Chapter Text
London | September 2024
The school gates were a blur of scooters and buggies. Lucy had parked too far down the road and now had Mara’s backpack swinging off one shoulder, the too-small strap digging into her arm. Mara, unusually quiet, walked beside her with small, dragging steps.
They were late.
Not catastrophically so-- it was only 8:44-- but the flow of children was already thinning. Mara slowed even more, pausing to adjust one cuff of her cardigan, then the other, then back again.
Lucy looked at her watch again and held back a sigh as she crouched down, trying to think of a way to get them moving again, "Hey. We’re nearly there. Want to race to the gate?"
Mara shook her head.
Lucy softened her voice. "Still thinking about yesterday's show-and-tell mix-up?"
Mara gave the tiniest nod.
"It's alright. Miss Thorne knows you'll bring it in next week. Everyone forgets things sometimes."
A longer pause. Then, quietly: "Everyone was staring. And I know Mia and even Ella were laughing at me. I don’t want to go to school any more. No one likes me!"
Lucy exhaled. There was no way to convince Mara otherwise when she got like this. And today, she didn’t have time. "I hear you. I know this is hard. But you have to go to school." She reached for Mara's hand. "Would it help if I walk inside with you?"
Another pause. Then a nod.
They made it just as the bell rang. Miss Thorne greeted them at the classroom door with a kind smile and a knowing glance. Lucy handed over the backpack and bent to give Mara a hug before leaving.
She turned and walked briskly back to the car, trying not to think about how tightly Mara had clutched at her.
The weight of it all still surprised her sometimes... the grip of Mara's small hand, her toothbrush next to Lucy’s own, the way Mara's moods could rise and fall with the tiniest shift in routine. None of it had been part of the plan. But then, none of this had ever been. Not Jess’s diagnosis. Not those last weeks in hospital, watching her best friend die. Not the legal documents with Lucy’s name on them, signed just a few days before the end.
There hadn’t really been a decision to make. Lucy had known it was coming before Jess had officially asked, handing over a responsibility bigger than anything Lucy had ever faced. But it was one that Lucy knew she couldn’t refuse.
Of course she had said yes.
But saying yes had meant leaving Barcelona. Leaving her home with Ona. And rebuilding a life from scratch by herself, in London, with a seven-year-old child.
Traffic around Cobham was mercifully light, and Lucy made it to Chelsea’s training ground with three minutes to spare. She rubbed her hands over her face and grabbed the remains of Mara's breakfast bar from where it had been dropped on the seat. She headed inside quickly, binning the wrapper and tugging her hoodie sleeves straight as she moved toward the changing rooms.
Inside, the building was warm and full of the familiar rhythm of boots on tile, trainers shouting instructions, the low hum of conversation. Lucy slipped into the locker room and exchanged nods with a few teammates.
"Morning, Bronze." Millie Bright looked up from lacing her boots. "You alright? You look knackered."
Lucy gave a small laugh, running a hand through her hair. "Cheers. Not even half nine and it's already been one of those days. Started when I couldn't find Mara's lunchbox lid. Ended up repacking everything in a takeaway tub."
The session blurred by. Passing drills, small-sided games, transition work. Lucy felt herself moving with muscle memory-- reading space, intercepting balls, calling out instructions. Her mind floated somewhere outside of her, just far enough away that she kept having to pull it back. Her body moved through the drills on instinct, every movement sharp and precise despite her brain existing somewhere far from the pitch. The patterns were familiar-- receive, turn, release-- and wired deeply into her. She tracked back, pressed when needed, and made the overlapping runs, but she was moving on autopilot. Bompastor didn’t say anything, but Lucy caught a flicker of concern in her expression.
Afterwards, in the changing room, Lucy sat at her locker, towel around her shoulders, and checked her phone. There was one new message.
Ona: How was morning school drop-off? Did she remember the reading log?
Lucy stared at the message. She thought about replying with a joke or a simple "all good." But it wasn’t, really. And anyway, Ona always knew.
She typed, deleted, typed again. Finally:
Lucy: Almost forgot it and got out the door late. Bit of a panic. But we made it there.
She hesitated, then added:
Lucy: Miss you.
They’d been together nearly two years now. Before the tornado of the last three months had swept through, they had been solid and settled in Barcelona, with their routines fully entwined. Living together in their shared flat, they’d carved out a quiet, steady life amid the chaos of professional football and international travel. Their relationship was a foundation Lucy had counted on... and one she worried might be shaken beyond repair by everything that had come since.
The pick-up line outside school was a mess of double-parked cars. Lucy leaned against the fence, still feeling out of place among the sea of parents making conversation. She sipped from a takeaway coffee cup, phone in her pocket, as she spotted Mara in the crowd: shoulders tense, head low, cardigan swinging from her hand.
"Hey you," Lucy said as Mara arrived. "You survived the day!"
Mara gave a small shrug. Then, after a moment added, "I didn't like lunch." Her face twisted in disgust, "There was mustard on the sandwich."
Lucy paused, confused, "You don’t like mustard anymore?”
Mara gave Lucy a look. Then, despite having insisted on it every day last week, said, “I’ve always hated mustard.”
“OK.” Lucy replied slowly. “Do you want to help me make your lunch for tomorrow? Pick exactly what you want?"
Mara nodded.
"And we can check the reading log too?" Lucy asked.
"OK."
Mara held her hand out. Lucy took it.
They walked to the car in silence, Mara’s small hand warm in hers.
That night, after Mara was asleep, Lucy stood in the hallway outside her room and leaned against the wall. For a brief moment, the world felt paused, the balance delicate, held together by Lucy’s quiet vigil in the dimly lit hall.
She padded into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and finally opened her phone for the first time in hours.
Ona: I miss you too. Every day.
Ona: FaceTime tonight?
