Old Trafford is the setting of one of Robert and Ben Knight's most quietly significant memories together, in Chapter Eighteen: Creep, set against the real background of Euro '96. Ben has promised Robert tickets to a group match at Old Trafford — Germany against Russia — scraped together from overtime he can't quite afford, and keeps his word. The night before they are due to travel, the real Manchester bombing of 15 June 1996 tears open the city centre a few miles from the ground. Ben's answer to whether the match is still on is characteristically short: “Still standing. We're going.”
They travel up anyway, past green fields that look untouched by anything, toward a city with a crater and smoke somewhere ahead of them. The crowd inside the ground is not subdued; if anything it sings itself hoarse, defiantly ordinary in the middle of an extraordinary day. At half-time, a woman in an old, dark, oddly out-of-place dress moves through the aisle and drops a coin at Robert's feet — dense, heavier than its size should allow, stamped with a date that matches no year he recognises. It is the same signature Chapter Thirteen: The Coin That Never Spent had already attached to Mammon's circulating coins — overweight, warm, marked identically wherever they surface — and the woman's line to Robert, “Careful. Money's a bad thing to lose,” plays on exactly the mechanism Declan describes elsewhere: Mammon works not by taking, but by making people reach. She watches Robert's hands rather than his face before he hands the coin back, then the crowd swallows her. The encounter is the Seven's first physical appearance anywhere in the saga, and the saga leaves it exactly where it happens: unnamed on the page, uncanny, and never directly resolved.
Germany win 3–0. Robert counts every goal and memorises the minute it went in, the same private compulsion that runs through the whole chapter — his own quiet fear that each shot on the television might somehow be his doing. Leaving the stadium afterwards, the noise of the crowd tangles with the sound of sirens still working through the wrecked city; for once, the saga notes, the noise carries Robert rather than pressing in on him.
The day recurs later in the book, in Chapter Forty-Two: What I've Done, as one of the memories Robert reaches for to hold on to who Ben actually is to him — alongside marking his height on the kitchen doorframe and spinning a football shirt across the living room in shared hatred of a rival — a man who kept a promise to a child on the one day it would have been easiest, and most forgivable, to break it.