My second day in Barcelona starts with me knocking the glass of water on the bedside table over onto my iPad, which then begins to buzz incessantly with an incoming FaceTime call. I don't have to check to see who it is because there is only one person I know who would be so annoying to call me at seven in the morning when I have just moved countries. Sighing and deciding against having a sense of urgency, I use the t-shirt I discarded onto the floor last night to wipe the water off the iPad, and then answer the call. My sister, in bright and sunny Australia, grins at me through the screen.

"Hoi," she greets, wiping her face with a sweat towel. The Australian Open starts tomorrow, and she's probably doing some last-minute training in preparation for her first match. We both played tennis during our childhood, but I clearly wasn't as good. Somehow she managed to win the French Open last year. I almost didn't believe it. "How's Spain? Did you take up Papa's offer to stay over for a bit beforehand?" She sounds more Aussie every time I talk to her.

We grew up in Amsterdam mainly, but my mum is from Melbourne. Every summer, we went back to visit her family. We still haven't used all our miles up with Singapore Airlines. As we got older, we could only go back every two years due to Jaimie and I's increasing commitment to sports, and Mum got homesick. Like, borderline depressed. She wanted to move back, but my father didn't. He's Dutch, and the accountancy firm he's a partner at has no offices in Australia. Though I don't think that was the sole reason for it, my parents divorced when I was thirteen, and we ended up being shared across two sides of the globe. Mum has lived in Melbourne ever since the papers were finalised, and Jai moved there a few years ago to spend more time with that side of our family. It doesn't hurt that Australia has good tennis facilities, either. (That and my sister really loves having a tan.)

"Jaimie, I just got here," I remark with a frown, settling back into bed. "Nervous for tomorrow?"

"Nah, I don't get nervous." Well that isn't true. "I've just finished the most pathetic workout I've ever done. Mumma told me to call you to see if you're okay, Flootz." I hate that nickname. It sounds horrible.

"Ik ben great." Mixing both languages when we talk to each other is common. Sometimes I can only fully express myself with both, or I just get confused. "I've got meetings today, and then a tour of the training facility. A second medical examination tomorrow, and fitness testing the day after. Training with the team by the end of this week. And hopefully I can move into my flat too!" I need to buy a car, now that I think about it. María said the club has a partnership with Cupra, so maybe I can get one of those. Apparently the flat I'm renting is a popular neighbourhood amongst my teammates though, so carpooling until I buy one myself is an option.

"I meant about your girlfriend dying, shithead." Oh. That's nice. "Are you going to see a psychologist in Barcelona too?" Chelsea forced me to. I hope they won't do that here.

My grimace is noticeable. "I actually have something to tell you..."

My sister and I are very close. She is only eleven months older than me, and understands exactly what I've been through because she's probably been through it too. I don't have to explain the trauma of divorced parents that live in different continents, because she just gets it. We understand each other very well, and have been close our whole lives. It's partly due to the way we were brought up; being kept so busy that there wasn't really any time to have friends outside of school, and feeling too tired to socialise and learn at the same time anyway. Our father is a very successful man, and has accepted nothing less from his daughters. He pushes us to be the best, which is probably why Jaimie wins tournaments and I get nominated for the FIFA Best XI every year. Jaimie and I share a joint struggle of his expectations, and I suppose that makes talking about everything else easier.

"Remember how Scarlett wasn't happy about me accepting Barcelona's offer?" Jaimie, being eight hours ahead, was awake when I texted her that night at three in the morning saying I couldn't sleep. She waits for me to continue. "I told her the night before we played that match, and we had this big argument, as you know. She wouldn't hear me out at all and I just got so angry."

"You went to bed cross with her?" She shakes her head disapprovingly. She thought we talked and I was simply still upset. Her advice always involves staying up until everything is resolved, because if you sleep on a fight, you only make it worse. "Even if you're still angry, you need to have at least talked it out, Flootzy," she reminds me firmly, though it's in vain because, well, Scarlett's dead.

"I know, but we had a game and it was late and–" I take a deep breath. "We broke up the morning before the match." The words tumble out, almost too hard to understand. Jaimie's eyebrows furrow and her mouth opens and closes, as if she wants to say something but isn't sure she should.

Then, because she's Jaimie, she puts the speaker to her mouth and shouts, "WHAT?!" My cheeks go red with embarrassment, and I bury my face in my hands. "Schijtgloeiendegodverdomme, what the fuck is wrong with your life?"

"I don't know," I groan, feeling a bit hopeless. "I can't really process all of it, so I'm trying to get through the breakup first." I need to know we wouldn't have been together if she were still alive, anyway. Mourning someone you could have had a future with would be so much worse than knowing it wasn't happening either way.

