Jaimie and I meet at a café in St. Albans a little after half past ten. I managed to get Katja to drop me off on her way back to Liverpool. Jaimie finds how I am having to drag my suitcase around with me the whole day comical, but remains my older sister by deciding that she will sort out my transportation to the airport.

The place is empty so it doesn't really matter how much space I take up, anyway.

We nestle into the corner of the place, both of us curling our legs underneath us on the old, leather sofas that oppose each other. A wooden coffee table stands in between, bridging the gap, and holding the two drinks and our food. She sips her flat white happily. I pull apart my cinnamon roll because I don't like biting down on things.

"Shall we begin?" Jaimie asks after I have eaten half of the food in front of me. She probably did not want to deal with me being fragile and hungry at the same time. "You were in Birmingham."

We have done this since we were teenagers, when Jaimie started to fly to Australia on her own because I couldn't miss football training camps. Being apart for extended amounts of time repeatedly ensured we created the most efficient way to get each other up to speed.

"I went to visit Scarlett's grave. Keira was there, she told me Scarlett was going to propose. We had this weird... moment. She said I wasn't alone. I held in that panic attack." If I hadn't roamed around the cemetery aimlessly, I probably would have curled up into a ball and died on the train. "And while I was in Birmingham, you were..."

"In Milton Keynes." She doesn't need to elaborate any further. Everyone knows where the England captain is from because she waxes lyrical about her city. Scarlett explained why that was so funny a while ago (Milton Keynes is a 'shithole').

"Right," I say, wondering why I felt the need to ask when I could have guessed that. "When exactly did you start – are you even dating her?"

Jaimie gives me a sheepish smile. "We slept together after she won the Euros." I gasp dramatically, hand flying to my mouth. "But then I went back home, and she was so busy, and it was complicated. We started dating after I won the AO. I'm staying with her when I come back from Amsterdam." That sounds somewhat serious.

"I can't believe you helped her celebrate the Euros!" I exclaim, eyes widening along with my grin. She is blushing so hard right now. "Of all the captains in the world–"

"You have a crush on Alexia Putellas."

I stop dead in my tracks. The teasing remark I was going to make dissolves on my tongue, and my jaw hangs loose.

Blinking rapidly, I can only ask "what?" in hope of further clarification.

"Don't tease me about my lovelife," is all Jaimie replies, clearly a warning, "or I will tell you the truth about yours."

I falter, not meeting her fierce stare. Instead, I look down at my cinnamon bun, picking it up, splitting the remainder in half and putting one piece into my mouth. She takes the other and eats it so we can have a moment of silence before getting back on topic.

"Panic attack," I say, stating where we had gotten up to.

"Ja, of course. Would you like to watch the footage of it?" Her question relieves most of the tension as we both choose to move past what she said. I laugh. I try to forget about her suggestion. "I want to know if that was your first since December. Obviously, the possible proposal and the England team triggered it. Has anything else been stressing you out lately? December was triggered by you and Scarlett's argument, but when we talked, you off-loaded this bulk of horrible things you had been carrying around with you."

Last time, she had to calm me down from the southern hemisphere. We had fought over something stupid, but it felt like a key part of me had snapped. Yesterday felt similar but also different in every way. No, I will not be watching the footage of it.

"Nothing stands out to me," I lie. I don't need Jaimie to spew the same nonsense about always being a phone call away, or dive further deeper into her declaration from earlier. Because, really, there are only two things currently happening in my life that make my foot tap anxiously whenever they cross my mind:

1) Someone could find out that Scarlett and I broke up before the match.
2) Alexia Putellas hates me and I hate her back just as much.

The first one causes late-night spirals and brief bathroom breakdowns, but the latter... It's like a constant niggle. It tunnels its way into thoughts that have nothing to do with her, and makes me analyse her every movement just so I can criticise it. There is usually a lot to comment on.

"Well, think about it." Jaimie squints as she concentrates on my features. "Your fans think our eyes are the same colour, but I disagree. Your eyes are darker than mine. And more green." I raise my eyebrows at her comparisons, but humour her anyway. "My nose is sharper, more like Mum's. Your face is soft like Papa's. I have a better jawline, and my eyebrows have always naturally fit my face more than yours fit you. I mean, Mum never took me to get them done."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I cut in, not appreciating that information. "Mum told me that she had done it to you, too. She said it was okay for them to look slightly wrong."

"It is, Flootz, but I've just never had to worry about that."

Her cockiness reminds me of Alexia Putellas, so I roll my eyes and put a stop to it. "I think I'm going to let Keira make friends with me. I only have one real friend at Barcelona, and I'm getting lonely."

"What about that Mapi?" Jaimie questions, sounding alarmed, probably hoping I hadn't caused any more drama during my two months there.

