He laughs. ‘I’ll be sure to watch if I’m not on court.’
I snort. ‘Yeah, you and every other man on tour. No one ever misses Miss 4B. Sorry, Mrs.’
4B stands for Busty Blond Boston Bombshell, a nickname that Katie has been trying unsuccessfully to shake off ever since joining the tour. I confess to secretly wishing that someone would give me a similar one.
‘I can’t imagine what you mean,’ Sam says, rearranging his features in a look of exaggerated innocence. ‘I am a very committed supporter of women’s tennis, that’s all. Besides, I’m really more of a leg man.’
‘Christ, the tennis tour must be a wet dream for you.’
His mouth is twitching. ‘Yeah, that was pretty much why I joined.’
‘And yet you’ve never dated another player.’
‘Yeah well,’ he says, glancing away. ‘Just never happened.’
I look at his leg and say nothing.
‘There was one I always rather liked,’ he says slowly, ‘who has terrific legs, incidentally. But she never really seemed interested. We hardly spoke at all until recently. I mean, I knew she was a fan but it never seemed to go beyond that. And she’s spoken for anyway, so I guess nothing’s going to happen.’
Does he mean me? Or am I conceited even to think that?
‘Well, you never know,’ I say, starting to pick my nails. I put my hands under my thighs to remove temptation. ‘Maybe she’ll stop being spoken for.’
‘Maybe. I have to admit I hope so, because I’m finally getting to know her now and the more I do, the more I feel like there’s something there.’
We sit side-by-side, not looking at each other.
‘Sam, when you were on court today, did you find yourself having second thoughts about retiring?’
He nods. ‘Honestly, yeah. But then, I figured I would. Being on Centre Court at Wimbledon is something special and I’ll always miss it, but I’ve made my decision now.’
‘You know you’ve done the right thing?’
‘I don’t know, but I believe I have. I reckon that’s the best you can really hope for with major decisions. Then you just have to stick it out and make it work.’
I kick the bench leg. ‘I'm wavering,’ I admit. ‘I can't decide. I think and think and get nowhere.’
‘Thinking doesn’t always lead to certainty. There’s a leap of faith to take.’
‘Yes, Yoda.’
He snorts. ‘Hey, that's just my philosophy. It’s your life, nothing to do with me.’
I wish it were.
‘Tell me about your family,’ I say. ‘You said lots of them are in England?’
‘I have a married sister in York,’ Sam says. ‘And an engaged one in Chester. I also have a brother in New Zealand. All younger than me. My parents still live there, but I have several aunts and uncles scattered around the British Isles. Both my parents are expats, you see. You?’
‘Only child,’ I say, slightly envious. ‘Mum, Dad, aunts, uncles and lots of cousins. All in England. Most within a five-mile radius of my house. You must miss your family, being so far away.’
‘Yeah. Still, maybe with three of us here they’ll decide to move back. Especially when the grandchildren mount up.’
‘I’d like to meet them,’ I hear myself say.
‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’
I sneak a look at him. He looks at me at the same time. We look at each other. My heart starts thumping again. You know, it would be so easy to just lean over and...
I jump up, suddenly scared although I don’t know what of. ‘I’d better get back,’ I say hurriedly. ‘Joe will probably have woken up by now.’
I drop my head as I cringe. Could I have made it any more obvious that we just had sex? Why did I tell him the last thing I want him to know?
‘Right,’ Sam says, nodding. ‘I think I’ll stay here a while. See you.’
‘Bye,’ I whisper and force myself to walk away.
When I think I’ve gone far enough, I glance back. He’s looking at his hands. He doesn’t see me.
I don’t go back to Joe. I just can’t look at him right now. I go home and call Adrienne.
‘Of course he meant you!’ Adrienne says. ‘C'est évident. And, for the record, I really think you should have kissed him.’
I flop onto my bed. ‘I couldn't. There were people all around. Knowing my luck there would have been a journalist lurking nearby. And what about Joe?’
‘What about him?’
I prop my head up on my elbow. ‘Adrienne! How can you say that? You wouldn’t go kissing other men behind Henri’s back, would you?’
