grab the kids and fuck off. I’ll see them next Tuesday,” I said, “and by the way, give Gary’s boots a clean. They were filthy yesterday.”

I kissed both of my kids and walked away. Paddy helped me gather the gear. I went home, had a shower, changed clothes and lit a smoke, an after match tradition. A short while later, the doorbell rang. I looked at my watch, 8:01. Cilla was here.

I opened the door and we smiled at each other. She stepped inside and kissed me on the cheek. It had been some time since I’d been with a woman so I couldn’t contain myself. I closed the door behind her and our lips met, I could taste her lipstick on my lips. Her tongue eased itself inside my mouth and her hands slid upwards over my chest around my shoulders and pinned me to her as they joined behind my neck,

Her hips found the hardness of my erection and ground into me as she pushed me back against the wall. I pulled her to me, grinding along with her as we kissed hungrily, fevered tongues stoking the fire of desire. Low quick grunts came from her throat, hinting at her state of arousal. She was highly charged and sought a fast release.

I opened the top button on her jacket and pulled it off as she did the second one. A lightweight beige dress held no impediment as I gloried in the warmth and softness of her body.

“Jesus, Cilla. Are we gonna do this?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go upstairs then, in case someone knocks.”

She ran up the stairs and I switched off the lights in the hall. When I got there she was naked except for a bra and a brief pink thong that had the telltale signs of her arousal on view through the material surrounding her vagina. I touched her soft skin and eased her through the door of my bedroom as she opened her bra and threw it away.

My need to be inside her was greater than my will to slow down and we both undressed me, before I removed her thong and caught my first sight of a shaved Mons Veneris. She jumped on the bed, pulling me with her. She purred as my hand found her vulva. Her hips moving quickly seeking release, her prize about to be claimed as she took my erection in her hand and led it inside her. She orgasmed instantly as my penis found its depth and she writhed in time with my thrusts, as the length of my time of abstinence manifested in a very quick and powerful release of semen deep inside her vagina, causing a huge intake of breath, as her eyes rolled back in her head and forced her to cry out in fulfilment.

“Oh fuck, Derek. That’s it. Hold it there for me,” she breathed, as she maintained the pace of her movement, pushing herself towards another climax, the acute tenderness of the head of my penis stinging deliciously as I held on for her. It was quick and erotic. She released a large amount of fluid as her climax hit again and I could not endure the excruciating sensation of the head of my penis any further.

We fell breathlessly onto the bed, her arms holding me tightly, her lips actively seeking my lower lip to suck on as the tremors of her body subsided. The eroticism of her movements and evidence of her latent sexuality aroused me further, causing a minor resurgence of activity in my penis. I sat up in bed and got up to get my smokes. I offered to light one for her, she wanted to share mine. I stood by the bed and lit the cigarette, admiring her naked body as I did so. She was beautiful. Perfect breasts with stunning pink nipples that I hoped would be mine soon. Snow shite skin, shining in a light film of post-orgasmic sweat. Her legs, slightly parted, were toned and held a youthful shape as they bent slightly and tempted me. The bright pinkness of her vulva shone like a beacon and glistened in the dim light of the room.

She watched me appraise her as she wriggled her body around a little, a sexy smile playing about her lips. My appreciation of her was evident as my penis began to recover. She reached for it, her fingertips touching the head softly.

“You have such a nice cock. It filled me up more than I’m used to, Derek.”

“It loves your vagina, Cilla.”

“I never had anyone say vagina to me.”

I handed her the cigarette. She took it and placed it luxuriously between her lips. I lay down beside her again and she blew some smoke into my mouth, before placing the cigarette to my lips.

“Give me your smoke,” she whispered, and placed her open lips wide to mine.

My smoke drifted into her mouth as she took my penis in her hand. She bent and took the head in her mouth as I laid back and enjoyed the feel of her lips and tongue moving slowly around the surface. I eased her into position above me and took stock of her vagina as it opened to my tongue, the remnants of our combined excretions still present. My tongue tested her state of arousal before it slid inside her, thrusting slowly to experience her softness, taste and warmth.

