Maeve missed the team bus because goalkeepers were expected to remember everything except the departure time.
She stood beneath the scoreboard with her gear bag and watched the taillights disappear beyond the gate.
“Strong start,” said a voice behind her.
Orla, the new physio, held up a set of car keys.
“You live west?” Maeve asked.
“I do now.”
The match had ended in a draw neither side deserved. Maeve had saved a penalty and conceded a goal she would replay in her head until Tuesday. Orla said nothing about either as they loaded the bags.
On the road, rain began. The radio signal came and went between songs.
“You always stay last?” Orla asked.
“Check the nets. Lock the shed. Stare into the middle distance.”
“Goalkeeper duties.”
“Constitutional.”
At the first red light, Orla nodded towards the rainbow lace tied around Maeve's bag.
“Is that club-issued?”
“No. Personal rebellion. Cost four euro.”
“Expensive rebellion.”
“Inflation.”
Orla smiled at the road. “My girlfriend bought me the same pair.”
The light changed. Maeve said nothing for half a mile because every possible response sounded rehearsed.
“Mine were from my sister,” she said eventually. “No girlfriend.”
“Useful clarification.”
“Strictly for kit inventory.”
They caught the bus at the service station. The team had ordered chips and forgiven Maeve for being absent from a departure nobody had told her about.
Orla parked beside it but did not unlock the doors.
“Coffee before Tuesday?” she asked.
Maeve looked at the bus, then at the rain, then back at Orla.
“Only if you remind me what time.”
“Goalkeeper.”
“Constitutional.”
Orla unlocked the car. Maeve carried both gear bags inside.