Because the next League One match was 14 days later, on the 18th of January, Tang En gave the team two days off after the FA Cup. Tang En wasted the first day of his vacation on seeing a doctor, tangling with reporters, and cursing Nottingham's terrible public security.
Fortunately, he still had some spare change with him, or else he wouldn't be without money for the ride home.
The next day, Twain went to the bank early in the morning to report the loss of his credit card, and then to the police station to report the loss of his identity card. He had been busy for almost the entire day. In the afternoon, when everyone else was having their afternoon tea, he dragged his exhausted body back home. This was all thanks to the erratic memory in his mind. Otherwise, he wouldn't have known where and who he should go to find.
When he got to the door, he saw a child standing there.
He was about the same height as her, but he had a childish face.
Tang En did not understand why the child was standing at the door of his house. His face was still a little dirty, his hair was brown, and his skin was the color of wheat. He should be of mixed blood. Don't tell me he's a lookout for thieves? He glanced at his door and found that it was closed without any signs of damage.
When the child saw Twain walking over, he stared at him but did not say anything. Tang En did not like that look, so he glared at the child and walked past him towards his home.
At this moment, the boy spoke, "Are you Forest's manager, Tony Twain?"
Instead of calling him Mister, the other party directly addressed him by his name without even greeting him. How rude! Although he was complaining in his heart, Tang En still stopped in his tracks and looked at him sideways. "I am. If you want an autograph, I'm not in the mood. "
The kid lowered his head and took out a black wallet from his pocket. "I'm not here for an autograph. This is your wallet."
Puzzled, Tang En took it over and found that there were no other items inside except for the few hundred pounds. His credit card and identification card were all there!
Although he had worked for nothing today, Tang En's mood immediately turned for the better when he saw the things he had lost and regained. The way he looked at the child changed, and a smile appeared on his face. "Oh, did you pick him up? Such a kind child … Thank you so much! " He touched his pocket and found that he had too little change. It would be too shabby to give it out as a reward.
"I'm really sorry, I don't have much money on me right now. When you come tomorrow, I will reward you well … "
"No, I don't want a reward." The child shook his head.
The first thought that flashed through Tang En's mind was that England also had living people! The boy was really nice. Though his clothes were a little shabby and his face a little dirty, he looked very spirited. He must be a child from a poor family. Even though he was poor, he was ambitious and had a bright future!
The boy continued, "I think your team should sign the best player in England."
So he's a loyal fan of Nottingham Forest. This explanation makes sense …
Twain smiled and said, "Are you talking about David Beckham? I'm sorry, but we're just a small club. Big stars won't be interested in us … "He reached out to pat the child's head. She's so cute … even though she's about the same height as me.
Unexpectedly, the other party dodged Twain's hand. "Who is that? England's best player is here! "
Twain looked around but did not find anyone …
"Where are you looking? Right here, right in front of you! "The child pointed at himself and said very seriously.
The corner of Twain's mouth twitched, then he laughed out loud. Then, he reached out his hand once more, intending to touch the other party's head. "What a cute kid …"
This time, the man slapped Twain's hand away. "I'm not joking! I'm serious! "
It was a little embarrassing to have his hand slapped away by a child. The smile on Twain's face froze, then he coughed and said, "Alright, please tell me. Where do you play now? "
"I've never played before."
Twain stared at him for a long time. "Are you here to have fun?"
The child pursed his lips and said seriously, "I haven't played now, but that doesn't mean I won't play in the future. As long as I receive training, I'm sure I can become the best player in England! "
Twain's tone softened. "Listen … what's your name?"
"George, George Wood."
"Listen, George. I'm very grateful that you returned my wallet to me. But professional football is not as simple as you think. Thank you for returning my wallet. I'll send you back. Where do you live? "
George Wood was silent for a moment, then lowered his head and said, "Sneinton."
