FM Stories Chapter 2

I was awake early the next morning. I slipped out of bed, dressed and stood on the small balcony of my room. I closed the doors behind me and took in the enchanting view. The light was sublime, serenely muted with a gossamer mist. Across the perfectly still water of a river, the mountains were almost a blurry, blue haze. I reasoned that once the sun had made its impact, the mist would lift and the tops of the mountains would be revealed. The sky for now was delicately pale and pearly.

My attention was caught by a pigeon flying by, its wings flapping half-heartedly as if it didn’t want to disturb the peace of the morning. Directly opposite me there was a delightful jumble of black rooftops. TV aerials and chimney pots of differing sizes added haphazardly to the chaotic charm of this little town. Sitting at the base of one of chimneys was another pigeon: It was fat and round and looked like a slightly squashed cushion. The sound of shutters opening made me look to my right. An elderly woman in slippers came into view on a neighboring balcony. She began pegging out a basket of washing consisting of several large pairs of what could only be described as comedy bloomers, a vest and a row of socks. At home I would never have dreamt of watching someone perform such an intimate task, but today I felt like behaving differently.

Breakfast on the terrace garden was a simple buffet affair – Croissants, bread rolls, jam, cheese, ham, fruit juice and coffee. I had just poured a second cup of coffee when my mobile rang. Uncle Keith Wagstaff called to confirm my forthcoming meeting with the Chairman. His efficiency reassured me, things were going better than I expected. I flicked through a newspaper; nothing took my attention, many words but no substance.

I was blessed with the distraction of a glamorous couple settling themselves at a nearby table: from their sleek clothes and languid bodies, I put money on them coming from Milan. But it wasn’t the man and woman themselves that were worthy of my attention; it was the dog they were making an enormous fuss of that was the star turn. Or more particularly, it was the extraordinary lead the blonde-haired woman was holding that I couldn’t take my eyes off. I had come across many a pampered pooch in Singapore and New Zealand but never one that come on the end of a dog lead that had been designed to look like a string of sausages. It made my day. And then the moment was gone. I glanced at my watch.

“Mr. Lum”

I turned. “Yes.”

I recognised good-quality clothes when I saw them, and striding across the room, his hand outstretched, was a man in his early 50’s, medium height who clearly took pride in his appearance. He was wearing cream chinos and a Ralph Lauren stripped shirt with a navy-blue cashmere sweater draped around his shoulders; a gold watch hung loosely from one of his wrists. With mounting satisfaction, I knew that here was a face I could trust.

“Steve Wharton. It’s good to meet you at last.”

I accepted the outstretched hand of the Chairman of Scunthorpe United.

“Lum Soon Keong.”

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” he said a bit breathlessly, “Got caught up with an urgent phone call that turned out to be anything but.”

“Not to worry, “I replied, “I was just enjoying the pleasant surroundings”

“They are something!” He responded raising an eyebrow in the direction of the dog.
He sat down and beckoned the waiter over, ordering coffee.

“Everything all right? Your flight from New Zealand? Hotel accommodation?”

I smiled, “Yes, thank you, it’s all just right. The hotel is very good.”

“Good, good, we are proud of our hotel’s here.” He shifted his gaze to meet my eyes. “I am not going to spin you a line. The fact is that the club has no money. We’re not bankrupt and we are not going to be. I will make sure of that. But we are proud. We have a great spirit, great supporters and we are desperate to keep our place in the Challenge league. Survival is paramount.”

“I’ve stood on the terraces, cheered the team, it’s a great feeling” I hastily agreed.

“There’s nothing quite like that feeling, worth a million pounds, when the team you love wins.” A broad smile filled his face. “Soon Keong, let’s face facts. Everyone knows your new, but why Scunthorpe? Why here?”

I took a long, thirsty sip of my coffee. “To be honest Mr. Wharton.”

“Please call me Steve,” He interrupted, “First name’s only.”

“Thank you, Steve.” I paused. “Scunthorpe is a window of opportunity for me. An open window. A chance for me to start on my career and on to the managerial radar. I can have the opportunity here to turn things around. That’s the inviting scenario. Can I turn it around? Can I get Scunthorpe back to a level it was in the 60’s? Can I go beyond that? Whatever happens I can guarantee certain things. I will offer organisation, work rate and a way to play the game that I’ve always dream and wanted. Aggressive, positive, looking to win. That’s how I will always be.”

“But we have limited resources.” He pulled a face and shrugged.

I leant forward and lowered my voice, “I promise I will try, with no money, to change the situation. I’m not a defeatist. My goal is to stay in the division, comfortably. Not leaving it depending on the last game of the season.”

He relaxed back into his chair, “That is music to my ears, Soon Keong. I think we have a deal. Come on, drink up and let me show you around. We can iron out the contact details later.”

It was later that evening that I lay back in the bath and waited for the warmth of the water to ease away the strain of not just the day, but the years of waiting. It took me only a few moments to realize that I wasn’t in need of a soothing balm. I was all right. After years of waiting for this point in my life, I was actually all right. The truth of my feelings hit me quite forcibly and I started to laugh. It echoed horribly in the bathroom with its high tiled ceiling. A surge of confidence flooded through me that cleansed me from all the insecurities I had been concealing. I felt ready for anything.