Danny waved him away. ‘No need. I got paid, I got cheered, that was thanks enough …’ He stretched out his finger to rest it against the side of his pint glass, keeping his attention on where the bubbles rose as a twisting line to rush for the surface. ‘Best days of my life,’ he muttered.

‘I bet. Any chance I can get a quick picture? Just to send to my daughter. She won’t believe me when I tell her.’

‘I’m not so sure, you know. I’m hardly the model athlete tonight. I’m happy to sign something for her maybe? I might have a shirt back in the room?’

This time it was the man waving Danny away. ‘Look, don’t worry. I’m bothering you, I can see that. I didn’t think you would still be around here. Dover, I mean. Most of the players come from all over the place these days.’

‘I’ve no idea where I am right now, mate.’

‘Are you still working for the club then?’

‘I’m back involved, yeah. Coaching mainly now … you know.’ Danny didn’t really know himself anymore. His energy for the game and conversation about it was all but gone. His whole life’s obsession and suddenly he could barely care less. He tried not to think about how that had happened, how quickly. It terrified him.

‘Well, I’m sure you get this a lot, people like me bothering you when you’re enjoying a quiet one. I don’t get down here much anymore. I can’t believe I got to meet you.’

‘Sure. Have a nice night.’

The chair scraped and squeaked again, this time until it was empty. Just a few moments later Danny’s commentator friends said goodnight too before the screen they had occupied went black. The only movement left was from the bar staff who were well into their closing-up ritual. Danny dragged at his beer until his throat burned. He closed his eyes to it and instantly the room did a little spin. It was time to go.

The night sky seemed to provide a ceiling that held the sound of the passing traffic. It was steady, even at this time of night. The A20 passed right across the front of the pub, carrying traffic away from the busy ferry port that was just out of sight at the bottom of the hill and had Dover’s famous white cliffs as its backdrop. There was a service station to his left, the bright lights of its forecourt only serving to thicken the shadows of the path to the hotel’s main entrance. He considered a cigarette, just to warm his throat if nothing else. It was a new habit, one he might quit if he could even remember why he had started.