Stanislaw Popov was roaring across London in his flame-red Ferrari (an indulgence which he had not been able to resist) when his mobile phone began to buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and held it to his ear. "Who's this?" he demanded.

"Oh, hello Stan." It was Ronnie Vincent. He had been acting very "matey" with Stanislaw lately – take, for instance, that very unappealing nickname. He was chancing his arm. And even on a good day, Stanislaw was not a patient or tolerant man.

But he didn't have the energy for a confrontation now. He just wanted to get home. "What you want?"

"Um... I wanted to let you know about something. See what you make of it. And maybe it would be a good idea to get your dad's advice."

"What? Speak."

"I've had an invitation to a press conference tomorrow. It just come through from my agent."

"So?"

"Well, it's at Mile End. With Wayne Carter."

"Fuck!" Stanislaw roared as he nearly rear-ended a jeep. "What you say? Press conference? What's wrong with that?"

"Stan, it's at Mile End," Ronnie repeated emphatically. "After what happened, I thought..."

"You thought David Carter's up to something?"

"Honestly, yeah I do. And I don't want to take any risks, what with me flying out to Spain next month for the movie..."

"Fine, fine, fine. I talk to pop. Now get off the phone, I'm driving. Oh, and Ronnie?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever fucking call me Stan again."

*

Mikhail was sitting alone at the head of a long banquet table, dining on a bloody veal steak. Mrs. Popov, who seldom appeared in public, and in some quarters was rumoured not to exist at all, had retired to bed with a headache. Mikhail had no objection, and so she was permitted to leave the table. It gave him an opportunity to sit and think while he enjoyed his delicious food. He was a planner. He liked to map things out in his head down to the smallest possible detail. That was something he had in common with Wayne Carter.

Needless to say, he wasn't too happy when Stanislaw came to intrude upon his reverie.

"Pop, I have question for you."

"What is it?"

"I just had Ronnie Vincent on the phone. Cunt nearly made me crash the car. But he was calling about a press conference."

"For what? One of his shitty movies?"

"No – a press conference at Mile End. Tomorrow. He's just had an invite from Wayne Carter."

"What for?"

Stanislaw shrugged. "We don't know. Ronnie is worried. He thinks it's some kind of trap or something."

Mikhail smiled. "Perhaps it is. And what’s wrong with that? After all, Ronnie crippled Wayne Carter. The Carters would be well within their rights to retaliate. In fact, I would be surprised if they didn't."

"So what do you think? Should we let him go through with it?"

Mikhail placed his knife and fork either side of his plate and threaded his fingers together thoughtfully. Stanislaw knew not to disturb him when he adopted this contemplative pose. He was weighing up the odds, running through a string of alternative scenarios. It would certainly look bad for David Carter if something bad happened to Ronnie at the press conference.

"Why not?" He said eventually. "After all, it's only Ronnie Vincent."

*

Wayne glanced out through the curtains. He had sent away all his security guards, telling them he no longer needed them. After all, the Popovs had already done everything to him that they possibly could. He was just a used-up husk nowadays. All the same, there was still one person he was adamant he would not allow on his property – David Carter.

So when David's car rolled up on his driveway, Wayne watched carefully from the upstairs window. He watched David march across the gravel. He listened to his father hammering on the door and jabbing the buzzer. Wayne smiled to himself.

Of course, David Carter would know about the press conference by now. No doubt he had come over to talk Wayne out of it. Probably try to negotiate with him by giving him some middle-management role at Silvertown. Wayne would rather die than become just another corporate stooge in his dad’s company.

It was a good sign that it was just his dad. If David knew that Ronnie Vincent had been invited, he would have brought his security detail and knocked down the door.

"Wayne! It's your dad! Let me in, will you? I just want a word about something."

But it was no good. David gave it ten, maybe fifteen minutes before admitting defeat. He got back into his car and drove sullenly away. And Wayne turned away from the window, still smiling.