Lucy smiled and replied.
Lucy: Yes! But I have to clean up dinner first.
Lucy: Can I call after dishes?
She stared at the screen a moment longer, then set the phone down on the counter and turned to the sink. The water ran warm over her hands as she rinsed a plate, stacked it to dry, and wiped the worktop. Twenty minutes later, when she returned to her phone, a new notification was waiting.
Ona: Sí, por favor.
Lucy called for Narla to follow her out and stepped into the back garden space set off the kitchen. She tapped to call.
Ona’s face filled the screen, framed by the soft light of their old bedside lamp. Her hair was pulled back, hoodie slightly askew and eyes warm. She looked cozy. Everything in Lucy ached to be cuddled next to her. "Hola, amor," Ona said, voice low. "You look tired."
Lucy let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in her chest all day. "I am."
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
"Long day?" Ona asked gently.
“Yeah, I guess." Lucy shrugged. "It was a nightmare getting her out of the house this morning. She cried and wouldn’t wear the socks I picked. I forgot the bloody water bottle again. And apparently mustard is no longer allowed on sandwiches.”
Ona made a sympathetic noise and tilted her head slightly. "And training?"
"I showed up. Well, my body did, anyway."
Ona’s eyes softened. "I wish I was there."
Lucy swallowed. Her throat felt tight. "Yeah. Me too."
They were quiet a moment longer. It was hard to know what to say.
Lucy breathed deep and then focused on Ona. "Tell me something good?"
Ona blinked, then smiled a bit as she thought. “We did finishing drills today... you know, the quick one-touch ones from the edge of the box? Mine was perfect-- like a rocket right next to Cata’s head. I think I scared her!”
Lucy let out a soft laugh. “I'm impressed! Cata doesn’t frighten easily.”
“She flinched. For real! Then she yelled something I am not going to repeat and told me I was banned from shooting for the rest of training.”
Lucy’s smile widened a bit.
“Aitana was fuming too,” Ona added. “She missed hers just before, and when mine went in, she walked off pretending to stretch her calf for five entire minutes.”
There was a pause. It felt warmer this time, though. Ona continued, “It felt good. For a second I forgot everything else.”
"Wish I’d seen it."
"I wish you had too," Ona said.
Another pause. Then, from Ona, softer still: "T’estimo."
Lucy smiled, the ache in her chest loosening by a fraction. "Love you too. So much."
She still felt the fatigue, the guilt, the ache of missing what her life had been. But it was dulled, made bearable by the sound of Ona’s voice.
Half an hour later though, Lucy was still sat on the steps of the back garden, one hand wrapped around a mug that had long since gone cold, Narla beside her. The September air was damp with a London chill that sank past clothing and into bone. She should’ve gone to bed. Should’ve prepped overnight oats for the morning. Should’ve iced her knee again or done a session with the TENS unit. But she hadn’t gone back inside. Not yet.
Behind her, the kitchen light glowed through the window. Inside was the cleared dinner table, an empty lunchbox waiting on the counter. Lucy had been thinking about packing it before going to bed, taking one thing off the endless morning to-do list. But of course she’d promised Mara they’d do it together. And with Mara, it was always a toss-up: either she’d forget the conversation entirely, or she’d cling to it as if Lucy honoring that one small thing would be the key to getting through the day.
The child grief counsellor they’d been seeing had suggested that Lucy let Mara be in control of making decisions whenever possible. When her mum had died, Mara had had no control at all over the massive changes in her life. And so, according to the counsellor, getting to make even small decisions like what went in her lunchbox could make a big difference.
Lucy set the mug aside and ran her hands through her hair, taking out her bun on autopilot and rubbing at the base of her skull. The soft hum of the washing machine filtered faintly through the glass, a domestic sound that felt strangely distant now. In front of her, the garden was dark and quiet, the fence casting long, uneven shadows. She could smell the lingering trace of smoke from a neighbour’s fireplace.
She and Ona had built a life in Barcelona, full of routines that had taken root in Lucy’s heart, tiny things that added up to happiness. Ona’s keys on the hallway table. Lucy’s boots by the door. Their dogs’ toys mingled in the basket in the living room. Shared groceries, shared laughter, shared silences. All of it had felt so intertwined and so settled.
And then, it wasn’t.
Now Lucy’s life felt fragmented. Split across clubs, borders, time zones. Even her days felt divided. Lucy moved from football pitch to school pickup, from tactical film review to bedtime stories, and most nights it felt like she didn’t have anything left over for herself, let alone for the person she missed most in the world.
She tipped her head back and looked at the sky. No answers there. Just clouds and the faint buzz of a plane overhead, strangers moving on their way to somewhere new.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat like that, thinking and not thinking. The ache in her body was sharper tonight, but she barely registered it. What pressed on her more was the weight of having to get everything right on her own.
There were things she loved about this version of her life. She really did. The girls at Chelsea were wonderful, and Bompastor was an excellent coach. It was nice to be closer to her family, to get to see her parents when they came to help with Mara when she had to travel. She was lucky in so many ways.
But tonight, she felt disconnected from herself. Far from the version of her who used to fall asleep to the sound of the sea in Barcelona, topless and tangled up with Ona, surrounded by warmth. That life had felt full in a completely different way. Joyous. Solid.
She and Ona had made something real in Barcelona, something that mattered. But now that she was in London, balancing single parenthood and club football while the person she loved was an entire country away... it didn’t feel like balance at all. She was playing so many different roles: Mara’s guardian, Chelsea’s new teammate, England’s veteran, Ona’s partner. All of them her, but never all at once.
She exhaled slowly. Then she stood, turned, walked inside, and shut the door behind her.
Tomorrow, she’d wake up and do it all again. But tonight, she let herself feel the weight of it. Let herself miss what her life used to be.