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‘Yes, please,’ I say instead. ‘Another Messi Margarita, please.’

If the business is going down, then better I get out now, before the lights go off. If Simon can’t even PR his own PR company, then he doesn’t stand a chance, does he?

My fresh drink arrives. I take a sip, then another, then remind myself that I am not technically unemployed until the end of the month, which means this isn’t sad solo drinking. Oh no, it’s the fun Friday kind, like everyone else is here to do… right?

The bar is getting busier now. Highlights always fills up after work, but on any kind of match night it becomes unbearable. Every screen is always showing sport of some kind. I don’t know if I prefer it when they’re all showing different things or when every screen shows the same, making it feel almost inescapable. I’d rather they showed episodes of Sex and the City to be honest with you, that would be much more my kind of bar.

I’ve never been a sports person, so it’s always annoyed me. I suppose the silver lining to all of this is that I don’t have to come here any more. Then again, oddly, there’s something weirdly comforting about being in here tonight. The noise, the screens, they’re a distraction. Not just for me, but for everyone around me. No one can tell I’m technically homeless or unemployed – I could cry into my drink, and they’d probably not even notice. Even if they did see me crying, they’d probably assume my team had lost or something.

Two women hop onto the stools at the table beside me. I notice their perfume before I see them, which is a nice change from the smell of cheese sauce on the floor next to me. One woman has a sharp blonde bob and she’s wearing a hot-pink dress. The other has glossy dark hair and a leopard-print blouse coupled with jeans. They couldn’t be more different but their voices are almost indistinguishable from one another. Proper Leeds lasses.

‘Oof, look at him,’ the blonde says to her friend, nodding towards the nearest screen.

‘Who?’

‘Him – the CrashSports TV guy,’ she explains.

I turn to look at the screen, to see who they’re looking at.

There he is. Dark hair, blue eyes, designer stubble. He’s talking for England, and he gets a cheeky look in his eye when he says something he knows is controversial – it’s weirdly charming.

He’s currently pitchside holding a microphone while bright lights shine in his face.

You can tell he used to be a player, before he was a pundit, because he’s got strong shoulders. I get why the women next to me are perving over him.

‘He is fit,’ the dark-haired woman says, leaning forward. ‘Who is he?’

‘Ron Tanner,’ says the blonde. ‘I only know who he is because my dad watches rugby.’

‘Oh, he’s lush. What are the chances we’ll meet someone like that here?’ she replies.

I look down into my drink and smile. I should count my blessings. I might be here alone tonight, but I’m not a single girl out on the pull. I have a boyfriend – a great one – the kind who didn’t overthink how long we had been dating before telling me I could move into his place when I got evicted. Most men would probably say it hadn’t been a year yet, it was too soon, but he didn’t think twice. He swooped in and saved the day.

‘Ugh, look at him,’ the blonde says, biting her lip.

Her exclamation pulls my attention back to the screen.

‘No, I’ll say it,’ Ron says, holding up a hand as another pundit laughs. ‘Everyone else is dancing around it.’

The presenter grins.

‘Go on then, Ron, don’t hold back.’

‘You know me, Frank, I never do,’ Ron replies.

The two women beside me giggle.

‘He needs to hang up the boots,’ Ron says. ‘Simple as that.’

The screen cuts to a clip of a player in a bright blue kit catching a ball before four players crash into him, taking him down. He’s huge, so I’m not surprised it took four of them to take him down.

‘He’s thirty-three,’ Ron continues when it cuts back to him. ‘That’s an old man in this game. He’s had a great career, but there comes a time when you’ve got to take off your boots, put on your slippers, and leave it to the young lads.’

‘Harsh,’ another pundit says.

‘Honest,’ Ron replies with a laugh.

The blonde woman giggles.