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Maeve takes another quick sip from her water bottle. She’s hoping no one can tell she’s feeling sick.

It’s not that she’s sad about Coach Fernandez leaving, she tries to convince herself.

No, she has a professional respect for him, as is only appropriate for someone who has led her team, and bestowed her the honour of club captain.

But it would be weak of her to be sad . Captains can’t wallow.

What is important is what the change in management will mean for the prospects of the team going forwards.

Of course, Adriana won’t be thinking about all this, she’s probably just worried about how Pappi’s going to spend his retirement with his kids, or thinking about whatever – or whoever – she was getting up to last night.

But Adriana’s always found meeting new people to be easy, and she had Coach Fernandez wrapped around her little finger – who else would have accepted her frequent lateness and hangovers?

Maeve has always found it harder to get people on side.

The only thing she can rely on is her skill, and right now, she’s feeling like the biggest imposter to ever infiltrate a professional women’s team.

The truth is that Maeve’s scared. She has been ever since she joined the Tigresses.

She’s scared shitless of messing up, of being shown to be a failure, and being found out.

But she can’t let that on. The captain should be a fearless, brave leader, setting an example for the rest of the team.

Fortunately, Maeve is well-practiced at pretending to be fine so nobody knows what’s really going on.

She pulls her shoulders back.

‘Come on team,’ she says. Her voice is low and barely raised, but everyone shushes immediately anyway, even Milo. ‘Only one chance to make a good first impression.’

God, she sounds like her mother. But there’s no time to think about that now.

The door from the meeting rooms opens, and three people emerge from the corridor and stride onto the pitch before them.

It reminds Maeve of watching football games with her dad, when she was little.

The thrill of watching the players jog into the stadium through the tunnel, the anticipation of kick-off building.

And like how usually they would be flanked by mascots, Kevin is there, like the player escort between the two of them.

Try-hard Kevin just highlights how the two people on his either side ooze confidence and authority.

There’s Coach Fernandez, usually the most quietly confident man in any room, looking a little dimmed today.

It’s understandable, Maeve reminds herself.

She wonders how recently Coach found out about his forced retirement if the club wanted to bring a new manager in.

He’s been hiding it well up to now, but now his head is dipped, and Meave notices for the first time that he’s got a small patch of balding on the top of his head, like a too-sharply mown patch of grass in the centre of the field.

Her heart pines with affection for him. In reaction, she impulsively punches her chest a little, as if she’d just had heartburn.

She won’t let herself pity her coach. She won’t have that disrespect for him by looking down on him after what he’s achieved.

And the truth is, it’s hard to pay attention to her coach – or she supposes she should think of him as ex-coach now – next to the woman standing beside him.

Maeve recognises her, of course. She sees it as an important duty as a player to have a fastidious knowledge of all the important figures in the game, from managers and assistant managers to even those politicians gifted the most corporate hospitality from the club.

Besides, Women’s Football isn’t that huge a network – if you’ve played as much as Maeve has over the years, who has been a consistently called-up player in all of the teams she’s played in for the near-fifteen years she’s been playing football.

But even if Maeve hadn’t done her homework, she would recognise their new coach.

Everyone here does, hence why everyone around her is standing open-mouthed and more alertly than usual.

Because their new coach is Serena Hoffman.

Serena Hoffman was one of the rising stars of her generation of women’s footballers, before a nasty ACL injury during the Euros final ended her playing career when she was only just beginning to hit her peak.

But she then directed her ambition and drive into being a coach – as far as Maeve was aware, she most recently had been at the Loughborough Vixens, where she got them promoted.

It’s not merely that Serena is tall – she’s perhaps around Maeve’s own five foot nine – but she carries herself with the confidence of a giant.

Maeve would guess she’s in her late thirties, though the only signs of any aging at all are the lines on her tanned face.

Her ash-brown hair has a handful of elegant streaks of grey, and is tied back into as tight a high bun to rival Maeve’s own sleek hair.

But the first thing that you notice about her is her eyes.

Behind simple rimless glasses, they’re sharp, piercing, and silver-grey.