‘Of course not, but that’s entirely different. Henri and I are married and deeply in love. You and Joe, on the other hand, have essentially a relationship of convenience. Or am I wrong? Are you in love with him?’
I let my head fall back and stare at the ceiling. ‘No.'
‘Do you think he’s in love with you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, in those circumstances, I definitely think you should kiss Sam. Moreover, assuming that said kiss is worth repeating, I think you should dump Joe and go out with him instead.’
‘I can’t,’ I say, even as my heart starts to thump and stomach clench at the realisation that I actually could. ‘Not until Wimbledon’s over. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘I suppose not,’ Adrienne concedes. ‘Though it doesn’t sound like Joe would suffer emotional trauma from being dumped. And if he did, that might help you get a British champion – so why not do it anyway?’
I shake my head. ‘That’s evil. Remind me never to get on your bad side.’
‘Impossible, mon chou. It’s strictly a men only zone!’
Chapter 4
Tuesday. Week 1, Day 2 (First Round, Bottom Half)
The morning starts with a doubles match, which my partner and I lose miserably. My fault, mainly. When Adrienne and I used to play together, we were actually moderately successful. Since she left the tour, I've tried playing with several other people - if only for the extra money - but it just hasn't worked. I resent them for not understanding my game as she did, but shy away from actually helping them learn it. Epic fail.
Centre Court is a bit of a step up from Court 10. A huge stadium, full of 15,000 screaming fans, waving banners and chanting. The energy the crowd can generate is incredible. Matches here are the greatest anyone ever plays. In my humble opinion, anyway.
Right now, however, I am not on court. I’m in Joe’s player’s box. His friends and family are here to support him, in theory anyway. In practice, he barely glances our way. Realistically, we are here to be seen to support him. Especially me.
This is what I loathe about dating a fellow player. When I’m on court, I don’t mind being watched, because my mind is on tennis. But up here, I can feel people’s eyes on me. I know people are saying to their neighbours, ‘Yes, that’s Joe’s girlfriend. I think she’s a player as well, though not much of one. Is it three years now? You’d think he’d have someone prettier, wouldn’t you?’
I also know that every so often the TV cameras will tune in on me, but it’s impossible to guess when. Fine if I’m clapping, but what if I’m yawning right at that moment? Then all the viewers at home will decide I must be a complete cow who doesn’t deserve such a perfect boyfriend. I always hope to be playing at the same time as him, so I have a legitimate excuse not to watch (though no doubt some spectators will mutter even about that).
Interestingly, Joe doesn’t seem to get the same grief. Double standards? In tennis? Never...
So here I am in the box, trying to look pretty, pleasant and 100% behind Joe. Even though my mind keeps wandering off.
Joe wins the first set 6-4. It’s clinical, as it should be. His opponent is a German qualifier, who looks thoroughly intimidated by Joe and Centre Court. Joe looks smug and in control.
Then surprise. Joe is broken in the first game of the second set, largely due to a few dodgy serves on his part. The insu
lt (as Joe perceives it) makes him pissed off. This affects his play - making him more erratic - and the unforced errors mount up. The set runs away and, despite a good effort in the last couple of games, he can’t catch it up. One set all.
Receiving coaching while on court is strictly forbidden at Grand Slams, so I can’t yell anything at him. I definitely can’t scream out what I’m actually thinking, which is, ‘For feck’s sake, Joe, pull yourself together and win the bloody match!’ Watching him play is an exercise in self-control. In fact, I sometimes consider it part of my training.
In the third and fourth sets Joe manages to reign himself in and eventually he wins the match. I clap, smile and think, ‘Thank Christ that’s over.’
Oh how glad I am that no one can read my mind.
While Joe is busy lying to journalists in the interview room, I head back to my house and start searching through my DVD collection. Let’s see... Arachnids, Birds, Crustaceans...
These would be the Wife Swap DVDs that Sam wanted to borrow. Is it really pathetic that I hide them like this? No one else lives here, so who’s going to find them?
The doorbell rings and I reluctantly get up to answer it.
