by Chris Harris
The appearance on Dragon’s Den had left Catherine Brown in something of a quandary.
Only a few years earlier, she’d been running around Denham cleaning up after everyone else, barely noticed and appreciated. Now a businesswoman, she had gone on national television, not only held her own, but dominated the programme. For the first time in her life, she felt genuinely confident.
As much as she hated admitting it, bar her two boys, the biggest thing in her life now wasn’t the coffee shop, the business, or even the football club. It was the growing closeness she was beginning to feel towards Greg Lyons.
Catherine had always dreamed of turning Heaven Is A Percolator into something bigger, maybe even a chain one day, but she also loved her life in Denham. Being involved with Denham Phoenix FC felt like a privilege. She loved every minute of it. Denham was her world, she was immersed in her life, business and football club, and she’d been handed an extraordinary opportunity: to expand Heaven Is A Percolator into the brand-new clubhouse development.
Yes, there were risks. Nobody really knew how it would affect her original village coffee shop. But Catherine suspected the clubhouse would attract a completely different clientele anyway. To her, it felt exciting. A blank canvas.
And Greg Lyons had effectively given her the freedom to build it exactly how she wanted.
For Greg, the decision was brutally simple.
Football catering was a nightmare. Six chaotic hours a week, matchdays, and providing a service for the users of the rented pitches. Endless staffing problems, complaints, waste and stress. If Catherine wanted to take it over and give the club twenty per cent of her turnover, he’d probably make as much money, maybe more, than keeping it in-house, without any of the aggro.
Meanwhile, Catherine would throw all her brilliance, energy and obsession into making it a success. But she had worked with a love interest before, with Charlie Egham, and that had all turned to shit. Getting emotionally involved with Greg Lyons and running a large catering operation at his football club meant obvious risks.
For Greg Lyons, there was no barrier; she was the one. He felt it in his bones. He trusted his instincts completely, just as he trusted Big Mal. Greg never really stopped to consider were the consequences if it all went wrong.
But if a relationship between him and Catherine collapsed, it wouldn’t just affect them. It could poison the football club, destabilise the board, split friendships and leave him looking like an absolute idiot in front of everyone.
But luckily for everyone involved, Catherine Brown had thought about all of that.
In truth, she had spent weeks thinking about little else.
There were still three available sites in Lewes that looked ideal for expanding Heaven As A Percolator, and only days after her Dragon’s Den appearance she had visited them alongside Greg Lyons. But she hadn’t liked viewing properties with him hovering around in the background like some silent money man. It unsettled her.
Driving back past the football ground afterwards, seeing the steel frame of the new clubhouse rising into the winter sky, something hit her.
Both her boys would soon be old enough for the under-18s. Both were already highly regarded footballers at school. The sheer scale of what Greg, Denham Phoenix FC were building suddenly felt real to her. Maybe that alone was enough. Why look to expand into Lewes when a bigger opportunity was in her grasp? Taking on a second shop was a risk, the football club was a percentage to the owner, no financial risk, all on her doorstep at a club she was incredibly emotionally attached to.
If she entered into a relationship with Greg Lyons, something her heart was increasingly telling her to do, and it all blew up, the consequences would be enormous. There was only one person she really wanted to speak to about it. Big Mal.
On a freezing mid-December afternoon, with Phoenix disappearing at the top of the league after almost rioting scenes during a thrilling home win against Epsom & Ewell, Catherine finally decided to speak.
John Marlow had bagged a hat-trick. Nearly nine hundred people had crammed into The Den despite the cold drizzle. The atmosphere had been electric again. As usual it continued in the clubhouse and migrated to the Red Lion, for those still standing. But Mondays after victories were always sobering.
The noise faded. The hangovers kicked in. Everyone returned to reality after another weekend of dreams, beers, boardroom celebrations and supporters talking about promotion as if it was already guaranteed.
Catherine found Malcolm alone with Jeremy and Celina.
“Malcolm… can I speak to you privately?”
“Of course you can, luvvy,” he replied instantly.
Big Mal adored Catherine Brown. She was the daughter he had never had and no her nickname was not politically correct, but she enjoyed it.
It all came pouring out. The doubts, the excitement and the fear. Sworn to secrecy, with every sentence she spoke, Malcolm kept repeating the same thing silently to himself: I mustn’t tell Greg this, I mustn’t tell Greg this.
It was torture for him because normally, he told Greg everything. But Catherine trusted him, and he was determined not to betray that.
“The thing is, Mal… I don’t really want to get involved with him properly unless there’s some sort of legal arrangement in place with the franchise.” That made Malcolm pause, this no longer sounded like gossip or flirtation; this sounded serious. He struggles with serious.
“If things go tits up,” she continued, “I can’t end up trapped in an uncomfortable position like I was at the garden centre with Charlie Egham. I’ve got the boys to think about.” Malcolm was fast becoming to realise this wasn’t some silly football club romance. This could be dynamite, brilliant for them both, or it could all blow up.
Big Mal had prepared the fatherly speech in his head long before Catherine had finished speaking to him.
“At the end of the day, Catherine,” he said carefully, “Greg can be a bit of a geezer sometimes. But when it comes down to it, he’s a decent, fair and honourable man. People think he became successful through sharp practice, but he didn’t. He did it by running businesses properly.”
He paused.
“And honestly, I don’t think he’s even thought about the legal side of any of this.
