The Original Wag

By Graham Ashworth

As a teenager Lily isn't usually that impressionable but under pressure from her peers, she and two friends embark upon an outrageous adventure to meet Cliff Simpson and his colleagues at the nearby football stadium. Having her innocence stolen during a drunken encounter looks set to spell disaster and leaves the notorious Lexington House her only option when all family ties are abruptly cut off. Further tragedy emerges from the ill-fated liaison and is set to haunt her for the rest of her life, along with someone in the shadows who has developed an unhealthy interest in her every move. Will Lily ever find happiness? Will she ever find love? And more to the point, can she ever trust anyone from the world of football again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326525118

Book preview

The Original Wag

The Original Wag

By

Graham Ashworth

RB

Rossendale Books

Also by this author

Man O’ the World (2013) ISBN 0957434634

Available through i2i Publishing

Don’t live your life like a reflection - the true soul lays within the person this side of the mirror.

The oriental shopkeeper’s words to Ray Taylor,

Man O’ the World.

Published by Lulu Enterprises Inc.

3101 Hillsborough Street

Suite 210

Raleigh, NC 27607-5436

United States of America

Published in paperback 2014

Category: Fiction

Copyright Graham Ashworth © 2014

ISBN : 978-1-291-84931-8

All rights reserved, Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention and Pan American Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organisations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

For my wife Dawn, my children Mark and Kayleigh

and my Granddaughter Evie

Acknowledgement

Thanks to Accrington Stanley football club, Ray Simpson and Darren Bentley at Burnley Football club for their help with background information also my friends Peter Reed and Jimmy Cricket for the kind use of their names within

this work of fiction.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

June 2006

Lillian wearily stood from her fireside chair - she picked up the television remote and switched off the offending programme. Wags, is that what they call them? They think they have invented the idea - well I can tell you this is nothing new. She spoke to no one in particular. I remember when we were there for our men with none of this fuss and commotion.

The windows rattled as the rain lashed against them distorting everything beyond the pane - she was thankful clarity still remained this side of the glass. Selecting her favourite Danish pastry from the colourfully designed Clarice Cliff cake stand she then reached for her daily newspaper, only to be once more confronted by the pouting and posing of the England footballer’s wives and girlfriends out on a shopping mission. Taking a bite of the sweetly glazed fruit bun she thought fondly of Frank - what would he make of it all? Mind you he would probably love it. Never one to shy away from the limelight, he would be the one the camera would instantly pick up on first,  and by being at his side Lillian would also have been placed in the spotlight.

Taking the stairs, a little out of breath she stood facing her wardrobe. Opening the doors she then closed her eyes.  She instinctively placed her hands on the fur coat - once her most prized possession. Pulling it towards her cheek she could still smell the perfume perfectly combined with a subtle hint of aftershave ingrained in the fibres of the smooth silk lined collar. A solitary tear found the corner of her eye, before gently making its way over the contours of her deeply lined cheek where it finally found solace within the folds of her neck scarf.

Opening a drawer she carefully removed a yellowing newspaper from a bygone age. Holding it closer than she once would have, Lillian read the headline from the back page. ‘THE DANISH DESTROYER’ Frank Clough would be forever immortalised as the man who by all accounts took apart the defence of the Danish national team three times on that glorious night. History was written that is for sure, but would people always remember? The letter received the day before would surely confirm her late husband would never be forgotten - as for Lillian, that was always a given.

Gazing once more to the window she could see the rain had eased. The sky began to brighten a little, maybe the sun might make an appearance and who knows, maybe a rainbow.

Chapter 2

July 1950

Lillian sat on a wall with a piece of grass in her mouth, just as she and the boys had done on numerous occasions – they just idly watched the sheep graze. To her, it appeared that their only real aspiration in life was to find the lushest patch of meadow - this she pondered was as good as it would get for them. As for Lillian, would life peak out when she found a husband and had children of her own - would those then be considered to be the best days of her life? – A time when the grass was greenest; metaphorically speaking of course. She liked the word metaphor - she had discovered it in her last year at school and made an effort to use it whenever she got the chance. However, since leaving earlier that summer, employment was proving elusive; work, especially for young women was near impossible to find. Although no class slouch, all leads had so far drawn a blank - even some of the more studious girls from school had struggled to find work without travelling to the bigger towns or cities.

