No, said Bill Shankly. No, Bob. I should ask. I must ask. Because the last thing I want is to be accused of sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted. Where it’s not needed, Bob …
Bob Paisley smiled. And Bob Paisley said, You could never do that, Bill. That’ll never happen. I can promise you that now, Bill.
Well, said Bill Shankly. I don’t want to be getting under your feet now, Bob. But I thought I’d just pop in and pick up some of these letters. If you don’t mind, Bob? I’ll just take a few home with me.
Bob Paisley laughed now. And Bob Paisley said, Of course I don’t mind, Bill. I don’t know how you deal with them all …
It does take time, said Bill Shankly. I won’t lie to you, Bob. Reading all these letters, then answering them all. It’s a big job, Bob. And a big part of the job. But it has to be done, Bob. When people have taken the time and trouble to write to you personally, then the very least you can do is take the time and the trouble to reply to them.
Bob Paisley looked at the bags and bags of mail on the floor. Bob Paisley looked at the typewriter on the desk. Bob Paisley shook his head. And Bob Paisley said, Well, I can’t even type, Bill. I’d have no idea how to work that thing. Not a clue, Bill. Not a clue …
So you don’t mind if I take it back home with me then, asked Bill Shankly. You wouldn’t object, Bob? If I took the typewriter home? So I can answer all these letters at home, Bob? So I’m not in your way. I’m not under your feet …
Bob Paisley laughed. And Bob Paisley said, Be my guest, Bill.
Bill Shankly walked around the mountain of bags and bags of mail. And Bill Shankly picked up the typewriter from the desk. Bill Shankly put it under his arm. And then Bill Shankly picked up a bag of mail from the mountain of bags and bags of mail –
Well, I best get going, Bob. Get out of your hair. And get cracking on all these letters. I mean, they won’t answer themselves …
Bob Paisley nodded. And Bob Paisley said, OK then, Bill. But don’t you be overdoing it now. With all those letters …
Bill Shankly stopped in the doorway. The doorway to the office. Bill Shankly turned back to Bob Paisley –
So we are agreed then, Bob? That my last day will be Monday 12 August? My last official day. And that is OK with you, Bob?
Yes, Bill. Of course it is. Anything you want is fine with me, Bill. As I say, you don’t have to ask …
How old are you, asked Bill Shankly. One foot in the office, one foot in the corridor. If you don’t mind me asking, Bob …
Bob Paisley said, Fifty-five, Bill. Why do you ask?
I was just wondering, said Bill Shankly. I mean, we’ve worked together for a long time now …
Bob Paisley smiled. And Bob Paisley said, Yes. Fifteen years.
Yes, said Bill Shankly. Fifteen years. But all that time I never knew how old you were. I mean, I don’t suppose it really mattered. I don’t suppose it does. I mean, once you stop playing …
Bob Paisley nodded. And Bob Paisley said, But it can still catch up with you. With the best of folk.
Yes, said Bill Shankly again. But how old were you then when you stopped playing, Bob?
Bob Paisley smiled. And Bob Paisley said, I was thirty-five. March 13, 1954, was my last game. Here at Anfield. Against Charlton Athletic. We lost as well. Three — two. And you, Bill?
The same, said Bill Shankly. Thirty-five. But I felt I could have gone on, Bob. I felt I could have gone on forever.
Bob Paisley nodded. And Bob Paisley said, We all did, Bill.
Aye, Bob. But we were young then. And we were wrong, Bob. We were all wrong. No one goes on forever, Bob. No one is immortal, said Bill Shankly. And Bill Shankly glanced around the office. At the shelves, the shelves of books. The books of names, the books of notes. At the pictures on the wall. The history, the memories. At the clock on the wall. Ticking and ticking. Bill Shankly smiled. Bill Shankly turned away. And Bill Shankly said, See you later, Bob. See you now …
And Bob Paisley watched Bill Shankly walk down the corridor. The bag of mail in one hand, the typewriter under his arm. In his suit and in his tie. His red tie. His Liverpool Football Club tie.