She took one of my testicles in her mouth and made me groan. She was so good. She licked the sides of my groin, kissing and sucking the tender skin. It was a hedonistic experience as I found her clitoris and stimulated her. We were a long time in this position. It was perfect, two people totally aligned. Anticipating each other’s desires, facilitating the intimacy only felt by two people completely in tune with each other. Her mouth took my penis as deep as she could, it was a little too long but she brought me to a level of arousal that I seldom experienced off the football pitch.

I struggled to maintain tongue contact with her vagina as her hips became too animated and her need rose higher. We both needed the peace that orgasm would bring. She dismounted me and pulled me inside her. I lasted longer this time. Long powerful thrusts of my penis in her vagina brought her a screaming release. Her vaginal muscles held me back and delayed further motion until they relaxed enough for me to resume.

“Oh, fuck, Derek. I’m gonna come again. Don’t stop.”

I was closer than her and I erupted inside her as she frantically gyrated her hips against me, finally reaching her climax with a sigh and a tired smile. She lay on top of me, her appetite sated. She was quiet as she breathed me in. She stroked my nipple and then took it in her mouth, took a quick nip of it with her teeth and laughed when I jumped.

“You like nipples being bitten do you?” I asked.

“Not unless I’m going the biting.”

“This is lovely, Cilla. You’re a fantastic fuck.”

“You’re better, Derek. I love your cock.”

“I’d never have guessed”

“Cheeky bastard,” she said as we both laughed.

“Are you staying over?”

“I’d love to but I’d be murdered.”

“Do you want me to drop you home?”

“I just want to stay like this a while longer. I want you to remember me.”

“Cilla, you are unfuckingforgettable.”

“Until you forget me.”

I took her face in my hand and looked into her eyes. They shone with tears.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“Don’t mind me. I get very emotional after sex, Derek. All the girls will be after you and you’ll fuck them. I just don’t want you to forget about me, that’s all.”

I ran my hands over her naked back down to her glorious bum. She shivered slightly.

“You’re so beautiful, Cilla. Let’s not fuck any more tonight. Let me make love to you.”

“Oh God. Yes, please.”

I turned her on her back and we made love for a long time. She woke next morning with a shy smile before she jumped out of bed, dressed and ran home before anyone noticed she hadn’t slept there. The house felt empty without her as I got up to get ready for work. Her thong caught on my foot as I made my way to the bathroom and I thought how awkward that would be if I knocked on her door to return it. I was tempted to, and I never would, but it made me smile.

I spent that evening, after work, cleaning the place up a little. I had the radio on, the BBC Sports channel, 5 Live, had a Friday night football show that was always funny and interesting. At 7:00 I was hungry and there was nothing in the fridge. I ordered a curry from Chopsticks in Donnycarney. Twenty minutes later a knock on the door signalled what I thought was the delivery guy. I pulled the money from a drawer in a side cabinet in the sitting room and opened the door. It was Cilla.

“Hey babe. Come in.”

“No, Derek, I can’t tonight. I was just passing and wanted to see you. Can I have a kiss?”

“Yes, you don’t have to ask.”

She stepped inside and planted a deep, lingering kiss on me that made me drool.

“Are you sure you can’t come in?” I said.

“Not tonight.”

“What about tomorrow night? We’ll go for a meal, make a date of it.”

She smiled.

“I can’t this weekend, Derek.”

"It was worth a go."

I spent Saturday morning at the shops. It was strange to me how total strangers would come over and shake my hand and chat about football. Many of them had been at training on Thursday and were shocked when I apparently ignored their suggestions for the make up of the squad. It usually included their son, grandson or nephew. A couple of them disagreed with my methods of imposing discipline. One guy chased me through the car park and grabbed my arm.

