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Harry's been taking a lot of ice baths recently. It's nice to have time to reflect.
Southgate calls him when he's in there. Harry picks up; he's the gaffer. He tries to sound normal but cracks and admits where he is when Gareth says, 'You all right, Harry?'
'I'll call you back.'
'Nah, it's okay.'
Southgate asks him how he's been, and they chat for a bit about family and Germany and Tottenham, and it's good to have the voice in his ear that reminds him it's not only the Athletic that still cares about him in the English-speaking world.
Gareth says, 'You doing okay?'
He gets confirmation he's still captain. Not that Gareth would take it off him, but he had the thought. This is the Euros now: their own competition.
He holds his breath and sinks down, blowing out bubbles. The bath is green plastic, like a wheelie bin, Tottenham had nicer ones but here the physios don't check on you; here they trust you to look after yourself. Not to forget to come up for air. His lungs are burning, and he surfaces. He checks the time on his phone.
He thinks about London, imagining walking round the old house, trying to remember something that happened in every room, always gets distracted before he finishes. Today he's just thinking about talking to Southgate; he remembers talking to him from the top floor landing; he was all out, not knowing if he ever wanted to play again.
Later's he's eating in the canteen. 'Habit,' Sané had said, meaning what you do all the time without thinking about it — kicking a ball, not going home in the evening. The more he makes, the more they'll have, and it goes fast, this right here; that's what Gareth had said. Someday you'll look back on it. But that had never motivated him, he just wanted to be the best.
He's jogging down the concrete stairs to the carpark, thinking about how he'd asked Southgate what to do, and Gareth hadn't told him.
He'd called Gareth back.
'Your manager's in love with you,' Kate said once, back during the Euros.
'Are you jealous?'
'Of course.'
It was good, to know he was there. Good, to have someone watching what he was doing.
Harry had talked to him a third time that night. The Tom Brady documentary was on the credits. It was nearly two in the morning. Gareth sounded tired, saying, 'I know, Harry.' Then he kept saying was, 'We're lucky to have you.' He's his manager, only. Harry's cried into his shirtfront, kept him from his family and his bed. He's fallen asleep with the phone on the arm of the sofa and Gareth telling him to.
He gets home, and parks, and climbs the back stairs up from the garage to the living room, where Kate is, feeling, what? Grateful, something like that.