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The camera cuts to Jamie, standing a few metres away with both hands on top of his head. His face is so pale. One of the England players says something to him, but Jamie doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring towards the ground.

‘This is very concerning,’ a commentator says. ‘Hood hasn’t moved since the collision. The medical staff were calling for the stretcher straight away.’

‘Royle had no reason to challenge for that ball,’ the other replies. ‘Hood was set underneath it.’

‘It was reckless,’ the first man says. ‘He was trying to make something happen, trying to be the hero and get there first, but his own teammate had it covered.’

I feel sick. Truly, like I’m going to be sick, because why is it taking so long for him to get back up? Come on, Eddy, get up, please get up.

Around the bar, nobody is speaking now. Even the men who have spent the entire match shouting constant instructions at the TV have nothing to say now.

They show the England coach standing beside the pitch, arms folded tightly, face drained of colour. Then Jamie, still frozen. Then members of the crowd, several with their hands covering their mouths.

‘Were they not teammates, you might look at that and wonder whether Royle intended to take Hood out,’ a commentator wonders.

‘Surely not,’ the other replies.

‘I’m not saying he did. I’m saying that is how unnecessary the challenge was. It was a ball Hood should have taken comfortably.’

‘Whatever the intention, Royle has made a very poor decision.’

Jamie turns away from the medics, which makes me ever more worried.

There’s no way he meant to hurt Eddy, not on purpose. Jamie is reckless, proud and furious with Eddy, but he would not deliberately injure him. Not like this. And definitely not while wearing the same shirt, because that’s just stupid.

Their argument from this morning plays on repeat in my head. They have taken every dirty look, every jealous comment and every need to win at all costs onto the pitch with them.

What do I do? Do I go there? Suddenly I feel so, so guilty for not being there.

I reach for my phone, knocking it from the table. I lean over to pick it up, my hand shaking as I try to get a grip on it. It doesn’t help that I’m feeling around for it without looking, but I can’t take my eyes off the TV. Why aren’t they updating us? Why isn’t he moving?

Who can I call? Sol is at the match, so probably busy, and Bryan is in England – I don’t even know what time it is there, so he might be sleeping instead of watching. God, I hope it is too early for anyone in the UK to be watching, because what if his mum is watching? What if she’s seeing this and now she’s waiting, like me, to hear that he’s okay?

‘We’ve just got word that they’re taking Eddy Hood to the nearest hospital,’ a commentator announces. ‘We all wish Eddy the best and we’ll bring you updates when we have them.’

I get a lump in my throat as the crowd start to applaud. Then I realise why they’re clapping: it’s for Eddy, as the medics carry him off the field. It’s like a punch to my stomach when I see him, because he’s not moving – although he is strapped to a stretcher – but also because he’s got one of those bags on his face that they use to help people breathe.

I need to see him, to get to the hospital right now. I’ll jump in a taxi, ask them to take me to whichever hospital is nearest to the stadium, and if it’s the wrong one then I’ll move on to the next, and the next, until I find him.

As I book a taxi on my phone I notice the soft chords coming from the pianist at the other side of the bar. It’s a cover I immediately recognise, a beautiful piano rendition of ‘God Only Knows’ by the Beach Boys. What terrible, terrible timing.

Why did I panic this morning? Why did I push him away because he argued with Jamie?

Yes, they were beefing like silly little boys, but that’s nothing new. I think for a moment. Oh my God, I panicked. I panicked about how I was feeling about him, worried that he might hurt me, like bloody Ron did, and so I took the first available excuse, and I bailed.

Of course Eddy likes me. Of course he does. He took me to meet his family, for God’s sake. He told me about his dad. He took me to watch him coach children, when there was no camera and no benefit to his public image. He said I made him want to keep playing, and that he would, to stay with me.

I let my fear get the better of me, told myself I was just part of the games he plays with Jamie, but I should have believed him.

Okay, my taxi is on the way. I need to go.

I knew something bad was going to happen, I just didn’t think it would be this bad.

26

Time doesn’t move in a hospital waiting room – at least that’s how it feels.

I’ve found the right hospital, I know that much. I turned up and said I was here to see him – they asked me who I was and you don’t know how relieved I was to be able to stick with our story, telling people I’m his girlfriend, because otherwise I don’t think they would have let me stay.