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EPILOGUE: SEVEN MONTHS LATER

A sh pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the coach window, staring as the roads around Wembley, transformed into a river of red and white. Her headphones provided a barrier between her and the mounting tension in the bus, the constant chatter of her teammates giving way to pre-match nerves.

She needed a distraction, and a football podcast hosted by her old teammate was the perfect solution. Because today wasn’t just any match. Today was the World Cup final. England had stuttered through the group stages, exploded through the knockouts, and today was the final that everyone wanted: England versus the USA.

“What a rollercoaster it’s been for Ashleigh Woods especially.” Dina Thompson’s familiar voice crackled through Ash’s headphones. She’d retired just as Ash had broken into the senior team, but Ash had always appreciated her help and advice. “That promising start to the season after her injury comeback, then those difficult autumn months when speculation about her personal life overshadowed everything else. The press camped outside her house, following her to training: it clearly affected her game. She wasn’t the Woods we know.”

Ash nodded. Dina wasn’t wrong.

“But since January?” US pundit Sally Chen’s voice held a note of admiration. “Since she and Princess Victoria went public at New Year, we’ve seen a completely different player. Fifteen goals in half a season, leading the Royal Ravens to the league title. Yes, there was heartbreak in the FA Cup final with those penalties, but Woods is playing with freedom again. That weight has lifted.”

“That’s what happens when you can focus on the football, isn’t it?” Dina replied. “When the photographers are actually there to capture your goals rather than trying to catch you meeting your girlfriend in secret.”

“And speaking of Princess Victoria: she’ll be there today, watching her partner lead out England at Wembley. If the Lionesses win, she’ll be presenting the trophy herself. You couldn’t write it, could you?”

Dina laughed. “Ash has already lost one cup final at Wembley this season, Sally. I know her well enough to say she won’t want to make it two. Ninety thousand people in the stadium, millions watching worldwide: are we about to witness something special?”

“This Lionesses team has unfinished business, Dina. They’re ready to write their names into history.”

A vice-like grip on Ash’s arm yanked her back to the moment. She pulled out her headphones at Cam’s insistence, and the wall of noise hit her immediately. Her best mate’s eyes glittered with excitement.

“Listen to that!” Cam shouted over the din as the bus turned into the stadium complex. “It’s never been like this before. Look at the crowd, the noise!”

Nat Tyler’s face appeared over the seat in front, her usual pre-match jitters evident. But Ash knew that once the whistle blew, their flying forward would purr into life.

“Let’s give them something to really scream about later, yeah?” Sasha put an arm around Cam, her grin infectious. “Are we ready to win this?”

Ash beamed at her teammates. This was their time.

“One hundred per cent,” she replied. “Let’s go finish the job we started, shall we?”

The noise as Ash led the team onto the pitch was honestly deafening. She’d never heard anything like it, not even at the FA Cup Final. The wall of sound hit her like a physical force, making her invincible. Which is exactly how she wanted to feel on World Cup Final day. As her studs sank into the Wembley turf and she squinted up into the afternoon sun, 90,000 voices made every hair on her body stand on end. The training. The sacrifice. The commitment. It was all leading up to this moment.

The national anthems played, and Ash sang every word, her voice strong and clear. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, knowing if she looked for Victoria and the King in the crowd, she might crack. In previous years, she’d sung these words without thinking. Now, she sang them knowing that one day, they’d be about the woman she loved. The woman she wanted to make her wife. Victoria didn’t know that yet. There was plenty of time.

Pendants exchanged, handshakes, the coin toss went their way, and the whistle blew.

Ninety minutes to make history. Victoria had messaged earlier.

Bring that trophy home, darling. Do it in regular time to save my heart, please. I cannot take the stress of penalties. We’ll have our own extra time at home later.

She couldn’t disappoint her future Queen, could she?

The first half was tense, both sides probing for weaknesses. Cam made two crucial saves, including a spectacular tip onto the crossbar, while Nat nearly broke the deadlock with a thunderous drive that just missed. But Ash hadn’t found her moment yet.

At half-time, the dressing room was quiet.

Ash had to show leadership. If they were going to be triumphant, they had to do more. They had to play with passion, and with purpose.

“Listen up!” The group hushed, ready for her words. Ash clenched her calves before she spoke.

“We’ve got 45 minutes to win this. This crowd deserves it, and we deserve it. Yes, there’s pressure, but pressure is a privilege. It means we can affect the outcome of this situation. It means we can make change, and history. Let’s get out there and show them why we’re the best goddamn team in the world. I’m not leaving here without a winner’s medal around my neck.”

Roars from the team, and Ash stood by the door, giving every team member a high five and a “Let’s fucking go!” as they left for the pitch.

She had to hope they were ready, that she shifted the energy.

The first ten minutes, the Lionesses had a couple of half-chances. One fell to Ash, and she skied it. Groans from the crowd. She calmed her breathing, got up, dusted herself down, and got ready to go again.

The pressure mounted in her head, but she breathed deep. The USA were the favourites, but England were the home team. That evened everything out. One goal could win this, she was well aware. If anybody was going to score it, it was going to be the Lionesses.

Sixty-seven minutes in, the chance appeared. Sasha won the ball in midfield with a crunching tackle — her bread and butter — and Nat was off like lightning down the right. Ash made a run into the centre of the box, losing her marker with a sharp cut inside. Nat’s cross was perfect, floating between their centre-backs, one of whom mistimed her jump. That was all Ash needed.

Time seemed to slow as Ash rose, and hung in the air. The ball met her forehead sweetly. The cross had so much whip, it didn’t need power. Ash just had to guide it towards goal.

