Ian was nowhere to be seen by the drinks machines. I traipsed up and down a few times and then got the lift back downstairs. Someone had left a newspaper on a bench in the reception. The Times from a day or two before, plastered with photos of the stadium disaster in Belgium. Juventus supporters and ambulance men dragging the bodies out of the stands. A disgrace from start to finish. I folded it and held it under my arm and stood outside and looked for Ian. Clouds of fag smoke and people in hospital gowns with their eyes closed against the sun, the sound of car doors slamming, a tall guy pushing an empty wheelchair and looking lost, the sound of kids laughing somewhere in the distance. I found him round the corner smoking a roll up, smoking and looking up to the sky. I said his name but he didn’t hear, didn’t notice me until I was right next to him, tapping him on the shoulder. He jumped.

‘Jesus, Arthur! You scared the life out of me.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘How you doing? You look tired.’

But it was more than that. He looked edgy, wired somehow. He looked like he was just coming down.

‘I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet – you know?’

‘He’s a little cracker.’

‘Yeah.’ He took a drag. His fingers were stained.

‘Have you heard when you can take them home yet?’

‘Tomorrow morning probably. Maybe today if the doctor comes round in time.’

‘That’s when the fun really starts.’

‘And the hair,’ he said, ‘it’s definitely, I mean – I never thought in a million years I’d produce a ginger kid.’ He smiled but it was hollow. He shook his head, dropped the fag end and crushed it with his foot.

‘Did Karen never tell you I used to have red hair? Well – auburn really.’

He looked at me properly for the first time.

‘No shit.’

I laughed.

‘It runs in May’s family as well, you know. Sometimes skips a generation.’

‘That explains it then.’

‘I’m sure he’ll survive.’

Ian laughed but it sounded forced. He started patting the pockets on his jeans as if to reassure himself everything was in place.

‘I’m popping into the pub tonight,’ he said, ‘wet the baby’s head and all that. You fancy it?’

I knew the place he meant. Rough round the edges, everybody drinking to get drunk. I wanted to say he should stay at home, lay off for a bit, sleep while he still could. I didn’t.

‘Early start tomorrow. I’m usually fast off by nine.’

‘Don’t know how you do it.’

‘You get used to it. Let’s go and get a brew shall we?’