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She and Kira had previously organised meeting for one-on-one training on Monday, but Maeve isn’t sure whether Kira’s text to her over the weekend – ‘I don’t want to see you alone anymore’ – includes the one-on-one trainings?

It isn’t in Maeve’s nature to go against Coach’s orders, but she feels so ill at the thought of seeing Kira, and while being watched by Kevin too, that for the first time in her life she feigns sickness.

It doesn’t even feel that much like she’s feigning.

To make up, Maeve instead spends her ‘day off’ on Monday training alone in her room, crunching sit-ups and push-ups until her muscles spasm.

Walking into the dressing room on Tuesday, it’s like she’s being punished for lying, because she comes face to face with the last person she feels like seeing right now: Kira.

The two of them stand facing each other silently.

Maeve feels like they’re the only people in the world.

Maeve doesn’t think of herself as someone who believes in auras or anything like that, but she has this sense of Kira surrounded by red waves of loathing.

Even as she looks so disgusted with her, she’s still the most beautiful woman Maeve’s ever seen.

‘Recovered from your ‘illness’ have you, Murphy?’ says Kira.

Maeve flushes. Maeve tries to match her energy, but it barely lasts a second before she fails and she has to look away.

She feels ashamed and upset, terrified she might start crying.

Did Kira always hate Maeve, even when she was hooking up with her?

Was it always part of a plan to distract Maeve and then end things when Kira had got what she wanted?

Maeve feels like she’s doubting everything.

Kira turns without saying anything to Maeve, picks up her stuff.

‘I’m going to change somewhere else,’ Kira tells the others. ‘See you guys on the pitch.’

Maeve feels the humiliation of past experiences course through her body. Girls refusing to change with her, calling her a dirty lesbian, as if she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off them.

Maeve glances at Nat, Milo and Liv, who have been in the locker room the whole time and watched this exchange.

‘Hey,’ Maeve mutters, embarrassed.

‘Hey,’ they reply, looking awkwardly from her to the door slamming closed behind Kira.

‘Bet you had a bad hangover after Joust,’ says Milo, after a moment.

‘Yeah, it was… a bit of a struggle!’ Maeve, tries to joke but it feels feeble. No one laughs, and no one continues the conversation. Maeve feels her stomach clench. She wishes she had the skill for this, like Adriana.

She used to be better, didn’t she? Before Kira came along and knocked her confidence like this.

On the plus side, in training, Maeve’s shame and humiliation seems to be good for her performance. She feels like a race horse with blinkers on, using it to fuel her focus. Coach doesn’t praise her, but she can’t find fault either.

However, there is someone playing noticeably badly today.

‘Kira! Again! That was an open goal!’ Coach is exasperated. ‘Focus! What the hell is happening with you today? Did you catch an illness from Maeve?’

Kira doesn’t reply with her usual brashness. She doesn’t even lash out. Just winces.

‘Kira, if you play like this I’ll have no choice but to sub you out for this week’s game.’ Hoffman sighs. ‘Alright. Nat, get up here please. Let’s try that set piece with you taking Kira’s place.’

That brings some energy into Kira, a cynical eyebrow raised towards where the other strikers are stood.

It’s very abrupt, Maeve can understand that, and she too can’t help feeling that Coach is being unusually harsh on her – but that’s the other side of being Coach’s protegee, she supposes.

She’ll always expect you to be the best, and be brutal if you drop from that standard, even for a moment.

Kira doesn’t acknowledge Nat as she jogs past her, which seems rude as they normally fist bump or high five to keep up the team spirit and energy in training.

Maeve feels as if her mother is stood behind her own shoulder, whispering to her to seize the moment. Maeve tries to do so. She points out Kira’s faux pas out to the defenders near her, stage-whispering her commentary quickly.

‘Ouch,’ she says to Milo and Nat. ‘It’s not Nat’s fault! That’s not great leadership, is it? Kira’s not exactly a team player, is she?’

The others nod, if a little warily. Then Coach blows her whistle for them to continue working on this set piece for the weekend’s game.

Maeve should see this as a win, shouldn’t she? Even if it was a bit of an own goal from Kira. That’s two modes of Maeve’s attack plan against Kira successfully carried out with Coach also seeming to be unimpressed. So why does she feel so hideous?

Watching Kira sat on the bench, her head down, her hair carelessly mussed to the side, and expression subdued, Maeve’s chest aches. She remembers their first meetings, when she and Kira had wrestled on the pitch and Maeve had ended up being sent off – how Kira had encouraged her afterwards.

As if she can somehow sense Maeve’s eyes on her, Kira then looks up, and their eyes meet. Kira doesn’t even look angry with her anymore. Just very, very sad.

Maeve swallows painfully, feeling so lost and confused.

Maeve really had thought she was just playing a game Kira had started – that Kira’s ruthlessness on the field was something she should be trying to channel off the pitch in their rivalry – but now she can see that it isn’t a game at all.

She’s really hurt her. And in this situation, both of them have been so obsessed with winning that they’ve lost.

