There is nothing quite like the feeling of the ball at my feet. Ever since I was a child, the sensation fueled me, put the energy I had to good use, kept me sane. On the pitch, dribbling forward like I am now, I feel capable of anything.

Everyone else is inside, having left before Andries could finish his sentence that permitted their dismissal. Training was challenging and centred around switching from attack to defence faster than what we had been doing against Italy. We are all tired, and so I don't blame them for running away before he could put us through some extra drills.

I like being alone like this. I don't mind that they will tease me about training harder, accusing me of feeling robbed of the awards I lost out on because of Alexia Putellas.

The training pitches are without noise or foot traffic. I stand up straight, gazing past the nets, feeling comforted by the lack of people that I can see. I've been thinking, you see, about this forced solitude. Without Scarlett, I pretty much am alone. Jaimie can only be so present, and Jill is not quite there yet in terms of best friend status. Scarlett didn't allow me to feel this way, even if I was physically on my own at the time. Now, no one is doing that. Sometimes my flat gets too cold at night, and the only thing I can do is find a blanket.

I haven't yet decided whether I like it or not.

I tap the ball forward, watching as it slowly rolls across the goal line, imagining it being saved by a non-existent keeper. A foot stops it from going any farther. Those are not football boots.

"How did you get in here?" I ask curiously, not needing to look up after her prideful laugh confirms her identity.

"I know this is mini-Holland, but in Spain, we say hello to someone before we interrogate them." Mapi flicks the ball up with the toe of her (Ingrid's?) shoes and catches it, situating it on her hip before walking towards me with a massive smile on her face. "How is camp going?"

"Answer my question first," I insist, voice whining high like a young child's. I'm feeling a bit petty today.

She shrugs. "I just walked with purpose. Ingrid and I had a debate over whether it works or not." I was there, though I doubt she knows that. They were both very invested in it, acting out different scenarios and switching languages every five seconds. Bagheera and I were sat very comfortably on their sofa, thoroughly entertained by the display.

"Your girlfriend is always right." She follows me to the bench where I put my things, sitting down and patting the space beside her. "Maps."

"Ingrid is annoyingly always right," she hums in agreement, ignoring the second thing I said. More importantly, ignoring the tone I said it in. I sit down beside her anyway. "I met your sister yesterday. Leila and I – remember, the one who plays for Man City – were in London for a night out, and she was at the same restaurant. Her and someone really interesting. That was unexpected." As I said, Jaimie is definitely not just here for me.

"Well, are you going to tell me who?" I'm not sure why it comes out so snappy, but it does and Mapi furrows her eyebrows.

"It wasn't Alexia, if you were worried." I wasn't. Jaimie dates footballers from time to time, but she usually asks me beforehand. If things got complicated between her and my teammate, professionalism could be forgotten or disregarded. I wouldn't be able to pass to someone who hurt her, and I don't think any of my teammates would want to piss me off by fucking with my sister. "And that is not what I was going to say, anyway. It is not important." Debatable. "Your sister told me that you have a free day after you play South Korea. Leila wants to meet you. I think you would like her."

"Why does Leila want to meet me?" I ask, unconvinced. Spanish players that didn't know me first or don't play with me are not normally my biggest fans. That entire country actually worships Alexia, God knows why, and footballers know that we aren't the best of friends. Surely Leila would have an instinctual hatred for me? The Dutch girls don't particularly like Alexia after what I told them earlier today at Pret.

"Everyone I know is always pestering me to get you to meet them." Mapi gives me a blank look, as if I am acting crazily. "But say that you will come. I am even asking you in advance so I do not give you a heart attack. You will like Leila, and she also knows Ale. Maybe we can get to the bottom of your weird hatred for one another."

I am interested by the mention of that. Mapi smirks when she sees I am now listening to her plans properly, but I'm not sure what has her looking so smug. "Alright. I will waste my free day on you and your friend, but only because I have a sneaking suspicion that the person I was intending to spend the day with originally isn't going to have time for me." I need to ask Jaimie who she was with last night. She seemed to leave the stadium very late after we played our first game, not sending me more than a few one-word texts before quarter to ten.

"Bueno." She pulls me into a hug. "I am going now. I have to get a train."

