Chapter 15:
21st September, 2011.
Physio Room, Brisbane Road, London
“You’ll be fine, Ravel. Just a slight knock, let Rob have a proper look at it back at OT”
I motioned to the doorway. “Come on now, the rest of the lads are waiting”
I’d taken a predominantly young team to the 3rd round tie at Leyton Orient, and they hadn’t disappointed. A comfortable 4-1 win, with up and coming Belgian star Adnan Januzaj netting twice, Ravel and Will Keane both grabbing a goal apiece.
He got off the bed and winced as his foot touched the floor. I couldn’t have just gone back to the bus after seeing the lad launched into the air by an over-zealous Leyton player in the last few minutes. At the age of 18, he was younger than I was when I got my injury, and I felt glad that it wasn’t serious.
There was another reason I wanted to see him alone, however. After the 4-4 draw at Old Trafford with Liverpool the previous weekend, I’d arranged a meeting with Bill Peterson. Safe to say it hadn’t gone well. I accused him of stealing my phone – a point he instantly denied, and he promptly launched into a story about how he’d waited for a meeting then left. At which point I showed him the CCTV footage of his pilfering, he then hastily stood up and bade me farewell.
What happened next happened very quickly indeed.
3 days earlier:
“... And that is the last time you will ever enter Old Trafford! Not as a fan, not as a journalist, not even as a tourist! Get out of here, before I call security and have you thrown out!” I yelled after Peterson, as he turned to leave, just as Morrison stuck his head around the door.
“Everything OK, boss?” He asked. Before I could answer, Peterson got there first.
“Oh... It’s you. The talented troublemaker, is it? You two make quite the pair. Mr Scandal and Scandal Jr.” He sneered. – I could see Ravel losing it – “What was it you did, beat up your mum, or something? Bet your boss is so pro-“
He didn’t get to finish that sentence as Ravel landed a huge punch to the side of his face. And another. The journo fell backwards, almost taking the door off the hinges. I took this chance to grab the infuriated teen by the collar, as Peterson scrambled to his feet.
“O-ho. You’re in for it now, just imagine tomorrow’s headlines, lad” he said, triumphantly, as he walked away briskly, like the school bully who’d nearly been caught out.
“**** Rav, what the **** did you just do?” I asked.
“Look, boss, I-“ He stammered.
“It’s ok lad.” I reassured him. “He asked for it, if you hadn’t done it, I’d have. And the club is less likely to stand behind me than you. Just one thing.”
“Yeah boss?”
“I’m docking you 2 weeks wages. I liked that door.”
Present Day:
“Ravel? Wait up, I need a word with you.”
“About last Sunday?” He quizzed.
“Yeah. Look, the *******’s pressed charges for assault. Just wanted you to know, as a club, we stand behind you 100%.”
I heard a voice over my shoulder.
“Mr Newton, Mr Morrison? Would you like to come with me, please?” I turned to see a stern man in a suit and a police officer.
“Detective Constable Hughes, and this is Sgt. Flynn.”
He turned to Ravel. “Ravel Morrison, I’m arresting you on suspicion of assault and actual bodily harm with intent. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned...”
As Flynn lead Ravel away to the waiting car, Hughes turned to me.
“If you’d step this way Mr Newton, we'd like to take you to the station for a few questions. You apparently witnessed the incident?”
“Yes, but-“ I started.
“Follow me, then.”