Despite running his business by the book, Greg Lyons also lived in a world where deals were done on instinct, loyalty, and handshakes. In Greg’s mind, love stories didn’t end in solicitors’ offices and contractual disputes. They worked themselves out naturally.
“I’m not going to say anything directly,” Malcolm continued, “but I’ll hint that maybe he needs to sort out a proper arrangement with you. Leave it with me, it’ll be fine.”
But when Big Mal cautiously raised the idea of formal legal agreements surrounding the catering operation, Greg barely engaged with it.
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Greg shrugged.
“Well, I know that, Greg,” Malcolm replied patiently. “But she’s got the boys to think about. And she’s still scarred by what happened with Charlie Egham.”
“Yeah, I know all that now,” Greg sighed. “But she just needs to trust me.”
“Alright, boss,” Malcolm muttered, unconvinced. He knew he couldn’t push it or it would look like a put-up job.
Big Mal reported Greg’s indifference back to her, explaining how surprised he was, but maybe he had presented it in the wrong manner. Maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t, but the red flags went up. Flippancy was not what she was looking for. Things began drifting in a direction Greg hadn’t expected at all.
Catherine’s texts became less frequent. The warmth between them started fading. Just incrementally enough to keep the fires burning, but a must try harder. Catherine reckoned Greg would confide in Big Mal, the newfound coolness, and maybe he would sort it.
Sure enough, slowly Greg began convincing himself that Malcolm had interfered.
“You’ve been talking to Catherine?” he asked suddenly one afternoon.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, since we had that conversation, she’s gone cold on me. Hardly texts me now.”
Malcolm stayed calm.
“I don’t know, Greg. She’s got a lot on her plate at the moment, hasn’t she? Maybe you should just talk to her.”
But Greg Lyons wasn’t going to do that.
Instead, the whole thing descended into childishness. Malcolm ended up trapped between them, awkwardly acting as much of a go-between, oddly when they were still both texting and seeing each other at The Den, as Catherine became increasingly furious.
She couldn’t believe that Greg, a man capable of financing massive football infrastructure projects and negotiating six-figure deals, suddenly became evasive when asked for proper legal protections surrounding her business and her children’s future. Who the hell did he think he was? Yet the cruel irony was she still believed the clubhouse project could become the greatest opportunity of her life.
That was the trap, and neither of them wanted to back down.
So they hit an impasse. Contracts over trust.
Catherine, Jeremy and Celina had spent most of the afternoon throwing around ideas for the launch of the new clubhouse venture and, more importantly, how to maximise the profits from it.
Catherine’s mind kept drifting back to one of the away trips earlier in the season. One particular club had built an outside fan zone beneath a huge military-style tent with a stage at one end for live music and events.
The atmosphere had been incredible.
Greg half hoped, again, the meeting she had called with him would be to clear the air, but knew he was kidding himself, and what was worse was acknowledging that he was behaving a bit like a dick, his almost Mills and Boons fairytale happy ending he dreamed of with Catherine Brown blurred by a failure to recognise her realities.
“It makes complete sense,” Catherine said enthusiastically. “You could put Sky Sports outside as well. World Cup games, Euros during the summer, big midweek matches… people would want to get there at midday or five o’clock just to soak up the atmosphere. It becomes more than a football club. It becomes a social hub.”
Greg listened carefully, he was slightly disappointed the meeting had become entirely business again rather than about them, but he was also genuinely intrigued by the idea.
“It’s interesting,” he admitted. “But realistically we haven’t really got enough space for a proper marquee set up, and we’ve got to think about noise levels. Football on screens is fine, but live bands could become a nightmare this close to the village.”
“We could do acoustic bands,” Catherine countered instantly.
“Yeah, of course you could,” Greg smiled. “But you can’t have music pumping out all night. I suppose you can have bands inside the clubhouse, but then you risk putting off people who’ve come for football rather than a live music venue.”
Greg pointed towards some land adjacent to the 3g pitches, in an adjacent field.
“Look… I’ll have a think about it. I need to speak to Sean Powell anyway. He owns all the land around here. We’re running out of space so where you think the marquee can go is earmarked for parking.”
He pointed again towards a rough-looking field.
“See that bit there? It’s basically worthless. Terrible soil. Barely useful for farming. But because he knows we need it for expansion, he’s asking for a quarter of a million quid. Economical Tony has been trying to negotiate a better price.”
Jeremy whistled under his breath.
“Obviously we’re going to need more parking if we climb the leagues,” Greg continued. “And more space generally. To be honest, the land’s probably worth twenty grand at best.”
There was a pause before Greg added coldly:
“And I can’t stand the bloke.”
Catherine looked up.
“At the end of the day, I’m a businessman,” Greg continued. “I’m not against paying the money. We can afford it with what we’re investing into the club. But I don’t particularly want to hand a quarter of a million pounds to someone I know exploits his workers and sprays every pesticide known to man over his produce.”
For the first time in weeks, Catherine suddenly remembered exactly what she liked about Greg Lyons in the first place, not the money not the confidence, not he sharpness. But the principles, pragmatism and the refusal to be bullied.
Greg noticed the warmth returning to her smile almost instantly.
“So what are you saying?” she asked.
“I’m saying,” Greg replied carefully, “that maybe as a club representative you could go round there and butter him up a bit better than I can.”
Catherine laughed properly for the first time in days.
“Don’t worry, Greg,” she smiled. “I’ll go round this week and see what can be done.”
And just like that, for the first time since the argument, the atmosphere between them improved.
#Non League #Content Creation #Football Serial #Denham Phoenix FC
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