Page 10 of How To Tackle A Crush
“Granny is calling,” Alfie says suddenly.
“School?”
“Yes.”
“Be good.”
“Love you Dad.”
“Love you too, mate.”
I wait until he hangs up. I always do. Something about ending the call first feels wrong, like walking away while he’s still talking.
For a second I just sit there with the phone still in my hand.
Then I put it down and the quiet comes back. Not the easy quiet from five minutes ago. The other kind. The one where work is waiting.
I reach for the folder on my desk. Training reports. Fitness updates. Tactical notes. The normal rhythm of the job settles back in automatically. Read. Assess. Adjust. Decide.
Control what you can control.
Outside my office window the first players are arriving. Boots slung over shoulders. Coffee cups in hand. One of the younger lads is already laughing too loudly at something. Nerves. Always nerves when something new starts.
I know the feeling.
My gaze drifts to the newspaper folded on the corner of my desk. My face again. And the same speculations for months.
Westland’s surprise move.
Step down or masterstroke?
Why Carlisle?
Everyone keeps asking that question like there must be some clever football answer. Like I have spotted some tactical opportunity nobody else has.
I pick the paper up, read the headline again, then fold it closed.
They are all looking in the wrong direction.
Seven years managing abroad. Bigger clubs. Bigger budgets. Champions League nights. Directors who talked about legacy like it was something you could buy.
Good football. Good work.
But I got tired of airports. Tired of watching Alfie grow through photos his nanny sent me. Tired of measuring fatherhood in international breaks.
I remember one video call in particular. Alfie showing me a drawing. Me pretending I wasn’t about to go into a match briefing.
“Is it good?” he’d asked.
It was a dinosaur with six legs and what looked like a jet engine.
“It’s perfect,” I told him.
I missed his birthday two weeks later.
That was the moment something shifted. I just didn’t want to be the kind of father who was always arriving tomorrow anymore.
Carlisle came along at the right moment.
