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Chubby, chubby chaser, Redfern, Redfern! Chubby chubby, likes them blubby. Chubby, chubby chaser Redfern, Redfern.
My cheeks were scorching, and I died inside, cringing for him. He reacted aggressively, gritting his jaw as Birmingham came in for another attempt on goal. Even I could see the tackle was going to go bad, he was going too fast, his leg outstretched and muscles taut as he collided with the Birmingham striker. The guy hit the deck hard, rolling in agony as Jason’s studs crashed into his knee.
An accident.
A bad accident.
I held my breath as Jason got to his feet. He was fine. The other guy not so much, he writhed around the floor as the stretcher came for him. His leg looked fucked up, bent at a funny angle as they took him away.
The crowd went crazy with their boos, hissing and screaming as Jason walked the pitch.
I waited for it, breath loud in my ears as the crowd bayed for blood. The ref deliberated, but not for long, unveiling the inevitable as even Tessa let out a gasp.
Red card.
Oh fucking shit.
***
Chapter Twenty One
Gemma
The papers ate Jason alive, like they needed any more ammunition to tear him down. Pictures of Mulrooney’s battered leg showed its ugly face across the internet, and oh how the haters cried for blood. Jason’s club were surprisingly supportive, spouting the official line that it was a tackle gone bad, with no ill intent.These things happen.It was true enough, as well. These things did happen, I was sure of it. It didn’t stop them going after him, though.
I tried to call him, but his new number went straight to voicemail. The papers had largely given me up to the ghosts, enough that I answered another strange number as it came through.
Another familiar voice, but this time it wasn’t Jason.
“Gemma? Sorry, this is gonna sound all fucking freaky like, but it’s Steve. Jason’s mate. He’d throw a fucking fit if he knew I was calling you.”
I smiled as though he was a long lost cousin. “Hi, Steve.”
“Has he called you?”
“Once, a little while back. I tried his number, but couldn’t reach him.”
“Yeah, me neither. He’s gone right off the radar this time. Got a text as he left the game yesterday, then nothing. This red card shit’s got him real good, thinks he’s trashed that kid’s career.”
“Has he?”
I heard him sigh. “I dunno. Weren’t his fault, like. Shit like this happens. But it’s his dad, you know? Takes this stuff hard.”
I chanced my arm. “What happened with his dad?”
“He didn’t tell you?” I heard the reservation in his voice.
“Not all that much conversation you can have when you’re blindfolded with a stranger...”
“Yeah, I guess.” I heard him take a drag on a cigarette. “His dad was his biggest supporter, mad for the game, like. Pretty much raised Jase to be a die-hard fan, you know? Pushed him, got him decent coaching, eventually got him signed for Tottenham Youth. Old man bloody loved it.”
“He must have been really proud.”
“Aye, he was, yeah. Only then that dickhead manager came in and dropped Jase from the squad. His old man was fucking gutted. Tried to hide it, like, but he took it real hard. Weren’t quite the same after that. Nobody got any warning about the heart attack. Ron was tough as old boots, smoker and drinker, but no more than a lot of them. Took him straight out when he was watching the Singers on TV. Right in front of Jase, his mum, too. Singers were always his team, see.”
I could hardly breathe. “That’s awful.”
“Aye, it was, yeah. Jase picked himself up, like, made it his mission to make his dad proud. Worked like a crazy animal, making his way up those lower divisions. When the Singers took him he was happy as a pig in shit, only by then it was never good enough. Playing for the England squad pleased him for a while, then making captain. Marrying April did it for a while, then buying that big old fucking mansion and stocking up his garages. Dunno when it all stopped working, but he ain’t been right since. Never seen him so happy as he was around you. You did something to him, see. Made him feel alive again, dirty bastard.”
