Beckham Page 31

  ‘Come on, Dave, let’s go for a walk round. Let’s go down and see the England fans.’

  Those supporters were great. We knew they were as disappointed as we were but they stood in their seats, waiting for us and applauding us when we came in front of them. No bitterness, no threat towards us or anybody else; behind us to the end. They’d been like that throughout the tournament: the best fans in Japan. Maybe the Brazilians picked up on that spirit: their supporters were clapping us as well as their own team. They were celebrating Brazil advancing but they gave the English players respect, too, and I admired that a lot.

  When we got back and sat down in the dressing room, it was very quiet, players thinking their own thoughts. It wasn’t only the game we’d just played. You could see ten months of top-level soccer catching up with the lads in the minutes after we lost to Brazil. It was as if the life had been drained away out of us. Sven was the only one to break the silence.

  ‘I’m very proud of you all. Not just what you’ve done in the past three weeks but what you had to do to get us to the World Cup in the first place. Today we’re very disappointed. We thought we could go further in this tournament. I believed we could. But this is soccer. This is how the game goes. When your time comes, it’ll happen. You’re good enough. You should know that.’

  I was off in a world of my own. Every player in the dressing room was. There was nothing more to say than Sven had just said. It seemed to take forever—it was a real effort—just to get up off the bench and get to the shower and then change. We took a long time dragging ourselves out of the stadium. When we finally made it to our coach, we pulled away immediately behind the Brazilians. Ronaldhino was in the back, playing a set of samba drums; he was so happy. I’m not surprised. His goal had gotten his team to the semis. At that moment, my head ached with what-ifs. I spoke to Victoria on the cell phone:

  ‘David, it’s terrible how it’s happened but we love you. I know how down you are. But we’re here. We’ll be happy when you’re home, Brooklyn and me.’

  Victoria was right. She knew how much I’d wanted to make the final. That’s all she wanted for England too. But now it wasn’t going to happen, we had to see things as they were. My wife was seven months pregnant. She was missing me. My son was missing me. And I was missing them both. I’d rather have been staying in Japan but the thought of going back to England and my family was the one thing that lifted me on the way back to the hotel. We said goodbye. I said I’d see them the next day.

  Back at the England team hotel, the Japanese were still out in force to welcome us back: they’d stuck with us just like our own fans. Inside, there were family and friends standing at the top of this long staircase that swept up on two sides. As the players made their way up the steps, there was applause. Mum and Dad were there. Don’t start crying here.

  I hugged my parents, and nodded to one or two other people. I couldn’t speak to anyone. What was there to say? I just walked straight on through reception and up to my room. Quiet, lifeless, save for the low hum of the air-conditioning. I closed the door on the afternoon. And then just crumpled up on the bed like an old man; frustrated, hurting and weary. I’d expected so much of myself and of England. We’d prepared right. Everything had felt right. And we’d missed maybe the best chance any of us would ever have. It wasn’t as if I needed to sit there and start trying to workout why. Why didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was the plain truth. Even then, a couple of hours after the game, I still couldn’t quite take it in as a fact. The air pressure in that hotel room bore down on my ear drums. For me, for all of us, it was just empty now. There’d be the semis and a final after we got home. We’d be watching on television along with the rest of the planet. But the real thing had slipped away. For us, the World Cup was over. England were out.

  12

  Bubble Beckham

  ‘To meet a great man such as you is an amazing honor.’

  I’d only been waiting 27 years. September 1 2002, just after half past nine in the morning, and our second son, Romeo, was born; a baby brother for Brooklyn. Their dad could still remember how he’d dreamed of having a baby brother when he was growing up with two sisters. You’d have to ask someone who knows more about these things than me why I’d always wanted another boy in the house for company: it’s bound to be more complicated than just needing a little ’un to go in goal in the back garden. It’s not as if I didn’t love Lynne and Joanne, after all. All I know for sure is that when we found out Romeo was a boy, I was delighted for Brooklyn and pleased, as well, for the little boy I used to be. I was a bit surprised by how strong those feelings were, to be honest. After Brooklyn was born and we’d started talking about more children, Victoria and I had expected a daughter would be next. And when Victoria got pregnant again, that was what Brooklyn had expected too.

