Split Loyalties - Part Three: The dilemma

National news

Surprises can be great.

The news that Monty had been picked for the England squad had come completely out of the blue. Yet being informed by the national team manager that he’d been included in the squad easily ranked as one of the best moments of his entire life.

However, the surprise that awaited the young defender when he walked into his local newsagents the morning after the disastrous family gathering held at his parents’ house was, shall we say, somewhat less pleasant.

Monty had become used to seeing his face on the front and back pages of national newspapers during the past week. He had been the only major surprise inclusion in England’s World Cup squad and, as if that wasn’t a big enough story on its own, the fact that his elder brother would be playing for a rival team in England’s group had sent the British media into a state of frenzy.

Over the past few days, both Capulet brothers had lost count of the number of times they’d been asked by one journalist or another about the possibility of facing their sibling at the World Cup. The journalists were constantly enquiring about the brothers’ relationship with each other – did they get on? Would one secretly rather play for the other one’s national side? Who did their parents want to win the match that had somewhat inevitably been dubbed ‘the battle of the Capulet’s’?

When Hugh had spoken to his younger brother shortly after hearing from Old Jack that Monty had been selected for the England squad, he had warned his sibling to expect a frenetic media reaction. Both Capulet brothers had agreed right there and then they would simply refuse to answer any questions about each other or their wider family. Sure, that hadn’t stopped the journalists from asking their questions, but after five days of both brother’s answering “no comment” to the non-stop barrage of queries that came their way, the press seemed to finally be losing interest in stirring up trouble.

So, when Monty walked into his newsagents on that Saturday morning, only to be confronted by a rack of tabloid newspapers all displaying the headline ‘CAPULETS AT WAR’ alongside a picture of Nonno and Gramps being pulled apart by him and his brother, the footballer couldn’t have felt any more surprised. Or sick to the stomach.

Unbeknown to Monty and, he guessed, his brother and parents, neighbours had taken photos of the impromptu street race contested by his two grandfathers the previous evening, not to mention the wrestling match that had taken place shortly following the race’s conclusion after Gramps had accused the victorious Nonno of cheating by starting before Nana had said ‘go’.

Monty groaned aloud as he warily picked up the paper, turning the page to read what had been written about the incident. An unnamed source was reported to have heard raised voices coming from the Capulet’s house all evening. Then, when they’d heard doors slamming they, along with a number of other people living in the same street, had glanced out of their windows only to see two elderly men running – or, as the source put it, ‘staggering fairly quickly’ – down the street.

The young defender closed the paper and tossed it back into the rack. He simply couldn’t bear to read anymore. Glancing round the shop quickly to check that no one had noticed him, he walked out of the newsagents, pulled his tracksuit top’s hood up over his head and walked briskly home, making sure to keep his head down and not make eye contact with anyone.

He had just stepped through the front door of his luxury apartment when his mobile phone started ringing. He didn’t need to look at the screen to know who was calling.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already seen,” sighed Monty, before Hugh even had a chance to say anything.

“I can’t believe we didn’t notice people out there taking pictures and recording it,” lambasted Hugh. “It didn’t even occur to me to check whether anyone else was watching. I was just so focussed on getting them both back inside the house.”

“It’s so embarrassing,” whined Monty, not sounding too dissimilar to a petulant toddler. “What should we do n... wait a minute... what do you mean recording it?”

“Just what I said. We should have checked that neighbours weren’t recording what was going on. I thought you said that you’d already seen it?”

“I meant I’ve seen the newspapers,” continued Monty. “What are you talking about?” he asked, cautiously.

Hugh let out an anguished howl. “Oh no! Don’t tell me it’s in the newspapers already. I was talking about the internet! Someone’s uploaded a video on one of those file sharing sites. One of my teammates texted me the link first thing this morning. He thought it was absolutely hilarious. Hang on, I’ll send it to you.”

Monty felt like crying. He couldn’t believe what was happening. “What are we going to do about this, Hugh?”

The elder brother thought for a moment. “Just keep doing what we have been doing. We’ll refuse to comment on any matters relating to our family. I’m off to Italy tomorrow and then you’ll be meeting up with the England squad on Monday. I’m sure once we’re away from here and the World Cup warm-up matches begin the media will stop focussing on us and concentrate on the football instead.”