The rest of the training session passes in a blur. Nat doesn’t score from any of the set pieces and during the drills, it’s much easier to stop Nat from scoring after being used to going up against Kira’s more aggressive style of play.

Coach calls Kira and the rest of the extended team back over, talking through the recap of their session, concentrating particularly on the attackers, and complimenting Adriana’s performance as a support midfielder, being a continuous playmaker.

Maeve watches her old friend’s face as she receives the praise, as ever unable to just take a compliment, handing the praise to her other midfielders.

Maeve is really looking forward to catching up over dinner realising how much she’s missed her when she hears Coach Hoffman calling her name.

‘Murphy?’ Coach tries again. ‘Are you listening? Could you stay behind for a moment please?’

Maeve’s stomach flips, but of course she nods and lingers behind. Could this be it? Could Coach be about to tell her she’s Captain? Her heart pounds with confused hope at how quickly this might be happening.

Kira goes past, head held high, and doesn’t even look at Maeve. Maybe she knows? Maybe that’s the real reason she was being off today? Maeve had thought it was about them, but maybe this is confirmation Kira didn’t care about her like that.

Then Maeve is alone with Coach Hoffman, until she turns and gestures towards the stands, calling over… Jacob Astor.

Maeve’s heart pounds harder. If it’s the two of them, surely this is a conversation inviting her to be Captain? She tries to hold back a smile, starts practicing how she’ll gratefully receive the invitation.

And yet, as Jacob strides over, Maeve just keeps seeing the ghost of him holding hands with Adriana in the park, him leaning down to tenderly kiss Adriana’s forehead.

Maeve tries not to meet Jacob’s eye, as if he’ll somehow be able to tell she knows his secret, feeling incredibly awkward around him.

It’s hard to look at him without trying to see what Adriana sees – even if she isn’t attracted to him herself, she can tell that Jacob is a handsome man, in a classic sort of way, with chiselled cheekbones, a strong angular jawline, and stern forehead, like a Greek statue in a museum.

Adriana might end up with the bold extroverted type more often from the way she tends to meet them, on dancefloors, at parties or bars, but she’s often felt her friend would be better with someone the more quietly geeky type, like Adriana’s favourite characters in the romcoms they used to watch. Maybe that’s what this man is for her.

She only wishes that Adriana could have found that in someone who wasn’t a colleague so it wasn’t going to be such a complicated situation. Then Maeve remembers her own fling with Kira, and reminds herself she’s really not one to judge.

Coach Hoffman and Jacob nod at each other, and Maeve knows that they’ve discussed this beforehand.

‘Murphy,’ Coach begins. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t going to be a fun conversation.’

Maeve is so stunned that she feels numb.

Coach Hoffman and Jacob are equally stern as they contemplate Maeve.

‘Tell me. What does a captain do, Murphy?’ Coach asks her.

Maeve swallows, her throat dry. She’s still frozen.

‘Well?’

Maeve coughs, feeling like she’s being tested and desperately tries to remember the exact words Jacob had used.

‘They set an example?’ she ventures.

‘Exactly,’ says Hoffman. ‘They set an example, not just of the standard of play, but also the standard of behaviour. They represent the team . I don’t know what kind of captain you were under Coach Fernandez, and I don’t really care.

All I know is that under me, you have not been doing that.

I may not be in the dressing rooms or “nightclubs” with you all, but I have eyes, Murphy. ’

Maeve feels the blood drain from her face, wondering if Coach Hoffman is about to say that she has sensed the chaotic sexual rollercoasters going on between Maeve and Kira.

‘Your evident animosity towards Kira Choksi is unprofessional, and distracting for the team.’

Maeve’s heart is hammering. She doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that Coach seems not to have any idea of any romantic complications between them – she has hidden her true feelings better than she thought but to hear it’s distracting for the team comes as a curveball.

‘People feel they have to pick sides between you. They don’t want to. It distracts your fellow teammates from the game.’

Coach Hoffman removes her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.

‘I understand that you may be “upset” with the decision made for Kira to be Captain at the fixture last week. However, your reaction to that is, in itself, an indication to me that you are not a good fit for the role of the captain. I should not have to justify myself to my players because you should respect my leadership and vision for the team.’

Maeve swallows, the tips of her ears red.

‘Murphy, you’re a talented footballer. I can see that you’re pushing yourself to play well. But playing well takes place off the pitch too. I hold my players to the highest of standards, and you’re falling short of what I would expect from someone who is trying for the captain position.’

For this whole time, Jacob Astor just stands there, his expression, seemingly, unmoved. It feels particularly humiliating to be accused of being unprofessional when he is right there, secretly dating a player in his own team.

‘I expect you to change your attitude and be there at all future scheduled additional training with Kira,’ says Hoffman. ‘I hope I do not have to talk about this with you or with her again. Off you go now.’

Maeve walks away like she’s forgotten how to, surprised her legs can keep holding her without her instruction. It’s like having a dead leg, but all over, she can’t feel any of her limbs, can’t feel anything.