Grealish was never obedient at City but now a glorious third act beckons

A figure toils alone at Bodymoor Heath. The light fades, but against the setting sun his silhouette is distinctive: the floppy hair, the hunched gait, the vast calves. Jack Grealish is working, honing and polishing, inventing, striving at the limits of technical excellence.

- Jonathan Wilson

He has inspired Aston Villa to achieve promotion. He has helped them to avoid relegation, establish themselves as a Premier League side. He is popular. Even opposing fans admire his ability, warm to the sense he is still in some way the impish kid in the playground, revelling in his ability, having fun. That summer at the European Championship he had become a cause célèbre, the figure behind whom the clamour for Gareth Southgate to release the handbrake rallied, the poster boy for the sort of pundit who wished England would just believe in talent.

Grealish wanted more. He was a Villa fan, loved the club, but he wanted to test himself at the very highest level, to compete for the league title, to play in the later stages of the Champions League. He did not want to be just the cheeky kid with the jinking feet; he had ambition.

At which there came a flash of light, a puff of smoke, and there appeared on the heath a cadaverous, dark-haired figure - Mephistopheles, or perhaps an agent. Grealish could have all these things, the figure said, he could lift trophies, even win a treble, if only he signed a six-year contract with Manchester City. As Grealish reached for the pen, the figure murmured there would be a cost. By then the deal was done.

Which is how we have come, four years later to Grealish, the first £100m signing by a British club, being loaned to Everton. He has won three league titles, a Champions League and an FA Cup; the cadaverous figure has fulfilled his part of the bargain. Yet there lurks a sense that Grealish's move four summers ago has not quite worked out, that though much has been won, much too was lost.