I zone out as she leaves, finding that entire interaction bizarre. I only start to process my surroundings once I have gotten out of the shower, wet hair getting in the way of everything as I try to text Jill to say I will meet her and whoever she's with for lunch. She replies quickly, asking if I'm drunk due to the amount of typos I have made. I tell her that my hair dripped on my keyboard.

"Was Jaimie in an England shirt?" Daan asks me as we line up to walk onto the pitch. I stand seventh in line like always, and she has to turn around to speak to me. I shake my head immediately, not finding a reason for that to be true. Even when we used to go to Scarlett's games, I would be the only one of my family wearing something that wasn't to do with Australia or the Netherlands. Jaimie refuses to wear anything other than an Ajax jersey for club football. My sister is very stubborn like that.

I glance at her in the stands, finding that she is bundled up yet again. "Can't see one on her, DVD. I think you're going senile."

She stops suddenly, meaning I crash into her in front of everyone. "I'm only six years older than you. And, look — she's just unzipped her coat." No badge is on show, but I know she should be wearing orange underneath. The white that is exposed is... surprising. "Let's hope she sings our anthem?"

"Shut up," I say, laughing.

When the anthem plays, I hate that I have to look at Jaimie and check her mouth is moving. It is. I bet she's going out later, and it's just a white t-shirt. I didn't see a badge before and I can't tell now that she has zipped up her coat again.

Honestly, the game starts badly. We're disjointed the minute the whistle blows, and South Korea capitalise on that. It takes ten minutes for the first goal of the match to come, and when it does, it is in the back of our net.

Andries catches my eye and nods his head. The next time I'm tackled, I go down and complain about muscle pain. The trainers come onto the pitch, looking a convincing amount of worried, and Andries calls the rest of the team in to adjust our tactics and fix whatever is broken.

This proves useful, as two minutes later, Jill gives Jansen a perfectly weighted pass. Jansen touches the ball only twice before positioning herself towards the goal and putting her laces through it. Jill scores a second goal in stoppage time.

We go into the second half in need of another goal to cushion the win. Jansen scores from a ruthless counterattack, but it's disallowed. Both her and I look frustrated at the nitpicky offside call, as she would have gotten a brace and my job as a midfielder is to assist her in that. South Korea are too tired to take advantage of our lack of focus.

The final goal of the match is mine. In the ninety-second minute, we are awarded a free kick. As the ball is delivered into the box, I stick my foot out and jab it low. The keeper is expecting a header and has already jumped, leaving the bottom left corner of the net completely exposed. The final whistle blows after we have finished celebrating.

Before I can go and talk to Jaimie in the stands, I am pulled away for a post-match interview. A smiling woman, who looks vaguely familiar from my time playing in the WSL, holds a microphone to my face. "So, Fleur, a great win for your country tonight, and a great goal from you to help. This puts you on the score sheet for both games you have played so far, and makes you the top scorer in the cup. How does that make you feel?" From my experience, the first question in these interviews is always a bit silly.

"As you can imagine, it's really handy in giving Viv a run for her money on the Netherlands' top scorer title." Currently, I might be tied with Lieke. I don't know. "And, ja, obviously being able to get these goals in is helpful to winning this cup."

"Your final game is against England, which will be played in three days. What preparation will you be doing for that?"

I run a hand through my hair, having taken out my ponytail as soon as the game was finished to prevent the inevitable headache. It hangs loose around my shoulders, sweaty and messy. The interviewer bites her lip. "England is a very good team. We are preparing ourselves for a challenging game, but we are not preparing for a defeat. I think that we could be the team that ends their winning streak." She nods enthusiastically, and then congratulates me for being named the player of the match. I thank her, the camera cuts, and I jog to where Jill is chatting with my sister.

"If not for your relentless obsession with your girlfriend, I'd ask you if you had a crush on Jaimie," I tease Jill as she ignores my presence, too engrossed in their conversation. "But, alas." Jaimie sends me a warning glance as Jill looks at me, interested in what that means.

"Two consecutive players, Flootz. How are you gonna fit into your Audi with a head that big?" She knows I'm impatient and reminding me that my car won't be here for another two months is going to irritate me. She has learnt every single way to wind me up over the course of existence.

"Why are you speaking Dutch with an Australian accent?" I retort, not amused.

"I love your accent," Jill says happily. "And it's not as bad as my accent when I speak Catalan. That is horrible."

