I haven't spoken to Fleur. I can't bring myself to.

Lize tells me that she is pretending nothing happened, going about her life as normal. She is finalising her move to Barcelona; Chelsea have given up on trying to convince her to stay. I think she has just sorted out where she will be living, but I'm not sure.

It takes three days for Leah to move from the living room. She refuses to go upstairs because there are pictures of Scarlett on the photowall leading up to the first floor, and she only leaves the room to use the toilet. Every evening, I bring her the lasagne Amanda dropped round the day after the news was broken, but, every evening, the plate is left full and I am tasked with eating it for her.

I sit beside her, mostly, watching the TV. I hate Downton Abbey, but she occasionally looks up at it so I keep it playing. There are enough seasons for the episodes to play one after the other, providing light when it gets dark. She only seems to sleep for ten minute increments, slumped on top of me, holding on as if I will push her off and run away.

After those painful three days, she stands up and yawns. "I can't be in England." She sounds like Fleur. "I can't be in England when Georgia and Keira aren't. I feel so alone."

It's Christmas Eve. Keira and Georgia are in England, but I don't think that's what she means.

I look at her, studying her features. Her hair would be matted if I had not brushed it earlier today, and she managed to shower after a fair bit of bribery, but her physical appearance amounts to nothing when the look in her eyes is that of such devastation.

They remain red, rubbed raw when she is too exhausted to cry and glossy from the tears that haven't yet gone away. I stand up too, joining her in the middle of the blanket pile on the floor. "There is a hotel in Austria that my family always goes to at Christmas. No one is there this year, and I am sure they have a room." I realise what I have implied. "Or two rooms."

Scarlett comes on these holidays. Came. With Fleur.

"Where in Austria?" Leah asks curiously, wrapping her arms around my waist.

"Gerlos, but we don't have to ski." We usually ski. "Shall I get a plane ready?"

She laughs; something quiet and shaky. It is the first time she has done that in a while, though. "You have too much money." Then, "Can we get there before Christmas?"

I glance at the clock nearby. It's early in the morning, but the days have blended into each other in a way that makes everything feel like one long night. "They need four hours to prepare, so if I tell them now, then yeah. Do you want to pack your suitcase?"

"No," she mumbles.

"Okay, I'll bring your things down here and then you tell me what to put in the suitcase." Plans like this have become the only way anything gets done. "Do you need anything else? Do I need to go out and buy anything?"

"No." Her curt response is hard to fixate on because she rests her head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat.

"How about breakfast?" I try, knowing what the answer I receive will be. (Another 'no'.) "A nap? TV? Do you want to talk to Keira or Georgia?"

"No."

"What if they want to talk to you?" I have seen her phone blow up with all the messages, and I have seen the way she turns it off and 'loses' it in the mass of cushions on the sofa. "What about Amanda? You spend Christmas with your family." They are expecting her, I'm sure. I think Amanda is expecting me, too.

"Call Mum. Tell her we're away." She steps back and returns to the sofa, sprawling out. I sigh – that's the end of the conversation, then. It was nice while it lasted.

With Leah packed up and sitting in the taxi, I make sure all the windows of her house are locked, turn the lights off, and leave the keys under the doormat for when one of her teammates comes round to check that everything is fine. I called the hotel, and the woman who has known me since I was a toddler, Ida Fischer, picked up and told me she would have a room ready for me tonight. Her husband and her own the place. We are their most loyal customers.

"Do you want lunch?" I ask her as we pull out of her driveway. We are going to be away for four days. I think I will fly back to Melbourne from Vienna, provided I figure out some way to get there. Usually, I go back to Amsterdam with one of my cousins, seeing as most of them do the nine hour drive instead of getting on a plane. Maybe I can rent a car and do that instead.

"Not hungry." She's a joy to be around. "You eat."

"I've eaten. I finished off the fried rice I made you yesterday." It's around lunchtime, but Leah could not care less. "It was spicy, so I guess you wouldn't have liked it." She had watched me make it, slumped against the doorway to the living room. It was like she was being kept in there by an invisible barrier.

Leah goes quiet, pressing her lips together so that they form a flat line. It's the face she makes when she is trying not to cry. I hold out my hand, offering it to her. She pushes it away, choosing to pull on her seatbelt so that there is more slack and then resting her head on my shoulder.

"I miss her," she whispers, voice cracking.

"I know you do." I kiss the top of her head. "Why don't you try to sleep on the plane? You look exhausted." Leah's phone buzzes; an incoming call. "Want me to answer it?"

She nods, but makes no effort to retrieve the phone for me. I slide my hand into the middle pocket of her hoodie. I wore it yesterday. In my hurry, I neglected to bring anything with me. I bought a few essentials the other day, having had two hours to myself while Leah's family took over (Amanda insisted I take a break and let them care for her), but I have mostly been stealing her clothes. She has nice clothes.

"Hi, this is Leah Williamson," I say, not reading the contact because Leah has started to silently cry and I'm focused on stopping that before we get to the airport.

"Leah, have you got a secretary?" Her voice is familiar. "Can you give her the phone, please?" I hold it to Leah's ear, who tells the person to fuck off.

"Leah," I warn, wiping a tear from her cheek. She rolls her eyes.

"Fuck off, please," she amends. "Happy, Jaimie?"

