The 26th is a national holiday in the Netherlands, so we are used to having a day of complete laziness. It is greatly needed considering the size of both our hangovers. We found out that trying to keep up with Ida and Jakob was the worst idea ever to have sprung into our minds, and struggled to make it back to our hotel room in one piece after someone cracked open a bottle of Elephant Gin. It's safe to say that we roll out of the sheets at dinner time to get something down, only to trudge back upstairs quickly (yet not fast enough for Ida to not laugh at how affected we seem to be).

The hangover to my hangover is, thankfully, better, and so we agree that today will remain the day this holiday ends. Part of me wishes we could stay here forever; stuck in our little bubble as though nothing else really matters. Alas, Leah has football, and I have to get back home with an adequate amount of time to take World #1 hostage. "Have you managed to book a flight yet?" I ask her as I return from my morning run, having left when she was hunched over her laptop. She has stayed in the same position.

"No," is her reply; curt and annoyed, though obviously not at me. She shuts the screen with a slam that sounds expensive. "I've searched everywhere. They're either full or trying to fly me out to fucking Dubai before we even go in the direction of the UK."

"Imagine flying commercial," I tease, sitting beside her on the bed. She spreads out so that there is sufficient room for me to rest my head on her chest.

"Women's football has a long way to go," she says. I smile. People are beautiful when they are passionate about something. Well, Leah is always beautiful, but this enhances it. "You're going back to Amsterdam, aren't you? So when do you need to leave tonight?" I glance at the time, reading it off my watch that is lying on the bedside table.

"I am going from Innsbruck to Amsterdam and then from there to Singapore and then Melbourne." I feel tired just saying it out loud. I do need to get my things from Papa's house, though.

"Jaimie, darling, you're single-handedly killing the planet." I swat her stomach. "Hey! It's true. I'm just saying the truth and if you can't handle that–"

"It is not my fault," I repeat as I have done many times before. She tugs me upwards slightly, so that I am now hovering over her. Straddling her is instinctive. "If I had my way, I'd be in one place all the time. Tennis is so lonely. Makes me hate it sometimes, you know."

She nods. She understands how complicated relationships with your sport can become. Of course, only we fully get what it takes to be professional tennis players, but Leah's a footballer and that holds some similarities. "It's good that you have Juan. He's literally your best friend." We have texted a fair bit while I have been here, though I try to stay off my phone in front of Leah lest she think I am preoccupied. The whole purpose of this trip was to help her come to terms with Scarlett's death, after all. "You've got Fleur and Lize. And you have me. Me, who loves you so very much."

"You, who is getting way too comfortable," I mutter, feeling her hand slide under my jumper and up my back.

"You're so sweaty," she complains, though her hand continues on its journey. "Ugh, Jaimie, you're soaked."

I laugh. "You are not slick, babe."

"Or am I?" she challenges, raising an eyebrow. I roll my eyes, but my lips ignore my slight annoyance with an increasingly common ease. She smiles into the kiss, happy that her plan has worked. I pull away to send a message to the private plane correspondent (he is called Arthur and he constantly reminds me that this is not Uber) to arrange a plane for Leah to take back to London this evening. That is enough time for them to prepare the jet and for us to say goodbye to each other in a lot more ways than one. I do not know when I will be able to see her in person again.

"Lee, I will be quick," I promise as she clings to me, preventing me from pulling a hoodie on and dialling into an emergency Skype call about the documentary. We have had to interrupt the long-winded farewell, but it should only take a moment. I am just going to tell them that starting filming now is not a good idea, seeing as Scarlett has just died and I will need to be there for my sister come January. Postponing filming might mean they push for a joint documentary between Fleur and I, though I doubt she will be enthusiastic about having cameras follow her around for a few months.

Leah refuses to let me leave the bed, hand resting too high up on my thigh for comfort as I join the call. The hoodie might as well have 'I just had sex' printed in neon lettering on its front, because I catch sight of what I look like and internally die of embarrassment. My hair and lazy grin are hard to hide.

No one asks why the Lionesses captain is half in the camera frame (and half-naked if one were to look closely) as we cut straight to the point and work to sort everything out as efficiently as possible. Charley, my agent, does keep me on the call for a little bit longer, but she talks in Dutch and Leah can only smile at me as I tell her that I am not hooking up with yet another footballer just for (this was in English) 'funsies'. She cannot stop me if I were, but her passive nod of approval is enough for me to leave promptly and go back to kissing every inch of Leah's body before we are in totally different hemispheres. It feels like we have all the time in the world and no time left. Simultaneously.

Saying goodbye is not fun.

