Stay Away

realisation

My alarm goes off at 6.30 in the morning, just as it always does.

Leah rolls over, groaning loudly, begging me to stop it while she presses her face into a pillow to drown the sound out. Waking up fully-clothed is worse than being naked, because there is no alcohol or adrenaline to blame for her being in my bed. And, while that has been the best night's sleep I've had since July, I'm going to have to get up now anyway.

"Again?" Leah huffs as my phone makes more noise. It's an important call that I have to take. "It's so early."

I kiss her forehead to shut her up because it is unprofessional to discuss a documentary that people want to make about me while I am lying in bed with a woman who served as a human teddy bear when I clearly wasn't thinking straight. "I've got to answer. Do you want me to get out of bed?" There is no reason for her to be awake yet, and I feel bad for cutting her sleep short.

She crawls on top of me. "No, stay in this exact position. I'm going back to sleep."

It's the morning here, it's the afternoon in Amsterdam, and the night in Melbourne, hence why such a time was agreed upon – equally awkward for all participants. My agent, Charley Preston, informs me of the Zoom details while I quickly download the app. She also tells me that my cars are intact back home, so to stop worrying about their well-being.

Once logged onto the meeting, I turn off my camera. Otherwise, all they would see is a snoozing English captain's messy blonde hair tickling my face.

After I won the Roland-Garros, Charley was approached by many production companies with offers to make biopics about me. As far as Dutch tennis players go, I'm currently the best. No one else has been ranked first in the world during the open era.

They like my story, and the general public like me. Fleur and I are regarded as a very successful pair of sisters.

I originally disagreed with the prospect of cameras following me around for a year, but Charley has convinced me that it will serve to inspire people. Right now, we are talking about the basic ideas surrounding the mini-series they want to make; what aspects of my life they want to explore, what part of next year's tour we should start filming from, and things like that. It's looking like we will start in January at the moment.

A big factor is what primary language to have the documentary in, considering they want to explore both parts of my heritage. One of the producers also asks about Fleur, and how big of a role she would have. She's our country's footballing pride and joy, along with Vivianne Miedema, and her coming second in the Ballon d'Or has only made her more of an inspiration. She'd hate knowing that, because she didn't win it, but she got close enough for it to be an achievement in the eyes of others, nevertheless.

The call finishes just as Leah stirs, having taken three hours of my life that I will never get back.

"That was the least soothing thing to fall asleep to," Leah deadpans as I message Fleur to see whether she and Scarlett have made up yet. The croak in her voice makes me smile. "Dutch isn't a romance language."

"Sorry that I'm not Spanish," I reply, basking in the sunlight pouring through the windows of the room. "Goedemorgen. Would you like some breakfast?"

Her smirk is so very immature. "Depends what you mean by breakfast." Still on top of me, she sits up, bunching the covers around her waist as she straddles me. I let my phone drop to the floor.

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