"If you don't mind me saying, Derek, I think it is bloody dangerous to leave a load of kids sitting on the sideline, just because they had dirty boots. You need to have another look at that idea, pal"

"I didn't catch your name?"

"My nephew is in the squad."

"What squad? We don't have a squad yet."

"Well, he signed for you."

"I haven't signed anyone yet."

"Well, you know what I mean."

"I don't think you even know what you mean."

"You really are an arrogant fucker, aren't you?"

"You think so?"

"Yes, I do."

"Here's a suggestion for you, whatever your name is, you come down on Tuesday and take over. I really don't need it in my life."

"Well I, eh, I, ah look. Forget I said anything."

"You didn't say anything intelligent."

So it was with a light and airy humour on Tuesday night that I walked across the road, with my boots in one hand and my bag of magic tricks in the other. The kids were all ready at 6:00 and all of them had spotlessly clean boots. I gathered them all in. Positive reinforcement is a huge part of coaching when negative actions have been imposed previously.

"Ok lads, sit down and look at me."

They sat down and I noticed one of them looking over my shoulder. The parents were standing right behind me, so I turned to face them.

"You lot are on the pitch, would you mind standing outside the line please?"

The fat woman leader of the gang was there again and she decided to give it another try .

"We have the right to hear what your telling our children. You can't stop us and it's a public park."

I looked at my watch.

"I'll tell you what, what's your name again?"

"Angela."

"I'll tell you what, Angela. I'm going to give you all ten seconds to get off the pitch, if you're still here I'll take my stuff and go home and you can be the fucking manager."

The kids went into space and they all screamed at their parents to leave the pitch. Angela decided to call my bluff. I showed her my watch.

"Twelve seconds, Angela."

I handed her the bag of gear and sat down to change my footwear. I stood up, brushed the legs of my bottoms with my hand and walked towards my house. I was just going through the gate when she shouted at me.

"Ok then. I'm outside the line, are you happy?"

I looked at my watch again.

"We've lost too much time with your piss taking, Angela. Take them home and we’ll try again on Thursday, but I'll tell you. Thursday is your last chance, so be warned.”

"You left your bag of stuff behind," she shouted then.

"You take it home and make sure all of those balls are fully pumped on Thursday."

I went inside and sat down. I was shaking with fury. There was a knock on the door and I peered out through the window at the park. She was getting a lashing from eight of the other parents. I smiled and went to open the door. Paddy and Billy were on the step. Billy was scratching his head under his hat. I started laughing.

"Come in, quick."

They came in and sat down.

"What's your game, Del?" Billy asked.

"It's not a game, but there's a result," I said, nodding at the window, "I think I win again."

Angela was being hammered by the parents and the kids now. I almost felt sorry for the ignorant cow.

"You can’t keep this up, we'll have them all up before the committee if you do," Paddy said.

"Thursday will end it, Paddy, one way or the other," I said.

They looked at each other. Billy stood up.

"I'm going to sort this out now," he said, and walked over to the group.

Billy was great, he had everyone around him and he spoke for ten minutes, or so, after which they disbanded. Billy kept the bag and brought it back to me.

"There'll be no more interference, Del. I promise you that," he said.

"How do you know, Bill?"

"I told them that we choose you over them and if they don't like it they can bring their children anywhere else but here."

Paddy laughed.

"Liar" I said, "you just wanted your poxy bag of gear back. Come out to the kitchen and I'll make the tea."

"Can I have coffee, Del?" Billy said, with a with a cheeky grin.

"You know where everything is, Bill. Help yourself."

"I'll have one too, if your making it," Paddy said.

"Make your own, Mr. B."

On Thursday, we tried again. I strolled over to the pitch at 5:45, not expecting any difference. The kids were holding their boots out for inspection. I gave each of them a pat on the head as I passed. There was a larger crowd that evening, almost as if they expected me to fail. I pulled everybody in, this time I was facing the parents.

“Ok lads, I need to see how you all play. I have four sets of bibs. I’m gonna throw them on the ground and I want you all to walk over and pick one up.”

