Chapter Text
The morning began like most others loud, chaotic, and entirely dictated by a six-year-old with too much energy for one small child.
“Mummy, you said I could wear my football kit today!” Betsy’s voice rang out before Carla had even finished pouring her coffee.
It was barely seven-thirty, and already Betsy was bouncing on the balls of her feet, her hair wild from sleep, one sock on and the other clutched triumphantly in her hand. Carla leaned against the counter, mug warming her palms, and tried unsuccessfully not to smile.
“I said maybe, depending on the weather and last time I checked, it’s freezing.” Betsy rolled her eyes in a way that felt far too advanced for her age.
“I won’t feel it. I’ll be running.” She darted forward, skidding slightly on the kitchen tiles as she grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen island. “Coach said I’m the fastest.” Carla cut Betsy off, not intentionally “Coach also said you need to listen.” Carla replied, raising an eyebrow, though her voice was soft.
She watched Betsy move quick, fearless, entirely herself and felt that familiar ache of pride bloom in her chest. It came with something else too, something quieter and heavier, like a shadow she never quite shook. Betsy didn’t notice, she was too busy narrating her own brilliance.
“I do listen. That’s why I scored that goal. Did I tell you about that? It went right past Jacob and-”
“Yes,” Carla interrupted gently, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve told me twice and you showed me. Then you re-enacted it in the living room.”
Betsy grinned, entirely unapologetic. “It was a really good goal.”
Carla took a sip of her coffee, letting the warmth settle her. “It was,” she agreed quietly.
For a moment, she let herself just watch her daughter the way Betsy hummed absentmindedly as she peeled her banana, completely off-key but utterly content; the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, never quite still, like there was always too much energy inside her to contain; the way her voice, her presence, her being filled every inch of the room without her even trying. It was impossible not to feel it, the life of her, the noise, the colour, the warmth that followed her wherever she went. Betsy carried it all so effortlessly, like it was simply who she was, not something she had learned but something she had always known.
She was so much like…Carla’s chest tightened slightly as the thought finished itself without permission.
Her gaze flickered, just briefly, to the photo on the fridge. Lisa, frozen in a candid moment, head tipped back in laughter at something outside the frame, completely unguarded. Betsy as a toddler balanced on her hip, tiny hands fisted into the collar of her top, eyes bright, already curious about the world and Carla caught mid-laugh too, leaning into them both like that moment was all that existed.
Carla swallowed.
It wasn’t just the obvious things the blonde hair, the spark in Betsy’s eyes when she was excited, the way her smile took over her whole face. It was deeper than that. It was the way Betsy moved through the world. Bold without asking for permission. Loud in her joy. Fierce in what she loved. Unapologetic in who she was.
Just like Lisa had always been. Carla felt it then, that quiet, aching pull of recognition the kind that didn’t hurt in the same sharp way it used to, but still settled somewhere deep in her chest, because that likeness had been all she had left.
Now it stood in front of her, real and alive and humming off-key in her kitchen, completely unaware of the way she carried pieces of someone Carla had lost forever.
Carla let out a slow breath, her eyes softening as she looked back at her daughter. “Yeah,” she murmured under her breath, almost to herself. “Just like her.”
“Mummy?” Betsy’s voice pulled her back. “Are you even listening?” Carla blinked, then smiled quickly, setting her mug down. “Always.”
Betsy narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “You did that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The staring-into-space thing.” She hopped onto a chair, kneeling on it despite knowing she wasn’t supposed to. “You get all quiet and weird.” Carla huffed out a small laugh. “I do not get weird.” “You do,” Betsy insisted, nodding firmly. “Like you’re thinking about something but you won’t tell me.”
Carla hesitated just for a second.
“I was thinking about how I need you to put your other sock on,” she said lightly, deflecting with practiced ease. “And maybe a jumper. Revolutionary ideas, I know. And you know you’re not meant to climb on the chair like that madam.”
Betsy groaned dramatically, flopping forward onto the island. “You always ruin everything.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll recover,” Carla replied dryly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. Betsy swatted her hand away but leaned into the touch all the same.
That was their rhythm push and pull, sass and softness. It had been the two of them for so long now that Carla sometimes forgot how unusual it might look from the outside. The routines, the shorthand, the quiet understanding woven through even their most chaotic mornings.
It hadn’t always been like this. There had been a time when mornings were slower. Softer. When there had been another voice in the kitchen, another pair of hands, another presence that balanced everything out.
Lisa had filled spaces without trying. She had a way of making the world feel steadier, brighter, even on its worst days. Even in uniform, even carrying the weight of a job that asked too much, she had come home and made it all feel lighter.
Carla still remembered the knock on the door.