"Alexia Putellas' best friend."

Jaimie lets out a short chuckle, eyes crinkling, perfect eyebrows rising high on her forehead. "Unlucky." She looks like she is about to say something else when her phone buzzes with a text. It's face up on the coffee table between us, so I lean over to see who has messaged her.

"Did you invite Leah? I can't talk about Scarlett with her here!" Frustration almost outweighs the indifference in my tone. "I wanted to tell you about how alone I feel, like no one will ever love me the same way she did. She was my everything and we fucking broke up, and then she died? What kind of bad karma was that? I feel like I have to isolate myself from everyone to make them believe I'm mourning my girlfriend, but she wasn't my girlfriend, and I just want to move on and never think about her again. But I can't stop thinking about her. Or Alexia Putellas. Don't get me started on Alexia Putellas."

"I won't," Jaimie says with a smirk, looking very proud of herself. "Flootz, you are so easy to squeeze things out of. I don't understand how you keep secrets from people. It took one text for you to say all the things you told yourself you wouldn't share with me."

I want to lean across the table again and smack her.

Why is she so good at that? She can get me to tell her almost anything.

"Whatever," I brush off, craving the feeling of release I just had. "Anyway, so Alexia Putellas..."

Jaimie is the one listening for most of the hour we talk. Aside from the more in-depth explanation of how she started to date Leah Williamson (which only takes seven minutes as she talks at a rapid pace and barely lets me ask her questions), she allows me to rant about my stupid, stupid club captain, and neglects to point out the tears of anger that occasionally roll down my cheeks. The only time she interrupts my angry monologue is to ask whether I'm okay with someone joining our breakfast – a question I don't really hear and therefore answer with an automatic 'sure'.

When Leah Williamson plops down beside my sister, I genuinely let out a little noise of shock. I wouldn't call it a scream, but it would have attracted the attention of the other customers in the café if they had existed.

She gives Jaimie a lazy grin that alludes to the picture I was sent last night, something that was post-orgasmic without a doubt. "Babe" – I cringe – "aren't my eyebrows perfect?" Jaimie asks her sweetly, leaning into her side, staring at her face.

"Just because I know, doesn't mean I want to see," I declare loudly, bursting their bubble. "This is disgusting. I will leave if you continue."

"Ze gaat ons naar het vliegveld brengen, dus hou je mond."

Leah can't understand Dutch, but she does have ears. She can hear how snarky that sounded. "Sorry about last night, Fleur," she interrupts, probably picturing how this could escalate. I sense a kind of nervousness in her tone, as if she is scared to meet me in this context. "You played smashing – top scorer by miles."

"What can I say," I reply, ignoring Jaimie's snort at my absolute humility, "it just comes naturally. I have a Ballon d'Or to win." And an Alexia Putellas to crush.

Leah smirks. "Oh, I've heard about this little rivalry." I stiffen. Jaimie jabs her elbow into Leah's stomach.

"Sensitive topic," she informs her girlfriend. (I think they're official?)

It usually isn't. I talk to Mapi and Ingrid about how much I hate her all the time without blubbering like a baby. This is pretty new; these angry tears are unexpected. My hatred has obviously intensified. I might also need to check where I am on my cycle. It could always be the hormones.

We leave the café ten minutes after Leah arrives because the drive to London Gatwick is an hour. I'm not looking forward to spending that time third-wheeling in the backseat of Leah's new Tesla, but Jaimie talks to me more than Leah much to my surprise. It feels like we are in a taxi.

Leah stops the car and lets us get out, saying she'll do a few circles of the place while Jaimie says goodbye as to not impose.

The last time I was here, doing this, was with Sam and Erin. The first chapter of a new book. With Jaimie, it's worse.

Leaving London is one thing, leaving my sister is another. She lives so far away, and seeing her so briefly is like someone showing me the whole pack of Oreos and saying I can only have one. 

Jaimie wraps her arms around me, chin resting on my shoulder, exaggerating how low down she has to bend. She's one inch taller, but she never lets me forget it. I can hear her sniffling. She's crying. I am too.

"I will see you in April," I remind her, not wanting to be the first to admit how hard saying goodbye is, even if she will be in the same continent this time. "And you'll be the first to know if I have another... you know."

"I love you so much, Flootz," she whispers into my ear, kissing my cheek. "You better have a queen-sized bed in your spare room by April." Ingrid and I gave up on that room, only managing to add a bed frame to our IKEA shopping cart, never making it to the online checkout. "So, remember, no more random phone calls at night, because I will be one hour behind when I'm back in London. And don't forget to call me when I'm at Papa's, because he always complains that you ignore him. And when you see Alexia Putellas, picture her being hit by a bus and then get over yourself and be mature because she's your captain and you are a big girl."