‘Good, you’re home,’ Maddy says. ‘I thought I’d give you a try since I was passing. I’m dying for the loo!’
I wander back into the living room as she hurries upstairs and search my cupboard for a bag to put the DVDs in. JJB Sports, Boots, Mothercare. Where did I get a Mothercare bag? Oh right, for cousin Matilda’s latest baby shower.
You know how they say that all mothers think their baby is gorgeous, even if it’s not? Matilda is a case in point. Her babies are always ugly. Anyone who’s ever doubted that humans and apes share a common ancestor only needs to see one of them to be converted. Fortunately, they seem to improve as they get older. Her eldest is almost pretty these days.
‘That’s better,’ Maddy says, coming in. ‘Who are the DVDs for?’
‘Oh, just Sam. He asked if he could borrow them.’
‘Wildlife documentaries? I wish he’d said he was interested in this type of thing. I’ve got a wonderful DVD of the African plains that we could have watched.’
‘Actually,’ I confess, ‘they’re Wife Swap. I just... lost the box.’
‘Oh. Maybe not, then. When did he ask for these? I didn’t realise you two socialised much.’
I busy myself shoving the DVDs into a bag. ‘Well, we’ve found ourselves chatting recently,’ I say. ‘Once or twice.’
Maddy settles herself on the sofa. ‘About?’
‘Oh, you know,' I say, sitting down next to her. 'This and that.’
I think I may be blushing. I think Maddy may have noticed.
‘Lucy,’ she asks, ‘you aren’t by any chance interested in Sam?’
‘No! Or maybe. A little. Yes.’
‘What about Joe?’
I shrug. ‘Joe and I... well, it was never serious. And I’m going to break it off when Wimbledon is over. Probably.’
She purses her lips. ‘Has anything happened between you and Sam?’
I kick the sofa. ‘No, not really. We’ve just talked, you know. And it feels like there’s something there. For both of us, I think. I did sort of kiss him when he announced he was playing for us, but that was just a mad moment. It didn’t mean anything.’
‘Well good,’ Maddy says, arms folded. ‘And it should stay that way.’
I flush. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I know you like him too. I never thought he would be interested in me and...’
‘This isn’t about me,’ Maddy interrupts. ‘This is about Joe. Whether or not you’re happy together and whether or not you’re thinking about breaking up with him, he’s still your boyfriend. You’ve been together four years and you owe it to him to be faithful. If you’re attracted to Sam, you should stay away from him while you decide about Joe. You shouldn’t act as if you’re single when you’re not. Wouldn’t you be upset if Joe was fooling around with other women behind your back?’
My stomach clenches into a fist. ‘Right now, I think it would be a relief. An excuse to end it.’
‘Well, that may be. But the fact that you say that implies that you think it would be wrong of him. And if it’s wrong for him, it’s wrong for you as well.’
I start picking my nails. ‘Don’t you see what it’s like for me at all? I mean, it’s not an easy decision. All I’m doing with Sam is getting to know him a little. And it’s not like Joe and I have made any big commitment to each other.'
She sighs. ‘I appreciate that, but I’d like to continue to think of you as someone with integrity. So until you have things settled with Joe, for goodness sake stay away from Sam. It may not be cheating, but it’s still not right.’
‘Thanks for the sermon,’ I say, getting up and moving over to the window. ‘I’ll be sure to come to you the next time I want moral instruction.’
She rises primly. ‘Well, that’s how I feel. I won’t lie about it, even if I can’t make you listen. You may not technically be cheating yet, but if you keep seeing him it’s going to end up that way. Isn’t it?’
I don’t answer.
‘I’ll see myself out.’
I let her go.
I have a sick feeling in my stomach. Is she right or is Adrienne? Have I done anything wrong or not? I know cheating is wrong, but have I done it?
And to think I used to consider this a clear-cut issue.
I go to the Club and hide behind the clubhouse where the kids play spin-the-racquet. There I half-heartedly hit a ball against the wall and mope, until I’m interrupted.
