I awake at a hostel I’d happened upon the day before, I’ll stay here for a couple of days and then pick another one, at random. It’s important not to have routine at times like this.

I groggily stumble to the kitchen and am thrust into alertness by the copy of The Times on the kitchen table. I flick to page three and scan the bottom left corner, as I have done every day for the last seven years. For the sixth time I see an advert I always hope won’t be there. It’s mostly taken up by that logo and, if you know what to look for, the news of Sophie’s death.

I try and picture the other five reading the advert, will they be saddened by the news, or glad that they’re one body closer to victory. I wish I could see them face to face, and ask them if they have regrets. Although I already know one of them can’t have that many regrets.

I decide to find another hostel straight away and start packing my bag. More importantly, I decide not to leave London until this is all over, it’s time to play again.