Beckham left London the same day he packed his luggage.
That evening, Aldridge's phone rang. On the other end was the unmistakable voice of Manchester United's manager.
"Aldridge, I've heard about David," Ferguson began without preamble. "I don't want this to affect our relationship."
The opening line made Aldridge raise an eyebrow.
"Huh? Do you take me for a child?" he replied, his tone somewhere between amused and baffled. "Do you think I'd be so petty as to hate the entire Manchester United club just because I've fallen out with Beckham? Don't worry. I'm not that narrow-minded. David's still young. Given his loan status here, it's not surprising he didn't take my words to heart."
Ferguson, who had watched the Middlesbrough–Millwall match footage and already heard the full story from Phil Neville, was calling as much out of instinct as diplomacy. Protective of his players, he never criticised Beckham directly, nor did he dwell on what had happened. Aldridge had expected as much. What he didn't expect was Ferguson's insistence that their two clubs' relationship remain unaffected.
"Alright then," Ferguson said briskly, "you're a sensible young man. Let's leave it there. Goodbye."
Aldridge ended the call still frowning. Don't say anything else? It was obvious Ferguson had something more in mind but judged the timing wrong.
The thought lingered until later that night when Aldridge, soaking in his bathtub, put the pieces together. The old fox is worried I'll take this out on United in the transfer market. He must want something from us.
The answer seemed obvious. Despite signing Andy Cole in January to bolster their attack, Ferguson's title duel with Dalglish's Blackburn had been upended just weeks later when Eric Cantona, in a moment of madness, had kung-fu kicked a Crystal Palace fan. The FA's ban was swift and severe—eight months on the sidelines.
The winter transfer window had already closed, which meant Cantona's suspension would carry into late September of the next season. Manchester United would be without their talisman for the opening rounds of the Premier League, and even when he returned, his form after so long out was uncertain. Ferguson's thoughts would inevitably turn to strengthening the forward line again—and with Beckham back in Manchester, United's scouts had now also taken note of Larsson, Trezeguet, and Solskjær.
The following afternoon, with the players back from a morning off for light recovery training, Aldridge asked Phil Neville to come to his office.
Neville, freshly changed and still with the honest, slightly awkward air of a young man keen to do the right thing, sat down and spoke first.
"Boss, I want to stay. At least until the end of the season. I think I can gain valuable experience here."
Aldridge gave a short sigh. "I'd like you to stay too, Phil. But it's impossible. You know why. If you remain here after what's happened, life in this dressing room will be difficult. You're a Manchester United player."
It was the cold reality. Beckham had been sent packing, and if Neville stayed, he would inevitably become isolated. Aldridge couldn't expect the squad to ignore the situation or rally around him out of some sense of noble impartiality.
Neville's expression fell. He didn't argue. He understood. In many ways, he was collateral damage—an innocent caught up in the fallout.
Aldridge reached for two thick stacks of paper on his desk and placed them in front of him. "This is why I called you in. These are your training reports since August, along with David's, and my recommendations for your development going forward."
Neville accepted them, surprised by their weight, both in paper and in significance. For a moment, he was speechless. He knew Aldridge was a hard worker, but seeing months of detailed tracking and analysis laid out so thoroughly—especially for loan players—moved him.
"You take these back to Manchester United," Aldridge said. "This is me doing my part. You're both young. When we brought you here on loan, it was a short-term arrangement, but once you arrived, I felt responsible for your growth."
He spoke at length, even rambling a little, an uncharacteristic sentimentality creeping in. Six months wasn't long, but it was enough for bonds to form, and the sudden end caught him unprepared.
Neville listened intently, nodding often, especially when Aldridge reminded him to work hard after training, to avoid distractions off the pitch, and to keep his focus on football. The young defender nodded firmly, committing the words to memory.
By the week's end, Neville followed Beckham back to Manchester United. The move barely registered in the press, only becoming a topic when Aldridge was asked at a midweek FA Cup press conference.
Leading the team to St. James' Park for the second time this season, Aldridge found himself under heavy fire from the media at the pre-match press conference.
