David Peace - Red or Dead

And Bill stood on the pitch. The Wembley pitch. And Bill watched Emlyn Hughes lead the players up the steps. The Wembley steps. Bill watched Emlyn Hughes collect the shield. The Charity Shield. The players ascending the steps, the players descending the steps. The Wembley steps. And then Bill joined the players. The Liverpool players. At the bottom of the steps. The Wembley steps. Bill posed for photographs with the team. The Liverpool team. And the shield. The Charity Shield. On the pitch. The Wembley pitch. Bill held the shield. The Charity Shield. And the photographers took their pictures. And the journalists asked their questions. And then Bill walked. Bill jogged. Around the touchline. The Wembley touchline. With the shield. The Charity Shield. With the team. The Liverpool team. On the track. The speedway track. Around the stadium. The Wembley stadium. Saluting the supporters of Liverpool Football Club, thanking the supporters of Liverpool Football Club. For the last time, the very last time. Saluting them and thanking them. For the last time, the very last time. The supporters of Liverpool Football Club chanting, SHANK-LEE, SHANK-LEE, SHANK-LEE …

Some of those supporters of Liverpool Football Club on the pitch now. The Wembley pitch now. Embracing Bill, holding Bill. Tight, tight. Pulling him this way, pulling him that way. Harder and harder. And one supporter, one Liverpool supporter, reached out towards Bill. Across the pitch, the Wembley pitch. And this supporter, this Liverpool supporter, this supporter tied a scarf around Bill’s neck. A tartan Liverpool scarf around Bill’s neck. And another supporter, a supporter in a white boiler suit and a tall red hat, this supporter grabbed Bill. By the lapels, the lapels of Bill’s jacket. And this supporter, this supporter in his white boiler suit and his tall red hat, with tears down his face and despair in his voice, this supporter held Bill. Tighter, tighter. This supporter hugged Bill. Harder and harder. Squeezed him as though he would never let him go. And this supporter begged and pleaded and cried, Please don’t go, Mr Shankly. Please don’t leave us. Please stay, Mr Shankly. Please stay with us, please …

Bill tried to pull back from this supporter, this supporter in his white boiler suit and his tall red hat, with the tears down his face and the despair in his voice. Bill tried to turn away. But Bill could not pull back, Bill could not turn away. And Bill reached out to this supporter, this man in his white boiler suit and his tall red hat, and Bill embraced the man. Bill held the man in his arms. And Bill said, It’ll be all right, wee man. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry, wee man. Don’t worry …

And Bill pulled back now. Bill turned away now. And Bill began to walk. To jog. And then to run. Across the pitch. The Wembley pitch. Towards the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. The darkness and the shadows. And in the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. In the darkness and in the shadows. Bill stopped running. Between its high, bare walls. In its long, dark shadows. His chest heaving, his heart racing. Bill caught his breath, Bill calmed his heart. In the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. His breath caught and his heart calm. Bill knocked upon the dressing-room door. The Leeds United dressing-room door. Bill stepped inside the Leeds United dressing room. And Bill saw Billy Bremner. Billy Bremner sat on the bench. Still in his shorts, still without his shirt. Bill sat down next to Billy Bremner. And Bill said, What on earth did you do that for, son? Throwing your shirt off like that. Throwing it down on the ground like it was a piece of rag. What on earth were you bloody thinking? What got into you, son?

I don’t know, said Billy Bremner. I am disgusted with myself.

Bill laughed. And Bill said, And so you bloody should be, son. But did you see you that picture of me and you and Jack Dempsey? In the paper? The one they took at the dinner the other night? Now that man could lick the world. That man knew how to really punch!

Aye, said Billy Bremner. It’s a good photo. A good memory.

Bill nodded. And Bill slapped Billy Bremner on the top of his thigh. Bill got up from the bench. And Bill walked out of the Leeds United dressing room. Into the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. And into the dressing room. The Liverpool dressing room. And Bill saw Kevin Keegan. Kevin Keegan sat on the bench. Already washed, already dressed. His father sat beside him. Bill sat down on the other side of Kevin Keegan. And Bill said, Forget it, son. Forget it. You were not the culprit. You were the victim. The victim of a heinous injustice!

I can’t forget it, said Kevin Keegan. But I’m very sorry it happened, Boss. On today of all days. So I’m going to go home with my dad now, Boss. Because I need to think about things …

Bill nodded. And Bill said, All right, son. You go home with your dad. That’s the best place, home. Keep your head down. And your nose clean. But your chin up. Your chin up, son …

Kevin Keegan nodded. And his father nodded. Kevin Keegan stood up. And his father stood up. And Bill watched Kevin Keegan and his father walk out of the dressing room. The Liverpool dressing room. And into the tunnel. The Wembley tunnel. Its darkness and its shadows. The door banging behind them. The dressing-room door. Bill heard the door banging. The dressing-room door. Banging and banging, echoing and echoing. And Bill looked around the dressing room. The Liverpool dressing room. Round and around. And Bill stood back up. Bill got back on his feet. And Bill began to pace again. Up and down the dressing room. The Liverpool dressing room –

Round and around. Round and around –

On the train. The train back to Liverpool. In the carriage, in his seat. Bill could feel the wheels of the train beneath him. Turning, turning. Round and around. Their movement and their rhythm. Round and around. On the train. The train back to Liverpool. In the carriage, in his seat. Bill had no book. No book of names, no book of notes. Bill had no diary. No diary of dates, no diary of fixtures. The dates to come, the fixtures to come. But on the train. The train back to Liverpool. In the carriage, in his seat. The wheels going round and around. Turning and turning. Bill did not look out of the window. Not at the sun setting, not at the night falling. The cattle dimming and the fields fading. The wheels going round and around. So what are you going to do with yourself all season, Mr Shankly? In the gloaming, in the twilight. Past the abandoned branch lines, past the mothballed stations. The wheels going round and around. What on earth are you going to do with yourself, sir? Bill thought about all the interviews he had done. All the broadcasters and all the journalists. The wheels going round and around. So what are you going to do with yourself all season, Mr Shankly? And Bill closed his eyes. Bill had had enough of dictating his own obituary. Bill had had enough of carving his own tombstone. Round and around. What on earth are you going to do with yourself, sir? Round and around. So what are you going to do with yourself all season, Mr Shankly? Round and around. What on earth are you going to do with yourself, sir? Round and around,

round and around. In the house, in their front room. In the night and in the silence. Bill paced and Bill paced. Round and around. In the house, in their front room. In the night and in the silence. Bill stopped pacing. Bill walked out into the hall. Bill picked up the telephone. Bill dialled a number. And Bill listened to the telephone ring. And ring –

Hello, said Maurice Setters, the manager of Doncaster Rovers.

Hello, Maurice. Hello. It’s only me, Maurice. It’s only Bill. And I’m sorry to bother you, Maurice. But I’m worried about Keegan. I am very worried about Kevin. After what happened today. I want him to come up to Glasgow with the team. We’re playing in Billy McNeill’s testimonial. It’ll be my last game, Maurice. And I want him to be there. I don’t want him brooding in Doncaster. I want to get things sorted. So will you go out and find him for me, Maurice. I called his house. I called his father. But the lad’s gone to the pub. He’ll be out drowning his sorrows somewhere. And that’s no good for any man. So I want you to go and find him, Maurice. And tell him to call me. Because I’m back at my home now. And so I’ll be waiting for him to call me. Whatever time. I’ll be waiting. Will you find him and tell him, Maurice? Will you do that for me, Maurice?