She knew before it left her head this was the moment. That it was in. Sometimes you just do.

When the ball eventually sailed past their keeper and the net rippled, every fibre of Ash’s body yelled.

Wembley erupted in a sea of pure joy.

Ash ran before she could think, sliding on her knees towards the corner flag. She pulled up, faced the nearest camera, held out her palm and blew a kiss down its lens. Then she turned, finding that spot in the royal box, and pressed her hand to her heart. Even from this distance, she could see Victoria’s arms above her head. Beside her, the King was on his feet, punching the air.

As her teammates reached her to celebrate, Ash threw back her head and roared to the sky.

She’d only gone and done it.

When the final whistle pierced the air, Ash’s legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, hands covering her face, as relief and pride overwhelmed her. Then Cam’s familiar weight crashed into her, the goalkeeper’s scream of jubilation shrill in her ear, followed by Nat’s smaller frame, then Sasha. The sweetest bundle of limbs and tears and joy she’d ever been part of.

“We fucking did it!” Sasha’s voice cracked as she spoke. Ash could only grin through her tears. When she was little, and she’d written to her football idol, Heidi Moore, to ask for an autograph. Heidi had written back and told Ash to dream big.

Ash’s biggest dream had just come true.

Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d ever dreamed of had finally happened. She’d won the World Cup, and the love of her life was waiting for her pitch side. She didn’t think she’d experienced a more perfect moment.

Everything else was just noise.

Sloane Patterson, the US captain, was one of the first to reach her after she’d untangled herself. Her handshake was firm, genuine.

“Helluva game, Woods. You deserved it.”

“Thanks,” Ash replied, touched by Sloane’s sporting actions. “Ella will be unbearable, won’t she?”

Sloane laughed through her obvious disappointment. “My wife’s going to be impossibly smug about her homeland winning. But at least one of us will be happy tonight.”

A TV crew walked towards Ash, and Sloane left her to it.

Dina Thompson in the flesh. She hugged Ash hard before she started the interview.

“Ashleigh Woods, scorer of the winning goal in a very tight World Cup Final. How are you feeling?”

Ash shook her head. “Just incredible,” she shouted, hardly able to hear herself over the noise of the crowd. “But we did this for every little girl in the country who’s told she can’t play football. We did it for the generations before us who struggled to play. We hope we’ve shown that football is for everyone.”

She looked up into the royal box, which was now empty. Which must mean that the trophy presentation was due. Ash glanced to her left, where Victoria and her father were stood beside the presentation platform in the middle of the pitch. Meanwhile, ‘Sweet Caroline’ played over the sound system, which got the entire stadium singing. Ash shook her head, goosebumps covering her body, and drank it all in.

The USA went first, collecting their medals with speed, looking like they’d rather be anywhere else but here.

Then it was the Lionesses’ turn.

How many steps to this medal? It was 20 to collect her MBE, maybe slightly less today.

Ash waited at the side of the presentation platform, her face neutral. She had to keep it together, even though her heart was doing somersaults in her chest. She glanced ahead, where her teammates shook hands with dignitaries and beamed. At the end of the line, Victoria maintained her perfect composure as she started to drape medals around necks, shook hands, offered congratulations.

Fifteen steps. First, Ash shook the hand of the FIFA Women’s president, who was a great advocate for the women’s game. Ash thanked her for her work.

Twelve steps. Another dignitary. This time, bald. Ahead, Victoria placed a medal around Nat’s neck with practised grace, her words of congratulations and smile genuine.

Seven steps. The UEFA president’s handshake. Ash nodded at something he said, but he was not the main prize. Along the line, Victoria presented Cam’s medal, and whispered something in her ear that made Cam roar with laughter. Ash was a little jealous.

Five steps. Simon from the FA shook her hand with gusto. Ash beamed at him, then took a deep breath. The cameras were on her. She was nearly there.

Three steps. Victoria maintained her perfect poise, the consummate professional even as Sasha bounced excitedly as she received her medal.

Two steps. The King shook her hand. “I never doubted you for a moment. Huge congratulations. I’ll give you a proper hug later.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

One step. Finally, she faced Victoria.

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the princess’s composure wavered ever so slightly. Her hands were steady as she draped the medal around Ash’s neck, but her whispered words were just for them: “I love pinning medals on you. This one, most of all.” She pulled back. “I was right about you the first time, you know.”

Ash furrowed her brow. “About what, Ma’am?”

Victoria’s eyes sparkled and her mouth curled into a smile. Then she leaned forward once more. “Extraordinary composure under pressure.”

A year ago, their first touch had sparked something neither could have predicted. That nervous footballer meeting a princess and wondering how this could possibly work seemed like a million years ago. With a World Cup winners’ medal around her neck, Ash had come full circle.

Now, the roar of 90,000 voices wrapped around them like a blanket, with banners of support for them both, and their love. The football community had embraced them, and slowly but surely, so was the wider world. This was more than just a medal ceremony. This was every dream Ash ever had crystallising into one perfect moment: sporting glory, personal joy, and the love of her life all intertwined beneath the Wembley arch.

Later, there would be celebrations and champagne, headlines and history books. There would be quiet moments in palace gardens and loud family dinners, royal protocols and football practice. There would be a different ceremony, with different goals and promises.

But right now, with confetti falling like snow and her team’s jubilant screams filling the air, Ash Woods stood at the pinnacle of her professional career, received her greatest honour from the woman who held her heart, and knew with absolute certainty that some dreams really did come true. The little girl who’d kicked a ball against her garden wall would never have believed this happy ending.

Then again, this wasn’t really an ending at all.

It was just the beginning.

THE END