When I arrived, I found him sitting disconsolately outside the entrance staring at a Polaroid photograph.
He was accompanied by Byron, who was pacing awkwardly up and down looking exactly like someone who couldn’t think of the right thing to say.
I put an arm round W’s shoulder and said, ’Come on, mate, let’s get you home.’
Byron punched him gently on the arm and W gave him a halfhearted smile in return.
He climbed into the car with a sigh and slumped in the front seat, and as Byron waved us off we started our journey back to Uckfield…