*

The Mile End stadium loomed over him like a kind of slumbering behemoth. It dwarfed him. He hadn’t visited the place in several months now, and now it felt as though he were setting foot on an alien planet. Everything was the same, yet different. There were the same faces in the foyer of the business suite, but the cheeky smiles had been replaced by looks of abject sympathy as he leaned on his walking cane.

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Wayne was now able to walk short distances without much difficulty, though of course he had a pronounced limp and was unable to stand for lengthy periods of time. As such, his whole appearance had changed. Previously, he had stood ramrod straight, as though there were a steel pipe running through his spine. Now, his shoulders were slumped as he rested his weight on the cane. He might have aged thirty years in the space of those few months.

But in spite of that, he greeted everyone with smiles, and they treated him like a conquering hero returning from war. Rochelle came to meet him at the front desk.

She beamed at him. "Ready when you are, Wayne."

When Wayne limped out in front of the cameras, the reporters and the assorted VIP guests, there came a ripple of polite applause. Wayne held up his hand for silence. There were a few muted cheers as well. Different, Wayne thought bitterly, to his last public appearance.

One of the Sky Sports pundits was on hand to conduct the interview. Just a cardboard cut-out in a suit, better known for fatuous adverts and for his unintentionally hilarious gaffes during live match coverage. The media suite had been transformed into a kind of makeshift TV studio, with two easy chairs set up on a stage, in front of which were assembled rows of chairs for the audience. Wayne limped over and took his seat. He shook hands with the interviewer. He was all smiles.

"Now, Wayne, I've got to say, it's good to see you. It's true that you've been keeping out of the public eye for a little while, isn't that right?"

"You're right there, Keith. I'm sure you know what it's like – I'm thinking of when you had your injury back in 1996."

The interviewer nodded sagely.

"Anyway," Wayne went on, the audience hanging on his every word. "I just wasn't up to it. I mean, you've all seen the footage. You know what happened. It takes a hell of a long time to come back from something like that."

"But I think we're all dying to know," Keith interjected, "how are you? I mean, really?"

"Well, I'm just very grateful. The outpouring of support from the fans has been amazing. It's brought a tear to my eye, it really has."

"And you're in the unique position of having your dad as the club director..."

"Yes, yes, that too. Believe me, Keith, I know that I wouldn't have got where I am today without my dad."

"Your dad's been supportive?"

"Everyone has. I've had so many get well soon cards and flowers and... you name it. It's amazing what a difference a short little note can make."

"Now, I'm right in thinking that you are the driving force behind this press conference, isn't that so? I mean, you're the one who's put it all together?"

"Yes. I wanted to take the opportunity to say something to the media, and to the fans. Firstly, thank you all. I couldn't have gotten through it without you. And look at me now! I'm up and about, walking almost like normal. It's hard work, but I'm getting there. There's something else, though." Now, Wayne was looking somewhere beyond the cameras. Beyond the audience. Tears welled in his eyes. Discreetly, the cameras all honed in on his stricken face. "You probably all had a feeling this was coming. But I wanted to officially announce my retirement from Mile End Athletic."

There were oohs and ahhs and other murmurs from the audience. Meanwhile, the interviewer was just nodding thoughtfully.

"It's been the ride of a lifetime," said Wayne, dabbing at his tears, "but I suppose I knew in my heart it couldn't last forever." With that, he got cumbersomely to his feet. The interviewer offered his arm for support, but Wayne declined politely. He stood up and said, "I also wanted to take the opportunity to bring somebody out and say a few words. Ronnie? Where are you?"

Ronnie Vincent emerged sheepishly from behind the plain backcloth to the sound of gasps.

*

David Carter had not slept for a couple of days, so when he saw Ronnie Vincent’s face on the TV screen, he thought he might have been hallucinating. He’d been out of the office for a while – almost a week – trying to minimise the damage to the Silvertown deal. He’d packed Felicia off on a spa retreat, so he had the apartment to himself. He’d been making endless phone calls, trying to schmooze his way back into the pockets of the various money men who had been scared off by the Popovs’ attack on Wayne. It was hard-going, but he was making progress at last. So when he’d heard about Wayne’s surprise press conference, he’d been annoyed. The boy shouldn’t make appearances in the press without his approval. But what harm, really, could one press conference do?

