In the days that followed, Aldridge's life settled into routine. School during the day, football at night. Each evening, he accompanied Barnett and Andrew to the local fan bar to watch the World Cup matches. Though he found the noise, the smoke, and the drunken shouting distasteful, he kept quiet. He didn't belong here—not really—but he understood the importance of blending in.
The World Cup in Mexico unfolded steadily. Barnett returned home each night visibly content, pleased with the form of the teams he'd backed. His confidence grew as his picks advanced. Andrew was noisier—he threw himself into every game, celebrating goals like they were personal victories.
Arthur and Amelia quickly understood what was happening. Their sons had been caught up in the World Cup betting craze. But they didn't intervene. They simply reminded them—briefly, and without drama—to keep things in check. They had raised three boys in East London; gambling on football was far from the worst thing they'd seen in this neighborhood.
The Halls were a typical working-class family. No academic ambition, no polished conversation, just a focus on surviving day to day. In this community of modest homes, local pubs, and unspoken codes, gambling, drinking, and the occasional fight weren't seen as dangerous. As long as a boy didn't join a gang or get mixed up in anything illegal, no one stepped in.
When the group stage ended, Barnett came home one evening, looking slightly disappointed. He counted out £140 and handed it to Andrew—his initial stake and winnings combined.
Andrew grinned. "Didn't expect Portugal to crash out like that, eh?"
Barnett shrugged. "Just annoyed I didn't make closer to two hundred."
His only failed prediction had been in Group F. He was sure Portugal and England would both go through. And after Portugal had beaten England in their opening match, it looked like a sure thing. But then they lost twice and went home.
Andrew had been more cautious. He'd only picked England to qualify. When Portugal defeated them that night, he was restless, unable to sleep. He turned in bed over and over, muttering, groaning, replaying the result in his head. Aldridge, who shared the room, found the whole scene mildly ridiculous.
'It's ten pounds, not your life savings,' he thought, turning away on his pillow.
But Andrew had won. And like anyone who tasted success too early, he immediately wanted more.
Not long after, he burst into the bedroom again and found Aldridge sitting at the desk, staring into the open pages of an unused notebook.
"Let's guess the quarterfinals!" Andrew grinned, already flipping through the match schedule.
Aldridge didn't move at first. Then, he looked up and answered flatly, "Argentina, England, West Germany. Those are the safe picks."
He offered no elaboration.
He remembered the final clearly—Argentina versus West Germany. That alone told him two things: both teams had reached the semis, and they had not faced each other in the quarters. Which meant they had both won in the previous round. England, too, had made it far enough to face Argentina.
'No point complicating things. Just play the odds.'
Andrew studied him for a second, then nodded. "Alright. I'll go tell Barnett."
He dashed out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
Aldridge turned back to his notebook. He hadn't written a word.
'So what now? Just keep going to school… again?'
He had lived an unremarkable life before. No family. No future. No real plan. His only comfort had been football—watching it, reading about it, knowing its history. Now, he was ten years old again, in a different country, surrounded by strangers who called themselves family.
'Repeating everything from the beginning, step by step… Is that really the best I can do?'
Outside, a car honked somewhere on the street. A dog barked. Someone shouted in the distance.
Aldridge stayed where he was, staring at the empty page.
'I've been given another chance at life. I won't waste it.'
...
When the quarterfinals concluded, it was clear from their faces that Barnett and Andrew had won again. They burst into Aldridge's room in high spirits, eager to discuss the final four.
Aldridge, who had been reading quietly at the desk, gave a resigned glance and said plainly, "West Germany and Argentina. Those two are certain."
Barnett hesitated. "Argentina might not beat England."
Andrew glanced down at the stack of cash in his hand—more than £200, including his original stake. For a 13-year-old, it was an enormous windfall. But having gained so much, he wasn't eager to throw it away on instinct.
Aldridge didn't argue further. He simply opened the desk drawer, took out the slip he'd placed weeks earlier, and held it up—a quiet reminder.
"Did you forget?" he said calmly. "I backed Argentina as champions, West Germany as runners-up."
Only then did it come back to them. It had been more than two weeks since Aldridge, almost as an afterthought, asked Barnett to place the odd-odds ticket for him. At the time, neither brother took it seriously.
Now, as the picture sharpened, they decided to follow his lead. All three pooled their stakes again and backed both Argentina and West Germany to reach the final.
On the day of the infamous England–Argentina semi-final, the mood in the East London bar was electric. Every table was full, every pint half-raised, and every English fan waiting for payback.
Aldridge sat silently in the corner. Around him, the bar erupted in shouting as Maradona scored his now-legendary "Hand of God" goal. But the mood turned to stunned awe when, minutes later, he collected the ball in his own half and slalomed through the England midfield and defence to score what would later be called the greatest goal in World Cup history.
Even Aldridge, who had expected Argentina to win, found himself speechless.
'That… wasn't just football. That was a different dimension.'
The final whistle triggered a strange silence in the bar, followed by a wave of curses and disbelief. Andrew and Barnett didn't dare show any joy. Though they had both just won money, the loss of the national team cut too deep for anyone to celebrate openly.
They left the bar quietly with Aldridge.
The final was now set—Argentina vs West Germany. The outcome, to Aldridge, was never in doubt.
The final took place on a hot Sunday evening. In the bar, Andrew and Barnett were tense. They gripped their drinks and watched the screen intently. They wanted Argentina to win—but couldn't say so out loud. Around them were men still furious about Maradona's goal. Supporting Argentina in public would be inviting trouble.