  Victoria’s sister Louise, who we’re really close to and see all the time, has a little girl named Liberty. Brooklyn’s been playing with her since they were both tiny: he and Liberty are just a few months apart in age. Maybe that’s why, from the moment we found out another baby was on the way, Brooklyn always assumed it was going to be a baby sister for him. Victoria and I are long-term planners when it comes to naming babies: we’d already had the names Paris and Romeo ready for a while:

  ‘Do you want to say hello to baby Paris?’

  Brooklyn would press his head up against Victoria’s tummy. He was as excited as we were. We thought the explanations could wait until the baby actually arrived. One of the stranger things about our lives together, though, is the way the private things—or a garbled version of them—become public. Things can sometimes get a bit confusing for everybody because of that. Brooklyn was out shopping with Victoria one afternoon. They were in a pharmacy and the lady behind the counter asked him:

  ‘How’s your mummy’s new baby?’

  Brooklyn must have taken to this woman because he happily told her he was getting a little sister named Paris. It took about 24 hours for that to turn up in the newspapers as fact: Brooklyn, aged three, had made the Beckham family’s official announcement. It wasn’t that we were trying to fool anybody: at that stage we didn’t know whether the new baby was going to be a boy or girl ourselves. Anyway, just because the gossip columns and the bookmakers had got it wrong wasn’t a reason for us to put their story right.

  Husbands have it easy, don’t they? The father-to-be just does what he can to help and looks forward to the new arrival. Before the day arrived, though, Victoria had to carry the new baby for nine months in her tummy. I love how Victoria looks when she’s pregnant; I love knowing she’s looking after something precious for us both; I love sharing all the ups and downs, the hopes and fears. But, for Mum, it must be hard in ways men can never really understand. I’ve seen for myself—twice now—how Victoria’s emotions, her body, her hormones, everything, get turned upside down during pregnancy.

  Romeo was born, like his brother, at the Portland Hospital in London. Some things were simpler because of the fact we’d been there before. I knew how to sneak into the Portland without being seen: we parked just round the corner from the hospital and I jumped into the boot of the car for the last few hundred yards’ drive to the backdoor. But every baby’s different and I can’t imagine the whole thing would ever be routine. For Romeo, we had a last-minute panic when the doctor told Victoria he needed to do the caesarean the following morning, which meant me driving down from Manchester overnight to make sure I was there. And the day itself, of course, stands out clearly on its own: one I’ll never forget.

  You imagine beforehand that, once you’ve seen one baby come into the world, you’ll be ready for the emotions when it happens again. But that’s not how it was for me at all. When Romeo was first lifted up into the light in the operating room, the feelings of excitement and happiness, of pride and awe, just flooded through me with all the same intensity they had three years before, when Brooklyn was born. It was like it was happening for the first time all over again. It to
ok my breath away how much I loved Victoria right there and then, how much I loved our brand new baby son. I could feel my heart grow to make room for the new life in our lives.

  The best moment of all was still waiting to happen. My mum looked after Brooklyn while we were in the operating room. His first glimpse of his baby brother was about half an hour after Romeo was born. It was my first glimpse, as well, of the two of them together. The most wonderful feeling: Brooklyn looked down at this tiny little creature, wrapped up in fresh linen, and he just melted. He was so gentle with Romeo, so loving. He reached out and stroked his brother’s forehead, the lightest of touches. I was standing there watching. No need to tell Brooklyn to be careful. He was only three years old himself, but already wise enough to know how precious Romeo was. They connected. It’s been like that between the two of them ever since. I’d always wanted a baby brother. I was looking at my eldest son now and the way he was with Romeo was the way I’m sure I would have been. Those two boys together for those couple of minutes, the two of them touching, a little world of their own: their dad had never felt so happy, never felt so proud.

  I like the feeling that those two boys are with me, even when I’m away from home. And not just in my heart. I had their name tattooed on my back after each one was born. There’s a guardian angel there, too, looking after them both. My dad had three tattoos of his own and so the idea has been with me since I was a kid. In Dad’s case, I think it was a bit of a teenage rebellion thing. I know he got a clip round the ear when Grandad found out about them. My equivalent of that was getting my ear pierced when I was fifteen, at a jeweller’s in Chingford Mount. Dad went mad:

  ‘What have you done that for? What are people going to say when you turn up for soccer with an earring?’