“Can we take any colour we want?” one of them asked.

“Yes. You have thirty seconds starting from now.”

It only took fifteen

“Right. We have for teams, red, yellow, blue and green.”

I kicked two footballs up the pitch.

“I need one from each team to run and get one of those balls,” I said.

“But there’s only two,” Jason said.

“Well spotted. It’s a race and there’ll be two winners.”

The Red and Green teams won the race.

“Ok. The Red team will play the Greens. First goal wins. Then the Yellows will play the Blues. Take the pitch and I’m a spare for each team.”

They set up and it was a bit of a mess but I could see the good ones clearly. One little skinny guy stood out for the Reds, left-footed, elegant body shape and good ball-striking ability for his age. I walked over to him,

“What’s your name, son?”

“Robbie Keane.”

“I’m Del.”

I shook his hand.

“You’re doing well, Robbie, what I want you to do is take a look around before you pass the ball. You might be able to run with it and you might have a better option for a pass. Just play with your head up.”

“I will.”

Graham Dempsey was on the other team. He was a nice player, well-balanced, strong on the ball and he could head and strike it with venom. He had the ball at his feet and went around two players like they weren’t there. Robbie stood in front of him, so he slipped a pass to me and ran in behind Robbie. Robbie lunged at me but he was slow and I flicked it over his head, took one step and played a short ball in to Graham’s head. Graham buried it past a flailing Jason Morgan.

“That’s a great ball, Derek,” he said as he ran past.

“And a great finish, Graham.”

“Ok, Greens win. Yellow v Blue next. Ten seconds to start.”

Gary was on the Yellow team and he picked the ball up immediately. He was unsure what to do so I made a bit of space and called for the pass. He hit it sweetly with his left foot and made a run into the box. Three Blues followed him, leaving two Yellows unmarked on the goal line. I chipped it in to the taller of the two and he headed it home. I was thrilled. Two goals from play and both were headers. These were under 8. I called the scorer.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Paul Fitz.”

“Nice header, Paul.”

“Nice pass, Derek,” he said, little fucker.

We played on in a Round Robin style competition, it became very competitive and the final was between the Greens and Yellows. I was out near the touchline when I got a tap on the shoulder. It was Demo.

“You play with my fella’s side and I’ll play with yours.”

“Off you go, Demo, but don’t come crying to me. We can’t tackle, we’re only there as a spare outlet. Any rule-breaking is a penalty.”

I threw the ball in. Eric Purcell, a cultured little defender, picked it up and fed Graham. Graham looked for me but his dad was close by, I pointed for him to carry it forward. Demo was screaming at his team and they weren’t happy about it. Gary was moaning about it so I told him to go and have a few words. With Demo distracted, I raced across Graham and took a pass from him, I spun with the ball glued to my foot, shifted my balance and rolled it, with the sole of my boot, in front of Willie McHenry who shouted, “great ball, Derek,” before blasting it home.

They mobbed each other when it ended and I blew it up for the evening. Demo came running over.

“That was a clever stunt you pulled, Caldwell. You had to cheat.”

“That’s not cheating, Demo, that’s called being less stupid than others.”

We shook hands and helped clear the pitch. As I reached the line we were greeted by smiles and clapping. I ignored it and sat down with the boys to change footwear. They were buzzing, a sure sign they enjoyed themselves. I stood and put everything back in the bag. I negotiated my way past the parents and steered Gary towards the house. He crossed the road and a woman holding a child by the collar called me. I walked over to her,

“Hi, Mr. Caldwell. I’m Eva Clery, this is Barry.”

“It’s Derek, Mr. Caldwell is my father.”

I shook her and Barry’s hands.

“What can I do for you, Eva?”

I heard nothing past the fact that Barry was her son. She was a beautiful woman with fair skin and short fair hair done in a layered style. She wore stylish clear-framed glasses and a navy business suit with a white blouse that didn’t conceal her white lace bra underneath.

