Bill was always working.
…
In the kitchen, at their table. Bill tried to swallow his Sunday dinner, Bill tried to join in the family conversation. But Bill could not swallow his dinner, Bill could not join in the conversation. In the kitchen, at the table. The girls finished their dinner. And Ness finished her dinner. The girls stood up. And Ness stood up. The girls began to clear away the plates. Ness began to run the water in the sink. In the kitchen, at the table. Bill stood up. Bill walked over to the sink. Bill put his hand on Ness’s arm. And Bill said, Leave it, love. I’ll do it …
Ness dried her hands. The girls put down the plates. Ness smiled. The girls smiled, too. Ness went into the front room and her crossword. And the girls went up to their room and their records.
Bill walked back over to the table. Bill picked up the plates. Bill walked back to the sink. Bill put the plates in the sink. Bill walked back over to the kitchen table. Bill picked up the salt and pepper pots. Bill put them in the cupboard. Bill walked back over to the table. Bill took the cloth off the table. Bill walked over to the back door. Bill opened the back door. Bill stepped outside. Bill stood on the step. Bill shook the cloth. Bill stepped back into the kitchen. Bill closed the door. Bill folded up the tablecloth. Bill put the cloth in the drawer. Bill walked back over to the sink. Bill turned on the taps. Bill squeezed washing-up liquid into the sink. Bill turned off the taps. Bill picked up the scrubbing brush. Bill washed up the plates. Bill washed up the pans. Bill washed up the knives and forks. Bill put them on the draining board. Bill pulled out the plug. Bill dried his hands. Bill picked up the tea towel. Bill dried up the pans. Bill dried up the plates. Bill dried up the knives and forks. Bill put the pans in one cupboard. Bill put the plates in another. Bill put the knives and forks in the drawer. Bill walked back over to the sink. Bill picked up the dishcloth. Bill wiped down the draining board. Bill turned on the taps again. Bill rinsed the dishcloth under the taps. Bill turned off the taps. Bill squeezed the water out of the dishcloth. Bill put the dishcloth down next to the bottle of washing-up liquid. Bill turned around. Bill looked round the kitchen. Bill turned back to the sink. Bill bent down. Bill opened the cupboard under the sink. Bill took out a bucket from under the sink. Bill bent back down. Bill opened a box under the sink. Bill took out a Brillo pad from the box. Bill closed the cupboard door. Bill picked up the bucket. Bill put the bucket in the sink. Bill turned on the taps again. Bill filled the bucket half full. Bill turned off the taps. Bill took the bucket and the Brillo pad over to the cooker. Bill put down the bucket in front of the cooker. Bill opened the oven door. Bill looked inside the oven. Bill could see the dirt. Bill could smell the fat. Bill knelt down on the kitchen floor. Bill unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. Bill rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Bill picked up the Brillo pad. Bill sank the Brillo pad into the bucket of water. Bill pulled the Brillo pad back up, out of the water. Bill squeezed the water from the Brillo pad. The wet, steel wool. Bill squeezed it tighter. Bill put his hand inside the oven. Into the dirt, amongst the fat. In the kitchen, on the floor. On his knees, Bill began to scrub. Liverpool Football Club had lost to Blackburn Rovers. On his knees, Bill began to scour. Liverpool Football Club had lost to West Ham United. On his knees, Bill began to clean. Liverpool Football Club had lost to Everton. On his knees, to clean and clean again. Liverpool Football Club were no longer top of the First Division. Liverpool Football Club were now fourth in the First Division. On his knees, until there was no more dirt, there was no more fat. And Liverpool Football Club were top again, and still top again, and in the Cup again, in the Sixth Round of the FA Cup again.