As for boys, she had noticed a difference in their attitude towards her. She knew her body was changing - her bra pinching the skin below her armpits was confirmation that it was at least one size too small. However hand-me-downs were not an option - her mother’s slight, waif-like figure would not provide a replacement as her own clothes had done for her younger sisters. So yes things were changing rapidly – one example being, games with the boys had changed from hide and seek to kiss chase. For Lillian, everything was progressing in a direction that excited, yet scared her beyond words.

Looking down to her feet, the ankle socks and sandals in no way mirrored the maturity that she felt was hiding beneath her loose cotton summer dress. Lillian longed to be like the women in those fashionable magazines - the ones she had briefly glanced through at the news stand.

Since the end of the war she found the world was changing. The pace of life was speeding up, or was it just her imagination? The field in front of her was to be the next location for a housing development for one thing - but somehow she felt the bright new future everyone talked about, was leaving her behind. All I want is to be treated like a grown up Lillian muttered to herself. But thoughts of self-pity were being interrupted - her mother’s shrill voice called out. Lillian! Lillian! - Where are you? She hated the sound of her name – she wished for something more fashionable. However, that thought would need to be put aside, it was time to go. Five sisters and Robert ‘the chosen one’ were to be her responsibility for the next four hours while her mother began her evening shift as a hospital cleaner. Oh how she wished to be free of these ties - Oh how she wished to appear in those magazines. 

Chapter 3

August 1950

Hiya Lil, you coming out? Barbara’s words were almost tuneful as she spoke, having the effect of lightening her mood. Lillian’s best friend for as long as she could remember, Barbara’s positive outlook had a canny knack of turning the dullest days into something sunny - if not occasionally outrageous.

Can’t Babs, I’ve got to babysit – mum has started a new job at the hospital . . . wanna come in?

Yeh will do - when does she get back?

Not till ten - dad’s back at seven but he won’t look after em - he’ll just take our Bobby out to play football.

A moody silence followed whilst both girls pondered the situation regarding the care of Lillian’s younger sisters.

Does she work every evening? Barbara broke the silence with what Lillian hoped was a solution to the dilemma of the enforced grounding.

No, just Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday - why do you ask? Lillian was curious.

It’s just that on Monday we’re going over to Stanley. Barbara’s eyes widened as she spoke.

Who’s Stanley?

Not who - it’s a place. It’s the football ground me and Elaine Buckley have been going over to on Mondays - we meet the players after training.

But I don’t like football Lillian struggled to see the point, anyway isn’t it miles away?

We get the 12 o’clock bus. They finish at 12.45, so we get there in time - just as they come out.

And then what? The whole notion was nonsense to Lillian - why would anyone go all that way to see a bunch of footballers?

Lillian, you might be Bright by name but not by nature - these are real men with a few bob in their pockets and some spare time on their hands. Barbara smiled in a way that pitied her naivety. Then as the penny finally dropped, Lillian blurted out.

You don’t mean you do ‘it’ with them?

Maybe, no . . . well not yet - but it’s not out of the question. Babs was unsure of how to deal with a subject that seemed way beyond her years when she had to actually put it into words.

Then as if to assert herself on a previously unspoken topic, she cast an eye downwards to Lillian’s legs and enquired - Got any stockings?

No, why do you ask? - She seemed way behind her friend’s line of thinking.

Well you can’t go looking like a school girl on her way to class. Barbara raised her eyebrows in a big sisterly way.

I could maybe borrow some of mums when she’s out. Lillian offered.

That’s more like it - and a bit of lippy. Barbara was happy that her friend appeared to be on board.

But Lillian was scared - no she was excited - no it was . . . well she didn’t know; only time would tell what emotion should be in place at the thought of this latest outrageous venture.

