"I'm looking in your eyes. "I'm looking in your big brown eyes...."
The exhaust fumes clear and we see him. Slowly walking towards the cafe seemingly in slow motion, he gently takes his cream coloured right boot off the pavement and delicately places it on the dust covered road outside the café. His right hand is delicately pulling his dull grey coloured trolley, which has three large cardboard boxes carefully placed one on top of each other, and a delivery note with “B. Taylor Deliveries” displayed across the top announces his allegiances.
The door to the café opens, and Sandra hurriedly completes her usual slalom of the high-viz wearing builders and hastily runs to the back room. Like a child with a new Christmas present, her thin, bony hands anxiously try and open the zip on her cream F&F handbag and she pulls out a small, round compact mirror. Investigating every curve of her face in the curve of the mirror, she snaps the mirror closed and after straightening her navy pin striped apron, nervously walks out past ‘Arry and I towards the till.
“There’s another three boxes of hash browns, and a pot of gold blend for you Sandra, my love.” Says the delivery driver in a nasal northern accent that is difficult to pinpoint. As he slowly pushes his square glasses towards his nose, he pulls out his small diary to check the next delivery date. “Ok, says here Sandra that your next delivery is due on the 5th April, that’s ‘bout right isn’t it?”
“Absolutely, no problem Stephen,” says Sandra, who is now resting her pointy chin into the palms of her hands that are being propped up be her frail elbows on the till. “Drop it off anytime you like, maybe if you make it your last delivery we can nip out for something to eat afterwards?”
“Err, don’t think so.” ‘Arry says whilst casting his eyes over the café menu, “it’s the Fans Forum that evening Sandra and we are all going. I’ve even cancelled my new coffee blending evening classes to go to that!”
“It’s ok,” says Sandra who at this point hasn’t taken her eyes off the navy polo shirt wearing delivery driver, “I can give it a miss, not too fussed to be honest.”
“Not too fussed?!” I reply startled, “this is the chance to sit down with Steve Kavanagh, the Fan on the Board and committee member of the MSC, Kathryn Gale!”
“I’m not going to it am I?” chortles the delivery driver.
“No,” laughs Sandra, who embarrassingly joins in with the B. Taylor delivery driver’s poor attempt at humour, “haha, he didn’t say Stephen Cavalar.”
“You know what?” laughed our new friend who we now know is Sandra’s new object of desire, “it’s amazing how many people get the Millwall CEO and I confused!”
“I don’t get it,” says ‘Arry puzzled. “Anyway, it’s not an MSC member, it’s the MSC chairperson! I’ll be there for sure, they are bound to do grande, skinny, flat-whites with a hint of cinnamon and wisps of caramel frosting in the Exec Lounge. What time is it Mike?”
“It’s at 7pm mate,” I say, searching my iPad in the similar way Sandra looked at her small mirror she purchased from Superdrug. “You’ll need the caffeine as it’s going on until 9pm!”
“In that case Sandra,” Stephen says, “I’ll have to check with Mr. Taylor about my next delivery. He is the boss after all!”
“Well make sure it isn’t on the Friday 20th April,” I reply after slurping my builder’s strength tea, “that’s when the Fulham game has been brought forward to.”
“Typical, that’s the only other day I’ve got free in my diary!” Stephen sighs downheartedly, “never mind, we can sort something out over the international break, Sandra.”
“She’s been dreaming about that for ages!” ‘Arry says, glancing over to Sandra to see how much she is cringing with embarrassment, “bit like Ben Marshall who says the players are starting to believe in the dream we might make the play-offs! Even the away games are selling out!”
“Indeed, they are ‘Arry!” I say excitedly, “got my ticket for Ipswich away, can’t way to see us batter the Tractor Boys! Anyway, whilst Sandra and Stephen Cavalar whisper sweet nothing to each other, what’s been happening with the Lionesses?”
I can’t do this anymore, I haven’t been to a Lionesses game in ages! Sunday can’t come soon enough, honestly! Away days are the best, well it depends, it is in Oxford and well yeah... don’t really need to elaborate much further. As my breakfast arrived looking fine like some of the goals we have scored this season, my coffee was bland just like the last time we played Oxford.
“You look a bit upset there ‘Arry what’s up?” Mike says, sensing my unease.
“It’s my coffee,” I moan, “it’s just not doing it for me, it reminds me of the 1-1 draw against London Bees.”
“It’s alright ‘Arry,” Mike says reassuringly, “what do you reckon it will be like on Sunday?”
“It’s impossible to judge,” I say, pulling a face as I take another sip of Sandra’s coffee, “with over a month’s break anything could happen on Sunday. I do however expect us to get 3 points and put the pressure on Donny.”
“Even more pressure than the knot in Sandra’s rope around her waist?” Mike laughs, “as that looks a bit under pressure right now!”
“Oi!” Sandra yells, the first time she has taken her attention away from Stephen Cavalar. “Well someone isn’t getting a second tea on the house today!”
“Sorry Sandra,” Mike shouts back, “but with no Lionesses football recently I’ve been so bored on Sundays, I’m having to actually spend time with the missus!”
“ Lets just hope we don’t mess it up Sunday” I say. “Off-topic, but what do you make of the Manchester United women’s team? They’re going into the WSL 2.”
“Tt will be good for the competitiveness of the league,” Mike states, “but I’ll be messaging Jose personally to tell the club to keep their eyes off of any of our players next season.”
“Well some of them don’t even play for the Lionesses after signing for the Greasy Spoon Fellas!” I beamed, “great side they are, pushed a side PG Tips FC last week 5-0, heard it was a sizzling pan performance met by a relaxing hot drink.”
“Did you just compare the result to what you order at Thursday club?” Mike asked
“Don’t know what you’re talking about mate. Still nothing from Dave?” I say inquisitively.
“Nothing mate,” Mike replies, “I’m actually starting to get worried now.”
“So am I,” I agree, whilst angrily putting my mug down after another disappointing mouthful, “it’s not like him to go missing, he did always say he’s like to explore the mysterious town called Barnsley while tanning up a bit in Rochdale.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s changed cafe that fruit machine is getting on now,” Mike says, “and it’s about as fun as a Jordan Butler joke.”
“Wish me luck on Sunday,” ‘I say while tucking the latest GQ magazine under my arm and heading towards the toilet, “going to be a good one, free yourself up and head over to Oxford City FC.”