We walked slowly along the footpath as she explained about Barry and her home situation. We were directly opposite the gates to my house and we stopped so she could finish her story.

She and her husband had been separated for a year. Barry was a decent player in school and she was looking for somewhere that he could play.

“He’s welcome here, Eva,” I said, “it’s a new team and I’m just getting to grips with it.”

“Thanks, Derek,” she said and touched my arm, “that’s a huge relief.”

“I just need to make sure he’s the right age, he’s the first player that I’m signing and I don’t want to look foolish. Can you bring a birth cert around to me when you get a chance please?”

“I’m sure I have one at home, Derek, I’ll get one if not.”

“To save you the trouble, give me a call and I’ll nip round. Here’s my number,” I handed her a card.

She laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“I heard about this soccer idol that all the girls in the area fancy the socks off. But here am I, an old deserted wife, getting his number and his card.”

“Who are all these girls, Eva?”

“There’s three of them over there,” she said, and bent her head sideways to show me.

“To be completely honest with you, Eva, in the time since my wife and I split up, I think my virginity has grown back.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“Mine too,” she screamed.

She reached up and hugged me.

“Thanks for making this so easy, Derek, and thanks for making me feel like a woman.”

“How did I do that, Eva?”

“You spoke to me like I’m a person. I miss that so much.”

“Maybe we could go for a coffee sometime. I’d enjoy that.”

“Really? I’d love that, or we could go for a drink one of the evenings?”

“I don’t drink but I could have a Diet Coke, I suppose.”

“We’d set tongues wagging, does that bother you?”

“Not at all. If I thought that’s all it took, I’d do it every night.”

She opened her bag and handed me her card.

“Here’s my number, call me when you’re free. Or not.”

“I’ll do that, Eva. Thanks for brightening up my evening.”

Less than hour later the phone rang.

“Hi, Derek Caldwell,” I said, in my best telephone voice.”

“Artie Caldwell here.”

“Hey Dad. What’s the story?”

“Not much, I’m just checking in, a little bird tells me you’re looking after a football team.”

“Is that little bird called Charlie?”

“Yes. She was full of news. A right little granny.”

“Yes, she’s the best.”

“How are you? You haven’t been over.”

“Busy in work, we’re out in Santry in Airways.”

“Have you seen The Piranha lately?”

“Funny enough, she was over the other night accusing me of reliving my youth.”

“That sounds like her. Are you?”

“There might be some of that, Dad. I’ve opened a few boxes to let it all in, if you know what I mean.”

“Still off the drink and the women?“

“Yes. I’m doing ok.”

“You should call in and see your mother.”

“I will, I’m not staying away on purpose. It’s just awkward at the minute.”

“Come over for your lunch on Sunday.”

“I’ll try. In fact, fuck it, I’ll be there at 12:30. Tell her to cook a chicken.”

“Ok, good night, son.”

I hung up. It rang again.

“That was quick, did you forget something?”

“Sorry, Derek, no.”

“I’m sorry, is that Eva?”

“Yes.”

“I literally just hung up with my father. I thought that was him ringing back.”

“Oh, good. I’m just calling to let you know I found Barry’s birth cert. Will I drop it around now?”

“Yes, of course. Can you give me an hour. I have my kids tonight and I’ll get them to bed.”

“Perfect, mine are about to go too.”

“Great. I’ll see you in a bit, Eva.”

I rounded up the kids and got them settled in bed. I did a quick tidy round and the place looked respectable at least. I switched two side lights on and the overhead light off and tuned my radio into the BBC Four Light program at a low to medium volume. I picked up my paper and tried to focus, but the mood I set was for me, to calm myself.

Thirty minutes or so later I heard a scratching on the window. I pulled the curtain side to see Eva waving at me. I opened the hall door and ushered her inside.

“I thought I had a cat burglar when I heard you scratching, Eva.”

“I didn’t want to knock and wake the children.”

“Oh I guarantee you my daughter will suss this out and let my mother know I had a beautiful woman over late in the night.”