"Is this why you aren't going to her funeral?" It's in two days, and I still haven't told Scarlett's parents that I'm not coming. We were close, her family and me, because of how long we were together. Her parents tried to reach out when she died, hoping to gain a daughter in her stead. I sort of blanked them. "Flootz, please be sensible about this. Don't piss off the entire WSL."

"Viv was trying to call me all of last week, and I declined every time." We play for the Netherlands together, and Scarlett played for England with Beth Mead, Viv's girlfriend. Her and Beth were really close, spending time together constantly. Though Scarlett's best friends since childhood have been Leah, Georgia, and Keira, there is no denying that her and Beth were each others' rocks. "And they're going to wear black armbands for the next few games. Chelsea, Arsenal, Man City... Everyone."

"Well, I can only see one option here." Jaimie is good at giving advice, and even better at hatching plans. I look at her, expectantly, hoping this is quick because I need to get breakfast before María picks me up. "Play the grieving girlfriend, Flootz; be so overcome with it that you can't show your face in England. Lay low, stay quiet. Hopefully, in a few months, they will begin to move on, and you can date new people, resurface on social media. You definitely CANNOT announce the breakup now."

I thought she would say this. It's frustrating, and, frankly, really fucking unlucky. Jaimie has a point, though I am not sure I want to pretend our relationship hadn't been fizzling out for a while.

"Jai," I begin gravely,  "Keira's at Barça. What if she knows?" Would it be a relief or a problem?

"Unless you want to have that awkward conversation with her, assume she doesn't and suck it up. Your girlfriend died, act like it." Jaimie is clearly done with this call, finding the answer as simple as learning the alphabet. Out of the two of us, she is more straightforward, easily being able to separate her emotions into boxes that she can address how she wants, when she wants. Anything that makes her angry tends to come out in tennis, meaning there are some extensive compilations of her screaming, breaking her racket, or hitting the ball at her opponent (by accident, I'm told). For me, being direct is one thing, addressing my feelings like that is another. I have to deal with things properly, one by one. I can't multitask.

"You're so bossy, you know."

She frowns. "I led our doubles team to victory. I'm sorry that you aren't a natural-born leader."

"Oh, fuck off." Jaimie smirks and raises her eyebrows.

"Alright then. Tot ziens!"

With that, she hangs up, leaving me to get ready for the day ahead.

I sit up properly, the bed sheets bunched around my waist. My suitcase is open, the neatly folded clothes now scrunched up seeing as I packed my pyjamas at the bottom of the bag without thinking. The hotel room is actually quite nice. It's in the centre of the city but not too far from the training ground where I will need to be later on. It must be five-star. I hope the breakfast here is good.

The room that is going to be my first residence in my new city is mainly white with black furniture. My bright red suitcase stands out, but adds a pleasant pop of colour to the place. I mean, not to get too comfortable, but I think I could get used to this.

Maybe I should ask María to put off collecting my keys from the landlord?

The thought of having to unpack everything is very off-putting. And, seeing as I'm going through a breakup, I've divided our things accordingly. If Scarlett were alive, she'd keep the flat because she would still be in London. I would let her decide what she wanted to do with our bed and the sofa that has seen a bit too much of its owners (Sam refused to sit on it when she found out exactly how much action it got), and maybe take the pots and pans if I could be bothered. Now that Scarlett is dead on top of all that, I put the pots and pans in storage too. I want to start afresh.

I need to ask María if they have an IKEA in Barcelona.

Now that Jaimie knows about the breakup, I feel ready to attack the day. I shudder, hating how I can hear my father's voice saying that in my head, but it's been drilled into me and gets me through days where I want to be lazy. Ooh, I bet he's wondering when I am going to send him pictures of all his favourite players. When Lieke came to Barcelona, he made her send him pictures too. He's weirdly persuasive.

Someone knocks on my door, making me jump. "Buenos días, Fleur," María calls from the hallway. The club must be very concerned with my wellbeing if they have sent the PLO to eat breakfast with me. A quick glance at myself in the mirror deems me presentable, though I'm not sure María will appreciate the faded Spider-Man matching set I have on. They were a gag gift last year, and they're comfortable. I feel not one bit of shame.

"Good morning, María," I say as cheerfully as I can, leaning against the wall. "My first meeting is not for hours." She reminds me of a typical motherly woman. Her smile seems genuine, coming from both her eyes and her lips, though her red lipstick is somewhat garish. She wears a thick coat as though it is not sixteen degrees outside. I wonder how she would cope with January in England. The image in my head makes me want to laugh.

