Strikers Instinct Read online

  Strikers Instinct

  A. D. Rogers

  Copyright © 2015 A. D. Rogers

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,

  or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

  Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

  any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the

  publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

  the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries

  concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador®

  9 Priory Business Park

  Kibworth Beauchamp

  Leicestershire LE8 0RX, UK

  Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299

  Fax: (+44) 116 279 2277

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  ISBN 978 1784629 663

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Converted to eBook by EasyEPUB

  "To Jane - for everything."

  Contents

  Cover

  Acknowledgements

  PROLOGUE.

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  EPILOGUE

  Acknowledgements

  I need to thank a lot of people for making this happen. First of all - the doctor who told me I needed to get back onto my laptop and start exercising my hands again. My wife, Jane who read the first draft and forced me to take this further. My daughter Becky for her help with the cover and other insightful comments… I need to say a special thanks to a team of reviewers – Clare Bertrand, Lesley Gorham and Louise Kumar – and Greg Rieve in Australia. Also, to my old friend Paul Singleton who laboriously pointed out my many mistakes! Finally – a very big thank you to Tony Horne, for taking the time to talk to a stranger and help him along the road.

  Thank you all.

  PROLOGUE.

  Oxford 1986

  “Enough!” The word snapped around the room like the crack from a whip. Immediately all sound and movement within the lecture hall stopped. At the head of the room the speaker rose to his feet.

  “Mr. Linden, you have just ignored your last warning. Please leave the room and see me in my study in 30 minutes.”

  A small group in the centre of the room parted to allow a tall young man an exit route to the door. “Professor Arkwright, please.” he began to plead.

  “No more Mr. Linden, we will talk later, please leave now.” the Professor insisted.

  The small group around Luke Linden began to grin and congratulate each other as he barged towards the door. As he slammed the door behind himself he heard the voice of his chief tormentor announce, “Good riddance to bad rubbish!”

  “That will do Mr. Jeffers.” the professor murmured quietly. However the young man didn’t heed the warning and rushed on.

  “Lefty Linden doesn’t deserve to be in the company of civilised people – he should get back north to his whippets and clogs!” Basil Jeffers’ small group of cronies cheered and whooped but several others in the room looked uneasy.

  “Yes indeed Mr. Jeffers, once again you and your cronies have succeeded – you poked the northern boar until he growled, you must be feeling very proud.”

  Basil Jeffers spoke up once again. “Linden can’t take a joke professor, it’s an obvious sign of little or no breeding.”

  The Professor smiled, “Of course Mr. Jeffers, given your background, you are an expert on the subject.”

  Basil stared back at the professor, not fully understanding if he was being praised or damned.

  “Ladies and gentlemen we have wasted enough time, back to the text please.”

  Thirty minutes later the room emptied and Professor Arkwright made his way slowly through the twisting corridors to his private study. He didn’t know if Luke Linden would be waiting there for him and was almost surprised to see the tall, tense young man pacing the floor outside his door.

  “Come in and sit down!” the professor barked in his perfectly clipped Home Counties accent.

  Once inside, the professor stared at the pathetic figure slouched in front of him for a few moments and then sighed. “Well, what’s your excuse this time? Jeffers and his friends were being horrid to you again?”

  Linden offered no reply. The professor went on. “You have been at this University for six weeks and in that time we have had endless complaints about you – and as your personal tutor I have been stuck with trying to deal with the sorry mess you have left behind.”

  Linden finally spoke up. “It’s pointless. This is just a gentlemen’s club that I don’t belong to. You and Jeffers and his friends all look down on me as some sort of inferior species and you won’t rest until you see me out of here.”

  The professor sighed again, pulled himself from his chair and drew himself up to his full height of just over five feet. He seemed to think for a while and then appeared to have come to a decision. “Come with me.” he said and then proceeded to lead Luke into a part of the University he hadn’t seen before. They finally entered a dimly lit room which seemed to be some sort of gym.

