“So this is it.” Jamie’s mum smiled proudly as she helped Jamie into his new bedroom.

They had returned to England as soon as the doctor had given them the all-clear that Jamie was OK to take the flight.

The week since Jamie had woken up had involved a series of tests to determine his injury and the damage done.

Finally, two days ago, the Spanish doctor had explained it all.

“You took a huge blow to the skull,” he had confirmed, speaking perfect English. “This sent you into a coma for three days. Thankfully, there was no blood on the brain, so your life was not at risk, but you have been left with amnesia. It seems you have lost the memory of the last month of your life, or, to be more precise, everything that has happened since you moved to Spain.”

Jamie had nodded. People had told him he was now a Barcelona player and their manager had even come to see him in hospital. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, he simply could not recall one second of his time in Spain.

Being told that he was a Barcelona player was like being told he owned a brand new Ferrari but that he was not allowed to drive it.

“When will I get my memory back and when can I start playing again?” Jamie had asked the doctor. He wanted to play for Barcelona as quickly as possible. He wanted to get back to the life that he couldn’t remember.

The doctor had smiled enigmatically.

“This is not like another injury. It is not a broken bone that we can fix. It is not a torn ligament that we can repair. Where the brain is involved we have to be very careful indeed. There are no absolute rules and each case is different. You may or may not be lucky enough to recapture those memories. And your body may or may not be able to reach the same level of performance as it did before. Right now, we need to concentrate on getting you to walk properly again. And if it’s what your family wants, I’m quite happy for you to do that back in England. I have told Barcelona this and they are happy too.”

So here Jamie was in a brand new house that he did not recognize, with a pair of crutches by the door. And somewhere in his brain was the story of his time in Barcelona. The mass of memories that he was simply unable to recall.

Would they come back? Would he be able to remember those days at all? And when would he next be able to kick a ball?