I don't get to reply, because the person on the phone screeches so loudly that I almost throw the device through the windshield. "Alex, fuck off," Leah repeats, and I realise who she is talking to. It's Alex Scott, one of her best friends. She hangs up on her, groaning.

"You ought to be nicer to your friends, you know."

"I miss her." It's an excuse. She's using it as an excuse to shut most people out of her life, regardless of whether or not she likes them when her head is in its usual place. "We're here."

I look up and see the airport. Luton isn't my favourite place to fly from, but the private plane company that sponsors me said that was the only option. Leah knows her way around, though, and is halfway to displaying enthusiasm about what they have in Hugo Boss once we get through security.

The flight itself takes two hours, and involves me imposing a silence rule so Leah gets some rest. After some moaning and groaning, she dozes off half an hour in, using my lap as a pillow as she bridges the gap of the aisle in her sleep. The air stewardess gives me a knowing look as a shift uncomfortably, feeling my legs start to go dead. I don't care if they go numb and fall off, because she hasn't slept like this in days. She's out cold.

Gerlos is freezing and Leah winces as the rush of cold air hits her face as we get off the plane. I laugh. "Now you're fully awake!"

"That was awful." She seems happier now that we are here, the change in her mood evident from the moment she saw the snow cleared off the runway and allowed herself the smallest of smiles. "I need a hat." I hand her a beanie from the pocket of the winter coat I bought in the airport. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I continue walking towards immigration. She grabs my hand, stopping me. "Thank you," Leah says once more, this time with her eyes deep and concentrated and... grateful. I realise what she is thanking me for. I'm not blushing, my cheeks are just cold.

I shrug. "I love you." Her mouth falls open. She knows what she said that night, and she knows, even if she has been mentally distant, that I never said it back. I didn't want to take advantage of the situation.

It feels natural to say it. I should never have been scared.

"I love you too," she replies, eyes shining. She looks as though she is about to cry again, so I tug on her hand and hug her tightly. "I love you."

"Yeah, you said. We need to go through immigration." She squeezes me, making me groan. "Leah, we can't sneak into Austria. Get your passport out. We'll be quick anyway."

She is grinning by the time we get to the hotel. It feels as if someone has taken the Leah I have been with for the last few days and replaced her with somebody different, kidnapping her during the hour we are in the car. I don't think there is a distance range on where grief affects you, but if she's telling herself that and it's working, so be it.

"Jaimie!" Ida greets me, pinching my cheeks as she practically leaps over the concierge desk. She starts cooing at me in German, telling me that I'm too skinny and that she saw my WTA tour. Leah looks at me as I stutter out some of the language, eyebrows raised. "Your German is bad," she says, switching to English. "Where is Fleur?"

I laugh at how plainly she puts it. Fleur is almost fluent, simply because she was attentive at school and would solidify her knowledge by learning with her Dutch teammates when they went to Germany to play football. Her and Ida would sit for hours, talking. My little sister attracts every old woman with a motherly instinct, and it is rather odd.

"You surely know that the holiday is not happening this year?" Scarlett's death has been all over the English news, and has been talked about on every sports outlet in Europe, though they don't get much here. It's not the geographical location, but more the fact that Ida and Jakob only just know how to use a computer.

"Ja, but you are here." She looks over at Leah. "Eine Freundin oder deine Freundin?" At my lack of response, she hums giddily. "One bed or two?"

I freeze.

Sharing a room is one thing. A bed is another.

Leah kicks my calf gently. "One, please," she answers. Yes, we've slept together twice, but that is a very different thing to actually sharing the bed. In a non-sexual context, that's... dating. We're not dating. "Jaimie, you just told me you loved me," she whispers while Ida taps away on the computer, sorting all the details out. The hotel gets busy, but they are used to us using six of the rooms.

"I do love you," I whisper back.

"Share a bed with me then."

I sigh. "Will you actually sleep?"

"Not tonight. Santa's coming." I think I might get back on a plane. "We have to try to catch him, you idiot."

"Are you five?"

Mumma was never fussed about the way we celebrated Christmas, because we were always in Amsterdam. Her family in Melbourne spend their day on the beach, playing cricket, and doing what most English-speaking countries do. They'd send us presents and our family would be the only people in Amsterdam unwrapping gifts on the 25th. I think I've only been in Australia for Christmas once.

She pouts. "I'll teach you about English Christmas as long as you don't disrespect my culture."

"Your culture of wearing those weird paper crowns?" Scarlett's Christmas Instagram stories are hilarious. Her family does the strangest things. "And pulling on – what are they called?"

"Christmas crackers!" I laugh quietly. "I don't know where we will find them here, but next time, I will show you. We need to go shopping this afternoon." It's nearly five, but I don't tell her that.

Ida clears her throat, handing me the room key. "Not too much fun, ja?"

"Not funny," I say, pulling Leah towards the stairs. We are both athletes, and she is perfectly capable of carrying her suitcase up three floors.

"Thin walls!" Ida calls after us.

I wonder how long this side of Leah is going to last; whether she'll eat and sleep. She can't just turn off her grief while we're here. But, as she gushes about the rustic decor, I decide to make her as happy as possible – as genuine as it can be. I wish this were real. 

notes: 

Ida asks her whether Leah is  a friend or girlfriend 

I can't speak German

I don't ski in Austria so I have no idea about what it's like sorry 

thanks for reading 😘