“Yeah, maybe,” replied Monty, unconvincingly.

“Look. I’ll phone Mum and Dad in a minute and ask them – no, tell them – to order both sets of grandparents to not do anything else stupid before the start of the tournament. This will blow over Monty, I promise. Just keep your head down, train hard and I’ll see you in Brazil in a few weeks.” Hugh was hopeful that his words were coming out with more conviction than he really felt.

Monty said goodbye to his brother, hung up and then used his phone to check his emails. Sure enough, Hugh had sent him a link to the recorded coverage of the previous evening’s shenanigans.

He shuddered as he watched the grainy footage of his two grandfathers ‘race’ down the street he had grown up in. It looked as though the coverage had been slowed down to make the race appear as though it was being conducted in slow motion, although he knew it hadn’t been.

I’m sure I’ll laugh about this one day, Monty thought to himself. Right now, though, laughing was the furthest thing from his mind.   

 

The bet

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” said Juliet Capulet, sternly, once she’d finally managed to get hold of her father.

“I’m sorry about last night, I really am” replied Gramps, sheepishly. “It’s just that silly little Italian man. He gets right on my...”

“I don’t want to hear it, Dad! You’re both as bad as each other as far as I’m concerned,” snapped Juliet, angrily. “I take it you’ve seen today’s newspapers. And the internet! The poor boys are mortified by it all. I’m mortified by it!”

“Yes. Yes. I’ve seen it.”

“And, as I said, I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Look, I’ve said I’m sorry and I really am. I really didn’t mean to embarrass anyone,” continued Gramps, who Juliet had to admit did sound genuinely apologetic. “But, in fairness, if you watch the footage on the internet closely then you’ll see that Nonno definitely moves before your Mum says ‘go’.”

Juliet was glad that she was talking to her father over the phone and not face-to-face. Had she been in the same room with Gramps at that moment she had little doubt that she would have slapped him. Hard!

“For goodness sake, grow up Dad. I’ve spoken to Hugh today and he has pleaded with me to make sure that you and Nonno don’t do anything else to embarrass him or Monty. There’s enough media scrutiny on them at the moment already, without you pair of silly old goats adding to it. No more, okay.”

“Okay, I promise. I won’t do anything else that will embarrass you or the boys.”

Juliet sighed. “Look, I know you don’t particularly like Romeo’s parents. In fact, I know you hate them. Maybe some of last night was my fault for trying to bring you all together. I just thought that, you know, with the boys both going off to play at the World Cup you’d all want to be there to wish them luck. I guess I was wrong.”

Juliet sniffed, and it was clear to Gramps that his daughter was fighting back the urge to cry – a realisation that made him feel even more wretched than he already did.

“Don’t cry, princess,” he said in his most soothing tone. “I’ll be on my best behaviour from now on I pro... ah”

Juliet raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Dad, what do you mean ‘ah’?”

“Well, there is one small thing that I should probably tell you about. Although, it’s probably nothing... in fact I know it’s nothing... yep, it’s definitely nothing, there’s no need for you to worry. I wish I hadn’t said anything now.”

“Just tell me,” said Juliet, sharply.

Gramps sighed deeply and then started his tale. “This morning I was still really angry about last night when I went into town with your mother. Nonno really winds me up, constantly going on about how great everything to do with Italy is... and when he beat me in the race... and then it made it into the papers...” Gramps sounded like he was going to roar in frustration, but instead he took a deep breath and managed to calm himself down enough to be able to continue his story.

“Anyway, I went into the betting shop, like I do every Saturday morning, to bet on the horses. But while I was in there, the strangest thing happened. Some man who I’d never seen before approached me and said that he knew I was Monty and Hugh Capulet’s grandfather. At first, I figured he recognised me from the newspapers, but thinking about it now, I’m not so sure. He said that the boys’ other grandfather had been into the shop earlier in the day and had placed a £1,000 bet on Italy to beat England in the World Cup. The man said that Nonno had been crowing about how this would be the easiest money he would ever make. Well, I wasn’t having that. I marched straight up to the counter and I placed a £1,000 bet of my own on England to beat Italy.”

