“I’ve done a deal,” said Norman. “Signed the contracts yesterday evening.”

Mr Rumpelstiltskin uncorked a bottle of warm champagne and decanted it into champagne flutes and into John and Jim’s pints. “Can I have a glass myself?” he asked. “I’ve never tasted champagne.”

“Knock yourself out,” said Norman. “A friend in court is better than a penny in a purse.”

“We’re getting married,” said Ms Bennett.

“You’re what?” said Omally.

“I’m divorcing Peg,” said Norman. “I haven’t actually broached the subject with her yet. She doesn’t actually believe in my patents – happily. Even though the chap who’s bought them mentioned them to her on Sunday, she still doesn’t believe in them. Unlike Yola here.”

“I believe in you,” said Ms Bennett, giving Norman’s crotch a loving tweak. “You’re a wonderful man, Norman.”

“We’re soul-buddies,” said Norman. “We were made for each other. We’re going to buy a castle together.”

“And a yacht,” said Ms Bennett. “And Argos.”

“Argos?” asked Jim.

“It’s a retail outlet,” said Norman, “with very competitive prices. It has its own catalogue. Yola likes the jewellery section.”

“Well, I wish you both the best of luck,” said Jim, raising his glass in salute.

“Norman,” said John, “do you think I might have a small word with you?”

“You might,” said Norman, tipping champagne down his throat, “so long as it’s very small indeed.”

“In private,” said John.

“I have no secrets from Yola,” said Norman, and Yola snuggled against his chest and gave his bum a pat.

“Naturally not.” Omally made smilings at Yola that were not returned to him. “But it is a personal matter. If you’d be so kind as to indulge me.”

“A trouble shared is a bird in the bush,” said Norman, removing his person with difficulty from Yola’s caresses and following John to his office.

“Sit yourself down,” John told him and Norman did so in John’s lounger. “Norman,” said John, seating himself, “Norman, how long have we known each other?”

“Since we were wee small boys together,” said Norman.

“Yes.”

“With holes in our socks and tears in our trouser seats.”

“Quite so.”

“Playing conkers and scrumping apples.”

“This is true.”

“Filling our mouths with gobstoppers and slipping in through the back doors of the Odeon for Saturday morning pictures.”

“Yes, I remember it well.”

“Playing ‘knock down ginger’ on Mrs Smith’s door and—”

“Shut up, Norman, please.”

“Oh,” said Norman.

“My point is,” said Omally, “that we have known each other, man and boy, for a good many years and I am proud to call you my friend.”

“No,” said Norman.

“No? No, I’m not your friend?”

“No,” said Norman. “As in no, you can’t borrow a fiver.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you for a fiver.”

“Not a tenner, surely? Have you no shame?”

Omally sighed a deep and truly heartfelt. “I wasn’t going to ask you for any money at all – unless, of course, you’d care to invest a couple of million in a football club.”

“I might well do that.” Norman swigged champagne. “But I don’t get my money until Cup-Final Day. I’ll certainly give it some thought, though.”

“This isn’t about money,” said John. “Well, in a manner of speaking it is, but it isn’t that I want to take your money. It’s about her.” Omally gestured in a subtle and understated manner towards Ms Bennett.

Ms Bennett waved back at John, incorporating into this wave a subtle and understated two-fingered “Harvey Smith”.

“Norman,” whispered Omally, “would you say that I knew something about women?”

“If it makes you happy,” said Norman. “You know something about women. There, I’ve said it. If that’s all you wanted, I’ll be on my way now.”

Omally made an exasperated face. “Norman, I’m trying to save you a lot of pain and anguish here – and a lot of money, as well.”

Norman’s glass was empty and the shopkeeper turned it between his fingers. “What are you trying to say?” he asked.

“She only wants you for your money, Norman.”

“Who does?” Norman asked.

“Yola – Yola Bennett.”

Norman made the face of surprise. And then the face of doubt. This face of doubt became the face of grave concern.

“You’re just jealous,” said Norman, which went to prove that faces can be misleading.

“No, it’s not that. I promise you it’s not.”

“She loves me,” said Norman. “She said that she loves me.”

“It’s your filthy lucre she loves. She’ll suck you dry, Norman.”

Norman stared hard into the face of Omally. “Suck me dry?” he said.

Omally nodded.

“What, every night?”[30]

Omally would have thrown up his hands, but one was holding his Large-and-champagne shandy. “When you get your money,” he said, “if you get your money, you can have your pick of women. Thousands of women. You could have your own harem.”

“In my castle?”

“Certainly. Or have an extension built.”

“So what you’re saying is that I shouldn’t tie myself down just yet?”

“That sort of thing. Don’t make any rash commitments.”

“I see,” said Norman. And he nodded, thoughtfully.

“Word to the wise, that’s all.” And Omally tapped at his nose.

“Don’t tap at my nose like that,” said Norman.

“I wasn’t. I was tapping at my nose.”

“Oh yes, so you were.”

“So you’ll bear in mind what I said.”

“I will,” said Norman.

“And you won’t do anything silly, like get engaged to Yola or anything?”

“Ah,” said Norman.

“You haven’t!”

Norman grinned towards John. “No,” said Norman in a whispery tone, “I haven’t. Nor do I intend to. I’m not stupid, John. I know exactly what she’s up to, but I’m presently getting the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, so I think I’ll just stick with it for now, if that’s all right by you. Care for another?”

And with that said, Norman returned to the loving arms of Yola Bennett.

Jim Pooley joined John at his office table. He sat himself down and said, “All right?”

Omally shrugged and shook his head.

“Did you put Norman right on that gold-digger?”

“I don’t think he needed putting right. That shopkeeper has more savvy than a Sainsbury’s cold-meat counter. I think we’ve sorely misjudged that fellow.”

“Oh,” said Jim. “That’s a shame, because it occurred to me that we might ask him to invest some money in the club.”

“Forget it,” said John.

“Shame,” said Jim, “because the stripper’s got herself upright and she wants paying.”

“I’ll get it to her later.”

“And the Campbell has just brought me this.” Jim proffered an envelope. “More tactics from the professor, I think. The Campbell said we should put the team through their paces tonight in preparation for tomorrow’s game.”

Omally pulled out his new mobile phone. “I’ll call them all up, then,” said he. “Leave it to me, my friend.”

At seven o’clock, the team assembled themselves upon the hallowed turf of Griffin Park. Jim marched up and down before them, smiling encouragement.

The team returned his smile to him in a somewhat sheepish fashion.

“Is everything all right with you chaps?” asked Jim.

Shoulders shrugged and mumblings were all the rage.

“You look a tad, how shall I put this, uncertain.”

Ernest Muffler spoke. “Perhaps if you’d like to count heads,” said he.

“Count heads?” Pooley shook his. “Okey-dokey.” And Jim counted heads. “Someone’s missing,” he observed. “Who’s missing?”

“It’s Billy Kurton,” said Ernest.

“Our right-winger. Where is he?”

“Gone,” said Ernest. “Upped sticks and gone.”

“What?” said Jim.

Ernest raised his palms. “Went round there earlier. The folk next door said a removal van came in the middle of the night. They said he owed a lot of money to the builders for his patio.”