Anna Peace. She loves cricket. She loves football.

And she loves them with the calm, unwavering devotion of someone who has memorised both the batting averages and the train timetable to away fixtures.

In football matters she is an unwavering follower of Manchester City FC, home and away, rain or shine, weekday or weekend, plausible or completely impractical. If the team is playing three hundred miles away on a Tuesday night in the rain, Anne will already be on the train, quietly reviewing the midfield configuration while holding a thermos and three tickets she somehow managed to obtain.

At William Tar-Queene’s company, Anne is known for her astonishing ability to reconcile accounts while simultaneously discussing tactical formations. She can close a quarterly balance sheet while explaining why the left-back should overlap more frequently.

Colleagues have learned that if they want to know the company’s financial position, Anne will tell them immediately.

If they want to know the league table, she will tell them faster.

On the cricket field, Anne is a different creature entirely.

Where others wander vaguely between fielding positions, Anne arrives with purpose and clarity, moving directly to first slip—the aristocratic listening post of the cricket field. There she stands, slightly crouched, alert as a hawk and twice as patient.

Balls that merely think about edging the bat are politely intercepted by Anne.

Her hands possess the peculiar calm of a person who files receipts for pleasure. Edges disappear into her palms with a soft, efficient sound, like documents being filed in a very decisive cabinet.

Bowlers adore her.

Batsmen fear her.

Statistically, she has caught enough edges to qualify as a minor architectural feature of the slip cordon.

Weekends are a carefully managed operation. Saturday may involve a cricket match, Sunday a football trip, and Monday a cheerful explanation in the office of why the team’s pressing system would work better if only people showed more discipline.

Anne has seen Manchester City play in stadiums of all sizes: magnificent arenas, small grounds, places where the tea tastes faintly metallic, and places where the away stand vibrates like a railway bridge.

She considers all of them home.

In summary, Anne Peace is that rare person who combines the mental precision of an accountant with the enthusiasm of a lifelong supporter.

By day she balances numbers.

By weekend she balances sporting loyalties.

And at first slip—slim, watchful, and quietly smiling—she waits patiently for the next edge, which, statistically speaking, will almost certainly end up in her hands.