Fleur's game is far more exciting; tense and tight, ending in a 1-1 draw. Noa appears less enthusiastic to watch her own country, having met half the players before on the basis that Fleur and Lize are closer geographically and therefore see each other often enough. My sister kisses my cheek when she sees me, apologetic in regards to the news of my injury. I tell her not to worry, because I am going to jet off to Switzerland that same evening.

After my untimely exit from Wimbledon, I am in need of points. The Ladies Open Lausanne is far less high-profile than the Grand Slams, and so it serves as a good break from the intensity of the last few tournaments.

I lose the semi-final with Papa watching. How embarrassing.

He shakes his head at me, chin tilted downwards, lips pressed into a frown. I should have won. This isn't a hard tournament.

Except, last night, Leah won her match 5-0, putting England through to the quarter-finals. I stayed up to watch the game. And to talk to her afterwards. Coffee clearly is not as effective of a substitute for sleep as I thought.

"You are distracted, Jaimie." Papa's voice, low and calm, is deeply unsettling. I feel like I am thirteen-years-old, in trouble for getting beaten by Fleur the day after my parents announced they were getting a divorce. He said the same thing then. "Professional sport is no place to be distracted."

"I'm sorry," I mumble, rubbing my eyes to make my vision less blurry. Juan places his hand on my shoulder, trying to soften the blow of words he doesn't understand. I'm sure Papa's tone is that of universal disappointment.

"Do not say sorry to me. It is yourself you have let down. You are in control of your performance, and it was appalling today." I could recite these words unprompted by now. If it is not winning, it is a terrible day of tennis. "We are nothing if we are not the best. What is wrong, meisje?" And though it seems like a question of how I, as a person, am doing, it is not. He is asking for my analysis, my take on what happened to make me lose.

"Didn't get enough sleep," I report absently, mind wandering to how Leah's doing. Juan and I have discussed it, and it is not worth travelling back to Melbourne only to fly out to Canada in three weeks. He doesn't pry when I request we hold off on his idea to go to Amsterdam, knowing that Papa can be complicated – in fact, he swiftly changes his idea, and suggests we go back to London. "Are you coming to England with me?"

"No, I have business in Amsterdam." He cannot do all of his work remotely, though most of it does involve phone calls. "Flootz does not seem to be disheartened. I think she is annoyed with me because I am pestering her to go back to Ajax."

"She's leaving Chelsea?"

That's going to fuck up her and Scarlett's relationship. 100%.

Papa nods hesitantly. "She wants to go to Barcelona next season, but the club has not agreed to terminate her contract. She's pushing, and Barcelona are in talks with her, especially since Alexia Putellas is injured. If not now, then I think she will go by January. English football has given her everything it can give–"

"–But nothing is better than Ajax football," I finish off for him, knowing what comes after that statement. He laughs as though he has forgotten the way his words sliced into me only a moment ago. "Scarlett won't want to move though."

"She does not speak Dutch, she does not support Ajax... Good riddance." I punch him softly. "Sorry, I know Flootz loves her. I just hope that you marry someone who ticks my boxes. You are my perfect child, Jaimie."

I don't question it, because he's told me that many times. Fleur is wild and erratic and the daughter who is expected to break rules. And me? It would be clear enough by simply watching any footage of me talking to Papa after a loss. Whenever Fleur claims to be the one who is put under immense pressure by him, I keep my mouth shut.

"I know," I say, kissing his cheek. "I'm going to get myself sorted, do the press conference and everything, and then we can go for dinner? Juan and I will fly back tomorrow morning. We can get a drink."

"Seven o'clock at your hotel," he agrees, knowing that there is an Italian place right across the road from where I am staying. "You have to tell me about how your mother is doing in Australia!"