54. CHARITY IS A COLD, GREY, LOVELESS THING
In the hotel, in the room. Bill paced and Bill paced. Bill had travelled down to London with the team. Bill had checked into the hotel with the team. Bill had eaten dinner with the team. Steak and chips. Tinned fruit and cream. Just like always, just like before. And then Bill had said goodnight to the team. And Bill had come up to the room. His hotel room. And Bill had started to pace. Up and down the room. The hotel room. Two hours later, Bill was still pacing the room. The hotel room. But now Bill stopped pacing. And Bill picked up the telephone. The telephone beside the bed. His hotel bed. Bill dialled a number. And Bill listened to the telephone ring. And ring and ring –
Hello, hello? Who’s speaking? Who is it now?
Hello, Don. Hello. It’s only me, Don. It’s only Bill. I just called to wish you good luck for tomorrow, Don. For the game tomorrow. And to say I’ll see you tomorrow, Don. In the tunnel …
Oh no, you won’t, said Don Revie. Because I’ll not be in the tunnel, Bill. Brian will be in the tunnel. You won’t see me tomorrow, Bill. Not unless you’re planning to sit in the Royal Box. Because that’s where I’ll be sitting. In the Royal Box. Where you should be, Bill.
Bill laughed. And Bill said, I hope you’re having me on, Don. I hope you’re pulling my leg. What the hell would you be doing sitting in the Royal Box? You should be in the tunnel, Don. With your team, man. Where you belong, Don. In the tunnel …
They are not my team now, said Don Revie. They are Brian’s team now. He’s the manager of Leeds United now. Not me. It’ll be his privilege to lead out that team tomorrow, Bill. Not mine.
No, Don. No. You won the Championship, Don. You won the League. Not Brian. It’s you who should be leading out your team tomorrow, Don. Not Brian. And I’m sure Brian feels the same …
To be frank with you, Bill, I couldn’t care less what Brian feels. All I know is that it is his team now. And so it is his job to lead them out at Wembley tomorrow. It’s Brian’s job now. Not mine.
I can’t agree, Don. I can’t agree. And I’m sorry you feel this way, Don. I really am. I was hoping we would both be leading out our teams tomorrow, Don. Saying our goodbyes together …
I’ve said my goodbyes, said Don Revie. And now I have moved on. I am the manager of England now, Bill. Not Leeds United. But I’ll be there. I’ll still be there, Bill. And I’ll be watching.
Bill laughed. And Bill said, Aye, Don. So you say. From the Royal Box. Well, I hope you have a nice time, Don. I hope you enjoy the view. And be sure to give my regards to the men with their brass and their wives with their jewellery. Goodnight, Don …
Bill put down the telephone. And Bill began to pace the room again. The hotel room. Up and down the room again. The hotel room. And then Bill stopped pacing. Bill took off his suit and tie. His red tie. His Liverpool Football Club tie. Bill put on his pyjamas. Bill went into the bathroom. The hotel bathroom. Bill switched on the light. The bathroom light. Bill walked over to the sink. Bill brushed his teeth. Bill washed his face. Bill dried his face. Bill dried his hands. Bill turned off the light. The bathroom light. Bill went back into the bedroom. The hotel bedroom. Bill switched off the light. The bedroom light. Bill got into bed. The hotel bed. And in the dark and in the silence. Bill stared up at the ceiling. The hotel ceiling. In the dark and in the silence. Bill could hear people in the street outside the hotel. Bill could hear people in the corridor outside the room. And in the dark and in the silence. Bill sat up. Bill got out of the bed. The hotel bed. In the dark and in the silence. Bill began to pace again. In the dark and in the silence. Up and down the room. The hotel room. In the dark and in the silence. Up and down. Bill paced and Bill paced –