They remind Maeve of a sword glinting in the light.

As if feeling Maeve’s gaze, the new coach turns to her. Her stare is as unwavering as a sword too, and Maeve stands immediately to more rigid attention. She feels like a soldier meeting her new commander.

‘Good morning players,’ she says immediately holding their attention.

‘Thank you for joining me. Now, I’m aware that this news has come unexpectedly to you all.

But there simply isn’t much time for us to waste on introductions or hand-overs.

This has come at a vital time for the future of your team.

Of our team. Soon, under my leadership, you will truly be earning your name of the Tigresses. ’

But maybe it won’t really be all that much change, Maeve hopes.

Maybe Coach Hoffman has the same priorities as Coach Fernandez, and will just continue to keep the players on the same routines that the team – and especially Maeve – have become accustomed to these past months to keep that steady trajectory to build.

‘So the centre of my vision for the team moving forwards is… change.’

So much for that thought then. The knot in Maeve’s stomach tightens painfully.

‘I have of course been studying all your records in advance of meeting you,’ Serena continues, pacing now up and down the line of players, with confident strides.

‘It will be interesting to see how you compare in real life to the stats I know of you. I already have many ideas of which of you will need the most moulding. Let’s see if any of you prove me wrong… ’

She stops in front of Maeve.

‘First things first. Let me meet the player who embodies all that’s good about what you do. Captain, step forwards.’

Maeve steps forwards with her hand outstretched.

‘That’s me, Coach. I’m Maeve. Maeve Murphy. Centre-back. It’s an honour to meet you.’

Maeve can’t help the ring of pride of stepping forward as club captain.

It’s always been there, since her being bestowed the honour by Coach Fernandez at the beginning of last season, lighting her up from the inside like a coal in a hearth.

It’s one of her happiest memories. Adriana had organised surprise drinks at their local pub to celebrate and Maeve had allowed herself a rare glass of Champagne at achieving a step she’d always dreamed of, savouring with her eyes closed the way the golden bubbles had popped on her tongue.

‘Not so fast,’ Serena holds her hand up.

‘I understand that you were the captain under Coach Fernandez. But as much as I respect his judgement–’ she nods her head towards him in a sign of deference that Maeve can’t tell if it’s sincere – ‘we need a shake up. It’s important we have a fresh start of the new era, so I’ve not yet decided who will be club captain under me. ’

Maeve feels the imaginary bubbles on her tongue evaporate. Can everything she’s worked so hard for since she joined the team just be snatched away from her that instantly, cruelly, without warning?

Adriana’s expressive eyebrows are downturned across the pitch to her.

Adriana has always been like an emotional crutch for Maeve, feeling the things that she doesn’t let herself.

Ironically, seeing Adriana look so devastated, Maeve feels it all the more harshly.

She can feel the heat in her neck start to prickle.

Fortunately her cheeks don’t flush in quite the same way, and she hopes that the jacket zipped all the way up to her collar will hide her shame from the others.

‘You will remain club captain for now, on a temporary basis’ Hoffman explains.

‘It may well be that if you impress me, you get the job permanently. But this is also a note to the rest of you players. No slacking. Everything is up for grabs. You have a clean slate to impress me. If you’ve always wanted to be captain, here’s your chance. ’

Coach Hoffman shrugs her hands expressively, and Maeve feels something shift in the atmosphere of the players around her.

Under Coach Fernandez, she had felt she was respected as captain, not resented or envied because of it.

But now, every one of these players who just minutes ago were her teammates and, she would hope was true, her friends – her only friends…

now, they are all rivals. Rather than encouraging the team to work together in a time of turbulent change, it feels like Coach Hoffman is deliberately pitting the team against each other.

Some old familiar tension in the heart of Maeve’s chest stiffens into a rigid burden.

She knows what she must do. She must prove herself.

She must be harder on herself than ever to maintain the highest standards.

She can hear her mum’s voice clearly in her mind.

She must be perfect. She must not let even a crack through her defenses, on the pitch or off it.

Maeve forces herself to meet those strict grey eyes and finds some fight within her.

‘Yes Coach. I won’t let you down.’