Few people really knew Hughes like D’Costa, who has remained in regular contact with the batsman’s family since the tragedy.

“Not a day goes past where I don’t think of Phil,” D’Costa says through tears. “I see his picture at work every day right next to my desk. It’s of him and Clarkey, smiling away.

“It still plays over in my mind. I don’t think about Phil as much as I think about his family.

“The hardest thing was to go back to coaching.”

The kid from the bush

D’Costa wants this story to be about Hughes, not him. But it is clear the Australian star’s death significantly affected one of the country’s most respected voices on batting. The pair were incredibly close.

Over coffee at the Blue Gum Hotel in Waitara, on Sydney’s upper north shore, conversation ebbs and flows between the good and the dark times. There are moments when D’Costa, once a promising Sydney first-grade cricketer who found his passion in coaching, has to excuse himself.

It was here, many years ago that Peter Sharpe, the pub’s owner, asked D’Costa – who had already ushered Clarke into the international arena – if he had any other good young players coming through.

D’Costa told him about Hughes, a left-handed kid from the bush in Macksville, south of Coffs Harbour, who was destined to be something.

That much was apparent the day the western suburbs second-grade side needed one run off the final over to win a match. A young Hughes, well into triple figures, blocked the first five balls before hitting the last ball of the match out of the ground for six.

“Phil ran off the field jumping and screaming and hugging people like it was a World Cup final,” D’Costa said. “He was a really special person, a farmer that was playing cricket. He called his hundreds ‘Anguses’. He always made the room happier.

“He’d always say to people, ‘Get a hundred’. Even if it wasn’t relevant to the topic. ‘You need a new car? Get a hundred. You want to be happy? Get a hundred. You want a new house? Get a hundred. That’s the life we live, brother’.

“I said to Phil one day, ‘That’s good mate, but that bloke’s a bowler.’”

As with many others, remembering the good times is emotional for D’Costa. Pick the scab and the pain is still raw. D’Costa talks about how he struggled to sleep at night as he struggled to process the events of November 25, 2014.

“There were times when I was drinking because I couldn’t sleep,” D’Costa said. “It certainly wasn’t a large amount. I didn’t drink scotch, but I did have a couple of scotches to knock me out because you can’t stop thinking about it.

“I’m sure the guys on the field must have had a lot of this. I can’t imagine what being there would have been like.

“I credit so many of those guys for going on with the game of cricket. It’s not just all about the money. Plenty of them would have had enough money to stop. They needed to keep playing and we needed to honour the game. We had so many little kids that loved Phillip Hughes. We needed to get them back out playing the game.”

D’Costa was driving his car when he heard Hughes had been hit by a ball while playing for South Australia in a Sheffield Shield match against NSW.

He was so shaken by Hughes’ subsequent death that he didn’t – couldn’t – attend Hughes’ funeral in Macksville, where cricketers from around the globe descended on the left-hander’s home town.

“It wasn’t about me” D’Costa said. “I didn’t need to go sit in the front row or hug anyone. He was gone. What do you want me to do? I didn’t leave the house for four days. I couldn’t stand people feeling sorry for me, because I felt sorry for Greg [Hughes’ father]. I still do.”

A few months later, D’Costa was pulled over for a random breath test by police while driving home from a restaurant.

When the police officer took a look at D’Costa’s licence, he paused, and looked up.

“I’m so sorry about Phillip,” the officer said.

The episode underlined to D’Costa once more how much Hughes’ story had touched people.

But it was the impact on his own family that D’Costa had not seen coming, including on his then four-year-old son, Taylor, whom Hughes used to babysit.

“Even after he was gone, Taylor would see Phil on the telly and say, ‘Philly, Philly’. Every time I looked in Taylor’s eyes, I would see Phil,” D’Costa said.

One day D’Costa went with his son to buy a toy bear. The shop assistant asked Taylor what he wanted to call the bear.

“Phillip Hughes,” came the reply. “My daddy is his coach.”

“I burst into tears and had to walk out of the shop,” D’Costa said. “Taylor walked out and put his hand on my leg and said, ‘Did that upset you? I did it for you Dad, so we don’t forget him.’ It had a big effect on my family.

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“When Taylor was playing cricket, I was holding my breath, bro. He was wearing Phil’s NSW helmet, too. Eventually, he stopped playing cricket. He said to me, ‘Dad, you’re sort of happy I’m not playing cricket any more, aren’t you?’

“I said, ‘Maybe’.

“I don’t yell at Taylor. I never raise my voice with him because I think of this all the time. What if I’d had an argument with Phil and that happened?”

D’Costa was never particularly religious but is now more in touch with his faith. He wears a necklace with a cross on it and has learned not to take moments in life for granted.

The other cricketer in D’Costa’s inner sanctum was Michael Clarke, another young rising star who went on to captain Australia. About 12 years ago, D’Costa and Clarke fell out. The loss of Hughes helped the pair mend their friendship.

“I talk to Michael now,” D’Costa said. “I just thought, I’ve got to let that go. I don’t have an issue with him.

“I feel like I’m a much better person because that happened. That is a gift from Phil. I just think all of us carry around a lot of anger and baggage. You let that go and you’ll be better.”

What kind of player could Hughes have become? At 25, he hadn’t even reached his prime, according to the man who helped hone his technique.

“He’d probably be Australian captain,” D’Costa said. “He was about to go ballistic. Everyone knew it. He’d just worked out how to play that shot through the leg side. He just made 200 in a one-dayer [for Australia A]. He was coming like a train.