━━━━━━━

Back in England, I train more intensely, keeping away from my phone. Mumma has been watching Fleur's games in person, seeing as she struggles to do so in Australia. Lize, Finn, and Noa complete my sister's entourage, with Fleur promising to take Noa to some England games if she gets knocked out in the quarter-finals. Fleur's blunt suggestion takes us all by surprise, but in conversation with her after they lose 1-0 to France, I find out that the players have had issues with their manager since the tournament started. Fleur is inconsolable at the thought of winning another Euros being snatched from her due to bad management – a factor she cannot control.

To cheer her up, we attend England's semi-final against Sweden in Sheffield. Noa tags along; another date-night for Lize and Finn. It's an amusing sight to have both Fleur and Noa in England shirts, and it gets even funnier when Viv finds us in the friends and family section in her own orange England kit.

"Watching Scarlett?" she asks, knowing the answer.

"Who are you watching, Viv?" Last I checked, she was with a Scottish player. Jill Roord usually serves as my social news reporter (gossip), but I haven't spoken to her in a while. Something must have happened between them.

"She's dating Beth Mead!" Fleur announces, causing Viv to duck her head down, hiding as if the English people here understand our conversation. Speaking more than one language is handy. "Noa, do you know who Beth Mead is?"

"Yes," Noa states, unimpressed with the question. "I love Arsenal."

Fleur and I wince. Viv's mouth hangs wide open.

I nod, grimacing. "Black sheep of the family but we think it's just a phase." All the Dutch girls know that no one supports Ajax on their team more than Fleur, and that 'de Voss' has been on the season ticket holder list for decades. "We might have to abandon her otherwise."

I get Noa to show Viv who is on her back, to which she also shows her the message Leah wrote. "I didn't know Leah spoke Dutch," Viv comments, glancing at me as if she knows something. Which is impossible. Because, like I told Scarlett, there is nothing to know about.

"She doesn't, but I'm sure she can operate Google Translate," Fleur dismisses. I'm glad she is none the wiser. Sometimes her lack of observation skills are a real gift. My sister wants to talk about their campaign again. Hearing everyone else's outrage validates her own. "How are you feeling?"

I take Noa to the bathroom before the game starts, anticipating a tug of my sleeve at some point, followed by a meek admission to having an accident. I'm not in the mood to deal with that.

It is not quite a surprise that I run into Amanda, but it feels awkward nevertheless. She gives Noa a hug, and then tells me about how Leah made her follow my matches so she could keep her updated – Sarina is apparently concerned by the England captain's interest in tennis, and has banned her from checking up on the various tournaments for the duration of the Euros. Amanda's hushed tone worries me, because it feels like I am doing something wrong with Leah. It feeds into the idea that she is a distraction that once was positive, but is now affecting how I play. That is the worst thing that could happen to someone who I think I might have slight feelings for.

Because now I know that I'm going to have to put a stop to it.

That's for me to deal with later, though. Right now, England have scored four goals to Sweden's nil, putting them through to the final. Noa and Fleur are going to talk to Scarlett (and Leah, to Fleur's displeasure), and I am going to avoid being photographed at another England match in case people start to wonder who I am here to see. The press have been all over my rollercoaster of a tour so far, and I do not need further drama.

Five days later, England play the Euros final.

The whole country seems to be watching, and Fleur takes Noa to Wembley before my cousin and her family go back to the Netherlands. They spent the entire month in England to support Fleur and me, and so I have paid for the cost of their airbnb (despite their protest). It isn't like I don't have the money.

Juan and I have the match on in the background as we have a tactical meeting. He has been more clued in on what is going on between me and Leah throughout the course of the Euros, having to adjust our off-days in accordance with me travelling around the country to see a woman play. When he asks if I am dating the England captain, with emphasis on how alright that is for me to do, I choke on my water.

"We text each other sometimes," I explain once I have recovered, glancing at the screen to find that Ella Toone has just chipped the ball over the keeper and scored the first goal of the match. It disgusts me to realise I have silently celebrated.