Aldridge, by contrast, watched with quiet certainty. He already knew the score.
Argentina 3–2 West Germany.
Maradona lifted the trophy, and history was sealed.
Barnett and Andrew erupted the moment the match ended, unable to suppress their joy. When several regulars in the bar turned and stared at them with raised eyebrows, the three brothers quickly slipped out.
They didn't stop running until they reached a small open field near the eastern edge of the neighborhood.
It was a clear midsummer night. The stars were visible, and the air carried the faint smell of fried food and street dust. The three Hall brothers collapsed onto the grass, laughing, breathless, bottles of beer in one hand and paper-wrapped fried chicken in the other.
For the first time in weeks, they didn't feel like kids or workers or locals. Just brothers, bound by shared triumph.
When the buzz of alcohol settled in, Barnett leaned back and stared at the sky. A quiet smile formed at the corner of his mouth.
Andrew, still counting the notes in his lap, murmured the total to himself over and over. From an initial stake of £500—his elder brother's hard-earned savings—the three of them now held close to £10,000.
Aldridge noticed Barnett had gone quiet and nudged him. "Something on your mind?"
Barnett covered his face with his hands and replied softly, "I don't want to keep doing glass work."
He had spent the last two years helping their father install doors and shop windows. The work was repetitive and unglamorous, and now, for the first time, he could admit it: he wanted more.
Aldridge nodded. "So what do you want to do instead?"
Barnett didn't answer right away. He looked westward, across the city.
"Do you know who lives in West London?" he asked.
"The rich," Andrew said, not even looking up from his money.
Aldridge paused. West London was indeed wealthy, but the real difference wasn't just class—it was occupation. Many of the people who lived there weren't just rich; they were professionals. In 1986, one job in particular stood out—stockbrokers.
'The stock market hasn't crashed yet,' Aldridge thought. 'Right now, it's still booming.'
He gave Barnett a quiet, serious nod. "If that's what you want to do, go for it. Mum and Dad might not understand it, but they'll support you."
The Hall family wasn't educated, but they weren't stubborn. They would never hold back one of their own from trying to rise above.
Barnett looked at Aldridge as if seeing him properly for the first time. There was something in his brother's tone that wasn't quite childlike. But in that moment, he didn't question it. He simply sat up straighter, as if a weight had lifted from his chest.
Aldridge handed over his entire winnings—£6,500. Andrew, watching silently, followed suit.
The decision didn't need discussion. If their elder brother was going to take a chance, they would back him. That was how things worked in their house.
By the time they headed home, Barnett had over £10,000 in hand—and for the first time in his life, a real sense of direction.
...
Aldridge didn't go home after the final. Instead, he walked to the door of the video store in the neighborhood. The shop was closed, but he knocked gently on the metal shutter. After a short pause, the voice of Sander came from inside.
"Who is it? Come back tomorrow if you want to rent something."
He sounded nervous—like he was expecting trouble. In this part of East London, it wasn't unusual. There were a few scattered gangs in the area. Even without serious organized crime or drugs, immigrants were often targeted with pressure and forced to pay for "protection."
Aldridge kept his voice low.
"It's Sander, right? I'm Aldridge. I'm the one who broke your window at night, about a month ago. I came to apologise."
Through the window, Sander peered out and saw that it was just a young boy standing alone. After a short hesitation, he carefully unlocked the door and let Aldridge step inside.
The store was dim, and quiet. Aldridge looked around. Compared to what he knew from later generations, it was basic—unimpressive. Just shelves, faded posters, and handwritten labels on the tapes.
Sander still had a trace of caution in his eyes, watching him closely.
But Aldridge spoke again. "I really came to apologise."
Then, he bowed sincerely.
That gesture seemed to shift something. Sander's expression softened. He accepted the apology.
Aldridge hadn't planned to stay, but just as he turned to leave, something on one of the shelves caught his eye. A row of tapes—unpackaged, each with a piece of white paper taped to the side. Handwritten dates. Two team names.
Match tapes.
He walked over, picked one up, then started flipping through others. Without meaning to, he started chatting with Sander about football.
At one point, Sander asked, "Are you a Millwall fan?"
Aldridge went quiet for half a minute. Then he shook his head honestly. "No. But my parents and two brothers are."
There wasn't much to do at night in this era. Aldridge had energy to burn, but no VCR at home. After thinking for a while, he looked back at Sander and asked, "Do you need any help here?"
Sander was caught off guard and shook his head. "No, I don't."
Aldridge continued, "You close the store early at night because you're worried, right? I've got a proposal. I'll work here at night. I don't want any money. Just let me watch the tapes in the store for free."
The area wasn't exactly safe. Sander's early closing time was his way of avoiding problems. Aldridge was still just a kid, but he was from the neighborhood. His father Arthur wasn't anyone important, just a small glass shop owner, but the Hall family was known locally. Having Aldridge in the store, even as a presence, added some safety.
After confirming a few times that he was serious, Sander agreed.
From that night on, Aldridge started a new routine—school during the day, working quietly at the store in the evenings. In his spare time, he watched match tapes. He didn't say anything to his family. But as he sat behind the counter, eyes locked on the grainy footage of past matches, ideas began to form.
Hidden beneath the surface, he had already started thinking about the future—and the kind of life he might build.