Chapter 4

The behaviour of the girls could best be described as giddy as they skipped off the open back bus before it had time to draw to a halt. The bus conductor was glad to hear the end of the noisy threesome’s chatter and shook his head at their exuberant foolishness. Had he really heard them say they were going to meet Cliff Simpson and some of the other footballers? - One of the girls, the innocent green looking one who barely looked fifteen actually seemed terrified at the prospect - and so she should. If the stories he had heard contained a grain of truth in them, then he feared for her future. Pitied her might be a better description, but he reserved that for the girl’s parents. As a father of a teenager himself, his daughter would be locked in her room if he thought for one minute that it was her intention to carry on as these lambs to the slaughter were doing.

The sting was taken out of their stride as they paced their way from the town centre up the relentless hill towards the football ground. Endless rows of terraced houses that suspiciously looked the same to Lillian’s untrained eye were only distinguishable by their names. Why had they become known as such? None of them seemed related by a common theme - unlike the council estate where she lived. There, trees featured, such as ‘Oak Lane and Elm Grove’ to create a common factor. However, she did decide that one in particular did conjure up thoughts of a mysterious exotic eastern way of life - yes Lillian liked the sound of Sultan Street.

Looking back towards town as they reached their destination, Lillian paused for a moment to wipe the beads of sweat from her brow. Then removing her cardigan she turned around just in time to cast a wary eye on around a dozen men exiting from a newly painted red wooden door.

Hey! You lot be careful - I haven’t spent all morning sorting that door out for you to get your grubby paws all over it. An elderly man shouted through steel railings.

Ah give it a rest Walter. A voice called out, however the huddle of bodies made it impossible to distinguish its exact origin.

Cheeky buggers the lot of you - none of you are too big for a clip around yer ears. He shouted once more. But it appeared no one was listening to the elderly man in the paint smeared overalls.

Hello what have we got here? A rugged yet extremely good looking man stepped forward and flashed the three of them a wink followed by a mouthed clicking sound – it was not unlike the noise the milkman made when instructing his horse to walk-on. Then opening a small packet, he tapped what appeared to be an already perfectly flat cigarette end on the cardboard surface before placing it in his mouth.

Hello Cliff this is Lillian - you already know me and Elaine.

"Lily – I prefer Lily. Lillian decided it was time to become more stylish.

Yes, Lily suits you – I quite like Lily. Ambiguous words left Cliff’s lips before he returned his attention to Barbara. Oh yes, of course I remember you.

But if Lily was any judge this ‘Cliff’ person appeared to have no recollection of Barbara or Elaine.

Well ladies, a couple of my colleagues and me are off to the Park - if you wish to join us you’re more than welcome.

Which park - where is it? Barbara felt it her duty to keep the conversation going.                   

"The park we have in mind is a pub - you didn’t think we have burst a gut in training all morning to go and mope around in a bloody rose garden did you? Cliff Laughed aloud.

Lily grabbed hold of Barbara’s arm and as discreetly as possible shook her head before whispering through a clenched jaw. We can’t go to a pub - my dad would kill me if he found out.

Is there a problem? Cliff appeared to be mocking them as he nudged one of his friends with his elbow.

No . . . no, everything is alright. Barbara shot a stern glance Lily’s way - We’d love to come wouldn’t we? And in almost identical fashion to Cliff’s nudging, she gave her cautious friend the same arm to arm treatment.

Yes I suppose we could come along for a short while. Lily muttered.

The Park it is then. Cliff announced before clapping his hands together as if to finalise the somewhat muted discussion.

As they approached the large wooden front door, it occurred to Lily that she had never seen the inside of a public house before. Scarily, the fact that only three of the footballers had completed the short walk with them should really have given her some cause for concern – but Lily had other issues. Dark memories were alarmingly resurfacing.

Lily would have been around twelve years old when William Bright in his wisdom, thought it acceptable to drag his offspring in the direction of the local pub. His need to fulfil his desire for alcohol knew no rational. Their mother had gone to Lytham St. Anne’s to organise Aunt Maud’s