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A waiter appears almost immediately with champagne.

‘Here we are,’ he says. ‘Your food will be out shortly.’

I look to Jamie.

‘I already ordered for us,’ he replies. ‘Apparently they do the best Hawaiian pizzas in Sydney here.’

I smile. See, this is what I love about Jamie, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to arrange a special dinner for us, but has still ordered us such down-to-earth food. He could have gone for something fancy; instead, he’s chosen something he knows I like.

I start to relax, now I know there’s a pizza on the horizon.

The view is spectacular here. The harbour glitters beneath the bright sun, boats moving across the water with the city behind them. Inside, the restaurant feels removed from everything else though. It really does feel like it’s just Jamie and me for a while.

I’m impressed at his small talk, at how civilised he’s keeping this. He asks about my job before I took the Leeds gig, and why I decided to move into sports. I tell him, honestly, that I didn’t really have much choice.

‘You’re good at it,’ he says.

‘At pretending I understand?’

‘At the job. You know what people want to watch – you don’t need to know the ins and outs of the game for that.’

‘I guess so,’ I reply.

He tells me stories from his first England camp. He does impressions of coaches, other players, even Sol and Bravo. He makes me laugh so loudly that the waiter bringing out pizzas smiles before he reaches us.

It’s so easy, hanging out with him. Jamie knows how to make a person feel as though they are the only interesting thing in the room. He asks questions and actually listens to the answers. He remembers details. What more can you ask for?

‘You have so much charm,’ I tell him. ‘Booking out a place like this, for the two of us – that’s game. That’s flashy.’

He laughs.

‘Well, I’m not really a flashy guy,’ he confesses.

I glance at the harbour, then back at him.

‘I’m not,’ he insists.

For once, he takes a moment before he replies.

‘I grew up just me and my mum,’ he says eventually, looking out through the window. ‘Just us. My dad was around sometimes, but not enough to count on. Mum worked two jobs for years. Cleaning in the mornings, then behind a bar most evenings.’

His tone has changed – this Jamie, I almost don’t recognise.

‘That can’t have been easy,’ I say.

‘She made it seem easy,’ he replies. ‘That’s the thing. When you’re a kid, you don’t know you haven’t got much until other people start pointing it out. We had a flat, food, holidays in Blackpool. I didn’t realise how much she went without until I was older.’

He pauses to grab another slice.

‘Rugby cost money. Boots, travel, kit. She always found it. I don’t know how,’ he continues.

‘Does she like you playing?’ I ask.

‘She’s always loved it – I think it scared her, when I was a kid, but she knows I’m tough stuff,’ he replies. ‘She’s tough too. She screams at the refs louder than the rest.’

I laugh.

‘She sounds like a great mum,’ I tell him.