The automatic doors begin to close again but then stop because Mr Greenaway is still in the way. It happens twice more before Ant walks towards him. He takes a cigarette from the packet, lights it, and hands it back.

‘Come with me, Graham,’ Ant says, and it’s weird to hear him use a first name for someone’s father. But Mr Greenaway does as he’s told and we stand there in a huddle, like the kids at the bike sheds at lunch break.

The cigarette burns down to its tip and Ant takes it, stubbing it out under his trainer. I see grass in the grooves of his sole from the earlier kickabout.

‘What if he doesn’t make it?’ Mr Greenaway says. ‘What if Lynette doesn’t get home in time?’

Ant frowns. ‘You’re not allowed to say that, Graham. None of us can give up on him. Not now. Not ever. These guys didn’t.’ He points at Tim and me.

Mr Greenaway looks up; I don’t think he’d noticed us before. A brief, automatic smile appears on his face and I see Joel in his features.

‘You’re friends of Joel’s?’ he asks, his voice hoarse.

‘These guys saved his life!’ Ant announces, and I wait for Tim to clarify what really happened.

‘We’re first-aid trained,’ Tim says to Joel’s dad. ‘We happened to be in the right place at the right time. And now he’s in the right hands.’ When I try to catch his eye, he stares into space. Does he even realize he’s lied by omission?

‘Joel’s a fighter, OK? Everything’s going to be fine,’ Ant says.

I want to speak up, because I don’t think it’s fair to give Mr Greenaway false hope. Joel might not be Joel anymore.

But instead I stay silent. Sometimes it’s kinder to let people work out the truth for themselves.

Chapter 6: Joel

2 January 2000

You don’t really want to hear too much about waking up from a coma because it’ll stop you believing in happy endings.

Spoiler alert: I lived. According to the tabloids, I am the ‘Millennium Miracle’.

But coming back from the dead is nothing like the movies. No stepping towards a heavenly light, before a soppy voice tells you, It’s not your time. No opening your eyes to find your loved ones weeping with happiness by your bed and Robbie fucking Williams singing ‘Angels’ in the background. Definitely no pretty nurse mopping your brow.

Instead it’s this nightmare of buzzers and beeps and gloom interrupted now and then by harsh lights. It’s a cycle of waking and falling and waking. Like being in a dodgy old computer game, but instead of Lara Croft holding you down, it’s a gang of killer medics.