Hand of God

8

‘Peter,’ said Bekim. ‘After Peter the Great. As a child he had red hair, too.’

‘He’s another red devil, all right,’ I said. ‘Just like his father.’

I was staring at a picture on an iPhone of a very small baby with red hair.

‘Yes, Peter is very lovely,’ I added quickly, for fear that the Russian might take offence at my calling him a devil. ‘You must be very proud, Bekim.’

‘Very proud,’ he said. ‘To be a father is to be blessed, I think. Perhaps one day, Scott, you too will have children. I hope so. I’d like you to feel the way I feel now.’

I nodded. ‘Perhaps I will. But at the present moment I’ve got my hands full looking out for my players. I really don’t know where I’d find the time to be a father.’

‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘You are a bit like our father. Only not as old.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ I said.

‘Sometimes we’re like little children. This stupid business between me and Prometheus. You must think we’re idiots.’

‘I don’t think you’re an idiot, Bekim. Let me make that quite clear. I don’t hold you responsible for what happened at all.’

Bekim nodded.

‘And now the German boy is leaving,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s such a pity. Because I think Christoph’s one of the most talented players at this football club.’

‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘I was very much opposed to selling him; and told Vik and Phil that a sale would be over my dead body. But now he’s asked for a transfer.’

‘Can’t you talk him out of it?’

‘Believe me, I’ve tried. But his mind is made up.’

‘You know why he wants to go, of course.’

‘Yes.’

‘Because of that stupid gay-hating bastard, Prometheus.’

‘Yes. I know.’

‘My agent has asked me to make the peace with him. To shake his hand.’

‘I know. And will you?’

‘I suppose so. If Christoph is determined to leave the club then I can see no reason not to. For the good of the club, you understand. Not because I like this man. I don’t like him at all. Or what’s in his heart. But I think the feeling is mutual, don’t you? He hates me, too.’

I let that one go. There seemed little point in discussing an enmity I hoped was now over.

‘Prometheus has tweeted his regrets about offending gay people,’ I said. ‘Which is helpful to this whole affair, don’t you agree?’

‘I just wish that it would make Christoph change his mind.’

‘It doesn’t look like it, though. Anyway, we’re not short of offers for the boy so far. Barcelona has offered thirty million quid.’

‘Then he should take it. Barca is a great club. And Gerardo Martino is a great manager. Although it’s still difficult to be a maricón in some parts of Spain.’

We were at my flat in Chelsea. Bekim lived not very far away, in St Leonard’s Terrace, in a beautiful, seven-million-pound nineteenth-century Grade II listed building set back behind a private carriage drive with fine views over the rolling lawns of Burton’s Court. Inside there were red walls and red furniture as might have been expected from a man nicknamed the red devil; even the flowers in the vases were red.

‘Did you come by to talk about Christoph, Bekim? Or was there something else?’

‘There was something else, yes. I hear you’re going to Greece. To check out Olympiacos, in Piraeus.’

‘Yes. The Berlin side Hertha FC has a pre-season friendly with them. They’ve invited me along to see them play. I’m also going to check out their number two goalkeeper, Willie Nixon. Now that Didier Cassell is out of the game we’re going to need to buy a reserve goalkeeper, and soon. If Kenny Traynor gets injured we’re screwed.’

Didier Cassell had been City’s first choice goalkeeper until an accident had forced him to quit the game; he’d hit his head on the post in a match against Tottenham the previous January. He wasn’t long out of hospital after making an only partial recovery.

‘You know I have a house in Greece,’ said Bekim. ‘On the island of Paros. As a matter of fact it’s not so very far from the place in Turkey where I’m originally from. Before we moved to Russia.’