"Why have David Beckham and Phil Neville suddenly returned to Manchester United after the last match? The official announcement before the season was that both players were loaned to Millwall for the entire season. What happened?"
The questions came thick and fast, the reporters showing no intention of letting the subject drop. Aldridge, unwilling to delve into the details, kept his tone even.
"The upcoming schedule is lighter, and with our current situation, the squad can handle all the matches ahead," he replied. "Beckham and Neville weren't going to get any more playing time here, so I felt it would be better for them to return early to Manchester United."
Privately, Aldridge could sympathise with the reporters' hunt for a story. He had assumed the two major headlines of the previous month would have kept England's football press busy for a while: George Graham's dismissal from Arsenal and Eric Cantona's infamous kung-fu kick on a Crystal Palace fan. Both incidents were the stuff of newspaper specials. Aldridge had declined to comment on either.
Graham's sacking had been followed immediately by Arsenal losing to Millwall, and Aldridge saw no reason to risk walking into a trap by discussing it. As for Cantona's attack on the Palace supporter, Millwall's own fierce rivalry with Crystal Palace meant taking a side was impossible. Supporting Manchester United would be seen as siding with an outsider. Supporting Palace would be seen as betraying his own club's identity. Either way, it would alienate someone. Better to say nothing.
Now, the reporters were busy speculating about a possible rift between Aldridge and Manchester United, or even some behind-the-scenes bust-up. But from the line of questioning, Aldridge felt a measure of relief—at least no one in the dressing room had leaked the real story of his confrontation with Beckham.
"Gentlemen," he said at last, "if there are no more questions about the FA Cup match, I'll be on my way."
After a few brief exchanges on tactics, Aldridge left the room.
Kevin Keegan had been making headlines of his own, confidently declaring before the match that Newcastle would beat Millwall. Aldridge barely reacted.
Keegan was a colourful figure in English football. As a player in the seventies and eighties, he had been a national star, his retirement in particular becoming a piece of football theatre. In his final match, a helicopter descended onto the pitch at full-time. Keegan, still in kit, waved to the crowd with tears in his eyes before boarding the helicopter and disappearing into the sky—a dramatic farewell to a celebrated career.
As a manager, he had turned Newcastle into one of the most attractive attacking sides in the country. But in the past two seasons, Aldridge felt, Keegan had started to believe he could genuinely go toe-to-toe with Ferguson's Manchester United. Aldridge found that idea laughable.
If football matches were decided solely on attacking flair, Keegan would be winning everything in sight.
Were Millwall taking the FA Cup seriously this season, Aldridge might have set his side up for a defensive masterclass just to hand Keegan a humbling. But the competition wasn't a priority, and with limited squad depth after the departure of Beckham and Neville, Aldridge chose a different approach.
In the replay against Newcastle, Lucas Neill kept his place, while Zambrotta switched to right-back. In midfield, Gattuso, Vieira, and Ballack formed the core. Up front, Grønkjær and Solskjær operated as wingers flanking Phillips in a 4-3-3. Aldridge was curious to see how Grønkjær and Solskjær would perform as wide forwards rather than traditional midfielders.
At a packed St. James' Park, Newcastle fielded their full-strength side. The match was a wild, open contest from the start.
The first meeting between the sides had finished 1–1. This time, the ninety minutes ended with a scarcely believable scoreline: 4–4.
Against Newcastle's relentless attacking quality, Aldridge knew Millwall couldn't simply try to shut up shop. This wasn't a rough-and-tumble First Division side—they were up against one of the most potent attacks in the Premier League. Yet Millwall's own offensive play shone. Ballack and Vieira's forward runs caused real problems, and the front three found space to exploit.
Phillips scored twice, Solskjær added another, and Ballack powered home a header in the closing minutes to level the match at 4–4.
By extra time, Millwall were running on empty. Newcastle's fitness and depth told, and the Magpies found the winner to knock Millwall out in the fourth round of the FA Cup.
Aldridge felt no real regret—his priorities lay elsewhere—but in his post-match interview, he was surprised to hear Keegan taking another swipe.
