Zach is my New Year's kiss. He is brunette with blue eyes... and the six-year-old son of my cousin. But he is just as chuffed to be cuddled by me as I am by him, because we fall asleep together on the sofa not even ten minutes past midnight. The picture is circulated on our relatives' various Instagrams, until it reaches one that fans follow and is suddenly everywhere. Leah tells me that her dog, Bella, gave her a nice lick the next morning, though it is only three for her by the time we are talking. I am getting ready for a hungover hitting session while she is just starting to leave the party.

"Happy New Year," is what Juan greets me with, walking past me, into my house. The difference between actual training and post-night-out training is that one takes place at a professional location and the other happens on my own personal court in my garden. It is very useful. "Warm-up, drills, and then I have found someone new for you to train with until we fly over to Adelaide next week." The Adelaide International (2) will be the first tournament of what is looking to be a very promising season.

"Who?" I ask, eyebrows raised. My go-to hitting partner when I am home is a Dutch woman who went to Mumma for physiotherapy a few years ago. She must be unavailable, but Juan neither confirms nor denies, simply shrugging cryptically and proceeding to set up the equipment that may now be rusty. The red net has faded, meaning it has become orange. I smirk, posting a picture of it to my Instagram story captioned 'into 2023 with the best colour'.

We train leisurely, though he decides tomorrow will be a full day of conditioning. Obviously, I ensured my fitness stayed intact over the break, but Juan does enjoy torturing me. My new hitting partner is a smiley redhead who plays very cleverly and manages to occasionally get the better of my alcohol-foggy brain. It is nice to not have her understand the insults that instinctively fly her way when I lose points in matchplay.

Training goes on like this. I blink and I am in Adelaide. Leah watches me win my first tournament from England, though my phone has to be discreetly switched off mid-final when I realise the buzzing is coming from her sending me live commentary and not some person in the crowd. The trophy feels good to hold. Fleur likes my post about it, but we still haven't spoken. I am unsure if I am over the guilt, and it seems as if she is only in contact with her agent at the moment. Her move to Barcelona is confirmed, though not public knowledge just yet.

It's a tight turn-around from Adelaide to the first Grand Slam of the season, but the Australian Open is my favourite of the four. It's nice to be able to stay in my own home and do what I love. It makes the high of tennis feel even better.

Leah has just hung up when I decide to bite the bullet (with a lot of encouraging from Mumma).

She has convinced me to call Fleur, though I am worried that my sister will not want to talk to me properly in case she ends up being a distraction this close to an important tournament. I go on a ten minute jog around my neighbourhood, still convincing myself to call her.

I do a half-hearted workout.

I unlock my phone.

Fuck. I should have stayed in England. I could have looked after Leah and Fleur. I could have done it; I love them both.

The soft beat of FaceTime's dialling tone rings out as I perch on one of the chairs on the patio outside, squinting slightly as the sun is in my eyes.

"Hoi," I greet, wiping my face with a sweat towel. She must be in a hotel room in Barcelona by now. Everything is going to be sorted by tomorrow. "How's Spain? Did you take up Papa's offer to stay over for a bit beforehand?"

"Jaimie, I just got here," she remarks with a frown, settling back into the hotel bed. I realise that I must have woken her up. "Nervous for tomorrow?"

I think that right now, what I am feeling can easily be channelled into excitement. It will hit me on the ride to the court, I presume. "Nah, I don't get nervous," I scoff, smirking because she knows that that is a big lie. "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." She does not seem to be holding a grudge about being ignored for three weeks. In fact, I would say she seems thankful.

"Ik ben great. 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!" She offers me a smile, and I feel my eyebrows furrow with utter confusion. Why is she so detached?

Clicking my tongue, I change my approach. "I meant about your girlfriend dying, shithead. Are you going to see a psychologist in Barcelona too?" Lize told me about Chelsea's immediate action to protect the mental health of their players. It was a very good response considering the situation.

Fleur grimaces, and she suddenly looks like the guilty one.

"I actually have something to tell you..." Here we go. "Remember how Scarlett wasn't happy about me accepting Barcelona's offer?" I nod slowly, adjusting the camera so that I'm no longer being blinded by the sun. "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."

Fleur rarely gets angry. She can get annoyed and frustrated but actual anger is not an emotion she lets herself resort to. I knew their arguments were getting really bad, but I had clearly not realised the full extent of it. I ask if they went to bed during an argument, reminding her of a lesson I had hoped to have drilled into her mind by now. Never go to sleep in the heat of the moment. If you sleep on a fight, you will only end up making it worse.

"I know, but we had a game and it was late and–" She takes a deep breath. "We broke up the morning before the match."

Fucking hell.

I almost drop my phone.

My mouth opens as I expect words to come out, but I can think of nothing. I am just so confused. I did not see it coming, even with the amount of arguing. However, divorced parents do teach you that it is okay to fall out of love with someone, I suppose. That doesn't stop me from putting the phone speaker to my mouth and screaming, "WHAT?!" I bet she is embarrassed at the situation she has got herself in. "Schijtgloeiendegodverdomme, what the fuck is wrong with your life?"

"I don't know," she groans, sounding a bit hopeless. "I can't really process all of it, so I'm trying to get through the breakup first." It is quite a lot to handle, I must say. Lize acted as though she did not have her hands full.

I think back to the guest list to Scarlett's funeral that Leah was showing me earlier. Fleur's name was not in green, meaning she had not confirmed her attendance yet. Everyone else's name was. Knowing Fleur will be too preoccupied to notice my sliver of information I ask, "Is this why you aren't going to her funeral?" She has two days to figure it out. "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. And they're going to wear black armbands for the next few games. Chelsea, Arsenal, Man City... Everyone." Of course, I already know this because of Leah, but I nod along in surprise anyway. The black armbands have SP on them. Leah says Keira and Lucy are going to wear them too, meaning Fleur might need to figure something out at Barcelona too.

She has woven herself into a very delicate tapestry that will rip if she makes a move. So she cannot. "Well, I can only see one option here." What choice does she have? The truth will not be received the most pleasantly. "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." And I hate to say it, but it is true.

"Jai," she begins gravely, seemingly accepting my advice without question, "Keira's at Barça. What if she knows?"

I elect to keep this from Leah until it is a better time, for fear of it throwing her off her own process. She is becoming more angry by the day, deeming it stupid and cruel of Scarlett to have left her. The bliss (or numbness) that came with our time spent in Austria is starting to wear off, and is leaving her with many words to say that all mean the same thing. Research has told me that this is the second stage of grief. "Unless you want to have that awkward conversation with her, assume she doesn't and suck it up. Your girlfriend died, act like it." Fleur sometimes just needs to be told what to do. She does not always appreciate having the reins that control her own life.

"You're so bossy, you know," she grumbles, pouting.

I frown. "I led our doubles team to victory. I'm sorry that you aren't a natural-born leader." My sister has told every coach she has ever had to abstain from appointing her as captain, no matter how tempted they may feel.

"Oh, fuck off." I smirk and raise my eyebrows, willingly taking the opportunity to leave her and go for a swim in my pool. It is very hot and I said I would babysit Zach and his little sister later on.

"Alright then," I reply, eyeing the crystal clear water. I need to find the floaties and blow them up before the kids come over. "Tot ziens!"

notes: 

NOT hungover but i am babysitting my hungover friends lol

we are now at the start of hmc and this is the call from the second chapter. it is very satisfying for me!

we're also near the end of stay away :/

thanks for reading!!!!!!!!!!