Both Jaimie and I roll our eyes at the mention of her girlfriend. Of course she found her way into the conversation. "Ja, but Jill, you didn't grow up in Barcelona. Jaimie is from Amsterdam."

"Speaking of!" Jaimie exclaims with a grin – the one reserved for when she announces her bi-annual temporary relocation to the Northern hemisphere. "I'm staying with Papa for a week, so if you visit, come then. You don't have to be alone with him that way." I am not going to be in the house while he waxes lyrical about her winning the Australian Open. No chance. "And then I'm coming back to London. And then I'm staying with you in Barcelona for a month!"

Jill has peeled off from us and has gone to talk to someone else, leaving me to look at my sister, puzzled. "You do know that the lease on my flat here is up, right? Are you renting an Airbnb?" Jaimie is definitely not in England just for me. "How long are you planning to stay in London?"

"Always with the questions," Jai dismisses. I raise my eyebrows in insistence. "Two months, more or less. So that I'm with you near the end of your season for all the fun parties."

"Don't you have tournaments?" There are so many tennis events throughout the year. With her laid back attitude, you wouldn't think she plays back-to-back opens.

Jaimie huffs and crosses her arms, as if I should know this. "I'm a little bit injured, so I've got nine weeks of recovery to kill." Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. She downplayed it so much – I didn't realise it would take so long to heal. She said she strained her calf last month, but it wasn't made out to be a big deal. Jaimie did not inform me that it was a grade three strain. "But at least I get to stay for free in three beautiful cities!"

For free in London. Who is she dating?

I pester Mapi about it while Leila is parking her car, making her get up from the table we have sat down at and move to one on the other side of the restaurant. When Leila comes in, Mapi returns. "I do not want you two to get on too well," is all she says as she sits down again, this time not next to me. Whether she is scared she'll lose her best friend to me or if she doesn't want Leila and I to date, is unclear.

"Hi!" Leila says, visibly excited. "It's so nice to meet you. I feel like I've always heard about you or played you, but you look a lot less scary off the pitch." I laugh at her joke. Mapi doesn't find it funny, obviously not understanding her friend's humour when she is speaking English.

"It's nice to meet you too, Leila," I reply. "Now. Who was my sister with when you saw her at that restaurant?" Leila opens her mouth to reveal all, but Mapi has quick reactions and slaps her hand over it before she can get any words out. "Mapi," I groan in annoyance.

Leila says something, but it is muffled by Mapi's hand. I presume she then licks her, because Mapi recoils in disgust, furiously rubbing her palm on the blue denim of her jeans. "I said 'it wasn't Alexia, so don't worry, Fleur'." Are Mapi and Leila sharing a brain cell? "Ale has been too mardy recently to have a girlfriend."

"Mardy?" Mapi repeats. I think it means miserable. Leila confirms that it does – she learnt it from Steph Houghton at Man City.

"Is her pride hurt because she got broken up with?" I ask hopefully. Mapi gives Leila a pointed look, and if Leila was sceptical about us not liking each other, she is less so now. "I still don't blame... What was her name? Alba?"

"Alba is her sister," Leila states. "You're thinking of Olga. I never liked her. Ale isn't compatible with that type of person."

"So do you also worship Alexia Putellas or is that exclusively for when you're on Spanish soil?" Leila chuckles. I notice that her eyes crease when her smile gets too wide, and her laughter is contagious. I like her.

Leila and I get on really well. She's funny and happy and bright, and she doesn't get put off when I'm sarcastic. We get on so well that Mapi starts to get frustrated, with her scrolling through Instagram at one point because she can't get a word in between us two talking. Maybe she will regret forcing me to meet her. Leila reminds me a bit of Scarlett. I choose to ignore that.

We spend longer than acceptable at the restaurant, leaving after three hours and four hints from the waiter. Since they drove to London this time, there isn't a limit on how long they can stay. Leila and I end up dragging Mapi to a park, where we walk around the lake in the centre, discussing philosophical questions that Mapi couldn't care less about. If I understood more Spanish, I would be able to know what she says to her friend when we don't notice she had stopped to tie her shoelace because we were too deep into the ins and outs of the ethics of time travel.

"Odio a las lesbianas," Mapi grumbles.

"Eres lesbiana, Mapi. Tienes novia," Leila gently reminds her best friend.

