Stay Away

the twenty-first

It's like nothing ever happened.

I go back inside and continue Sinterklaasavond, and Leah texts me goodnight like she used to do. Unable to sleep, I reply with something that could result in a conversation. She picks up on it and we message back and forth until it is the early morning.

I know that it is definitely not a long-term fix, but her being so quick to agree tells me that she was missing me too.

Leah's final match before the football season breaks is in Zürich, a Champions League group-stage fixture. I am at Lize's house, wanting to watch the match without Papa being suspicious. My cousin assumes I'm there to visit Noa, and that her daughter ropes me into watching Arsenal play.

Arsenal have had their feathers ruffled by the injuries of Beth Mead and Vivianne Miedema, with both of them rupturing their ACLs. Leah's in the midfield, which she isn't the most pleased with, but Arsenal score four goals in the first half so the change must have been effective. She texts me from the locker room, saying that she hopes I'm celebrating every time they score. I send her the video I took of Noa losing it over Frida Maanum's free kick.

They win their game 9-1. It's a shocking result and proof that they will manage without their two star forwards. Leah's satisfaction with the result leads to her calling me as I nip out to pick up some wine before Fleur's match starts.

This call is very different to the last, consisting mainly of her giving me a second-by-second, in-depth recount of the match from her unnecessarily analytical brain. As much as I love to watch football, hearing how she correctly dug her boot into the ground to maximise the power of her run is not very interesting.

She asks if I'm watching Fleur play at Camp Nou. Of course I am – Papa's coming to Lize's for this one.

Yesterday, Fleur thought I had gone back to Australia. Our annual ski trip in Austria has been cancelled because all of our cousins are going to their in-laws' houses over Christmas instead. She assumed I'd be back in Melbourne by now, seeing as the tennis season isn't very far away and I want to win the Australian Open to set the tone for the rest of the Grand Slams.

I haven't told her that I am still at home. She would ask why, and the only reason is because the time difference between Leah and I is better here. We can even tell each other to get on a plane and visit, though those words never come to fruition.

Fleur said she and Scarlett had argued last night, but it was only in passing as she complained about not being able to sleep. When she walks out for the warm-up, she looks scary. Determined. This is the Fleur de Voss that lengthens her highlight reel.

The game is tight from the beginning.

Scarlett and Fleur's usual connection is missing, but Chelsea seem to cope, giving the Barcelona defence a run for their money when Sam Kerr is given a beautifully weighted pass on the counter-attack. She dribbles forward, avoiding Barcelona's 2, before off-loading the ball to Scarlett. She pulls it back, gearing up to shoot, but is tackled at the last second by Barcelona's 4.

The Barcelona side proceeds to keep possession for five minutes, increasing the possibility of a nil-nil first half, but a tackle by Fleur on Keira Walsh just over halfway down the pitch puts Chelsea in the perfect position for Fleur to send the ball to the right wing, and have Scarlett sprint down towards the goal. It's a common play for them, seeing as there is almost nobody faster than Scarlett Powell.

She dribbles past the Barcelona goalkeeper, tapping the ball into the net with a complacent smirk. Chelsea's celebrations are cut short with Barcelona's unwillingness to go into half-time losing; they score from a well-placed corner kick and a header only seconds before the whistle blows.