I shook my head. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘I bought it when I was playing for Olympiacos. It’s just a thirty-minute hop on a plane from Athens. Very quiet. When I’m there the local people leave me alone — in fact, I think they really don’t know who I am at all — you can’t imagine how wonderful that is. I go there several times a year. By the way, you must stay at the Grande Bretagne Hotel; it’s the best hotel in Athens. And while you’re there — yes, this is the reason I came here today — you must meet this woman I know and take her to dinner. Her name is Valentina and she is the most beautiful woman in all Athens, although originally she’s from Russia. I’ll text you her number and email. Seriously, Scott. You won’t be disappointed. She makes every other woman look quite ordinary and she’s great company. You should take her to Spondi, the best restaurant in Athens. I know she likes it there.’

I knew Bekim’s reputation as a ladies’ man. Before meeting his current girlfriend and the mother of his child, Alex, he’d had a string of glamorous girlfriends, including the Storm supermodel Tomyris, and the singer Hattie Shepsut. In an interview with GQ magazine he’d admitted to sleeping with a thousand women, which, if it was true, meant he was basing his opinion of his friend Valentina on a fairly significant statistical sample and was perhaps something that needed to be taken seriously.

He took out his iPhone again. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a picture of her on my phone.’

He swiped his way through several photographs until he found the one he was looking for.

‘There. What do you think?’

‘I’m going to watch a football match, not check out the local hookers.’

‘She’s not a hooker. Believe me, you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t at least take her out to dinner. I wouldn’t recommend her to you if I didn’t think you’d find her the most delightful company. She’s very sophisticated, very well read. And she knows about art. Every time I see her I learn something new.’

‘If she’s so sophisticated, how come she knows a sod like you?’

‘Does it matter? Look at her, man. She’s properly fit. A face to launch a thousand ships, eh?’ Bekim grinned. ‘Sometimes I read this phrase in the newspapers. Writers talk about a country’s best-kept secret. Well, she’s Attica’s best kept secret.’

‘Attica?’

‘The historical region that encompasses Athens.’

‘I see. So, when I’m in Attica, I’m going to look up Helen of Troy, is that it?’

Bekim grinned. ‘That’s right. It couldn’t do you any harm, could it?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Life is more than just football, Scott. Even for you. You have to remember that.’

‘You’re right. I forget that sometimes. But with two games a week — three if we get through the play-offs for the Champions League — there’s not much time for life.’

‘In this game of ours, it’s easy to forget everything else.’

‘Yes. It is.’

‘I’ll tell her you’re coming, shall I? And that you’re staying at the Grande Bretagne on Syntagma Square. The rooftop bar and restaurant has the best view in all of Athens. Take her there before you go to Spondi and put the bill on my tab.’

‘Why not?’

I agreed just to humour him, as if he really was a child, and then forgot all about it.

‘But be careful, Scott,’ he added, ‘and I don’t mean with lovely Valentina. There are two teams in Attica. Olympiacos and Panathinaikos, and they are bitter rivals. They hate each other. They are eternal enemies, Greeks say. Sometimes when these two sides play they don’t even finish the game because the crowd violence is so bad. When you go to Olympiacos, keep away from Gate 7, okay? Those are the real hard-core fans. Very violent. Like Glasgow Rangers and Celtic. Only worse.’ Bekim grinned. ‘You raise your eyebrows. I can see you don’t believe me. Yes, I know you’re part Scottish and you think that nothing could be as bad as the Old Firm. But what you have to remember is that half of all the men in Greece under the age of thirty are unemployed; and where there is such mass unemployment, you’re always going to have bad hooligans. Same as Weimar Germany. Same as South America. There is also match fixing because there is a football mafia. To be an honest sportsman is difficult in Greece, Scott. And if you are interviewed by a newspaper just remember to keep your mouth shut. Because the people who talk about this kind of thing get hurt. Just be careful, is all. Please be careful, Scott.’

There was real concern in Bekim’s voice and, after he’d gone, I wondered if this might actually have been the real reason that he’d come to see me. That would have been typical. In many ways he was a very secretive man, as I later discovered.