“YOU DID WHAT!” Juliet screamed down the phone, loud enough to make Gramps stagger backward, in spite of his dodgy hearing.

“I was just so angry. I didn’t really think. Then the man who told me about Nonno being in the shop came and asked me more questions. He wanted to know who I wanted to win the match. I told him I hoped England stuffed the Italians and told him all about Nonno and Nona and how much they annoy me.”

Juliet cleared her throat and counted to ten. She felt so angry she could explode, but realised that what was done was done. Losing her temper wouldn’t change anything. “You do realise that there is a very, very high possibility that the man who you spoke to was a journalist. You’ve just told him that you want your eldest grandson’s team to be thrashed at the World Cup and have bet £1,000 – £1,000 that you don’t really have, let’s not forget – that they will be! All for pride. The newspapers are going to have an absolute field day with this.”

Before Gramps could say anything further, Juliet slammed the phone down. As she did so, Romeo, who had been upstairs talking to his parents on his mobile, entered the room. His usually olive skin had turned a ghostly pale white and when he spoke it was impossible for him to keep the tremor from his voice.

“You’ll never guess what happened to Dad in the betting shop today.”         

 

Assurances

And so it was that as Hugh stepped off the plane early on Sunday evening en-route to joining up with his Italian teammates in Florence, far from fervently looking forward to the opening match of the World Cup, as he had been only a few days earlier, he was now absolutely dreading it.

Unsurprisingly, it hadn’t taken long for news of the ill-advised bets laid by his two grandfathers to spread. Consequently, for the second time in as many days, the Capulet family feud was once again the dominant story on the front pages of several British newspapers in addition to being the lead item in practically every single sports bulletin on UK television and radio.

Even the Capulet brother’s joint decision of refusing to publicly comment on any matters relating to their family was starting to backfire. Media outlets were now taking the lack of statements on the issue from both parties as further proof of a steadily building family rivalry.

Hugh had been hopeful that being in Italy for a couple of weeks, before flying to Brazil ahead of the World Cup, would at least give him a brief respite from the endless barrage of questions that he’d faced on a daily basis since news of Monty’s selection for the England squad had become public knowledge. It was a barrage that had intensified ten-fold following the recent unhelpful behaviour of Nonno and Gramps.

He should have known not to be so naive.

No sooner had Hugh entered the airport terminal was he confronted by a swarming mass of Italian journalists – and a good few British ones to boot – all hoping that he would be more willing to open up about his reported rivalry with Monty now that he was back in his adopted homeland.   

It took all of Hugh’s willpower to stay calm and ignore the seemingly endless bombardment of questions that were shouted at him in both English and Italian as he made his way through the terminal. All Hugh had ever wanted to do was play football. He wasn’t interested in the glitz and glamour associated with being a world class professional footballer. He refused point blank to attend any of the celebrity parties that he was invited to, knowing that to do so would only attract unwanted interest from journalists.

Therefore, having suddenly found himself thrust so firmly in the media spotlight, the unassuming footballer felt completely out of his comfort zone.

As he walked briskly through the airport, head bowed, part of him wanted nothing more than to scream at the assembled press; to yell at them, ordering them to shut up and leave him and his family alone. But he knew that to lose his temper would only give his many interrogators exactly what they were looking for; a reaction.

If the cross examination that he’d received from the press had been intense, it was nothing compared to the grilling he faced from the Italian national team manager just a few hours later.

Sitting in a surprisingly small but practical office in Italy’s luxurious Coverciano training complex, the Azzurri boss, Luigi Rossi, spent over an hour firing question after question at a slightly bewildered Hugh. Rossi was known for being a strict disciplinarian and he was far from happy with one of his star players being at the centre of a media storm so close to the start of such an important tournament.

If there was any chance that the coverage could have a negative impact on Hugh’s performances in Brazil, then Rossi wanted to know.

If the footballer felt uncomfortable in the glare of the media spotlight, then that was nothing to how he felt under the glare of his national manager’s harsh stares. Time and time again, Rossi fixed his steely grey eyes on the midfielder, eyeing Hugh carefully for any sign of weakness as the poor footballer answered his questions.

