Birds in Gilded Cages

Chapter 13-Numb

Chapter 13-Numb

With a sweet half-touch the striker sent the ball flying into the back of the net and the crowd in the stands all leapt the their feet, cheering.

"COME ON DONNY!  YEEEEEEESSSSS! GET IN!"

Harry turned to look at Louis.  The youth beside him couldn't be more different that the one he'd first seen at that party that night...Gone was the designer suit and bespoke leather shoes, to be replaced with trainers, tracksuit bottoms and a football suit. In place of the slicked back hair and clean-shaven look was a fluffy cowlick and stubble.  He looked so much younger, the worry lines that normally creased his forehead now gone.   And then there was the most significant change...Louis seemed actually, genuinely happy-He seemed to glow from inside out, as if a long dormant spark had been kindled back to life...Harry almost felt as if he was seeing him for the first time...And it was beautiful.

"That's us one up...We've got this in the bag unless it goes into extra time."  Louis took a sip of his beer and turned to look at him. "What?"

"Nothing...They're a good team."

"Best in the league mate.  My granddad used to bring me to every match. Only time I ever saw him cry was the day we got relegated. It were fuckin' awful. They carried a coffin draped with the Rovers colours round the pitch...Pop cried like a baby.  But we've gone from strength to strength since.  And....And....And we might just be about to fucking win..."  The shrill shriek of the final whistle echoed round the small stadium.  "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSS!  COME ON THEN!"

He swung round and gave Harry a high five before jumping up and punching the air as the crowd cheered around him.  Buzzing on Louis' energy Harry cheered too, whooping and clapping with him as the team did a victory lap of the pitch.   The crowd began to file out of the seats.

"So where are we going now?"

Louis rolled his eyes at him as if he were dense.  When he spoke it was in a cut-glass RP accent. "We, Harold, are going to find ourselves an established purveyor of fine ales, liquors and spirts in which to get ourselves exquisitely inebriated, as one learned before getting oneself expelled from public school."

"Y'what?"

"We're going down the boozer to get fucking rat-arsed..." Louis made a face at him, crossing his eyes and Harry laughed.

"We're supposed to be baby-sitting tonight remember?"

"Oh shit yeah..." Louis' shoulders sagged in disappointment and then his eyes lit up. "But one won't hurt, will it? Just to toast the victory?"

"I suppose not."

"'Course not. Come on."  He caught hold of his arm and Harry let him lead him down the steps and onto the stadium floor towards the exit.

"LOUIS!"  They both turned at the sound of the shout to see a short middle-aged man making his way towards them, his football shirt stretched wide over his pot belly. "Knew it was you! How ya doin' lad?!"

"Bobby!" He held out his hand and Louis took it before pulling him into a hug. "I'm good, I'm good."  He let him go and turned to Harry.  "Bobby this is my mate Harry."

"Hi." Harry shook his hand.

"Bobby here gave me my first job, selling burgers here every match day."

 "Yeah for a tenner and free entry to the match...It were child labour though, he were only ten!"

 And the thought of little Louis selling burgers so he could see the football for free was somehow so endearing.   Harry smiled. "Really?"