[The Grove Hotel. Watford. Saturday April 28. 08:14 BST.]
I was up before the alarm.
The team hotel had been the Grove for every Wembley match this season because the Grove was Wembley's twenty-minute coach run and because the kitchen at the Grove served the pre-match meal at the temperature Rebecca had specified and because Steve Parish had a deal with the manager from a wedding eight years ago that nobody had revisited.
Three Wembleys this season. The Carabao Cup Final in February. Tottenham away in the league in November because Spurs were at Wembley while their new ground went up. Now the FA Cup semi-final.
I had not lost at Wembley as a manager.
I had been at the window of room four-oh-three for ten minutes watching the grounds before Sarah knocked.
She came in with two coffees and the iPad under her arm.
"You're early."
"You're earlier."
She set one of the coffees down on the dressing table and sat in the chair by the window. Opened the iPad. Did not look up from it.