It took all of Hugh’s resolve, and powers of persuasion, to convince Rossi that he was indeed 100 per cent focussed on the World Cup and, in particular, the opening match against England.

Yet while he may have eventually succeeded in persuading his manager that the ongoing scrutiny of his family would not adversely affect his performances, secretly Hugh was nowhere near as convinced as he was making out.

Once the interrogation from his manager was finally over, and Hugh was safely back inside the swish comfort of his hotel room, the footballer decided to phone the one person he knew he could talk his personal thoughts and feelings through with; Monty. If anyone would understand what he was going through it would be his younger brother.

“Everything okay?” asked Monty upon answering his phone. The younger Capulet was unable to keep the surprise at hearing from his brother now that he’d joined up with the Italy squad out of his voice.

Hugh was just opening his mouth to reply that everything was fine when he stopped, took a deep breath, and began to pour his heart out to his cherished sibling. “You see, Monts, the truth is I just don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can handle what’s going on at the moment. I hate the fact that Nonno and Gramps are at each other’s throats again; that whatever the outcome of the England-Italy match one of them is going to be publicly embarrassed after that stupid bet; that the press are reporting that we don’t get along... For the first time in my life, or at least for as long as I can remember, I’m not sure I want to play football. I definitely don’t want to play against England at the World Cup.”

Monty was stunned by his brother’s words. When he’d spoken to Hugh about his own concerns just a day earlier, his elder sibling had seemed so confident... so sure that the situation would soon blow over. Now, here he was, little more than 24 hours later, talking about not wanting to play in a World Cup match. “Come on, Hugh. Everything will be okay. You said so yourself only yesterday,” he declared, as encouragingly as he could.

“I don’t think it will, though, Monts,” continued Hugh. “Not really. I’ve been thinking about this a lot all day. What happens if I miss a great chance in the game? Or you make a defensive error that ends up leading to a goal? The press will have a field day. They’ll say our mind wasn’t on the game; that we’ve let our respective countries down. A simple mistake in that match could ruin one of our careers.” He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. “It could even ruin our relationship!”

“That would never happen,” Monty replied, adamantly.

“I truly hope not. More than anything in the world I hope that, but you just never know. The pressure of playing in a World Cup is huge at the best of times, even without having to put up with what we’re having to at the moment. Who knows what would happen to our relationship if either one of us ends up being vilified by a whole country for making one innocent mistake?”

Hugh paused again, unsure as to whether or not he should share his next thoughts with his brother. After a few seconds of careful consideration, he decided he would. “I’m thinking about feigning an injury for the England match. I’ll complain that I’ve got a tight hamstring or something a few days before the match. Say that it’s not too bad, but I might have to rest it for one game.”

The shock and sadness Monty had felt upon initially hearing his brother’s true feelings suddenly gave way to anger. “Don’t you dare do that,” he cried down the phone. “I’d never forgive myself if you missed this match because of me. Imagine if you then didn’t get back in the side! You’ve been dreaming about playing in the World Cup for Italy for as long as I can remember. Don’t throw your chance away because of me.”

“It’s been your dream too, Monts. To play for England, I mean,” countered Hugh.

“True. But up until six days ago I hadn’t even thought about playing at this World Cup. I never thought I’d get anywhere near the squad. You’ve known for the past two years that, providing you stayed fit, you’d certainly be picked for the squad and more than likely start. Don’t let what the papers are saying about our grandparent’s stupid arguments spoil this for you.”

Just then a thought occurred to Monty. “Anyway, let’s be honest, what are the chances that I’ll even play in the match against Italy? I’ve already told you that the gaffer said I’m only going to Brazil as cover. When I don’t play then there won’t be an issue... it’ll be a non-story. At least think about what you’re doing, Hugh,” Monty pleaded, the anger receding from his voice. “Please don’t make any hasty decisions.”

Hanging up the phone a few minutes later, Hugh still had no idea what to do for the best. Hearing Monty say that it was highly unlikely he would start for England had momentarily made the elder Capulet feel a little better.

At the back of his mind, though, Hugh couldn’t shake the guilty feeling that the only way he could envisage getting any enjoyment from the match against England was if his younger brother wasn’t selected to play.

Part Four released on 11th June