Turbulence. We have moved from four jackets for four goalposts to portraits of corporates, pressed against glass and neatly contained. In the 1960’s…

Turbulence. We have moved from four jackets for four goalposts to portraits of corporates, pressed against glass and neatly contained. In the 1960’s…
His history is bullet-pointed on laminated paper and pinned to his bedroom door. I never knew, after the war, he was a goalkeeper for Somebody United, winning trophies and medals. There’s nothing to suggest this amongst his sparse belongings on his small desk; a fading photograph, some medication and wet-wipes, and a half-empty jar of Everton Mints. We sit on his bed and stare into space, and I notice he has goalkeepers’ hands, huge and agitated, as he runs them along the fraying fabric of his trousers. I wonder what game he is dreaming of. How would I know? I wasn’t around often enough to be part of his fading memories.