Glory Of The Football Manager System

Chapter 131: The First Week I

VOLUME 2: THE ACADEMY DAYS

ACT 1 OF VOLUME 2

Tuesday, June 2nd - Saturday, June 6th, 2016

The sterile, unfamiliar scent of the London air was the first thing that hit me as I stepped out of my flat. It was clean, almost antiseptic, a world away from the damp, earthy, industrial tang of Manchester that I knew as home.

The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, the sun already promising a heat that felt different here: drier, more oppressive. Back home, even on a sunny day, you could feel the memory of rain in the air. Here, it felt like the city had forgotten how.

My flat, a modern but soulless box in a Croydon high-rise, was quiet. Too quiet. The weekend had been a blur of unpacking boxes and forced cheerfulness with Emma before she’d taken the train back to Manchester on Sunday evening.

The silence she left behind was a physical presence, a constant reminder of the two hundred miles that now separated us. Her scent lingered on the pillows, a ghost of home in this alien landscape.

Yesterday had been my 27th birthday. My first day at Crystal Palace. I hadn’t celebrated, hadn’t even mentioned it to anyone at the club. Hell, I’d barely mentioned it to Emma.

That had been a mistake.

She’d called me last night, and the conversation had started pleasantly enough. "How was your first day?" she’d asked.

"Good. Intense. The players are talented but..."

"Danny."

"Yeah?"

"What day is it?"

I’d paused, confused. "Monday?"

"What. Day. Is. It."

it had hit me.

didn’t tell me it was your birthday! I’ve been sitting here all day thinking you were just busy with work, and you spent your 27th birthday

was working, Em. It

swear to God, sometimes I think you were raised by wolves. No, wait. Wolves would at least howl or something. You just... suffer

despite myself. "I wasn’t suffering.

your birthday. Alone. Without even a

had a sandwich from

going to kill you. When I visit in two weeks, we’re celebrating properly. Cake. Candles.

disaster. Did you at least buy yourself a cupcake? Or are you

a coffee.

home. You’re being robbed. Also, that’s not

let on. I didn’t celebrate birthdays. I hadn’t, not really, since I was seven

raising a kid on her own, working double shifts at the care home, there just wasn’t money for parties or presents or any of the things other

we were different, that we

her eyes, the worry lines that had no business being on a woman in her thirties. And I’d decided, right then, that I wouldn’t ask for birthdays anymore. Wouldn’t add to the weight she

the next year when

and heartbroken all

cake now, could afford a lot of things.

phone buzzed again. A text from Mum: "Happy birthday, love. I know you don’t like a fuss, but I’m proud of you. Crystal Palace! My boy, coaching at a Premier

long moment, a lump forming in my throat. She always