"I despise her," comes my amused but insistent response. "Okay, I need to meet Lucy and Keira at security and get this bag checked in, so–"

Jaimie steps back and wipes the tears from her face, a serious look furrowing her brow. "You're not alone, Flootz. Remember that."

Everyone keeps telling me this, and yet it seems hard to believe. I file it away to dissect on the plane.

We switch to Dutch, and suddenly everything is quicker. English is emotional and cryptic. Our first language reminds us of our dad, of our childhood, of being on the go. Saying goodbye like that was the entirety of my teenage years – summer practically started in Schiphol Airport.

"Veel succes in Barcelona. Ik hou van jou." I hug her quickly. She presses a kiss to my forehead before allowing me to hurry off to get in the queue for check-in.

Things go smooth enough for me to buy a toblerone in DutyFree and still not be late to meet the two English girls. They are sprawled out in the business lounge because the airport is busy and none of us want to be bothered. I sit beside Keira, who smiles widely as I do.

"Sorry about yesterday," she says, not attempting to sound sincere at all. "You got another trophy to add to the personal collection, though. Scar was always complaining about shelf space." Until I lumped some of my things in storage with hers, we were always having to put up new shelves to fit everything. Even then, things were in boxes. No Ballon d'Or yet. Yet.

"Why aren't you scoring hat tricks every game at Barça?" Lucy asks accusingly. She drinks the last of her water, and there is a waitress hovering over us the minute she sets the glass down. I order a glass of sparkling water. Keira orders Lucy another water. I think she might be hungover.

"Leah's dating your sister. She was at our hotel last night. They kicked G out." I store this information to tease her about it later. Her flight home isn't until ten o'clock this evening, and she's going from Heathrow so I assume she has more time to spend with her precious new person. "And I got to room with Luce this camp because Sarina thought I might need the support because it was always me and Scar before she passed."

"But Georgia crashed in my bed," Lucy adds with disappointment.

"As if you weren't drunk enough to not care." Keira blushes when she hears herself. Both Lucy and I raise our eyebrows. "Not like that!"

"Are you going to be fine for training tomorrow?"

Lucy nods. "Are you, Fleur? You look knackered." I know my eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, but that is mainly from crying earlier. I've cried so much today, now that I think about it. I'll probably end up teary-eyed on the plane at this right, and when María picks me up from the airport. She always says something that has me one motherly phrase away from the dam bursting.

I'm not wrong.

When we land and have gotten through passport control (which is much easier for me than it is for Lucy and Keira) and found our luggage, María is there waiting for me. A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away before anyone can see, but the emotions well-up anyway. 

I use the energy I have from my short nap on the plane to run up to her and let her squish my cheeks and kiss my head and hug me like I'm her daughter. Recently, she hasn't seen me as much as she did when I first came to Barcelona, because I've been so busy training and moving in and ranting to Mapi about how much her best friend pisses me off. María does not like it when I talk about Barcelona's pride and joy. We do not share the same opinion of her.

Keira and Lucy approach after María has successfully commented on how tired I look and how I should really be taking care of myself more, both of them knowing María from when they first signed here. She hugs them, but I can tell they are surprised about how close I am with her. They had each other, I suppose.

"Welkom terug, mija." María has a talent for languages, and has been learning Dutch for me. She sounds far from fluent, but has only been at it for two weeks. I feel another tear trickling towards my lips. "Vamos al coche ahora," she says slowly. My Spanish has been coming along alright, but they need to speak very slowly if I want to have any chance of understanding it. "Lucy, Keira? Would you like me to drive you home as well?"

"No te preocupes. Ale's picking us up. We're on the way to her building, and she was in the area for a– Oh, there she is!" María sends me a warning glance as I follow Lucy's line of sight to find her.

Why is she dressed so nicely?

Alexia joins us reluctantly, greeting everyone except me. I give her an obvious once-over, deciding that I don't like the shade of green her suit is. No one notices apart from the devil herself, who glares at me when I meet her eyes. I smirk. She glares harder.

"María, can we go? I'm tired." She ends her conversation with Lucy and Keira quickly, ushering me away, muttering in Catalan under her breath.

"I am going to drop you off at your apartment so you can shower, and then pick you up and bring you to my home. I will feed you because I know you will not feed yourself, and my husband would like to meet you. Sleep in the car, please."

notes:

funny story - i went to my friends house is spain and her old childminder iwas called maria and she is just like the character in the book! it was kind of uncanny

i def had something else to say but i can't remember (remembered: THIS IS A FILLER CHAPTER SO SORRY)

thanks for reading xx