"Callate." Leila looks at me and we burst out laughing. "Madre mía. What have I done?"

"Ignore her, Fleur. She's grumpy because she misses Ingrid."

"Y Bagheera," Mapi adds, arms folded as she catches up to us. "Girlfriend and cat – two things you do not have!"

"Mine is dead."

"Same."

I place my hand on Leila's shoulder, forcing myself not to smirk. "Leila, I meant my girlfriend."

I can feel her tense up in embarrassment, and now Mapi finally laughs. She laughs so hard, in fact, that she doubles over, panting when she is finished. "I think you two should do a lap without me. Estoy cansada." Mapi sits down on a nearby bench, watching the ducks glide along the water and the wind sway the trees. Leila takes my hand and shrugs, pulling me away from the bench so we can continue the time travel debate.

"Let her be mardy about her girlfriend," she whispers as we stand closer because of the cold. I haven't yet let go of her hand.

The next day, I feel heavy. Regret knots my stomach, and I lose my appetite. I train without eating anything, consequently not having the best session of my life, and I am the first to leave when Andries grants us five hours of free time. I have a train to Birmingham New Street that I need to catch.

I know that I should have used my free day to do this, but I didn't want to. These five hours are cutting it close, but I get to the cemetery with forty-five to spend there until needing to get a train back. I can always tell Andries that I will be late to the evening's pre-match meetings due to personal reasons. What can he really say to that?

The location of the plot is written in my notes app.

Fifteen rows back, fourth from the right when facing the treeline.

There are newer graves that have followed on from where she is buried, but no one else seems to have a plot so greatly visited as hers. I wonder if her mum has to spend hours organising the flags and jerseys left by her headstone, whether she collects the framed photographs fans have left. Does she come here at all?

When I told her I wasn't going to be at the funeral, Nicola's first instinct was to reassure me that the grief would subside. She assumed I was overwhelmed by it all. I had no choice but to tell her the truth. She didn't care.

It has been quite dry of late, so I sit down on the grass in front of her headstone. I haven't seen it yet. It reads:

In Loving Memory of Scarlett Rose Powell.

She had so much more to give.

27th April 1997 - 21st December 2022.

I don't realise I am crying until a salty tear makes contact with my lip. My hands shake when I reach out to touch the granite in front of me. It's cold. I don't know if I'm allowed to miss her warmth.

I've gotten over my ex-girlfriend.

I haven't gotten over Scarlett dying.

Yesterday has made me feel guilty. Initially, grieving her the way it appeared was more of an act than what I truly felt, but now that I am done hating my ex, I... I just didn't realise she was really gone. I knew. But it isn't the same.

My lips part slightly. I muster up the courage to speak, to tell her something. I always thought we would be great exes to each other; neither of us being the jealous kind, both of us enjoying the other's company in any context. Scarlett was the only person on Earth who knew every single thing about me. Not Jaimie, not my mum. When we broke up, it was so that we didn't hate each other for the rest of our lives. We had done it with the intention of continuing our relationship in a different form. For the rest of our lives. That didn't last long.

"I don't know how to remember you, Scar." There is no reply. It's silly, but I feel disappointed at that. "You were my girlfriend so much longer than my ex, but... You just had to have the last word, right? You knew I was planning to talk to you after the game to discuss the logistical side of things. Of course you wanted to torture me by making me sort through all of your shit. You hoarder." The words start to flow, as well as the tears. I have so much to say to her.

"Barcelona is good, but you were right: I would have ignored you completely. I'm so busy. Alexia Putellas had only just recovered from her injury, so she was new to playing in January as well. They put me on the right to accommodate her. I hate her so much." My fists clench at the thought of the arrogant Spanish footballer. "She drills us constantly, and she talks about me to her little disciples. Every time I walk into a room and she's there, all I can feel is her eyes on me, burning holes into the back of my head. I tripped her over the other day to get her back. She claimed I tried to injure her."

Scarlett was a fan of Alexia Putellas. When she accompanied me to the award ceremonies where Alexia and I had been nominated, she would always tell the press she was rooting for Alexia, not me. If Barcelona had wanted Scarlett as well, everything would have been different.

"I..."

Someone is standing behind me.

notes:

who do we think jaimie is dating? 

who do you think is behind fleur? 

thanks for reading xx