"Mr. Keegan said Millwall paid the price for disrespecting the FA Cup," a reporter told him. "He also said that even if Millwall reach the Premier League next season, they'll struggle to avoid relegation."
"He really said that?" Aldridge asked, staring into the camera lens.
You've won the match—why bite at me now? he thought. Fine. Now we've got a score to settle.
"I'm very pleased to hear Mr. Keegan's words," Aldridge replied evenly. "If Millwall do reach the Premier League next season, our first task will of course be to avoid relegation—especially when we face strong teams like Newcastle United. We'll have to take points off them to stay up. Since Newcastle have already lost the title race this season, I wish Mr. Keegan the best of luck in lifting the Premier League trophy next year."
The comment was polite on the surface, but its edge was unmistakable. The next day, papers across the country quoted it with amusement, framing it as Millwall quietly plotting revenge in the Premier League.
Keegan, for his part, dismissed the idea. In his eyes, Newcastle were a veteran powerhouse far above Millwall. Facing them twice in the cup had been Millwall's bad luck, and the only thing the matches had done was give the London club more exposure.
By March, Millwall's commanding lead in the table gave Aldridge more freedom in team selection. With the main lineup playing one match a week, he could put the reserves through four to six training sessions to maintain sharpness and develop depth.
In mid-March, Aldridge came home from work as usual, only to notice a gleaming high-end car parked in the driveway.
He sighed inwardly. Another party at the house.
In this luxurious villa, such gatherings happened every few days. Sometimes Arthur would invite old neighbours for a get-together, and other times the pretext was a birthday, an anniversary, or some other convenient excuse.
It wasn't that Aldridge disliked company, but there were days when he came home exhausted, wanting nothing more than a quiet bath and some rest. Walking into an unexpected banquet forced him to put on a social mask when all he wanted was silence.
It's about time I moved out and lived alone, he thought, stepping inside.
He straightened his jacket and managed a polite smile as he entered the hall. The living room was full, the air alive with chatter and the soft clink of glasses. A quick glance around told him that tonight's party was of a different class altogether—handsome, well-dressed men, elegant women in evening gowns, and none of the noisy, casual energy that usually came with Arthur's old neighbourhood gatherings.
Catching sight of Rose, Aldridge leaned in and asked quietly, "What's the occasion?"
Rose adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. "Mr. Hall just made a large sum of money. He's hosting a dinner at home—lots of business partners here tonight, and a few top people from Barclays Bank."
Mr. Hall was, of course, Aldridge's elder brother, Barnett.
Aldridge picked at some food from the buffet, then wandered to the staircase with a glass of champagne in hand, leaning casually on the railing. He raised the glass and took slow sips, his expression half-bored as he watched the scene below.
What truly surprised him was hearing that Barnett had managed to draw senior figures from Barclays Bank. Aldridge had never paid much attention to the business world, but in his past life, the bank's long-term sponsorship of the Premier League had made its name familiar. He remembered one description in particular: total assets in the trillions of pounds.
That's not a bank—that's a consortium.
The fact that Barnett could bring in people from such an institution was impressive.
Snippets of conversation from nearby guests revealed what Barnett had been celebrating. Not long ago, the Mexican financial crisis had sent markets into chaos, and Barnett had used the opportunity to turn a major profit.
Aldridge's lips curled into a faint smirk—right at the moment he spotted a familiar stranger.
Across the room, a woman in a tight black dress stood awkwardly, her posture tense, her hands uncertain at her sides. She was speaking with a man but her unease was obvious. Aldridge took a sip of champagne, amused. So this is the future Mrs Beckham. She looks like a nervous child right now.
He didn't know why Victoria Adams was here, but watching her fidget was oddly satisfying.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?"
The voice came from beside him. He turned to see a young woman with long, dark brown hair, an elegant figure, and a confident smile. Like Victoria, she wore a black dress, but hers suited her perfectly, the fabric highlighting her curves in a way that was stylish rather than showy.
Aldridge glanced at her, then back at Victoria. "Yes," he admitted. "She's beautiful."