Or so he’d thought, until he saw Ronnie Vincent walk out in front of the cameras.

First of all, David grabbed his phone and tried to call Wayne. It was an instinctive reaction, and a pointless one. The footage was live, the conference was happening now.

Then he fumbled for the TV remote and turned on the volume. He needed to know what this was all about.

Next, he called Rochelle. When she answered, he hissed: “What the fuck is going on?”

Rochelle, ever the professional, responded at once.

"I'm as surprised as you are, Mr. Carter." She sounded livid. “He didn’t tell me Mr. Vincent would be making a surprise appearance.”

"That treacherous little shit. After everything I’ve done for him! He’s putting Silvertown at risk."

"Do you want me to shut it down?" Rochelle asked.

David paused. "And draw attention it? No. That would only have everyone assuming that I didn’t approve Ronnie’s appearance. No, we’ll just have to hope that my son doesn’t fuck this up. What's done is done. But I want you to help me minimize the damage. Understand?"

“Of course, sir, I’m so sorry…”

"I want you to tell the boys to pipe up if Ronnie or Wayne starts to get controversial. Try Nick Devlin, he's usually pretty good with this type of thing. Tell him to chip in and draw the attention if Wayne or Ronnie mentions anything about the Popovs. Or – and this is very important – if he says anything about 'Silvertown.' Understand?"

“Right.”

"And Rochelle?"

“Yes?”

“If it gets violent, I want you to shut it down immediately.”

“Understood.”

"Now say it back to me."

"Any mention of the Popovs, or Silvertown, get Devlin involved. And shut it down if there’s violence."

"Good girl." He ended the call.

David then took a quick line of coke to perk himself up and went into the bedroom to put on a tie.

*

All the cameras were on him, and he smiled somewhat awkwardly. "Hiya," he said.

"Come here, Ronnie," said Wayne, enveloping the big guy in a hug. "I want you to know there's no hard feelings. Alright?"

"Alright," Ronnie repeated back to him. For the first time in his life, he was self-conscious in front of the cameras. This situation was out of his control, and he felt as if he'd been hung out to dry by the Popovs. Where was Stan? No amount of media training could have prepared him for this. He was used to being the tough guy. It was an image that had served him well. Now here he was getting all lovey-dovey with a cunt like Wayne Carter.

Ronnie Vincent cleared his throat. "Sorry, mate," he said. "Nothing personal."

"That's alright, Ronnie," Wayne told him. "Nothing personal." He held out his hand and Ronnie shook it.

Now that the revelation of Wayne's retirement was out of the way, not to mention his contrived reconciliation with Ronnie Vincent, there was not much else to say. Wayne thanked everyone for coming, and there was more applause and muted conversation among the audience about just how brave the young lad was.

While the TV crew was disassembling their equipment and the crowd was dispersing, a man in a suit sidled up to Wayne. It was David Carter, and he had a big, soppy smile on his face. "Wayne, my boy. I'm proud of you."

If Wayne was surprised to see him there, he didn’t show it. "Aw, thanks Dad."

"I didn't know you had it in you. But you've done the right thing here, making peace with Ronnie. I just sort of wish you’d let your old man in on his surprise cameo…”

“Well, I didn’t want to get in your way. I know you’ve got your hands full at the moment.”

David nodded. “You’re right. This Silvertown mess will be the death of me. And I’m sorry we haven’t been able to work something out for you yet…”

"Dad, forget about it," said Wayne, giving his old man a hearty slap on the back.

"You're a good lad, Wayne."

"Well, you knew I wouldn't let you down. After all, the family business comes first." He uttered this last sentence with undue gravity, and David cast a sideways glance at him. But any tension between them swiftly dispersed, and David escorted him to the nearby bar for a well-earned drink.