The PA system crackled. The announcement that changed everything from an event into a ceremony: "Ladies and gentlemen, the presentation of the Carabao Cup will take place in the Royal Box in approximately ten minutes. Could both teams please make their way to the tunnel."
I let go of Emma. I let go of my mum. The three of us separating on the Wembley pitch, the confetti still falling, Emma wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, my mum being guided back towards the directors' box by Elena, who had one hand on her elbow and the other hand gesturing to Tomás, who was filming everything because Elena had told him to film everything and Elena's instructions were not suggestions.
"Go," Emma said. "Go get the trophy. I'll be watching."
"Where?"
"Where I always am, Danny. Right here."
