Crooks - A London Gangsters Tale | COMPLETED

Chapter Five

Wayne awoke the next day with a pounding head and a sudden, unexpected resurgence of his will to live. His therapist had said that the melancholy and desperation came in waves, and that it could take days or weeks to subside – but that when they abated, it would be like clouds finally parting at the end of a storm.

He hadn't believed her, but as he glanced out the window and saw the sunlight streaming in, he wondered if she'd been on to something. The darkness would come creeping back in again, he was painfully aware of that, but for now he was himself once again. And he might as well try to live while he still wanted to.

It was seven in the morning, and he had this wing of the house to himself. He didn't waste any time.

He did his best to bathe himself, shave and douse himself with deodorant. When he looked in the floor-length mirror, he saw a determined gleam in his pale eyes. Of course, he was in no condition to leap out of his wheelchair and take to the pitch again, but he had overcome some of the mental obstacles that were in his way. There was work to be done.

He took a couple of painkillers – only two, the required amount – and then got himself dressed in a charcoal-grey suit that was a staple of his press conference appearances. Even the act of putting on the suit – difficult as it was for him to accomplish alone – helped to get him into a business-like mindset.

Reaching rock bottom had given him some much needed perspective. His football career was over: somehow, he would have to learn to accept that. It was a shitty thing, and it wasn't his fault, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He would just have to move on. But just because he would not be scoring goals for Mile End any more did not mean that his life was over. He had thought that the beautiful game was his raison d'etre, and maybe it was. But not as a player.

"Dad?" he gave the word an inquisitive lilt when he spoke it into the phone.

"Wayne!" At once, David Carter was all sweetness and light, chatting to his son as though he were just another business acquaintance he had bumped into at a conference or a party, not someone who had accused him of purposefully ruining his life. "How are you doing, fella?"

"Not too bad," Wayne answered, which was the truth. Last night had been the worst night of his life, but it was over now. He was a new man. He was all about the business. "We need to talk."

"You're right," David agreed, "but not now. I'm just heading into a meeting. What do you say I stop by your place tonight? Bring a few beers, we'll watch a movie or something. Be like old times. How about it?"

"If you want. I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, yes, of course you do..." David was obviously not concentrating on their conversation. Wayne could picture him surrounded by assistants shoving papers under his nose for his signature. Well, that was fine. What Wayne had to say could wait until the evening.

It was seven-thirty when David arrived at his son's house. Upon seeing Wayne not only clean-shaven but wearing a suit, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then he smiled.

"Alright, Wayne," he said, putting an arm around the lad's shoulder and deftly spinning the wheelchair around. Wayne would not have put up with that kind of thing from his therapists or bodyguards, but with his dad he didn't have much choice.

David pushed Wayne through to the dining room. "Those two security fellas not making a nuisance of themselves, are they?"

"No, they're alright."

"Well, I'm pleased to see you up and about like this. Dressed up all smart. You look good. Nice to see you've got your mojo back."

Wayne could not help but smile. "I wouldn't go that far."