  The professor walked to a mat in the centre of the room and then turned to face Luke. “I wanted to bring you somewhere completely private so that I can tell you exactly what I think of you and then you can reply in whatever manner you like. Since the first day you arrived here you have deliberately set yourself at odds with everything this institution stands for. You play the part of the poor little northern boy being bullied by the brutal upper-class mob and frankly – it’s all wearing a bit thin. Do you understand or would you like me to speak more slowly – or with smaller words?”

  Luke started to smoulder and his cheeks flushed. The professor laughed. “I see I have hit the mark! Poor little northern scruff doesn’t seem to like being told the truth by his betters!”

  “Be careful little man,” Luke growled, “looks like I will be leaving here soon anyway so it won’t cause me any more problems if I throw you out into the corridor.”

/>   “Big words from a big tough northern thug. Except you are on your own now – no bully boy miners like your father and his rabble to back you up!”

  The reference to his father pushed Luke over the edge and with a cry of rage he flung himself at the diminutive figure in the centre of the room. Seconds later he was flying through the air, coming to a halt with a crash as he hit the floor. Luke jumped to his feet and launched himself back at the professor only to find that once again he was being forced back onto the floor – this time to land face-first. A third time he advanced on his opponent, this time with slightly more caution but the result was again the same. This time however, as the professor flung him across the room he then quickly dropped onto Luke’s prone body. The professor began to apply a choke hold which Luke couldn’t break. Luke’s ear was pulled closer to the professor’s mouth.

  Suddenly, a voice sounding like Peter Kay whispered into Luke’s ear. “Now then, I bet thy feels like a right gormless clot!” Luke’s eyes opened wide in surprise. The voice went on. “They always say that a good little un will always beat a good big un!”

  The professor released Luke and sprang nimbly to his feet. He then reached down and offered Luke his hand. Luke was completely flummoxed. He allowed the professor to pull him to his feet and then stood there gasping and gawping.

  “Hopefully,” the Professor said, “you have just learned not to judge a book by its covers. That could be the most important lesson you will ever learn. Now come over here and sit with me.”

  Luke meekly followed the professor to the side of the room and sat facing him.

  “Luke, you are at a crossroads in your life. You came to Oxford as a brilliant student but also with a huge chip on your shoulder. I am aware of your father’s background but I’m fairly sure most other people in this university aren’t. However, you seem to think that everyone is looking down on you. You rage against anyone you consider to be “upper-class” and then in turn they taunt and deride you. You even hate me – mainly I think because of the way I speak. However, a few moments ago I surprised you by speaking as I did many years ago. I also surprised you by turning your anger against you and easily defeating you on the mat.”

  Luke was now more confused than ever. He seemed to have been ambushed by some kind of old, tiny, Lancashire Ninja!

  The professor went on. “As I said earlier, there have been many complaints about your behaviour and the Dean asked me to speak to you. This is a serious situation – you could be asked to leave. However, there’s always another way. You may not believe me but I know exactly how you feel. I was in a similar situation many years ago and until someone held out a hand of friendship to me I felt I had no hope. I am now holding out a similar hand to you – if you will take it?”

  Luke finally smiled. “Well, if that was the hand of friendship, I would hate to meet the hand of confrontation!”

  The professor laughed, “Sometimes actions speak louder than words. I have been studying martial arts for many years, more for the mental discipline than for anything else but it does come in handy occasionally. I knew I had to get your attention somehow.”

  “You’ve certainly done that.” said Luke ruefully. “Well, I seem to have run out of options so I am willing to listen to whatever you say.”

  “Excellent!” declared the professor. Then he paused for a moment whilst he gathered his thoughts.

  “I’ve spoken to your other tutors and they all agree that you are a very bright young man who is also polite and courteous – until you become drawn into arguments and then all reason seems to go out of the window. You need to gain self-control and learn perspective of the world around you. I can help you if you wish but it will be hard work. Much of the work will take place in this room. This is a dojo and in here you will train your mind and your body. You will learn to think before you act and then to act in the appropriate way, Most importantly – you will learn the meaning of the word “Respect”.”

