Hold Me Close

history does not repeat itself

Camp Nou roars as we walk out, screaming for the club in a way that only Barça fans seem to be capable of. It's hard to get used to the atmosphere, but the task is a lot easier when you are playing for the club they are chanting for.

Thousands of voices combine into one as Cant del Barça booms out of the stadium's speakers, and the Chelsea players look positively intimated as we bask in their support, as we have learnt to do. I treat this like a normal match, pretending it holds no more meaning than playing a team in the grassroots league. That doesn't stop me from taking in the crowd; the sheer size of it is both terrifying and something to be proud of.

Keira places her hand on my back after we take the starting XI picture, wishing me luck. "You've got this," she says, back to our technical area. She doesn't see the worried glances I get from a few of the staff, but I catch them and throw them out of my mind so I don't get put off my game. Jonatan has instilled his confidence in me to cope. I will cope.

I look at Alexia, who offers me the same smile everyone else is wearing. "So have you," I reply, walking with her to the correct starting positions. "Let's win this."

Head down, passes precise, I keep up a good attack despite Erin trying to mark me out of the game. It means that I have to pull into the middle quite a bit to send the ball to Alexia's side, but I can run more than her and her tiredness will be useful later on. Caro's disallowed goal lights a relentless fire in us, but it isn't enough to score before halftime.

The Chelsea players lose their momentum as the clock nears the minutes that changed the course of their season. She went down in the fifty-fourth minute. We seem to be taking advantage of their hesitation.

Jonatan makes two changes in the sixtieth minute, and the intensity we are playing at only increases with the fresh legs now on the pitch. I blink and Caro has scored again – this time the goal is allowed – but it feels wrong to cheer. Instead, I give her a quick hug and nod at AKB. Her and Scarlett were close. They spent a lot of time practising shots together.

Four minutes later, Guro has scored an equaliser, but we are still one up on aggregate. Their celebrations are amplified by the fact that they are all playing for her.

Seconds tick by as we fight for possession and a spot in the final, and the crowd's volume does not falter. They sing and shout and chant Alexia's name if she has the ball. They are doing just that when Alexia deliberately sends the ball into the advertising boards. The crowd's silence makes me feel sick.

I remember how the stars flickered above us that night. How Scarlett lay there, motionless. Everything has changed.

Jessie retrieves the ball slowly, the tempo of play coming to complete halt. Emma stands at the edge of the technical area, looking up at the sky. Lauren and Pernille walk to the sideline to be subbed on.

The world has not stopped moving, but this new speed makes me feel as though someone has built four walls around me, caging me so that I cannot move beyond the spot on which I currently stand. Earlier, I had told Jonatan that it would be fine to play through. He is watching me closely, using the pause in play to assess the game as those who are not personally involved in Scarlett's death would obviously do. I swallow hard, and the minute is over. Erin sends me a look that pulls me back to reality, and I shake my head to get rid of the sluggishness of my movements.

Cautiously, the crowd builds the soundscape back up, finding an opportunity to return to their usual volume the minute I intercept a pass from Magda and sprint down the right wing in search of a goal. My feet tumble underneath me, as if my mind can't keep up. It feels as if I am flying and no one can stop me. It's dangerous for me to be in this position. Niamh's tackle is a necessary foul. And a deserved yellow card for two-footing me and sending me to the ground with a thud.