‘I’m beginning to wonder if I’m subconsciously stalking you,’ Sam jokes. ‘Why are you hiding back here?’
I keep hitting the ball and avoid his gaze. ‘Just thinking about things.’
‘Retirement?’
‘That and other stuff.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
I move back further, but keep hitting the ball. ‘What’s your opinion on cheating?’
‘You mean what... drugs? On court coaching?’
‘No. I mean in relationships. Being unfaithful.’
A pause. ‘Well, obviously I’m against it. I’ve always been faithful to the women I’ve dated and I’ve expected the same of them.’
‘Yes, but what in your eyes constitutes cheating?'
I hit the ball too hard, catch it and start again. 'I’ll give you a scenario,' I say. 'Let’s say you’re in a relationship with someone and you meet someone else who you’re attracted to. It stands to reason you’re going to, doesn’t it? If there were only one person out there who’d float your boat most people would be single all their life and they’re not. So you fancy someone else. Is that cheating?’
I can feel his eyes on me. ‘I wouldn’t say so,’ he says. ‘After all, you can’t control who you’re attracted to. It would be unreasonable of your partner to bollock you for what’s beyond your control.’
‘Agreed,’ I say. ‘Scenario two. This person is someone you see regularly. You chat. You find you have things in common. You enjoy their company. You start to seek each other out, perhaps talk on the phone. You confide things about yourself you wouldn’t tell a stranger. The attraction grows – becomes mental as well as physical. Are you cheating now?’
‘That sounds to me like friendship with someone you’re attracted to. That’s allowed, if it doesn’t go further.’
'All right, scenario three. You’re with this person, chatting, being friends. Somehow, the mood changes. You instinctively move closer. The next thing you know, you’re kissing. Have you cheated now?’
He’s silent for a while. ‘I suppose technically you have, though no sane person would give up on someone they really loved because of one weak moment.’
I catch the ball and roll it around in my hand.
‘So this hypothetical pair,’ I say, ‘who is attracted and becoming friends. Do you think they should avoid each other? In case something happens?’
‘Well
, it depends.’
‘On?’
‘On whether the one in the relationship wants to stay in it. If they do, then it would probably be wise. If they don’t... well, maybe not.’
‘What if she can’t decide?’
‘For the sake of all concerned, she’ll just have to. There really isn't any way around that one.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I suppose not.’
‘I’ll see you around,’ Sam says quietly and heads off. I want to run after him, but I don’t.
I know I have to make a decision. I just don’t know what decision to make.
No, that’s a lie. I know what to do, I just can't do it.
I pick up a tabloid on the way back to Wimbledon, which among other rubbish has a titbit linking Joe to some Canadian swimsuit model. I meet Libby on the way into the grounds of the All England Club, with the same paper under her arm. She drops into step beside me.
‘Have you read that article?’ she asks, tapping her paper.
I shrug. ‘Glanced at it.’
‘Reaction?’
I shift my bag onto my other shoulder. ‘There’s one of these a month. I ignore them. Women always throw themselves at Joe and he’s just the flirty type. They get spotted and a rumour starts. It means nothing.’
‘Wow,’ Libby marvels. ‘You must have a really strong relationship. And you’re so understanding!’
‘Like I said, it’s just his way. I don’t think he even realises he does it. I’ve just accepted it.’
Libby stares at me in wonderment. ‘Lucy, you’re an example to us all.’
Yeah. Of what not to do.
I should go and see Joe, congratulate him on winning the match. Listen to his irritations, hopes, concerns (mostly irritations). Help get his psyche in good shape for the next round. It’s what a girlfriend does.
But I don’t. It all just feels like an acting job. I speak the script as best I can, but I don’t feel like the character I’m playing.
Plus, he’ll want sex. He usually does. Supposedly professional athletes have low levels of testosterone due to all the physical exertion, which should lower their sex drive, but I’ve seen no evidence of that with Joe. That used to be good, since my sex drive is quite high as well. But right now, I don’t want to have sex with him. It’s all right at the time, but afterwards I feel empty. And dirty. Almost as if I’m cheating on Sam.
After Wimbledon Page 6