she’d recently picked up from her Year 1 teacher, Miss Moorehouse, ‘I would now like you to read out who played today and which position they held.’ While her finger slid down the team line-up, I would dutifully read out each player and whether they were centre-half or left-back. Her lips would move in sync with mine, silently mouthing the names of her heroes.
Dad still made sure to buy her a new Sittingbourne scarf every year without fail. But now he took it to tie around her headstone. He said the black and red stripes looked nice against the grey marble and green grass.
The kids had got a steady rhythm going. As the ball picked up speed, the large boy fumbled a pass. He panicked and kicked the ball with too much force. It ricocheted off the shoulder of another boy and flew into the air, straight towards the window of the take-away. They all flinched as it impacted hard against the glass. Within seconds a small Chinese woman wearing a purple velour tracksuit had appeared.
‘No football!’ she shouted from the doorway. Her accent was full-blown Geordie. ‘There’s a park less than two minutes away. Go play there.’
Anticipating her ire, some of the kids had already collected their backpacks and were skulking away down the street. The boy, however, went straight over to where she stood.
‘We’re sorry,’ he said, collecting the ball under his arm. ‘It was an accident.’
‘Be off with you!’ she said, trying to sound stern. The boy’s manners had disarmed her. ‘Or I’ll call the police.’
The group needed no convincing. Hitting the window had punctured their fun. With a wave of his hand, the boy corralled those that remained over to the off-licence. One push on the door and they all bundled in.
I got out my phone and reviewed the pictures I’d taken. Most of them were too far away. They showed the boy as a blur; nothing more than a distant twist of royal blue. There were the odd one or two that had him in decent close-up, but they had captured nothing more than the back of his head as he lunged for the ball.
I heard the bell above the shop’s door jamb ring out and looked up to see the boys re-emerge, clutching sweets and cans of Coke. They began to walk away, back in the direction from which they had come. I did a roll call. The boy was no longer with them. He must still be inside.
I approached the shop and pressed on the door. This was my chance to get a shot of his face. It didn’t budge. Locked. I took a step back. The blind had been drawn and a ‘Closed’ sign now hung in the window. The guy must be on a toilet break or maybe he was out back, making the boy something to eat. Either way, I couldn’t afford to hang around for too long. My work supper with Mr McDonald was at 6 p.m.
Resigned to coming back again some other time soon, I was about to leave when I had an idea. The shop might be closed, but what if the off-licence had a garden or a backyard where Keith let the kid out to play? What if the boy was there right now, messing around on his scooter or his bike? It would be cutting it fine, but I should have just enough time to take a quick peek and, hopefully, a better photo of his face. Then I’d be on my way.
Chapter Fifteen
The back alley stank of rotten food and urine. The cobbles had once been blue but were now grey, their edges curded with potato peelings and soft cardboard. I counted the gates as I walked, an assault course of wheelie bins, crates and empty drums of vegetable oil dotting my path.
Tramping past the flies and the dog mess, I tried to marry up the extra-wide loading doors, burglar bars and wooden gates with their high-street shopfronts. Reaching what I guessed to be the back of the off-licence I saw that, instead of a yard, a single-storey, flat-roof extension filled the space. Built out to the alley, the only openings in its red brick wall were a reinforced metal door and a long, thin window near the roof.
The window was six feet off the ground, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I looked around. I needed to climb onto something high enough to allow me to see inside. I put