But will she still look like this when she's spent ten years never smiling? he thought. After marrying Beckham, Victoria would become famous for her cool, unsmiling public image—something the British media mocked endlessly.
"Do you like her?" the woman asked, tilting her head with a playful look.
Aldridge chuckled, shaking his head. "No. She's a thorny rose. Liking her would be like asking to be tortured."
"Then why were you staring at her?"
"Because right now she looks like a penguin that's just wandered out of Antarctica. Doesn't know where to put her hands, terrified she'll choke on her own drink. It's not an ugly look—just funny."
He spoke without shame, unconcerned about mocking someone so openly.
"Oh, I'll make sure to tell her what you said," the woman teased.
"And you are…?"
"Melanie Chisholm," she said with a smile. "That's my good friend over there—Victoria. We're in a girl group together. Haven't officially debuted yet. You probably haven't heard of us."
Aldridge froze for half a second. So I've just been mocking Victoria Adams to one of the future Spice Girls.
He shook her hand lightly. "Aldridge Hall. Football coach."
"Football coach?" Melanie looked him over. "You're so young—you must be a junior coach or something. I like Liverpool since l was born there so l don't watch anything except Liverpool matches. But… wait—if you're just a coach, how are you at a party like this?"
Aldridge only shrugged, offering no explanation.
She studied him curiously. "Do you know Victoria?"
"No."
"Then why do you seem wary of her?"
"Wary? Hardly. I just know how she'll be when she's famous. High maintenance. Not my type."
Melanie's eyes widened. "How do you know she'll be famous? If she is, then I should be too—we're in the same group."
"Of course I know," Aldridge said with a straight face. "I'm from the future."
Melanie nearly laughed out loud. "That's the oldest line in the book."
"I'm telling the truth," he said, raising a hand in mock sincerity.
"Alright, future man. What's the weather in Manchester tomorrow?"
"Rain," Aldridge replied instantly.
She snorted. "That's cheating—Manchester rains three or four times a day. Even I could guess that." Still, she found herself smiling at him.
Just then, the guests' attention shifted toward the staircase. Aldridge followed their gaze. Barnett was coming down, smartly dressed, surrounded by equally well-dressed men. All of them were smiling, clearly in the middle of a pleasant conversation.
Under his breath, Aldridge muttered, "Don't see me, don't see me…"
But Barnett spotted him immediately. "Aldridge! Come here, I want to introduce you to some friends."
My brother, Aldridge thought, I have no interest in your friends—especially the male ones.
Melanie looked at him curiously.
"He's my brother," Aldridge explained. "This is my home."
"You're a football coach?" she asked again, confused.
"Is that a contradiction?"
She paused. "Well… no, I suppose not."
Aldridge smiled apologetically and headed over to Barnett.
After he left, Victoria came over to Melanie. "Who were you talking to just now?"
"Mr Hall's brother," Melanie replied.
"Mr Hall's brother? But… if the Hall family's wealthy, why is he a football coach? That can't pay much."
The girls, preparing for their debut, saw this banquet as a rare step into high society. Their agent had brought them here to make connections, hoping to meet influential people without compromising their image.
Barnett led Aldridge to a quieter corner, smiling as he made introductions. "Aldridge, this is Mr Martin Taylor from Barclays Bank. Mr Taylor, my brother, Aldridge."
They shook hands, exchanging polite greetings. Taylor, a man in his early forties, was well-mannered and observant, studying Aldridge with curiosity as Barnett spoke highly of him.
The conversation turned to the family's investments in Asia, and with a glance from Barnett, Aldridge offered a few thoughts.
"Some Southeast Asian economies are overheating," he said casually. "The bubble's expanding. It might not collapse immediately, but the trend is worrying. Brother, I think we should pull our investments out of Southeast Asia before the end of next year. We've already made strong returns."
Barnett nodded immediately, signalling to his assistant to note it down. The region's markets had grown rapidly in recent years, turning modest investments into significant profits—enough that even an early withdrawal would lock in substantial gains.