June 4th - 9th, 2017
I had told Emma I'd come home first. I had meant it when I said it.
But somewhere around junction 14 on the M1, with the grey motorway unspooling ahead of me and my phone already buzzing with messages I hadn't answered, I told the driver to take me to the training ground instead. I'd text her from the car park.
She would understand. She always understood, and she always gave me a look afterwards that made it clear she was understanding me while also finding me deeply exhausting, and I had long since accepted both things as equally true.
The training ground in early June had a quality I had never experienced before. The pitches were perfect. Freshly cut, deep green, the kind of colour that only appeared when nobody was running on them.
The corridors were quiet. The canteen was empty. The whole place felt like a theatre between performances - all the sets still standing, all the props in place, but no actors, no audience, no noise.
