STARGIRL, alexia putellas

2. isabela, the emotional wreck

'So what can I get you?' says an Australian waiter, and I look up dazedly. I've arrived at the airport with an hour to go, and have headed straight for the bar. I know, you're probably thinking, what kind of footballer does that? You'd be surprised, sweetheart. 

Erm...' My mind is blank. 'Er... white wine. No, actually, vodka and tonic. Thanks.'

As he moves away, I slump down again in my stool. An air hostess with a French plait comes and sits down, two bar stools away. She smiles at me, and I smile weakly in return.

Without Alanis and Mila driving me and my 2 large suitcases to Heathrow and my hand luggage, I definitely would've been late. I've cried a total of four times today, the first time was when I woke up at five a.m sobbing because I had actually deeped the fact that I was moving away from the life I'd worked so hard to create for the past five years. Then an hour later, I woke up again to a strange instinct only women will know - I got my period. Remarkable timing, I know. Although it wasn't so much my period, it was more the fact that I would be flying... on my period.

Then as I was getting ready and packing up the last bits and bobs I got too stressed with the fact that I was overtired and hadn't had enough sleep to be going through this major transfer procedure. Having said that, Alanis reminded me that I could sleep on the plane and that soon made me shut up. And the fourth time was a rather hysterical cry about how I wouldn't see my two best friends in lord knows how long. I don't think I've ever been more emotional in my life.

Now, the crying tally was about to be marked at five, as once I had pictured Leah again in my hallway, the waterworks began to threaten my tear ducts. Why, for once in my life, could I have not been a pussy and just told her how I felt. It's not like I really had to see her again if she rejected me. I'd just continue my contract at Barca and never show my face in London or perhaps England, for that matter, ever again.

The barman places a vodka and tonic in front of me, and gives me a quizzical look. 'Cheer up!' he says. 'It can't be that bad!' 'Thanks,' I mumble, and take a sip. That feels a bit better. I'm just taking a second sip when my mobile starts to ring.

My stomach gives a nervous flip. If it's anyone from Arsenal or my landlord I'll just pretend I didn't hear. Especially the latter, once I'm in Barcelona it's officially not my problem anymore.

But it's not, it's Lucy's contact flashing on the screen.

"Heyy." I wipe away my tears quickly and attempt to sound as positive as possible.

"Hola, chica. ¿Estás listo para volver a casa?" Are you ready to come home?

Home. Home to my tiny villa, the neighbourhood cat, Sasha, and my way-too-brutally-honest-for-her-own-good older sister, Leticia.

"Muy bien." I compliment her surprisingly less shit than I expected Spanish. No offence, but Lucy doesn't really seem like the kind of girl to be into linguistics. Apparently, she is.

"Where are you staying? Ingrid told me you weren't gonna be living in the provided apartment they usually loan out."

I check the time, only around forty-five minutes till I need to board my flight. I should probably call Leticia. "Uh, with my sister in her villa- well, it was technically my villa but I gave it to her when she came back from working in Seville and I moved to London so..." I shortly realised how unnecessary that was to explain. Why didn't I just say 'with my sister'? Stupid nervous waffling instincts...

"Oh okay that's good then, I was just gonna say that if you needed a place to stay you could always crash at me and Keira's."

Wow. For the first time today, I feel a lift in spirits.

I was surprised at Lucy's generosity. Maybe it was a teammate thing? We had only met through Leah and the occasional event that all the WSL women are supposed to go to. Throughout all of it we always got on well but we'd never actually hung out one to one socially, so I guess it's normal to be pretty shocked at her letting me stay.

"Oh, that's really sweet, Lucy. Honestly, it's fine, thank you, though." I smile through the phone, emphasising my gratitude through as much tone as I could muster at eight in the morning.

"No worries honestly." Lucy says kindly. "Well, if it ever gets too much staying with your sister just let me know and we'd be happy to have you."

I feel touched and a lingering feeling tells me that at some point I'll have to take her up on that offer. But for now, I relish in the feeling that I have at least more than just two friends in the city. Maybe I have more I don't know about.

I wish I could say I still have my childhood friends from Palma who all planned to move to Barcelona, but we all lost contact when I moved and most of them turned out to just be really bitchy anyway so somewhat I'm glad to be rid of them; better no friends than horrible ones. Plus, they were the kind of girls that made you feel guilty for not being married off by seventeen and having three sons by twenty. I shiver at the very notion.

Boarding the plane was done surprisingly with ease; luckily Barça paid for my business class seat on the plane, so at least I could sob while watching 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' in peace. How thoughtful of them.

I called Leticia before I boarded, her lack of 'inside voice' making me turn down my headphones volume to about a two - as always. She explained that she was at work until five-thirty so she left the spare key under the mosaic flower pot and we could grab dinner and drinks in the evening. The concept of getting 'drinks' with my sister doesn't quite compute in my brain, she's always been so uptight and when we all lived together with our parents we would just argue all the time. Now we're officially 'adulting' it just feels...weird.

After successfully finding my seat and getting settled, it would only be a few minutes until the plane would graze its last touch on English soil (or at least until it returned to Heathrow). Drizzles of rain patter softly on the window and I decide to have my melancholic moment. Clutching the champagne flute I sort of took from the far too eager air hostess, I reflect on how strange it feels to be moving back to the place I wanted so badly to get away from. Yes, I did miss it awfully for the first year or so in London but once I got over that I swore I would never go back. Now look at me. Tears prickle my eyes, emotional wreck alert - again.