“You think I’m beautiful, Derek?”

“God yes, Eva.”

“Oh. I’m not used to that, thank you. I’m very flattered.”

“Sit. Can I get you something, I’m afraid I’ve nothing stronger than Diet Coke.”

“I’d murder a cup of tea.”

“I never had you down as the violent type, Eva.”

“You know what I mean.”

We laughed.

“I’ll stick the kettle on.”

“Need help?” she asked.

“No, but I’d enjoy the company.”

“I should come around here every night.”

“I’ll get a key cut for you.”

I put the kettle on and she showed me the birth cert for her son. All was in order and I wrote the details down in my new football book. I made tea for us both and we returned to the sitting room.

“I love that music. Do you not watch TV?”

“Sometimes. It’s mostly for the kids. I lived in England when I was younger and got used to the radio. This is BBC Radio Four.”

“What kind of music do you prefer?”

“I like all sorts. I’ve a stack of vinyl that I get out when the kids aren’t here.”

“Can I see it. I love vinyl albums.”

“Sure, they’re over here.”

I opened my record cabinet doors to her.

“My word! That’s a lot of albums, Derek. May I?”

“Knock yourself out, Eva.”

She ran her delicate fingernail along the spines of the albums and stopped at one, spread them apart and pulled out a Clifford T Ward album, Home Thoughts From Abroad.

“I love this album, Derek. I used have a copy, but it’s gone now.”

“I got that in England and played it to death. I’ve a newer copy if you’d like to take the old one.”

“That’s very generous of you, Derek, but I couldn’t take it.”

“That’s the old one, Eva, you’re more than welcome to it. Here, give it to me, I’ll stick it on and make sure it’s not damaged.”

“Oh that would be perfect. I miss Clifford.”

“If you sit in that chair it’s set up for optimal acoustic quality.”

“I will if you sit beside me and we can enjoy it together.”

“Without sounding corny, Eva. My preferred way to take music is in the darkness.”

“You’re an old romantic, Derek.”

“I don’t get much call to share romance these days, Eva. I’d love to share it with you if you would.”

“Yes, let’s.”

I put the record on the turntable and let the opening strains waft through the room, before switching the lights off as Eva settled herself into the seat. I came and sat beside her. She leaned her head back and sang along softly to Gaye. She smiled and took my hand, stroking it gently as we immersed ourselves in the orchestration. In what seemed the blink of an eye Side One ended and she lifted her head disappointedly.

“What’s wrong, Eva.”

“I hate it when the mood is broken.”

“There’s another side.”

“I know but you have to turn it over and that means getting up.”

I touched her face in the darkness that was only lit by the LED indicators on the HiFi.

“Give it twenty seconds, Eva. Can I kiss you?”

“What kept you?”

“Fear, nerves.”

Our lips met in the darkness. Her lips were soft and accepting. Her hand held my face as our lips moved slowly and sensually together. The record player turned the record over and it began to play again. It was like a warm blanket covering us. Protecting our kiss as it lingered through the entire first two tracks. It was gentle and loving, just our lips. Learning about each other in a first kiss of deep longing. Needing the connection desiring the depth and feeding our arousal in a romantic and caring moment.

She laid her head on my chest as the album played on and when it finished she kissed me again.

“This has been the most beautiful hour of my life, Derek. Thank you.”

“You’d better go home to your children, Eva. I’d love to do this again.”

“I’m free from Friday to Monday,” she whispered, as she sought acceptance in my eyes and lips.

“So am I.”

“No, you’re not,” she said with a smile, “you’ll be otherwise engaged, with me.”

I lowered my lips to hers and, just as they met, I whispered,

“Bring an overnight bag, Eva. I won’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t need much, Derek, it’s a date. But that doesn’t mean you can’t call me.”

“I know. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’ll cook for you. I make a mean bolognese.”

“I’ll bring the wine. And the Diet Coke.”

“Bring those perfect lips too,” I whispered and took them into mine.

TBC