David Peace - Red or Dead

I just don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, love. Football is your whole life. Liverpool Football Club is your whole life, love. I know that. And I know what a wrench it’ll be for you, love.

Bill shook his head. And Bill said, I’d be leaving Liverpool Football Club. But I’d not be leaving the game, love.

I know that, said Ness. And nor would I ever ask you to, love. It would be too cruel. It would be too heartless.

After the season, before the season. In the boardroom, the Anfield boardroom. John Smith looked down the long table at Bill Shankly. John Smith shook his head. And John Smith said, But if it’s a question of the new contract. If it’s a question of the money. Then we are willing to double your salary. We’re willing to triple your salary …

Thank you, said Bill Shankly. But it’s not a question of money. It’s never been a question of money. When I hear of the money that’s bandied about, it makes my blood boil. There are men with tennis courts and swimming pools who haven’t even got a Championship medal. But I have never asked for money. I came to Liverpool to make a success of this job for this club and for this city. Maybe I didn’t get enough out of it for my family. I regret I didn’t give Ness more. We’re still living in the same house we moved into when we came to Liverpool. But at least it’s a home, not a house. And I’m not looking for Buckingham Palace. And Matt is the same as me. They still live in the same semi-detached house in Chorlton-cum-Hardy they have always lived in. And perhaps my family are all right after all. They’ve all got a place to live and something to eat and I’ve got five bonny grandchildren. All girls. And every one with a Scouse accent. Now what more could a man want? So no, it’s not a question of money. It is a question of time. And I have been around a long time. Twenty-five years as a manager, seventeen as a player. But during my time, I have always been so single-minded. And so my family has suffered. And I regret that. I regret that Ness has had to bear the brunt of my being away so much. And so I think I would like a rest, to spend more time with my family, and maybe get a bit of fun out of life. Because whilst you love football, it is a hard, relentless task which goes on and on like a river. There is no time for stopping and resting. That is not an option. So I’m retiring. Because that is my only option. And I think now is the right time. If we had lost the final, I would have carried on. But I thought, We’ve won the Cup now and maybe it’s a good time to go. So I knew then, that day in May, I was going to finish.

John Smith shook his head again. And John Smith said, But what if we were to offer you a position as general manager? With an office here at the ground. Where you could come in when you want. And do what you want. At a different pace. At your own pace.

Thank you, said Bill Shankly. But that hasn’t worked at United. It hasn’t worked for Matt or for the club. They have been relegated. They are in the Second Division now. No, I’ve always said, when I go. When I leave. It will be a complete break. It must be a complete break. For you and for me. That is the only way.

John Smith said, But the thought of you leaving. Of you making a complete break. It is an horrendous thought for us. Would you not even consider becoming a director, Mr Shankly?

Thank you, said Bill Shankly again. But I’m not a committee man. So I could never be a director. That isn’t me.

In the semi-detached house on Bellefield Avenue, West Derby, in their bedroom. Bill put on his shirt. His tangerine shirt. Bill went to the dressing table. Bill opened the top drawer. Bill took out his cufflinks. His gold cufflinks. Bill closed the drawer. Bill did up the cuffs of his shirt. His tangerine shirt. Bill went to the wardrobe. Bill opened the doors. Bill took out his suit. His freshly cleaned grey herringbone suit. Bill left the wardrobe doors open. Bill walked over to the bed. Bill laid out the suit on top of the bed covers. Bill took the trousers from the coat hanger. Bill put on the trousers of his suit. His freshly cleaned grey herringbone suit. Bill went back to the dressing table. Bill opened the second drawer of the dressing table. Bill took out a tie. The red tie his daughters had once given him for Christmas. The red tie he had worn ever since. Bill closed the drawer. Bill walked back to the wardrobe. The doors still open. Bill stood before the mirror on the back of one of the doors. Bill put on his tie. His red tie. Bill went back over to the bed. Bill picked up the jacket from the bed. Bill took the jacket from the coat hanger. Bill put on the jacket of his suit. His freshly cleaned grey herringbone suit. Bill walked back over to the dressing table. Bill opened the top drawer of the dressing table again. Bill took out one white handkerchief and one red pocket square. Bill closed the drawer. Bill put the white handkerchief in his left trouser pocket. Bill laid the red pocket square on the top of the dressing table. It looked like a red diamond. Bill brought the bottom point of the red pocket square up to the top point. It looked like a red triangle. Bill brought the left corner of the triangle to the right corner and then the right corner to the left corner. It looked like a long red rectangle with a point at the top. Bill folded the bottom almost to the top. Bill walked over to the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door. Bill stood before the mirror. Bill placed the red pocket square in the breast pocket of his grey jacket. Bill looked in the mirror. Bill adjusted the pocket square until just enough of the point was coming out of the pocket. The red point out of the grey pocket. Bill stepped back. In the semi-detached house on Bellefield Avenue, West Derby, in their bedroom. Bill looked at himself in the mirror. The suit too big, the tie too tight. And Bill saw a sixty-year-old man. The shadows around his eyes too dark, the lines in his face too deep. And Bill did not recognise him.

On the morning of Friday 12 July, 1974. In his office, at his desk. Peter Robinson rang around the press. And Peter Robinson said, There is a press conference at Anfield at twelve fifteen today. The board have a very special announcement to make. It is really important. It’ll make front-page news. So make sure you are there. And don’t be late.

Can you give us a hint what it might be about, asked the press.

Peter Robinson said, No. Just be there.

Is it to do with Ray Kennedy?

Peter Robinson said, No. It’s nothing to do with any transfer deal. But at this stage, I can tell you no more.

At high noon, on Friday 12 July, 1974. In the lounge, the VIP lounge at Anfield. There were forty gentlemen of the press. Notebooks and microphones, television cameras and lights. The directors of Liverpool Football Club began to file in. In silent procession, in dark suits. They sat down behind the long table at the front of the lounge. Backs to the window, black against the light. They did not smile and they did not speak. In their dark suits, in a silent line. They waited. And then Bill Shankly marched in. Bill Shankly bounced in –

Hello, boys. Hello. How are you, boys? How are you all? Have you all had a good summer, boys? Good holidays? Have we got time for a quick cup of tea, May? A quick cuppa?

May nodded. And May poured Bill Shankly a cup of tea.

Thank you, May. Thank you very much, love.

Bill Shankly took a sip of his tea. And a bite from a brownbread sandwich. And then Bill Shankly wandered over to the gentlemen of the press. Head cocked and jaw out –

The World Cup was very disappointing, wasn’t it, boys? Very disappointing. If some of the stuff played in Germany had been played here at Anfield, the teams would have been hooted off the park. Hooted off the park. And I told you all before the World Cup that Yugoslavia wouldn’t be any good, didn’t I, boys? Didn’t I now? They play for fun, not for keeps. They play cards for money and then give you back your money when they beat you. They are too sweet to be wholesome. Too sweet for this world, boys …