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I took a deep breath. I could see what he was saying, but in a race with one hundred different stories, anything can happen, and I don’t remember there being any suggestion of my salary being performance related. OK, sometimes a sponsor might give you a bonus if you did something extra special, but I haven’t heard of them withholding pay because you tried your best but didn’t cross the line first.

“Yes, I agree, I was shit. But everybody knows why: Bjarne, Bobby, overtraining, contract negotiations, virus . . . I’ve come back stronger. I’ve got 10 wins and jerseys for Team Tinkoff already.”

“Yes, they’re lovely, thanks, but I didn’t sign you because I wanted a points jersey in the Tour of fucking Switzerland. I want a Roubaix, a Flanders, a Primavera, or at the very least a Gent–Wevelgem or an Amstel Gold. So, basically, you owe me your March and April salary.”

“Oh, man. Seriously?”

“Look, I know you’re getting ready for the Tour de France, so I’ll leave you to prepare, I’ll think about it for a few days, then I’ll call Giovanni.”