…
Under the stands, in the office. Not at his desk, not in his chair. Bill was pacing and Bill was pacing. Back and forth, across the room. Three strides back and three strides forth. Swansea Town were in the Second Division. In the doldrums of the Second Division. Liverpool Football Club were in the First Division. Near the very summit of the First Division. Folk were saying Liverpool Football Club were certain to knock Swansea Town out of the FA Cup. Folk were saying Liverpool Football Club were certain to reach the semi-finals of the FA Cup. Again. Folk were saying Liverpool Football Club could reach the final of the FA Cup. Folk were saying Liverpool Football Club could win the FA Cup. Folk were saying Liverpool Football Club could win the League, too. Folk were saying Liverpool Football Club could win the League and the Cup. Folk were saying Liverpool Football Club could do the Double. The Double! Under the stands, in the office. Not at his desk, not in his chair. Still pacing and still pacing. Back and forth across the room. Bill had his fingers in his ears –
In the dressing room, the home dressing room. Bill looked from player to player. And then Bill raised his finger in the air. His finger to his ear. And Bill said, Do you hear that noise, boys? Do you hear that sound? What a noise it is. What a sound it is. That is the noise of Anfield. That is the sound of Liverpool Football Club. And you are used to that noise. You are used to that sound. Because that is our noise. That is our sound. But across that corridor. In that dressing room. The players of Swansea Town have never heard a noise like that before. They have never heard a sound like that before. And they will be frightened, boys. And they will be intimidated. They will be pale and they will be shaking. And when you walk out into that corridor. When you walk out onto that pitch. You will see how frightened they are. How intimidated they are. But you can have no compassion for them, boys. No sympathy for them. Because not a ball has been kicked yet. The match is not won yet. And so nothing is certain, boys. Nothing is certain. Not until you have won the match. Not until you have beaten Swansea Town. Only then can you have any compassion for them. Any sympathy for them. When you have won the match. When you have beaten Swansea Town …
…
In the drive, in the car. Bill turned off the engine. In the night. Bill stared out through the car window at the house, at their home. In their home, in the night. Ness and the girls would be asleep. Their house warm, their house silent. In the drive, in the car. Bill gripped the steering wheel. Tight. And Bill glanced up into the rear-view mirror. Liverpool Football Club’s assault had never ceased, Liverpool Football Club’s barrage had never lifted. Bill knew what pressure was. Swansea Town had reeled, Swansea Town had tottered. Pressure was trying to find a job. But Swansea Town had refused to collapse, Swansea Town had refused to crumple. Pressure was trying to keep a job. And in the thirty-seventh minute, Swansea Town had scored. And two minutes later, Swansea Town had scored again. Pressure was trying to live on fifty shillings a week. Liverpool Football Club’s assault had only became more ferocious. Their barrage only more intense. Pressure was trying to feed your family on fifty shillings a week. Time and time again, Liverpool Football Club had attacked and attacked. But time and time again, Dwyer had saved and saved. Pressure was not trying to win the League. But just after the hour, Peter Thompson had scored. Now the assault unceasing, now the barrage unending. Pressure was not trying to win the Cup. In the eightieth minute, the referee had blown his whistle. The referee had pointed to the penalty spot. Ronnie Moran had placed the ball on the penalty spot. That was not pressure. Moran had stepped back. Moran had run up. And Moran had shot. The ball high, the ball wide. Moran had missed. That was work. Your work. But still Liverpool Football Club had attacked and attacked. They never flagged, they never tired. That was your reward. In the final five minutes, the last five minutes, Dwyer had saved and saved and saved and saved again. Your work was your reward. Until there were no more minutes, until there was no more time. Until Swansea Town had beaten Liverpool Football Club. Until Swansea Town had knocked Liverpool Football Club out of the FA Cup. Until there could be no more talk of the semi-final. No more talk of the final, no more talk of the Double. Until there was no more talk. No more talk. In the drive, in the car. Until there was only silence. Only silence. In the drive, in the car. In the night and in the silence. Bill put his hand inside his coat. Bill put his hand inside his jacket. And Bill took out his diary. His diary of dates, his diary of fixtures. The dates to come, the fixtures to come. In the drive, in his car. Bill turned the pages of the diary. The pages of dates, the pages of fixtures. Backwards and forwards. Counting the dates, counting the fixtures. The dates to come, the fixtures to come. There were two more months to the season, thirteen more matches to come. In the drive, in the car. Bill stopped turning the pages. The pages of dates, the pages of fixtures. Bill stared down at one page. One page of dates, one page of fixtures. The Easter dates, the Easter fixtures. In the drive, in the car. In the night and in the silence. Bill gripped the steering wheel. Tighter. Bill closed his eyes. Again. Bill prayed for resurrection. Again.