  Luke didn’t hesitate. He’d already admitted that he had run out of options and he had begun to discover a new found admiration for the professor. Also he realised that if this didn’t work out at least he may be in a better condition to deal with Jeffers and his bunch!

  “OK,” he said, “when do we start?”

  “We’ve already started,” said the professor, “now I want you to meet someone.” He raised his hand and from the shadows at the end of the room a tall figure approached. “This is Alex, he’s going to work with us. He was in a similar position to you last year, but from a slightly different angle.” Alex seemed genuinely pleased to meet Luke.

  “The professor has told me all about you,” he said in a perfect cut glass accent. “so glad you decided to work with us, it should be fun!”

  Luke grimaced. “I really have no idea what is going on here but now I have given my word – I will give this my best shot.”

  “Well done my dear boy,” said the professor happily, “by the way I didn’t give you Alex’s full title – he is Lord Alexander DeCourt – the Duke of Beaucourt.”

  CHAPTER 1

  28 years later

  Fred and Jason Grimshaw looked around at the activity in the arena and a look of disgust passed between them. The game had only finished 30 minutes ago and already their precious turf was being invaded.

  Jason looked at his father and spoke. “I can’t believe that after all our hard work, he is still going through with this.”

  Fred snorted in reply, “I can’t believe that you are letting him get away with it! You should have made him listen to you.”

  “He won’t listen to anybody.” said Jason quietly.

  Their gloom deepened as more heavy equipment began to pour onto the pitch and slowly the grass began to disappear beneath a carpet of wood and plastic. It was often said by friends and family that Jason and Fred didn’t just have green fingers – they were like a mad horticultural, King Midas hybrid – everything they touched grew and flourished. Apparently it was in their genes. Fred’s father had looked after bowling greens and various other playing surfaces all his life and he had passed everything he knew onto his son. Fred then worked all over Lancashire before settling as head groundsman at Wishton Clough FC many years ago. In fact he wasn’t just head groundsman – he was the only person they could afford to pay to look after the pitch – which suited him fine. He loved being his own boss and the additional bonus was that he didn’t have to worry about other staff. He did however, need help from time to time and that was where Jason came in. It was obvious from a very young age that Jason had inherited his share of the Grimshaw gardening magic. Every spare moment was spent working with his father on the Wishton pitch. No one was surprised when he decided to go to agricultural college, it seemed a natural path to follow.

  The ground wasn’t the biggest or most handsome in the football league. In fact, even many of the home supporters fondly thought it was a bit of a dump but everyone agreed that it had the best playing surface for miles around. It was a pity that the quality of football generally seen most weeks didn’t measure up to the pitch. Wishton spent many years languishing in the bottom reaches of the Football League – a couple of times they had narrow escapes, just beating the drop to the conference.

  However, about five years ago things suddenly changed. An offer was made by a local businessman to purchase the club. The current owners had embarrassed everyone with the speed in which they accepted the offer. One of the biggest talking points was that part of the deal included a new multi-purpose stadium a mile away from the current ground. As soon as that was announced, Fred decided it was time for him to retire. He had no regrets but realised that a new surface for a new era had to be created and maintained by someone else.

  However, the new owner had other ideas. He knew how knowledgeable Fred was and he also heard that Jason had just graduated from college. The new Chairman approached Fred with a proposal. If he agreed to work at the new stadium – in an unofficial capacity, the position of Head Groundsman wou
ld be offered to Jason. It was an offer that neither Jason of Fred could refuse. Jason brought his new found experience with the latest technology and Fred contributed with years of practical experience and knowledge. It was the perfect partnership. Other, more cynical observers, also claimed it was a great deal for the new owner – he had two members of staff for the price of one. However, the Chairman did agree to eventually take on an apprentice – mainly to help with the heavier work.