The Lowry Hotel, Salford — 1:30 PM
The hotel was on the River Irwell with its glass-fronted facade catching the grey Manchester afternoon, and the river ran directly below the lower floors while the city skyline sat behind it, and the FA had used it enough times that check-in happened through the same brisk pre-registered process as every other team hotel on every other trip.
Room 412. Phillips this time — Eze had been moved to a different room.
Phillips was already inside with his bag open and his trainers by the door when Demien arrived, and he looked up once. "First time here?"
"Yeah," Demien said.
"Good hotel," Phillips said, going back to his unpacking. "Room service is quality. Recovery pool downstairs is cold but it works. We've got pool session at three, team meeting at five, dinner at seven."
Demien put his bag on the bed and pulled out the Malta match ball and set it on the desk beside his charger.
Phillips looked at it. "That from last night?"
