Chapter 118: Nightmare Becomes Reality

Fortunately for Ron Rossiter, his fear did not come true straight away. Villa did not run up the score.

Wait, was that really something to be thankful for?

Whatever the answer, the Derby manager was a lucky man at that moment, and so were the home supporters inside Pride Park, who had just been handed a little breathing room.

On the pitch the clock reached fourteen minutes, and Derby created their best chance since kick-off. Kyle Vance took a direct pass from Matt Ledgard, slipped away from Rami, and burst into the box.

"Vance is through, Vacek comes out, no, Teale, a tackle!" Vacek’s charge had only been to draw the striker’s attention. The real danger-man in that defence was Teale.

The former Chelsea captain showed all the calm and courage of an old pro. He slid in inside his own penalty area, hooked a boot round the ball at full stretch and cleared the danger.

"Villa break! Teale’s tackle doesn’t run out of play, it falls to Faraday, and now the ball is at the left-back’s feet."

"He plays it forward, a straight ball, down the left channel to number seven, and that is Antoine Rocher’s new shirt this season."

After taking the pass and turning, Rocher hesitated for half a second. His display against United had been quiet, but Villa supporters were not going to write him off after one game, and Saint certainly wasn’t going to lose faith in him because of one afternoon.

In Saint’s tactics, Rocher was the true heart of the attack. Saint had never said it out loud, yet every player in the squad knew.

Tomlin and Pryce ran hard, dragging the Derby defence with them the moment the ball arrived, and that opened up a lane for the Frenchman.

Tommy Tonks chased back. Probably because of Derby’s own attack a few seconds earlier, he had been caught a little too high up the pitch, and Faraday’s straight ball made it easy for Rocher to get away from him.

Rocher was quicker than Tonks, and even now the ball at his feet had lost no speed, so the gap between the two only grew wider.

"He’s in! Rocher drives into the Derby box!" Rossiter had already rushed to the edge of his technical area, glaring at the Frenchman.

On the opposite touchline Saint was not as vocal as Rossiter, but his clenched fists said everything. The first win, he wanted that first win of the Premier League season in this match.

"Pass or shoot?" At that moment the eyes of the whole stadium were on the Derby box, and on Rocher.

"He shoots! Rocher decides to take it himself, the Frenchman’s finish is clinical!"

"GOAL! Antoine Rocher! Villa’s second of the afternoon!"

"Pickering never moved! He read it wrong, he thought Rocher would square it." As Rocher entered the area he had glanced up to the middle, and that single glance had been enough. Pickering guessed wrong.

Tomlin had run into the box alongside him, and the big striker’s frame was fully on show. Stovell could do nothing with him.

In fact, Rocher had thought about passing to Tomlin. But as he prepared to square it he noticed Pickering take a tiny sidestep, and that one small step made him change his mind and shoot.

"Two nil! Fifteen minutes gone, and Villa double their lead!"

"Victory, victory, this one belongs to us!" Pemberton was beside himself.

No wonder. The Villa fans in the away end were beside themselves too, because this was the Premier League, and this was Villa’s first win since coming back up.

The last time Villa had been in the top flight, the season they were relegated, they had managed only three wins all year. That was why the travelling supporters were celebrating as if they had already won the league.

"Damn, damn, damn!" On the touchline Rossiter swore without any thought for how he looked.

In the home stands the Derby supporters fell silent. The game was far from over, but the scoreline was enough to dishearten them, because they had just remembered how last season’s meeting had ended.

Saint, meanwhile, was not as happy as people imagined. Even now the young manager had turned to Reyes, pointing and shouting across the pitch.

"Marco, don’t get excited too early! It’s only two nil, and Derby haven’t given up yet!" His eyes were fixed on the far touchline.

Rossiter was calling back a player of his own. It was a midfielder, Matt Ledgard, the heart of Derby’s attack and defence alike.

"Matt, the game isn’t over, two goals can be undone. If we stay patient, they’ll relax after going two up." Rossiter was calming his players down while quietly hoping Villa would make a mistake all by themselves.

Would Villa make that mistake? Last season, perhaps. But this Villa had several experienced veterans on the pitch, men who had been through countless storms.

So barely a few minutes after the restart Rossiter was swearing again, this time in his own head, because Villa really were giving him no opening at all.

With Saint’s warning ringing in their ears and the veterans organising everything, Villa gave Derby nothing, and in fact used the home side’s desperation to score against them.

In the twentieth minute, Reyes won possession high up and Derby pushed forward in a rush, and Villa broke at speed. If Pickering had not pulled off a near-impossible save, the score would already have been three nil.

"Pryce! He nearly gets the first goal of his Villa career!" Tomlin laid the ball off to Pryce, who took Reyes’s cross, headed it down, and sent a low shot into the far corner, only for Pickering to get a hand on it at full stretch.

That counter-attack genuinely frightened Rossiter on the touchline, and it frightened the home supporters even more.

Gradually, though, Derby’s stubbornness began to restore their fans’ morale, and the home stands started to sing for their team again.

"Such a shame, if that one had gone in the game would have lost all its tension." On the touchline Saint wore exactly the same expression.

After that there were no more dangerous moments for a while. Having been hit on the break, Derby became cautious and could not get out, and Villa, naturally, had no space to hit them again.

The game settled into a tight, scrappy rhythm. Derby passed it round their own back line and looked for a way through, and Villa sat in a compact shape, giving up the ball but never the space behind it.

"They’re waiting for us to switch off," Cadman muttered, watching the home side probe down the left.

"Then we don’t," Saint said. It was the same line he had used all fortnight, and the players had finally started to believe it.

On the pitch Teale was barking at Rami to step up, Reyes was dropping between the centre-backs to take the ball, and Conlan was running himself into the ground in front of them. Three different men, three different jobs, and all of it exactly as Saint had drawn it on the whiteboard.

It was the kind of football that looks boring on television and wins leagues over a long season. Derby’s supporters, who had hoped for a fightback, grew restless as the minutes ticked on and nothing came of it.

Saint, however, was far from relaxed. He had seen too many games turn on one lapse, one mistaken pass, and he was not about to let his young side forget it.