Hold Me Close

golden

The international break does nothing to distract me from the impending date of the Ballon d'Or.

I have interviews galore in the Dutch camp, and we are glad to comfortably beat Scotland. My goal and assist does not make me feel any more relaxed about the award, or, rather, the possibility of not getting it.

Our own cameras follow me around, collecting footage for what is anticipated to be the most important segment of the documentary. We make it to Paris the night before, and they do not stop recording, even on the flight.

Jaimie disregards the environment entirely and flies in from Cancún without me needing to ask. It becomes apparent that someone has already gone ahead and arranged everything, because I find Papa in the hotel lobby and... my mother there, too.

The pressure only builds up, and I get no sleep that night.

The morning of the ceremony, I am woken up by a firm knock on my door. "Flootz," says Jaimie's unmistakable voice, croaking from the exhaustion of her flight, no doubt. She played her first match yesterday, and she plays the next tomorrow. She will be here for the ceremony, and then head straight to the airport to make it back in time to win the WTA Finals and finish her season on a high. Or so she has declared. "Let me in."

I meet her demand, dragging myself out of bed and opening the door. She barrels inside, a warm hand latching onto my own, tugging me right back to the mattress.

Jaimie's arms wrap around me protectively, and, for the briefest of moments, I am surrounded by an impenetrable force field and so very sure that nothing will ever hurt me. How could it, when Jaimie's right here? She kisses the top of my head once, twice, and then a third time, and I ask her what all of this is about.

"Am I not allowed to love you?" she replies drily, squeezing me tighter until I begin to squirm and beg for oxygen. "You look like you are the one who has just been on a ten hour flight. I'm guessing you haven't slept. Did the sight of Mumma and Papa give you nightmares?"

"God, it really was a jumpscare," I agree, laughing.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought it would be a good surprise."

"So you are the one who organised everything?"

"I may have persuaded Alexia Putellas to use her Barcelona contacts and... help me out. You've now got special dispensation. No Barcelona press for you unless you want it, and that means I get to micromanage the whole thing, so I've sorted your dress, my dress, and Mumma's dress. We are going as a family." I raise my eyebrows, but she can't see that from this angle. "We are going as a family because that is what we are, and we are all here to support you. Because we love you."

She kisses my hair again.

"And because we are very proud of you, Flootz."

"Jaimie, stop it," I grumble, but I don't really mean it. There are tears in my ears and I let Jaimie pull me in whichever direction she wants to.

"No big tears yet though, because we are meeting our parents in the café opposite this place for breakfast." She releases me and bounces onto her feet, exerting the energy she somehow still has in a very in-my-face manner. "Hurry up, Flootz. We can't leave them alone together for too long!"

So I hurry up, and I obey her, and I let my father say his monologue about success and hard work. Mumma pulls me aside when we leave, the four of us bundling out in a flurry of Dutch (and English) that the Parisians frown at, tugging me to the left of our route back to the hotel so that we are far away from Papa and Jaimie's conversation about stupid things only they are invested in.