  He was about as pleased with my little silver hoop as his dad had been when he pulled off the plaster hiding Dad’s first tattoo. When I was a boy I sometimes talked about getting one. Mum would wince but Dad, obviously, would have been happy enough. I never seemed to get round to it then; I suppose I was waiting for the right time. It never occurred to me to have one because I liked a particular design; I didn’t think about them as a fashion thing. The idea came up much later, a little while after Brooklyn was born. I was talking to Mel B and her then-husband, Jimmy Gulzar, and the subject of tattoos came up. I ended up going to this Dutch guy who’d done all of Jimmy’s. I’d finally realized what I wanted a tattoo to represent. Mine are all about the people in my life, my wife and sons, who I want to have with me always. When you see me, you see the tattoos. You see an expression of how I feel about Victoria and the boys. They’re part of me.

  Our family and the life that spins around us: sometimes we laugh and call it ‘Bubble Beckham’. Victoria and I and Brooklyn and Romeo, at home, at the shops, on vacation: we’re just a family that loves being together, doing what families do. Mum and Dad both have the kind of very public careers that mean our ordinary working days aren’t very ordinary at all: me playing Champions League soccer in a packed stadium somewhere, with millions of people watching on television all over the world; Victoria cutting new tracks in a recording studio in New York; both of us jumping on a plane to go off and shoot a Japanese commercial on a beach in Thailand. And outside all of that, helping to keep the bubble bouncing along, is the fame thing: the attention, the gossip, the paparazzi and the stuff that’s just made up—we know it is—but still comes with our names at the top of the page. Inside the bubble, we have family, friends and professionals who help us find a way through it all and we’re grateful for that. I’m grateful we’ve got each other too. We’ve experienced some pretty weird things, along with what’s been wonderful, since we’ve been together. It makes you strong knowing there’s someone’s hand you can hold. I know Victoria feels the same.

  When I first met Mrs Beckham—Posh Spice—I’d never experienced the kind of hype, or the lifestyle, that came with being a massively successful pop star. Victoria was handling the situation long before I even knew what the situation was. Maybe my manager at Manchester United would have preferred me to have found a nice, quiet girl who’d stay indoors, clean the house, change diapers and have my dinner ready in the evening. Well, you can’t choose who you fall in love with. When I met the girl of my dreams—the woman I always knew I was going to marry and settle down with—I was swept away by her. And, as I’ve said, part of the attraction was how good she was at what she did and how famous she was because of it. Because of where Victoria was in her life when I met her, and because of what’s happened to me in my career in the last seven years, the fame thing has been on a steady upward curve ever since. Us being together, of course, has made it all even more intense.

  The bubble seems to expand, almost day by day. Maybe the move to Madrid will change that: obviously, we’ll try to keep our heads down and get on with starting what’s bound to be a new adventure, settling in a new country, as well as at a new club. There’s always a story, though, isn’t there? And even if there’s not, someone’s ready to dream one up. Sometimes we wonder what would happen if it all just vanished overnight. We’d miss some of it but we’d still have the things that matter: each other and our children. What if the bubble just keeps getting bigger? Do we have picture spreads about the boys’ first schools, first girlfriends, first everything else to look forward to? We’ve talked about that, and laughed about it together as well. But it’s a serious question: how will it be for Brooklyn and Romeo if they’re going to find themselves having to grow up in the public eye whether they like it or not? I think it’s really important that, in the whirl of our lives together, we give our children the same solid base our parents gave Victoria and me. I know that, above everything, I owe my boys the same love and support and guidance I had at home, from my parents, my grandparents and the rest of our family.

