Hold Me Close

in the name of convenience

Whistles dictate my life. They used to rule my childhood. A coach would blow their whistle, shout 'again', and I would know just how little schoolwork I would be doing after training. Papa would whistle along to the songs that played in the car, those high-pitched tunes getting stuck in my head as I ran laps or practised free kicks. At one point, I think my alarm even whistled. It was football-related.

The whistle that blows now feels like the beginning of something new. Watching the blue shirts pass between each other and not pass to me is strange, as if I am not really there. I suppose moving clubs is like that.

Caro's goal in the third minute is brilliant. As the team run in for a celebration, I notice the disappointment in my ex-teammates' faces. It swirls at the already troubling feeling in my stomach.

No more goals are scored, and Chelsea face a defeat in their own stadium. We are one step closer to winning the Champions League.

Their team huddle is broken when Sam and Erin ambush me as I talk to one of the coaching staff about a free kick I should have taken but was taken by Alexia instead. They drag me back to the Chelsea huddle, inserting me into the circle as if I had never left. Emma doesn't seem to mind.

"You just had to beat us!" Magda shouts, standing opposite me. I get pushed into the middle, and, for a moment, prepare to be attacked. That is until they crush me in a hug, cheering.

"We missed you, Toots," Sam says loudly in my ear. It must look weird to everyone else; a Barcelona player in the midst of a Chelsea group-hug just after beating them, but none of us care. Family is family. "We are going to destroy you in the second leg."

"Yeah, sure," I reply, laughing. I push her off me and go through the team, talking to every single one of them.

After some decent catch-ups with the ones I wasn't as close to, and enduring a few rants from Erin and Sam about keeping in contact and visiting and how they thought I'd torn my ACL like half of Arsenal when I disappeared from training and playing and national camps, I am set to do a lap of the pitch to talk to the fans who are still here. These are the ones that make (made) edits of Scarlett and I, or fly to Barcelona every so often to see me play. It's surprising how dedicated they can be. I love them.

Before I can get to the edge of the pitch, I am stopped by Magda. I spot Jaimie, who waves goodbye, knowing that I will be fine in the hands of my old captain and that she can return to her injured girlfriend. She'll text me later, commending me for not having a breakdown at the end of the match. I think that she is going to stay with Leah for a few more days before flying back to Barcelona in time for the second leg of the semi-final.

Magda and Pernille are leaving Chelsea at the end of the season, and I know that they will feel guilty about signing somewhere else when the team has lost both me and Scarlett. She either wants my advice or she is going to ask about how I'm doing. I hope for the first one.

"Sit." It was never going to be the first one. She pats the grass beside her, and I oblige to appease her. Most of the Barcelona girls have gone to the changing room, but they take a bit of time to sort themselves out if Patri has turned her speaker on. We fly back this evening. "What happened? You weren't playing for a bit. You've been benched for a few games, too. Is it the manager?"

The manager at Lyon was one of the reasons I left. It was because of him that I spent my second season on the bench, because he didn't like me as a person regardless of who I was as a player. It was very unprofessional, but my complaints were associated with him and I not seeing eye-to-eye on something totally inane, and so they were mostly ignored.

"No, I like the manager. I like Barcelona," I say quickly, not wanting the look on her face to translate into real-life actions. She is ready to beat someone up (or write a super long email to some CEO).