"I think a relationship would be good for you," he responds after a great deal of thought. We have pretty much abandoned the professional talk. I would consider Juan a friend as well as my coach. My agent is a bit like my mother, but Juan holds no similarity to Papa except for the fact that they both have a beard. "You were dating that cricketer, weren't you? You broke up."

"He told me I should stick to tennis and that my life was going to consume me," I dryly recall. That day opened my eyes against my will. I realised, fully, that no one should ever get involved with me to the extent that they find it in themselves to love me. If he was right, and I am destined to be devoured by the overwhelming aspects of my life, then that just adds one more person to the list of those who will miss me. It is not as if I am the best person out there. "I'm nothing if I'm not the best, and I just..."

"Jaimie, in all the years I have been your coach, I have only seen you truly at peace when you were dating that footballer. And when she was hurt and you wanted to go to her – that feeling wasn't anything to be scared of. Most would kill to care so deeply about someone." But not everyone is a professional tennis player who has to fight daily to stay in the top five. I am not a normal person with a normal job. "What was her name again?"

"Jackie," I supply reluctantly. "You say this now, but when Hayley and I were together, you told me she was a distraction."

"Because you weren't ever properly together."

Fleur didn't really approve of Hayley Raso dating me, despite Sam Kerr vouching for her character over and over. I think it put Hayley off, seeing as the entirety of women's football bow down to either Fleur or Alexia Putellas (to whom is usually decided by nationality and club), and so we spent five months on-and-off, in what was a more-than-casual waste of time.

"I still liked her," I reply, rather guarded. I don't want to let him make a point for fear of it actually being valid. "And all the other footballers I have... had relations with were, yet again, deemed distractions by you and Papa. Leah is a footballer – it is no different!"

"Yes, you could treat her the same way you treat the ones who are in your hotel room for a night before being kicked out and told to keep it a secret," Juan begins, raising his eyebrows at me when I hum in satisfaction. He agrees with me. I fold my arms over my chest and lean back into the sofa, checking the score (1-1). "But it could be more than that, and then it is not a distraction, but a blessing. Having someone cherish you, fall in love with you... Jaimie, that is a compliment to the highest degree. You are worth loving."

"I don't like her," I protest, though it comes out as a muffled, inaudible little statement.

"There will be a party tonight for whoever wins this final, and I have a feeling there will be a lot of England flags flying high." Juan clicks his tongue, thinking. "You are distracted by the England captain, but it is not necessarily having a negative impact on your life. I assume you talked during the French Open, and you won that." I was afraid he would make sense. It is the worst when someone stamps on my delusions. "What is affecting you is the energy you are putting into staying away from her. So don't."

The full-time whistle blows. They are going to extra time.

"What do you mean 'don't'? She's busy." And I don't want to. I think.

"I, as your coach, am telling you – no, instructing you – to spend tonight with your England captain as she celebrates her win. You have half an hour to decide whether or not you are going to listen to the man who has helped you to win six of the nine Grand Slams you have won." My eyes widen at the prospect of it. Finding Leah, sharing her happiness.

She called me when I won the French Open. After the press conference.

I was caught up in talking to Fleur about how weird having dinner as a family would be, and let it ring out. Her voicemail was the sweetest, most genuine thing I had ever heard. If I had been anybody else, I would have fallen in love with her. But I am me, and if Leah loves Jaimie de Voss, she is going to get her heart broken. 

notes: 

ok i lied and extended the plot by one chapter (sorry it had to be done)

here is a wholly unnecessary but rather extensive list of footballers jaimie has slept with!

Gerónimo Rulli, Melanie Leupolz, Victoria Pelova, Hayley Raso, Steven Bergwijn, Jackie Groenen, Caitlin Foord, Danielle van de Donk, Lieke Martens, Dominique Janssen, Mason Mount, Virgil van Dijk... in no particular order

when she told leah she doesn't go near footballers, she was L Y I N G

thanks for reading x