  In some ways, that’s the easy bit: loving Brooklyn and Romeo, giving them the time and attention they need. It’s a parent’s instinct, after all. The more difficult thing is helping them through the extraordinary stuff that comes with life in Bubble Beckham; more difficult because Victoria and I are only finding out about that stuff as we go along ourselves. For a start, neither of us grew up with personal security being as much a part of everyday life as breakfast and dinner, which it is now. I don’t mean the guys in blazers who hold back the crowds at airports. I’m really grateful they’re there but, once we’re through a terminal or wherever, those lads are gone: like us, they’re on to the next job. I’m talking about the people who we trust to look after us and the boys, everywhere but inside our own four walls, 24/7.

  It’s been a strange road to where we are now with the whole issue of security. Soon after Victoria and I started going out together, I received a letter at my house in Worsley that contained two bullets in it and a scrawled note saying there’d be one for each of us. I can still remember standing by my pool table and the sound of the cartridges dropping out of the envelope and onto the table in front of me. That wasn’t the only death threat we’ve had down the years, but it’s the one that still makes my stomach turn over. When I came back to England after France 98, I felt threatened—really threatened—in ways I’d no real idea how to deal with. It would never have occurred to me, back then, to employ a bodyguard. I relied, like anyone else would, on the police and my mates. There were a couple of incidents at home—crashing garbage bins, strangers outside—when I got very scared indeed. I phoned 999 and then Giggsy. The police were always great and so was my neighbor: Ryan would be round in a flash, standing there just about awake in his tracksuit bottoms, baseball bat in hand, and ready to look after a mate.

  The incidents that really changed how I thought about all this, though, were the kidnap threats. My children didn’t choose their mum and dad so what’s always upset me more than anything is when they get involved in things they don’t deserve to be involved in. Sometimes that might just be something spiteful in a newspaper column. I can deal with that myself: phone the bloke up and tell him he’s out
of order. That’s what I’ve done in the past. But a threat to my boys’ safety? Their lives, even? How am I supposed to know what to do about that? It’s only when those things happen that you realize you have to do something, have to talk to people who think about the unthinkable for a living. You never know what may happen: when the case against last year’s alleged kidnappers got thrown out of court after all the publicity in the News of the World, it left us not knowing where we stood. All I can tell you is those threats felt very real—and very frightening—at the time. And if Victoria and the boys are the potential targets, I can’t take any risks about how serious or not the threats might be.

  If it’s your family’s safety you want to protect, it’s very hard to judge who the right person, or people, might be to turn to for advice. Like with everything else in your life, you start with those closest to you. I’m lucky that my father-in-law actually knows a bit about the hardware and technology side of it all: it’s in his line of work. The police have always tried to do right by us and we’ve always tried to check staff out as carefully as we could. But who hasn’t misjudged a person at some time in his life? Of course, we’ve made our mistakes.

  It’s not a subject where you can ever say: this is solved. I can’t even say I’m sure I’d know what ‘solved’ might be: there’s not a ‘How To’ book you can check to make sure you’re doing the right things. It’s about balancing the need for a normal life with taking what precautions you can. You can’t live every day making sure the world can’t get near you. But you shouldn’t have to live with fear either, on edge all the time, imagining that something bad could be about to happen. Right now, I feel pretty comfortable with the people we have looking after us. I trust them enough for us not to be spending all our time watching our backs.

  The time after France 98 was pretty uncomfortable, to say the least. But before then, and since, it’s not as if I’ve felt under any kind of constant threat: you’re guarding against the hundred-to-one chance. But feeling secure leaves us freer to get on with doing what we do, publicly and privately. We like to take Brooklyn and Romeo out to dinner sometimes. We want to stop off to stock up on snacks. We want to go shopping at the local supermarket, shlepping up and down the aisles and choosing what we fancy, instead of going on the internet or ordering by phone. I still feel, deep down, like the person I’ve always been. If I want it to stay that way, I’ve got to make sure I can still do the things I’ve always done. I’ve never had a problem with people wanting to chat or to ask for an autograph. How could I? I asked enough United players to sign stuff for me when I was a boy. I don’t like the idea of things turning up on memorabilia websites, people trying to get rich on the back of someone else’s popularity but again, it’s a balance. I’d rather risk making that mistake than risk disappointing a kid who’s been standing, waiting, outside the stadium for an hour after a match. I know what it’s like to look up to people, to admire the achievements of someone who’s good at what they do. I know what it’s like because I always have done myself. And still do.