"You are correct. I thought you might not want to eat breakfast alone, but I can see you aren't ready." She looks me up and down and laughs. "My son has the same outfit."

"These are my dead girlfriend's." Her face drops. I feel cruel. "Sorry, that was Dutch humour."

"Oh," she says, her mortified expression fading into relief. Before she can start the spiel of how sorry she is that Scarlett died and that she was taken far too soon and in such an unfortunate way as well, I ask María to give me five minutes to change and brush my teeth.

Exactly five minutes later, I open the door again, finding María sat looking very comfortable. She must have assumed I would take longer, so she looks surprised to see me dressed in jeans and a hoodie, ready to go. "We'll need to come back before the meetings, because I think this is too casual for that," I state matter-of-factly. She nods. "Are we going to the hotel's restaurant?"

"No, there is a café nearby that I like. If I tell you what to say, do you think you can order? Keira struggled, but I think it is just a confidence issue." I snort at the idea of Keira trying to speak Spanish with her accent. Once, Scarlett and I went to Granada for a weekend, and it was painful to hear her Brummie accent mangle the Spanish words. She told me off for laughing, mimicking how I speak English. We ended up not ordering at that restaurant.

Breakfast with María is surprisingly pleasant. I realise I have been treated like I'm made of glass for the past few weeks. In England, I swear people wouldn't talk too loudly near me in case they set me off. Being in a different country is so freeing.

I know this is the city she died in, but I have never felt more alive.

Here, not as many people have had a chunk of their life yanked from their hands. Keira will be devastated, she is the only one of the now-trio to have been at the incident. She was closer to Scarlett's body than I was. But other than the two English players on the squad, I doubt the Barcelona girls knew her personally. There has been talk of how the players on the pitch must be traumatised, but I have a sneaking suspicion that one of the teams definitely got the shorter end of the stick that night.

I can tell I'm right when I get to the training centre and there isn't a grey haze hanging over the place. Cobham is depressing now that the Chelsea psychologists have a revolving door of patients.

The first thing I notice is how happy everybody seems. Staff walk around with an air of focus, yet they don't look miserable. The man waiting outside to greet me easily flashes me a grin, and isn't afraid to pull me into a hug. I can't help but catch their emotion. My agent nudges me when I look a little too excited to be here, reminding me that the club isn't allowed to have more than one photographer present because I am going through a 'difficult time'. He had a sleepless night when negotiating that, so I guess I should play along. Like Jaimie said, I am the grieving girlfriend.

"Bon dia, Fleur," says Jonatan, my new manager. "We are going to conduct this meeting in Spanish, but we have a translator present." I follow him to a conference room set up for the official signing pictures.

Jonatan, my agent, two other men, and I sit on armchairs around a coffee table. First, they discuss the results of the medical examination they carried out before making things official, and I don't need the translator to tell me they are pleased. Then, the conversation moves to paperwork, and before I know it, I am sitting in front of the singular camera, a Barcelona media board as my backdrop. Jonatan hands me a silver pen, engraved with the letters FCB, and places his hand on my shoulder. I lower my hand, the nib of the pen touching the paper, and ask myself if this is what I want. I can only think of one word in my mind: yes.

I sign the papers, not surprised by the camera flash, and allow myself a small smile. If I look too ecstatic about the move, people might think I'm crazy. I'm sure a few of them already do, but I can try my best to minimise the size of that group.

"Welcome to Barcelona, Fleur."

"Visca el Barça," I reply. "I am excited for what lies ahead."

Another round of applause echoes through the room, and then I am escorted to what must be Jonatan's office. A Barcelona flag hangs behind his mahogany desk, and pictures of the club's success line the walls. I am too interested in the latest picture of the women's team with a trophy to notice there is someone else in the room as well.

When I take a seat, I look at Jonatan, wondering why he isn't saying anything. A woman clears her throat beside me, and I turn to face her. Though her lips curve into a smile, her eyes harden when they catch mine. I can't look away.

"Hola, Fleur." Is it too soon after Scarlett's death to think she's hot? "I'm your new captain." She holds out her hand, which is oddly formal considering how affectionate Keira claims the Barcelona girls to be. "You can call me Alexia."

notes:

Schijtgloeiendegodverdomme is just a whole bunch of Dutch swearwords all in one

Fleur and Alexia have met!

Singapore Airlines flies direct from Amsterdam to Melbourne if you were wondering

Chapters will probably be posted further apart as the fic goes on, but right now I'm going off the momentum.

Thanks for reading xxx