Hold Me Close

the start

January 2023. 

Boxes sit on top of one another in my flat, forming new walls and rooms. Some of these will go back to Scarlett's family in Birmingham, where they will sort through her things and mourn the loss of her in a way that makes sense for those who loved her to do. The boxes that her parents told me, as her girlfriend, to keep are the ones full of her clothes, her things from her adulthood. Sam and Erin are taking me to the airport. We're dropping them off at a storage facility along the way.

They come inside to help me bring them downstairs, saying nothing apart from a confirmation that the boxes going to Birmingham will be at Sam's place until Scarlett's parents drive down to collect them. We go back and forth a few times until the place is emptied. I sold the furniture I'm not taking with me a week ago, and the rest is on its way already. All that remains of this once loved, once shared, and once lived in flat, are the scuff marks on the floor from when we first moved in. If they want to know whether I'm okay, they don't ask.

The car journey to the storage place is quiet. It's been three weeks since she died, but everyone is still in shock. Fair enough. The players on the pitch and the crowd at Camp Nou and the viewers safe at home pretty much saw her die. (I watched her die, but we can unpack that later.)

That night, I got to the hospital before the game had ended. The doctor called time of death at the 75th minute of the match. I notified Emma Hayes just after the 76th. The team found out as soon as the match had ended, forgoing shaking hands with the Barcelona players in order to huddle while Emma broke the news to them. Magda, unfortunately, was being interviewed, so she only caught sight of her manager's face. The clip of her rushing over to her teammates was everywhere the next day.

Sam tries to act normally in front of me, but every time she closes her eyes, she sees Scarlett's body sprawled out on the pitch. Erin tightens her grip on the steering wheel whenever she hears the boxes in the boot thud against the rear window of her car.

"What's even in these boxes?" I have been waiting for one of them to ask. I didn't label them. What are you supposed to do with your dead ex-girlfriend's things?

"Just stuff I can't get rid of," I say easily. I practised that lie in the mirror this morning. "I'm trying to declutter." The conversation ends there. Erin turns on the radio, avoiding anything with the news on just in case they bring her up.

We repeat the to-ing and fro-ing once more at the storage centre. The boxes stack neatly around the room, forming skyscrapers of stuff I will never look at again. Erin and Sam sigh once we are finished, Sam rubbing her hands together as though she has done some hard labour. I roll my eyes at the glimpse of humour, shutting the metal door with a crash, and locking it with a sense of finality.

Goodbye, old life.

Erin wraps an arm around my shoulders, a difficult task seeing as I am fourteen centimetres taller than her. I crouch unnecessarily low, eliciting a laugh from Sam and a grumble from Erin. "Okay," I tell them both, "that's done. Airport time."

"Your flight leaves at half five, right?" Sam asks distantly. I'm sure they understand my need to get away from this situation. If not now, then they will eventually. Once they find out everything. "Do you not want to get something to eat quickly?" She's going to miss me, I can tell. This may be the time when she needs her best friend, but the transfer has been finalised and I don't want to be in London anymore. I don't want to be at Chelsea anymore.

"I'll eat at the airport," comes my short declination. She shrugs and gets into the car, as do I. Erin starts driving and all of us mentally distance ourselves as far as possible. No one talks for this leg of the car journey either.