Chapter 132: Volume 2, - 132: The Permission Forms

Chapter 132: Volume 2, Chapter 132: The Permission Forms

The printer in the hall alcove cleared its throat with a violent mechanical clatter, spat out two blurred pages, and stalled on a paper jam.

Sofia stood over it with her hair tied back in a claw clip, tapping her pen against her thigh. She pulled the jammed sheet out carefully, checked the black ink alignment, and pressed restart. On the small glass coffee table behind her, the official Sporting CP paperwork lay spread across three plastic folders alongside Rayan’s navy-blue Portuguese passport and his citizen card.

Rayan was sitting on the edge of the sofa in his grey tracksuit, tapping his foot against the rug.

"Mum," he said, checking his phone screen for the third time in ten minutes. "The notary office closes at five. You said we’d leave right after my briefing."

"The notary takes five minutes once the documents are organised," Sofia said without looking up, smoothing the fresh page onto the table. "If I hand them unreadable pages, we’ll spend an hour arguing with the clerk. Sit still."

She sat down opposite him, pulled her reading glasses from her collar, and adjusted the multi-page Autorização de Saída de Menores do Território Nacional.

"Section three," she said, running her pen down the printed margin. "Who is the named club guardian on the flight?"

"Vasco Fernandes," Rayan said instantly. "He’s the squad coordinator."

"Is he on the plane with you, or is he meeting you in Liverpool?"

"We fly straight into Manchester, then take the bus. He’s on the flight. He’s on the whole trip."

"Where is his contact number listed?"

Rayan leaned forward, pointing at the second page. "Right there. Under Delegado de Equipa."

Sofia checked the number, pulled her own phone from her pocket, and typed the digits directly into her contacts under Sporting – Vasco Fernandes (Emergency). She dialed it, waited four seconds until the automated Sporting switchboard answered, and hung up.

"Now," she said, flipping to the third document. "The medical consent waiver. It gives the club physician authority to consent to emergency treatment if I cannot be reached immediately."

"Mum, it’s just a friendly," Rayan muttered, dropping his head back against the sofa cushions.

Sofia lowered her glasses and looked at him over the rims. Her voice was flat and unhurried. "If you break your ankle in England, Rayan, I am three hours away by air. I am reading the clause that dictates who signs for your anaesthesia."

Rayan shut his mouth.

"Who holds your passport during transit?" she asked.

"Vasco collects them for group check-in, hands them back when we need them for border control, then takes them back at the hotel check-in."

"Good," Sofia said. She picked up her pen, signed her full legal name—Sofia Duarte—on the line marked Encarregado de Educação, and pressed her thumb firmly against the ink to prevent smudging. "I am attaching a copy of my citizen card and your father’s written declaration."

"Dad’s declaration?" Rayan sat up. "Did he send it?"

"He emailed the signed PDF from his phone twenty minutes ago," Sofia said, stacking the pages with crisp efficiency.

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Leonor burst through the front door carrying a canvas tote bag, letting the latch slam behind her. She kicked off her shoes near the umbrella stand and wandered into the living room, fanning herself with a notebook.

"It is boiling outside," she announced, dropping onto the armchair. She spotted the passport on the table and froze. "Wait. Is this real? You’re actually going?"

"Yeah, I told you," Rayan said.

"You tell me lots of things that turn out to be youth team nonsense," Leonor said, inspecting the paperwork. "Are you going to Primark in Liverpool?"

Rayan stared at her. "I’m travelling for the Everton match."

"You might sit on a bench against Everton," she corrected smoothly. "Which means you’ll have free time. I need three pairs of those ribbed socks from the store in the city centre. And the tea from that shop near the station."

"I don’t even know if we’re allowed to leave the hotel," Rayan said. "We have tactical meetings."

"Write it down, big brother," Leonor said, grabbing a sticky note from Sofia’s folder and slapping it onto his knee. "Ribbed socks. Size medium."

"Leonor, find your charger," Sofia called from the hallway, where she was sliding her feet into her work pumps. "And move your library books off the kitchen counter."

On the coffee table, Rayan’s phone buzzed with an incoming WhatsApp video call. The screen showed Dad.

Rayan answered, holding the phone up. Karim’s face filled the screen, framed by the bright interior of a customer’s car delivery bay in Amadora. He was wearing his blue work shirt, grease smudges along the cuff, a massive grin spread across his face.

"Rayan!" Karim shouted over the distant whine of an impact driver. "Is it true? Sofia said you are heading for England!"

"Yeah, Dad," Rayan said, smiling despite himself. "Liverpool. On Saturday."

"Goodison Park!" Karim beamed, waving his hand as if pointing out the stadium himself. "Listen, I’m looking at flights right now from Lisbon. If I swap my Saturday shift with Paulo, I can get a ticket to Manchester on Friday night—"

"Dad," Rayan interrupted gently, keeping his voice calm. "Dad, stop."

Karim paused. He rubbed the back of his neck with his clean hand.

"Right," Karim said softly, nodding to himself. "Right, of course. Professional protocol. You’re with the club."

"I have to go with Mum now, take the certified papers back to Alcochete before five, and then pack," Rayan added.

Karim wiped his forehead with his forearm. "How long before you leave tonight? Can I meet the team bus at the terminal before you go in?"

Rayan checked the itinerary in his head. "We arrive at the charter entrance around eight."

"I’m coming to the airport," Karim said firmly. "I won’t cause a scene. I’ll just stand by the entrance, see you walk in with your suit on, and wave. That’s all."

Rayan swallowed and smiled despite himself. "Okay, Dad. The charter entrance. Around eight."

"Bring a heavy coat!" Karim added before hanging up. "England is cold!"

By four-fifteen, the notary stamps were dry.

Sofia drove straight back to Alcochete. At the administrative desk, a staff member checked the signatures, scanned the certified authorisation, copied her citizen-card attachment, and logged the file before returning the originals to her. She pulled out of the gates ten minutes before the five o’clock deadline.

By five-thirty, the travel pouch sat on the dining table containing the certified pages, her citizen card copy, and Rayan’s passport.

Rayan reached out to grab the pouch.

"Leave it," Sofia said sharply, tapping his knuckles with the flat of her pen.

"I need to put it in my bag," Rayan protested, pulling his hand back.

"You will put it in your bag when your suit is packed and your shoes are tied," Sofia said, picking up the pouch herself and placing it inside her own handbag. "If you lose this passport between now and six o’clock, you are staying in Setúbal with your grandfather for the rest of the month."

Rayan sighed, leaning against the doorframe as Sofia double-checked her clinic messages on her desk phone.

"Mum?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks," he said quietly, looking at the floor.

Sofia paused, her fingers hovering over the keypad. She looked at her son. His shoulders broader now than they were six months ago and offered a small, rare smile.

"Go check your suit trousers," she said, her tone returning to its familiar rhythm. "Make sure the dry cleaner didn’t leave the pin in the hem."