Twain searched his mind and found that the place was a famous slum area in Nottingham. Black people, Indians, and descendants of various colored races lived there. There were also student apartments nearby. It was the place with the most chaotic security. Even though Nottingham's most expensive residential area was just a few hundred meters away from this area.
Looking at Wood's clothes, Twain's heart suddenly softened. There would be poor and rich people in any country or region. England's famous commercial center and one of the few industrial cities, Nottingham also had these two classes.
"Alright, no matter what, I'll send you back." Seeing a taxi that had just alighted, Twain raised his hand to stop it. Sneinton was in the east of the city, while his home, Wilford, was in the southwest of the city. God knows how this poor child came to be.
The car stopped beside the two of them. Wood did not express any objections and got in the car. In the car, he did not speak either. The atmosphere was a little awkward. Twain decided to find something to say.
"George, why must you play football?"
"To earn money."
Twain glanced at Wood. This answer was in line with his identity.
"Then you can go work … Wait, you should be in school now, right? How old are you? "
"Seventeen. I don't want to go to school. I can't earn money there. And I have a job, but the money is too little. "
"What do you do?"
"I'm a mover for a moving company."
In England, a mover for a moving company earned ten pounds a time. This figure was neither high nor low. The work was simple. It was to move the items from the customer's house into the truck and then move them down from the truck when they reached the destination. This kind of work required a strong person to do. Twain glanced at Wood from the corner of his eyes. This kid really had the capital to do this job. Looking at the muscles on his body, he did not look like a seventeen-year-old.
The legal minimum wage in England was four pounds and fifty pence an hour. Wood's income was more than double that. Twain did not understand why he still felt that the money was too little.
"What do you want so much money for?"
Wood did not answer the question. The atmosphere in the car suddenly became a little awkward.
Born and raised under the red flag, the education Twain received from a young age was that a seventeen-year-old should be educated in school and not go out to work. So he emphasized, "I think you should go back to school."
"I hate school," Wood said coldly.
Twain realized that this kid was like himself in the past, a stone in the latrine pit — smelly and hard. Completely unable to communicate, he did not say anything else. He turned his head to look out the window.
The world outside the car window was sunny and beautiful. The blue sky was blue as if it had been washed. The bustling streets and bustling shopping malls were packed with tourists. Twain could even see tourists from China in the taxi. Under the sunshine of the twenty-first century, could one imagine that a place like the slums still existed?
But it was indeed here, in this city. The scenery outside the car window gradually changed. Driving past the periphery of the most luxurious residential area, Twain could even see the million-pound villas behind the metal carved railings. This used to be Nottingham's textile factory and warehouse. It had a very nice name, "Lace Market."
Even a professional club manager like Twain could not afford to live in such a place. The place Twain was currently living in could be considered the most ordinary residential area in Nottingham. It was a place where ordinary people and the working class lived. Other than the two-story buildings with separate entrances and courtyards, it was no different from the ordinary residential areas in China.
There were poor people in England. But in a society with high welfare benefits, their lives were not hard. They could live a leisurely life by living frugally. But George Wood's home, Snington, could not be considered a residential area for the poor. It was more accurate to call it "destitute." In England, any place where people of color and illegal immigrants gathered was, without exception, a "slum." Now, Manchester still had the largest slum in Europe. No matter how poor the white people were, they were still better off than the colored poor, because there was also racial discrimination involved.
George Wood was of mixed blood and could be considered a person of color. It was naturally not surprising that he lived in a place like Snington.
In Nottingham, the slums were not only poor, but also "chaotic." Law and order were the biggest headache for the local Nottingham police. You could see shops openly selling guns and ammunition on the streets. Groups of hooligans roamed the streets, looking at everyone who passed them with ill intentions. Robbery, theft, drugs, prostitutes, violence … these were the calling cards of such places. They were the gray areas of the city. It was a forbidden area that many people hoped to hide as far away as possible.
