Em and I were sitting with Darren on a wooden bench they’d brought out of the club hut. Every time something exciting happened, Darren stood up and the bench heaved like a seesaw. It was Saturday afternoon, a grudge match, and we were two-nil down near the end of the first half.

Darren rubbed his face with his hands. “That ref got dropped as a baby.”

The whistle blew and someone’s gran brought out the orange slices and squash. I wondered what Peter and David were up to. What I saw in my mind’s eye made my cheeks burn.

An ice-cream van pulled up and Darren dug out a tenner. “I’ll have a Mr. Whippy.”

“With a Flake?”

“Don’t be daft. Of course, with a Flake.”

I got three. On the way back, one of the Pewsey players jogged past. “I’ll give you something to lick if you want.”

Marcus came over. “What did he say to you?”

“Forget it, Marc.” But he made me tell him and when he went back on the pitch, he was a bottle of rage.

“Shouldn’t let hisself be wound up like that. He’ll get sent off.” Darren ate the last of his cone with a crunch. Em screeched in my ear as Marcus took a shot at the goal, but he was miles off target. Then he got a yellow card for elbowing. “Wait for it,” Darren said.

But Marcus was carried off, not sent off. An opponent went in with a two-footed tackle. “Foul,” Em howled, “that’s a fucking foul! Sorry, Uncle Darren.”

It was his ankle. He lay there clutching it and writhing. Darren was all over the ref. By the time they brought him into the clubhouse, the joint was swollen up like a grapefruit. Marcus held a bag of ice to it, jaw set.

“I can’t play with you here.”

Darren whipped round, voice molten: “Don’t you blame her because you can’t control yourself!”

We went back in Darren’s car. Em in the front, me with Marcus’s head in my lap in the back. The house Marcus shared with his mum was a new build, one of Darren’s, with thick carpets, a fancy kitchen, and dimmers on the lights. The double glazing was so thick, you couldn’t hear anything from outside.

Marcus’s mum was home. She always seemed to be home. All those white goods to look after. I think I made her nervous, but then what didn’t?

Em had a shift at The Polly at four. I was relieved when Darren put his head round the living room door and said he’d drop us both back in town.

“Come see us yeah? Tomorrow?”

I dropped a kiss on Marcus’s forehead. “Course.”

Traffic was heavy. Darren pulled into the market square and Em hopped out. They docked her pay if she was late.