Jérôme nodded. ‘Good movie.’
I shrugged. ’Had its moments.’
‘You know, I’ve been thinking of writing a book myself,’ admitted Jérôme. ‘Oh, I don’t mean another boring autobiography about how I first got picked for Monaco and what it was like to pair up with Zlatan. No, I mean a proper book. Like the one your Russell Brand wrote?’
‘Oh, you mean a booky-wook.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s like a book but it’s written by Russell Brand. Which makes it a little bit different, I suppose.’
Jérôme nodded. ‘Have you read his latest book?’ he asked. ‘It’s called Revolution.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Have you?’
‘Not yet. But I’m going to when I can get hold of a copy in French. I’m really looking forward to it. In fact, if you see one at the airport in Pointe-à-Pitre maybe you could buy it for me. So I can look at it on the plane.’
‘Sure.’ I noticed he said ‘look’ not ‘read’; there’s a crucial difference that’s little appreciated by a lot of people who still buy books.
‘I’ve even got myself a title,’ he proclaimed.
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m going to call my book The Electric Tumbrel. Like the cart that they used to transport people to the guillotine during the French Revolution. Only this one’s electric? Because we’re in a hurry to get rid of some of these people, right? The bankers and the politicians. Plus it’s modern and better for the environment, too.’
I smiled, thinly. I hoped I wasn’t going to have to endure much of this boring lefty-crap on the private jet. If there’s one thing I hate in the world it’s a lefty with a mouth on him. Or her. Especially when they’re sporting a pair of diamond earrings and a massive gold watch.
‘I mean, where does it say that footballers can’t be politically engaged?’ he said. ‘And it’s not like Spain doesn’t have severe economic problems. Did you know that youth unemployment in the country is fifty-five per cent?’
‘Yes, I did. And it’s a tragedy.’
‘That’s second only to Greece. The fact is we need to politicise this generation if anything is ever going to change. We have to see past the politics if we’re going to establish a new way of governing ourselves. We need to overthrow the governments the way they did in Iceland. By mass civil disobedience. It’s the only thing that works. Because I really believe that inequality is man-made and what we can make we can also unmake. The politicians we have now are part of the problem not the solution. So, into the electric tumbrel with them, that’s what I say.’
‘Sure, sure, but if you don’t mind me saying so, what matters more right now is that you put this recent difficulty behind you. If you take my advice you should resume your career as quickly as possible and let your football do the talking for you. For a while, at any rate. There will be time enough for you to publish a book.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’
‘I know I’m right. You can say what you like when you start putting the ball in the back of the net.’
‘You live in London, right? Like Brand?’
‘I’m not sure he doesn’t live in Hollywood now,’ I said. ‘Or Utopia, for that matter.’
Or perhaps cloud-cuckoo-land.
‘But yes, I live in London. In Chelsea.’
‘Chelsea. One day, I’d like to play for Chelsea perhaps. I think José Mourinho is probably the greatest manager in modern football.’
‘I wouldn’t say that at Camp Nou, if I were you. Although I happen to agree. I think in terms of matches and trophies won he’s the most successful manager of the twenty-first century. Not to mention the most glamorous. Until José came along all managers in the English game were angry-looking Scotsmen in ill-fitting tracksuits, but he was the first one to look like he could walk from the technical area straight onto the pages of GQ. Like me, he’s the son of a professional football player so I’ve always felt that we have something in common. But there’s not a lot of love for José in Barcelona. Not since he was the manager at Real Madrid. Certainly not since he poked poor Tito Vilanova in the eye. Anyway, José said sorry. Which is probably just as well in the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances do you mean?’
‘Because Tito Vilanova died.’
‘What, from a poke in the eye?’
‘Not from the poke in the eye. But from cancer. That’s why I say it was just as well that José apologised. Tito was just forty-five. They’re still grieving about that at Camp Nou.’
‘Thanks for telling me. Hey, it sounds like there’s a lot to learn about playing in Barcelona.’
‘That’s probably true of anywhere. But it’s especially true of Barcelona. I think you’ll like it a lot there. Catalans — they’re a little less reserved than Parisians. They’re certainly more passionate about their football. Obsesivo. About everything, I think. Politics, especially. You’ll make a lot of friends there if you say you’re in favour of a referendum on Catalonian independence. But that’s all you should say about this. They’ll ask you but don’t ever let on which side you’d vote for. Best to keep your powder dry on that one.’
‘What else?’
‘You’ll read a lot of crap in the newspapers — or online — about how the club is unhappy and going through a difficult phase. Actually, I don’t think that’s true. Yes, they lost a couple of key players in January; and there’s a transfer ban until 2016 that’s to do with some kids having the wrong documents. Which is bullshit. And who knows if Messi gets on with Luis Enrique or not? But they’re only a point behind Real and getting better all the time. Financially, the club is better off than it’s ever been. Annual revenues are more than five hundred million euros. Only Real does better with just over six hundred. There’s no tyrant king who needs keeping sweet. They’re even opening an office in New York to sell the club abroad. About the one thing I’d do is try to bring Johan Cruyff back into the Barca fold. At the moment he’s having a protracted sulk at his home in Sarrià-Sant Gervasi. Like Achilles I think he’s the key to future victory.’ This time I didn’t wait for him to look blank. ‘A Greek hero. Troy. Brad Pitt.’
‘Oh, right. Of course. Great movie. Things never clicked for me at Parc des Princes in Paris the way things worked in Monaco. Believe me, it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.’
‘I know.’
‘I just hope it can work out for me at Camp Nou.’
‘Of course it can. You’re still young. Listen, Gerard Piqué was just twenty-one when he left Man U to play for Barca. Now there’s a player who hardly ever made the team back in Manchester. But within months of starting work under Guardiola he was one of the best defenders in the world. Guardiola would probably tell you that Piqué was his best signing. In the World Cup squad at twenty-three. Married to Shakira. He even has his own video game. Man U let him go for just eight million euros; they’d have to pay six or seven times that now. Maybe more. That kind of success can be yours, too, Jérôme. I’m convinced of it. In a year’s time, with any luck, PSG will feel the same way about you that Man U do now about Piqué.’
‘You really think so?’
‘I know so. I can smell it. The sweet smell of success for you.’
‘I’d like my own PlayStation game,’ said Jérôme. ‘There’s millions to be made in the games industry.’
I nodded. It was increasingly clear that Jérôme Dumas was a man of contradictions. It was equally clear it was going to be a long flight back to Spain.