After passing through the gorgeous upscale residential area, the taxi was visibly bumpy. There was no trace of the magnificently decorated buildings outside the window. Instead, there were dilapidated red brick and tile houses, cracked wooden window frames, and mottled walls. As the taxi went deeper, houses that were even more dilapidated than this gradually increased, and the number of dangerous people wandering around also increased.
Prostitutes who dressed themselves up with cheap jewelry and powder but could not hide the tired crow's feet at the corners of their eyes leaned against the door and smoked to attract customers. Men (or boys?) in black jackets with vulgar tattoos on their thick arms and unfriendly expressions. Passersby who hurried on with their heads down. Groups of three to five, chasing and playing children. A piece of asphalt covered another piece, and the patches were like a narrow road with uneven potholes. Colorful plastic bags and newspapers were scattered all over the ground, swirling over people's heads when the wind blew. The people here lived like these colorful garbage. When they were blown by the wind, they would float with it numbly. In the end, they would fall into a smelly ditch, forgotten by people, and no one would mourn them.
Tang En looked at the world outside the car. The people in that world also stared at him with ill intentions. It was as if they were looking at a pile of bundled up pounds or buttered bread.
Wood directed the driver to stop the car in front of a red brick house. Tang En paid the driver. The driver hurriedly drove away. It was during this time that the car stopped that there were already a few children who kept tapping on his car window. He was afraid that if he stayed a little longer, there would be an accident.
Wood was a little surprised that Tang En also came down with him. "I thought you would just take the car and leave."
"I thought that too. Actually … I'm used to getting out when the car stops. "Tang En avoided the dirty hands of the children. They were asking him for money.
"Sir! Give me a pound, just a pound will do! "A child who was probably only five or six years old shouted loudly with a runny nose.
It was not that Tang En did not have any sympathy. The wallet that he returned to him did not have a single cent in cash. He still had about fifty pounds of change on him, which was his travel expenses. If he gave it to these children, what would he do?
Just as he was in a dilemma, Wood waved his fist at the group of children. "Scram!"
The children made faces at him, stuck up their middle fingers, and then dispersed.
To be honest, Tang En did not think that Wood, who was also in the slums, would be so unfriendly to the children. "You're really unfriendly."
"They're not friendly to me either." Noticing that Tang En was standing by the street looking left and right, Wood also stopped in his tracks. "There's nothing to see. This is where I live. It must have been an eye-opener for you, right? "
Tang En turned back to look at the youth and grinned. "It's alright. Can you bring me to your house for a seat? "
Wood nodded and took out his keys to open the door.
It was a two-story brick house. Through the door was a narrow corridor and stairs. Wood walked straight up. Tang En even said at the door, "Sorry to disturb."
"The first floor is for another family. My house is on the second floor." Wood turned back to look at Tang En strangely. "That family comes back very late."
Tang En touched his nose awkwardly and followed Wood up the stairs.
Hearing the footsteps, a woman's voice rang out. "George?"
"I'm back, Mom."
Tang En asked softly from behind, "Where's your father?"
"He's dead," Wood, who was walking in front, said without turning his head.
"Uh … I'm sorry …"
"Is there a guest?" Tang En heard the woman ask.
"A football coach."
While they were answering, Tang En and the others had already walked to the door of a room on the second floor. It seemed to be a dining room. A black-haired woman sat at the dining table, peeling potatoes. The curtains were tightly shut and the lights were not turned on. The room was a little dark, but Tang En felt that the woman was the only shining thing in the room … because she was very beautiful. To be honest, looking at George Wood's square face, he really did not expect the child's mother to be so beautiful and so young. How much hardship did such a weak woman have to go through to raise a child alone in such a chaotic place? He began to sympathize with the woman.
She was petite and pale, as though she was ill. But this only served to accentuate a kind of morbid beauty. Moreover, the woman also looked like she was of mixed blood. How should he describe all of this? Ever since Tang En entered the slums, he saw a scene of devastation. The world seemed to be dominated by gray, until he saw this woman. She was the only source of light in this simple and crude room, the only color in this world …
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