Lamb by Bernard Maclaverty

Author:Bernard Maclaverty [Bernard MacLaverty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2000-05-04T04:00:00+00:00

Eleven

They were walled in by people and Michael had to lift Owen so that he could get a glimpse of the pitch.

‘Stiff elbows,’ he said and the boy held his arms bent and stiff against his sides. Michael hoisted him above the heads.

‘Can you see?’

‘Yes,’ shouted the boy. Michael felt him quiver with excitement.

‘Time?’

‘Two fifty-six.’

‘This is useless here. Let’s get down the front,’ said Michael.

They threaded and elbowed and pushed their way through the crowd until they came to a crush barrier not far from the front. Owen followed in the passage that Michael created, holding tightly on to the back of his anorak. Michael, acting a bit simple, indicated the boy and got himself a place at the crush barrier. He lifted Owen on to the bar so that he could see, and held him there with his arms round him.

He was stunned by the new season green of the pitch, its flatness and the precision with which it was marked in white lines. At home he had played on fields tilted to the side of a mountain or with a hillock in the middle hiding the goal at the far end, the whole area measled with pats of cow dung. He had forgotten that at this level of the game everything could be so perfect.

The teams came out and Owen cheered himself hoarse when he saw the red and white strip of Arsenal. He recognized the players from their photographs and pointed them out, screaming and laughing at the top of his voice to Michael. In pale blue, the colour of a blackbird’s egg, Manchester City were kicking into the goal nearest them. They were knocking about what looked like five brand new footballs. Owen looked over his shoulder and shouted,

‘It’s smashin’.’

‘It hasn’t even started yet,’ roared Michael. The crowd chanted and sang incessantly and deafeningly, holding up red and white scarves and banners.

It was then that Michael noticed the crowd to his right. They were in their late teens. Most of them had their heads shaved so closely that their hair was only a shadow. They wore blue denim waistcoats with no shirts so that their arms and chests were bare. They were shouting at the field as if in intense and uncontrolled anger. Oathing and making obscene gestures. One of them openly pissed into a beer can, splashing those around him, and hurled it into the crowd. They all had their scarves tied to their wrists. Owen watched them.

‘I’d like to see Brother Ben belt some of those bastards.’

‘He’d have a job,’ agreed Michael.

The group was pushing and shoving to clear a space for themselves and those around them were standing back, pretending not to notice them. Michael watched them out of the corner of his eye as the game started. He knew that Owen was doing the same, the way he was twisting on the bar. Then the boy turned and said,

‘I think we could see better from down there.’

Michael agreed with him and they moved away from the group, down nearer the field.

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