She pushed the thought away before it could settle, before it could pull her under like it sometimes threatened to do. “Mummy!” Betsy was halfway across the room now, one sock finally on, the other still missing. “Where’s my shin pad? The pink one, not the boring one.”
“In your bag,” Carla said automatically.
“It’s not!” Betsy called back, already rummaging through her things with the intensity of someone on a high-stakes mission.
Carla sighed, setting her mug aside and stepping in. “Move over, detective.” Within seconds, she found it exactly where she’d said it would be.
Betsy gasped. “How do you always do that?”
“Because,” Carla said, handing it over, “I am a genius.” Betsy considered this seriously, then nodded. “Yeah. You are.”
Carla laughed, the sound soft but genuine. Moments like this simple, ordinary, filled with nothing more than misplaced shin pads and exaggerated praise felt almost sacred. Hard-won, in a way she didn’t always have words for.
“Right,” she said, clapping her hands once. “Shoes on. Teeth brushed and we are leaving in five minutes.”
“Ten,” Betsy countered immediately.
“Seven.”
“Deal.”
Betsy darted off again, a whirlwind of limbs and determination. Carla watched her go, shaking her head with a fond smile. The house echoed with movement, with life.
It felt full.
For now, everything was exactly as it should be.
Carla, standing there in the quiet space between one moment and the next, allowed herself just for a second to believe that maybe it would stay that way.
By the time they stepped out the front door, Betsy was already halfway down the path, a blur of mismatched energy and determination, football tucked under one arm like it was part of her.
“Betsy shoes!” Carla called, locking the door behind her. “I’ve got them over my shoulder mother!” Betsy shouted back, stamping her feet for emphasis before immediately breaking into a jog, then a skip, then something in between that only she could make look intentional.
Carla shook her head, pulling her coat tighter around herself as she followed. “Walking. We are walking,” she said, though there was no real authority behind it.
Betsy slowed briefly only to fall into step beside her mum, bouncing with every second stride. “Do you think I could play for England one day?” she asked, not even slightly out of breath. “Like the Lionesses? Because they won twice, Mummy. Twice! That means they’re basically the best ever.” Carla glanced down at her, smiling despite herself. “That’s exactly what that means, yeah.”
“I’m going to be like them,” Betsy continued, utterly certain. “Fast, and strong, and score loads of goals and I’ll do that knee slide thing.” “Maybe not on grass you don’t own,” Carla cut in, amused. Betsy ignored her. “And then everyone will cheer, and I’ll wave, and you’ll be in the crowd and you’ll cry.”
“I will not cry.”
“You will,” Betsy insisted confidently. “Happy crying. Not sad crying.” Carla let out a soft laugh, something in her chest tightening in a way that wasn’t painful, just…full. “Alright,” she conceded. “Maybe a little.”
Betsy beamed, satisfied, and immediately launched into a detailed explanation of what her England kit would look like, including specific sock heights and “cool but not too cool” celebrations. Carla listened, really listened, as they walked.
She always did because moments like this, Betsy’s voice running ahead of her thoughts, her whole body alive with possibility felt like something to hold onto. Something solid.
For all they’d been through, for everything that had been taken too soon, Betsy had grown into something extraordinary. Strong in ways that had nothing to do with football, though she didn’t know that yet. Resilient without even trying and joyful in a way that felt defiant.
Carla watched her sometimes and wondered how she’d managed it. Or maybe she knew. Maybe it was because Betsy had never been allowed to forget love, even in the absence of it.
Football practice was exactly what you’d expect with a group of six-year-olds chaotic, loud, and loosely structured around the idea of sport. Betsy, however, treated it like a championship final.
She sprinted when others jogged, shouted encouragement like a seasoned captain, and celebrated every goal hers or anyone else’s as if it had just won the tournament. At one point she attempted a dramatic knee slide, immediately regretted it, and bounced back up as though nothing had happened.
Carla stood on the sidelines, arms folded against the cold, watching with quiet awe.
“That one’s yours, isn’t she?” another parent said beside her. Carla nodded, unable to hide her smile. “Yeah. She is.”
“She’s fearless.”
Carla’s gaze stayed fixed on Betsy as she darted across the pitch, calling for the ball with absolute conviction. “Yeah,” she said softly. “She really is.”And she was, in ways that went far beyond football.
Practice wrapped up with flushed cheeks, muddy trainers, and a chorus of overlapping goodbyes. Betsy ran straight to Carla, words already spilling out before she’d even come to a stop.
“Did you see my pass? And then I ran and I got it back and oh! And Coach said I was ‘relentless’ what does relentless mean? Is it good? I think it’s good.” “It’s very good,” Carla said, laughing as she crouched slightly to meet her. “And yes, I saw everything.”