Leah confesses that she has managed to forget about the death of her best friend due to my presence – a dirty tactic to guilt me into following her back to England. I am tempted, but settle for tears instead of impulsive action. Leah being a distraction from tennis is still just as terrifying, but the reciprocated feelings dull the fear most of the time. When she says things that make me want to forfeit my career, part of me feels like running as far away from her as possible. It will take time for me to learn how to ignore that little voice in my head. I reflect on how desperate I am to be taught as Ida drives me to the airport, realising that Leah and I have something that could possibly work out. I type a quick note on my phone to remind myself to bring this up in my next appointment with Emma. She is quite a good therapist – something I am glad about considering the amount I pay her per session.

I manage to get in and out of Amsterdam before dinner, meaning I eat at the airport in my own clothes (fucking finally) and have the luxury of my laptop to sort myself out for next season. With another twenty-five hours of travel ahead of me, I vow to get all of my admin completed as soon as possible so that I can spend the rest of the time calling Leah and indulging in Netflix before I have no spare seconds in the day to even think about TV.

Charley has scheduled a few interviews during my six hour and a half layover in Singapore, so I spend the twelve hour flight there planning my answers to the lists and lists of possible questions, adding to the document I have which could be published as my ultimate guide to having a respectable public image. Though it is exhausting, she has at least made sure I have a few light-hearted interviews. I am most looking forward to The Players' Pod. Kelley O'Hara somehow seemed important enough to Charley for her to agree to let me go on as a guest.

The meeting room they give me in the SilverKris Lounge in Singapore is private and empty. I open my laptop and make sure my headphones are connected, and then pour myself a glass of water to make sure I am calm before doing my last in-depth interview of the year. The others have been fairly trivial; most of them discussing the various ups and downs of the past season in a very professional sense. This podcast is a bit more relaxed.

"Good morning," Kelley O'Hara greets me, though it is clearly the evening for her in America. "Ready to chat? We can take breaks at any time throughout – we can cut them out easily. I'm just gonna do an introduction and then we can just get on with it. I'm excited. You're our first tennis player!"

"And Dutchie, right?" Fleur wanted to do this but that will not be happening for a while. She is going to be kept very hidden from the public eye, I am assuming. Kelley seems nice as she gets everything sorted and settled, and is pleasant to talk to at such an early hour of the morning. I slept on the flight here and, in truth, it is actually ten, but I am deeply missing Leah. It is honestly a very tiring emotion to be feeling.

"Okay, so where are you in the world right now?" she begins with.

I glance around the meeting room, finding its design somewhat superfluous. Fancy CEOs must love it, I suppose. "I'm halfway through my journey home, so I'm in Singapore for a six and a half hour layover. I'll be home by this evening."

"'Home' is Melbourne, right?" This leads into a conversation about opportunities and coaching and a comparison of facilities in the Netherlands and Australia. Which ultimately morphs into being solely about tennis, until Kelley prods about football (soccer?) and gets me to discuss my childhood career that was parallel to my little sister's. I think I could have been a professional footballer, but I do not think Fleur could ever be a tennis player. She would crumble under the crushing solitude. She is not good at being alone, however much she strives to isolate herself.

Towards the end of the interview/friendly conversation, Kelley attempts to introduce some quick-fire questions. The producers seem to want a two hour episode, because one of them asks me which football league I keep up with the most, and Kelley and I end up debating whether the WSL is more competitive than the NWSL. We manage to agree on a compromise, and then get side-tracked by discussing the WSL in general. She has her own opinions on the transfer window. I am sure to keep the conversation away from my sister, though it is not hard when nobody is expecting her to leave.

"So you have a favourite player from each team?" I ask in clarification, following what she has said. "I could name any team and you would say a name?"

"Do you not? You said that you watch the WSL as closely as the Eredivisie." I do. For my sister and my... Leah. Still have not talked about terminology with her yet. I will be adding it to my extensive to-do list. "Like, when I think Arsenal, I'm thinking Leah Williamson and Kim Little. Vivianne Miedema too."

"That is not one favourite," I point out, rolling my eyes. "Vivianne Miedema all the way, too."

"You seem like you'd be a Leah Williamson fan, to be honest," Kelley says casually. I freeze, not caring if it is noticeable. My heart feels like it is chasing a Formula 1 car, and my thoughts race as I try to work out exactly how she means that. Do people know? Do I want people to know? Is there anything to know? We are very complicated. I do not even understand what is going on, so how can they?

But suddenly, all my thoughts centre on one thing. If people know, then Fleur knows. Now is not the time for that. 

notes: 

uh oh x

i'm so tired and can't form coherent thoughts any longer so this is what u are getting instead of my usually hilarious and brilliant and frankly perfect end of chapter notes (laugh pls bc i can feel my eyes drying out as i type this)

love you and thanks for reading as always xxxxxx