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‘I’m coming for it,’ he assures him.

For a second, the arcade seems quieter, even though the machines are still a sensory overload, and it’s starting to fill up with other customers.

That is the viral moment. I know it immediately. Jamie Royle, looking into the face of a legend and announcing that he is coming for his crown.

Eddy watches him for a moment. Then he laughs.

‘What?’ Jamie asks.

‘Nothing.’

‘You don’t think I can?’ Jamie says.

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You laughed…’

‘It’s just…’ Eddy pauses to chuckle. ‘You called yourself a prince.’

‘Well, you know what I mean,’ Jamie insists.

‘Prince Jamie,’ Eddy says. ‘Little Prince Jamie.’

I ask a few more questions, but the energy has shifted. Every answer feels like the start of an argument.

Who is faster? Jamie, says Jamie.

Who is stronger? Eddy, says Eddy.

Who has the better kicking game? Jamie says himself. Eddy says the England coaches can decide.

‘I think that’s everything,’ I tell them. ‘That was brilliant – thanks so much.’

Jamie turns towards me. ‘Who won?’

‘It wasn’t a competition.’

‘Everything’s—’

‘A competition,’ I finish. ‘Yes, I know. You told me last night.’

I notice the words register with Eddy.

‘Jamie is staying in the hotel too,’ I tell him. ‘At the stadium.’

Eddy doesn’t actually know that I’m living there, not from me anyway.

‘I can’t believe you’re letting her live there, instead of with you,’ Jamie says.

‘And I told him that, while I’m between apartments, I’m happy to stay in the hotel, because it’s still early days for us,’ I say, hopefully bringing Eddy up to speed.

‘I’m happy for Brooke to do whatever she wants,’ Eddy says simply – that’s a good answer.

At least he caught up and played along, but this fake relationship thing is much harder than it seems in the movies.

My God, I am exhausted. Not physically – emotionally and mentally.

Managing Eddy and Jamie together is like supervising two extremely muscular children who have each been told the other one has the last biscuit.