“Everything?” Betsy narrowed her eyes “Everything.” Carla confirmed. “Even the bit where I nearly fell but didn’t?” “Especially that bit.” Betsy grinned, triumphant.
As they turned to leave, Carla felt it. A sudden, sharp shiver that ran straight through her, cold and unexpected, like someone had walked across her grave. She froze for half a second, her breath catching.
Then Betsy tugged at her sleeve. “And then I did that turn did you see that? That was my best bit, I think.” Carla blinked, the feeling already slipping away as quickly as it had come. “Yeah,” she said, letting herself be pulled back into the warmth of her daughter’s voice. “I saw that.”
Just like that, it moment was gone.
Roy’s was warm, busy, and smelled permanently of sugar and coffee. The bell above the door jingled as they stepped in, and Betsy didn’t even hesitate. “Uncle Roy!” she shouted, already hurtling towards the counter. From behind it, Roy looked up, his face breaking into a grin the moment he saw her. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite football star.”
“I was relentless today,” Betsy announced proudly, climbing onto a seat. Roy raised his eyebrows. “That so?” “It means I’m really good and I don’t stop.”
“Sounds about right.”
Carla approached more slowly, shaking her head with a smile. “You’ve created a monster.” “I’ve encouraged excellence,” Roy corrected, already reaching for a mug. “Hot chocolate?” “Yes please,” Betsy answered for both of them “And a doughnut,” Roy added, sliding one across the counter to Carla.
Betsy gasped like it was the greatest gift she’d ever received. “You’re the best.”
“I know.”
They stayed longer than they planned, as they always did. Betsy gave a full, detailed breakdown of practice every pass, every run, every near-miss while Roy listened like it was the most important story in the world.
Carla watched them, something soft settling in her chest.
Roy had been there. Through everything. Steady, constant, never asking for anything in return. Betsy adored him, and he adored her right back.
It mattered more than Carla could ever really say.
Eventually, though, the evening crept in. “Right,” Carla said, standing, her chair making a piecing sound on the ground as it moved back. “We’ve got a pamper night to get to.” “Moana!” Betsy added excitedly, hopping down.
They said their goodbyes, promises of “next time” already in place, and stepped back out into the cool air.
That’s when Carla felt it again. Stronger this time.
The same cold shiver, but deeper, sharper enough to make her stop completely. Something wasn’t right.
The feeling lingered, curling at the edges of her awareness, impossible to name but impossible to ignore.
“Mummy?” Betsy’s voice cut through it, small but insistent. She reached for Carla’s hand, tugging gently. “What colour nail varnish are you going to have on your toes? You didn’t say.”
Carla didn’t answer. “Mummy?” Betsy tried again, a little louder now. “Red or pink? Or glitter? You should do glitter.” It took a few seconds, too many before Carla blinked and looked down at her “What?” Betsy frowned. “I said what colour.” “Oh.” Carla forced a small smile, squeezing her hand. “Um…surprise me?” Betsy brightened instantly. “Glitter it is.”
Just like that, the moment passed again.
They walked home, hand in hand, Betsy chatting about nail colours and movie snacks, her voice filling the space between them like it always did. Carla let herself be carried along by it. Because what else was there to do?
The street was quiet when they reached home, the kind of quiet that felt normal for that time of evening. Carla reached into her bag for her keys, unlocking the front door as Betsy bounced impatiently beside her.
“Can I have bubbles in the bath?” she asked.
“Yes.” Carla replied immediately. “And popcorn with the film?” “Yes.” “And to stay up a bit later because it’s a Saturday?” Carla looked down at her daughter with a smile, as they approached the front door “We’ll see.”
Carla pushed the door open, stepping forward, and then stopped. A sudden gust of wind rushed past them, sharp and unexpected, catching the door and pushing it wider. It brushed against her like something physical, something that made her chest tighten for no clear reason.
She turned, instinctively, looking back down the street. Nothing. Just the same quiet row of houses. The same stillness.
But something felt…off.
Not wrong in a way she could explain. Just different. Shifted, somehow, like the world had tilted by a fraction and only she had noticed.
“Mummy?” Betsy tugged at her again, softer this time. “Can we shut the door? I’m cold.” Carla hesitated for a second longer. Then she exhaled, steadying herself. “Yeah, sorry bubba” she said, more firmly than she felt. “Course we can. Mummy got distracted.” Betsy huffed half joking “you’re always getting distracted.” “Alright madam, enough of that please.”
Carla pushed the thought away whatever it was, wherever it had come from and stepped inside, letting the door close behind them.
There were baths to run, nails to paint, and a film to watch and for now, that was all that mattered.