Page 31

CHAPTER 31

T he plane cut through grey December skies, leaving London and its ghosts behind. Ash pressed her forehead against the cool window, watching the city shrink until it disappeared beneath the clouds. Beside her, Marianne flipped through a magazine, periodically shooting concerned glances her way. Her agent had suggested this trip to get Ash out of her funk. Ash doubted a few mugs of mulled wine were going to cure anything.

Three hours later in Munich, the Christmas market sprawled before them in a sea of twinkling lights and wooden stalls. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts. It should have felt magical. Instead, Ash felt hollow, going through the motions. Last week, she’d been given courtside seats at a special USA vs Rest of the World basketball game in London. Not even seeing such peak athleticism up close had raised her spirits.

Her performances on the pitch for the past two months had passed muster, but no more. Some had described her as “mechanical” (that had stung), stripped of the joy that’d always defined her game. Her assists and goals hadn’t suffered too much, but her usual football zeal had, and substitutions were commonplace for her now. Speculation ran rampant in the women’s football community. Some blamed fatigue, others pointed to the mysterious fallout with Princess Victoria. Ash had perfected her response: “We were friends, working together for the common good of the game.” She’d repeated it so often she could say it in her sleep. However, the lie never got easier.

She and Marianne found a quiet corner in a cosy beer hall, away from the tourist crowds. Steaming plates of schnitzel arrived, along with tall glasses of wheat beer. Marianne waited until Ash had taken a few bites before launching her interrogation.

“What’s next on your horizon, Ash? You’ve got through the first half of the season with everything that’s happened. Through the latest England camp. But next year, it’s the World Cup, and I want a happy, smiling client. As does the country. Something has to give.”

Ash pushed potato salad around her plate. “What’s there to say? I’m scoring and providing assists, and Gill has assured me that barring injury, I’m going to the World Cup.”

“What about how you’re feeling?”

The shrug came automatically, a defence mechanism honed over weeks of deflection. But this was Marianne, who’d been there through all of Ash’s recent triumphs and low points.

“How I’m feeling doesn’t matter. Football comes first. There’s no room for anything else. Not this season.”

“It’s been two months, Ash. You’ve been miserable. You need to ask yourself: is Victoria something you want to pursue?”

Ash took a long drink of beer, letting the question settle. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible over the cheerful Christmas music. “It doesn’t matter.” She stabbed at her schnitzel. “I made the decision. I have to stay on track. Being with her was putting me off my game.”

“Not being with her is putting you off your game.”

Marianne’s words hit home.

“I want you to be happy. You’re not playing with any love. To get that back on the pitch, you need to sort your heart out off it.”

Outside, snow began to fall, dusting the market stalls in white. They finished their meal, then wandered through the crowds, stopping occasionally to admire handcrafted ornaments or sample local treats. Ash bought some gifts for her family even though she wasn’t really in the Christmas spirit. The festive atmosphere felt surreal against the weight of their conversation.

“What if it’s impossible?” Ash finally asked, voicing the fear that had haunted her since walking away.

Marianne smiled, catching a snowflake on her gloved hand. “I like to say that nothing’s impossible if you imagine it. The only thing stopping it working is you.”

Later, in her hotel room, Ash scrolled through her phone. The team’s WhatsApp group was full of holiday plans: some heading home, others to warm beaches. Nobody mentioned the New Year Ball at the Palace, because nobody else knew about it. Ash had marked it on her calendar the moment Victoria had told her. Maybe she should do what Marianne said: visualise walking in with Victoria, dancing with her on the ballroom floor, cheek to cheek.

It would be a bigger victory than the Champions League games they’d won, putting them top of their group going into the New Year. Even the Ravens’ recent league wins brought no joy: they’d succeeded despite her, not because of her.

The winter break stretched ahead, two weeks of freedom from the pitch, from the press, from everything. Christmas with family, then maybe New Year with Cam in Manchester. Anything to avoid thinking about where she really wanted to be.

She opened her camera roll, scrolling back through photos until she found one from earlier. She was stood before a towering Christmas tree in the market, fairy lights reflecting off her hair, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in weeks. Her fingers moved automatically, opening a new message to Victoria.

‘All I want for Christmas is you,’ she typed, attaching the photo.

Her thumb hovered over the green send arrow, heart pounding. Through the window, Munich glittered beneath a blanket of snow, a Christmas card come to life. Somewhere in London, Victoria was probably preparing for another royal engagement, surrounded by family obligations and expectations.

Ash stared at the unsent message until her screen dimmed. It would be so easy to press send, to take that first step. But what then? Their lives would become a circus.

Was Marianne right? Nothing was impossible if you could imagine it. And Ash could imagine it now: standing proud beside Victoria, no more hiding, no more pretending. Playing football with joy again, her heart full both on and off the pitch.

But she didn’t press send. Instead, she locked her phone, set it aside, and lay back, listening to the distant sound of laughter floating up from the bar below.