Whatever Happened to Billy Parks

Taffy answered for me. ‘Of course you would, wouldn’t you, boy?’ he said. And I smiled again.

Of course I would.

Manchester United.

Manchester bloody United. Of course I wanted to go there. Sod West Ham. Man United – Busby Babes, Bobby Charlton, Denis Law, plane crashes, FA Cups – I would have crawled there. This was going to be brilliant. Taffy beamed down at me, Matt Busby beamed down at me; I beamed at me, all the gods in their heavens beamed down at me. It was all going to be brilliant. I was going to be a Busby Babe. I was going to play for Manchester United and win the FA Cup.

I got the tube and the bus back to Stratford. I wanted to tell my mother. I wanted to tell her more than anything. This would surely make her happy. I rushed through the front door. Exhilarated. The house was dark, still, lifeless. ‘Mum,’ I yelled, there was no answer. ‘Mum,’ I yelled again, ‘I’m going to play for Manchester United.’ Again, no answer. I screamed up the dark and silent stairs. ‘I’ve just met Matt Busby and I’m going to play for Manchester United.’

Silence.

I went up to her bedroom and stood by her closed door. I wanted to turn the handle. To rush in and tell her my news: I was going to be a professional footballer. I knew I was, and with Man United. But the door was closed and I’d never disturbed my mother in her room, and I never would, it just wasn’t right. I decided to save my news for the next morning.

At breakfast, I told her; not in the euphoric way I’d wanted, but in a quiet, brooding, matter-of-fact way. She stood with her back to me by the sink. ‘I’ve been asked to go to Manchester next week for a trial with United,’ I told her. But she didn’t turn towards me. The only reaction was the sudden stillness of her arms as she stopped drying the plate she was holding.

‘Matt Busby was at the game last night,’ I added. ‘I scored a goal.’

She turned towards me now, her eyes dark-red and lined, her mouth trembling.

‘Manchester?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ I gushed, trying to express the brilliance of my news in that single word. ‘Manchester United.’

‘But, Billy,’ she said, her voice fragile and tiny, ‘Manchester’s so far away. I mean, couldn’t you play with one of the local clubs? Your cousin has been playing at Barking.’

‘Barking!’ I said. ‘But this is Manchester United.’

‘Yes, but Manchester is in the north,’ she said, tears pricking her eyes. ‘It’s so far away. It’s not for you, Billy.’

She started to cry.

Why? Why was she crying? Why wasn’t she happy for me? For us?

I didn’t bloody understand.

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ I said. ‘I mean, they’re a really big club, they’re Manchester United, and if I got an apprenticeship, I’d be on good money and everything. I’ve heard the apprentices get four pound a week.’

My words vanished in the air between us. Still she said nothing, she just stood silently by the sink holding a plate and a faded blue and white tea-towel.

‘I’d be back all the time,’ I said. ‘Manchester’s not far away.’

She turned away from me and went back to the washing up.

I sighed.

I got up and walked out of the kitchen. I had injured her. We had injured each other. But I was undeterred. As far as I was concerned, I was going to Manchester.