After Wimbledon

by Roberts, Jennifer Gilby

  Christ, in his next match I’ll be praying for him to lose while cheering him. Even faker support than usual.

  Maybe I could drug him?

  What am I saying? That’s appalling. I didn’t mean that.

  Christ, I wish Wimbledon were over already.

  After a brief trip to the pet shop to visit Oscar the kitten – still there, fortunately – I return to Sam’s hotel. I tell myself I’m hoping to bump into Libby so I can subtly quiz her about exactly what was seen and by whom. Unofficially, I’m hoping to run into Sam. I don’t have the guts to call him.

  I’m partially in luck. He’s there in the lobby, being congratulated on today’s victory by besotted journalists and fans. Unfortunately, she is there with him. I see her touch his arm, whisper in his ear and then glide away.

  I’m torn between running away and running past him to sob on Adrienne’s shoulder.

  He sees me, excuses himself and comes over. I stand there, too torn to move, picking at my nails.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, smiling. ‘Congratulations. Fourth round once again.’

  I nod and look at my feet. ‘Congratulations to you too. Well played. Very entertaining match. At least, your girlfriend seemed to enjoy it.’

  I look up. He’s looking at me quizzically. ‘Girlfriend?’

  ‘The gorgeous one you spent all night shagging. Who was standing with you just now.’

  ‘Kathy?’

  I shrug. ‘Tall, blond, great legs – just as you like them.’

  ‘Well,’ Sam says slowly. ‘I don’t deny that she’s an attractive woman, but I have to say that, during our long acquaintance, I have never once felt any desire to shag her. Which is just as well, since she’s my sister.’

  Oh.

  That does actually make a lot of sense.

  My face feels like my head is doubling as a sauna. I look down again. ‘Right. I knew it was just a rumour.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were the jealous type,’ he says softly.

  Nor did I.

  ‘I wasn’t jealous. I was just... clarifying.’

  ‘Of course,’ he says. I look up and see his mouth twitch. ‘Well, to clarify, I’m single and I only have my eye on one woman right now. Although I don’t know how things are going her end.’

  ‘No change,’ I say reluctantly. ‘I can’t do anything until Wimbledon is over. You know it wouldn’t be fair.’

  He nods. ‘I’ll just have to wait then, won’t I?’

  I shrug. ‘If you think she’s worth waiting for.’

  He smiles. ‘I do.’

  My heart jumps and I smile back.

  It’s only later that I remember what Maddy said. Have I been unhappy? I know I’ve been lonely since Adrienne left the tour. You want someone to share the highs and lows with and we always did that for each other. With her gone, I started to envy the players with partners they could actually talk to without hearing, ‘I have to make this quick, I have a coaching session/practice game/workout/interview/other [delete as applicable]’ after five minutes.

  I’ve been ill quite a bit this year. That’s rare for me. I don’t even get colds very often, but I’ve had... four maybe? I even had my first real attack of flu last November. And that stomach bug back in March. My energy levels have been down too, now I come to think about it. But then, in tennis terms I’m getting on a bit so I guess that's natural.

  I’ve been fed up with moving around. I used to love travelling – the journey and location were almost as exciting as the tournament. Now I get annoyed at having to do without things – anything from a favourite T-shirt that I forgot to pack to a packet of prawn cocktail crisps. And I haven’t even played as many tournaments as usual.

  Maddy’s right, I’ve been unhappy. And not just with Joe, with everything. I’m in a rut. And I’m being offered a hand to help me climb out. But I’m still sitting down here, staring at the hand, scared to take it.

  I’ve always thought of myself as brave. But, the truth is, I’m a coward.

  Joe called. I told him I had a yeast infection and the doctor says not to have sex until it clears up. Fortunately, this grossed him out enough not to probe any further – with questions or anything else.

  Sam calls me once I'm back home. My heart leaps at the sound of his voice. A few hours ago, I told Maddy she was right to tell me to avoid him, but I have no intention of hanging up.

  ‘When did you decide to retire?’ I ask.

  ‘I guess it started a couple of years ago. Right before Julia and I split up I’d almost decided that would be my last year. But then I threw myself into tennis again to take my mind off things. Once the fog had cleared a bit, I started to think about it again and I made the decision in January.’

  ‘All that time ago?’

  ‘Well... I guess you could call it a cooling off period. But it’s good to have the decision made. You don’t realise how much energy the constant second-guessing is taking up until you stop.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, inspecting my finger nails. I really have to stop picking at them. ‘I need all the energy I can get. I’m up against Diana in the fourth.’

  ‘Remember: everybody’s beatable.’

  ‘Sure. Just not by me. Let’s face it, if Katie hadn’t been ill I’d have gone out in the second round. I’m not going to get that lucky twice.’

  ‘You never know.’

  I stare at the ceiling. ‘You know what,’ I confess. ‘I’m not sure I care. I just don’t have the ambition that I used to. Not even for Wimbledon. Is that terrible?’

  ‘No, it’s not terrible. I’m the same. You get older and your priorities change. I’m different, I want different things.’

  ‘Like being a coach?’

  ‘I like children and I love tennis, but we’ll have to see. If it doesn’t work out, I can do something else. I want to try out the commentators’ box at some point. I even have a mad idea of writing a book someday.'

  ‘You know what I want?’ I say suddenly. ‘I want to spend a whole three months at home all in one go. I want to stop thinking so much about what I eat and how much training I’ve done. I want to learn to drive. And cook. And I’d like to have a few singing lessons. And I want to buy Oscar.’

  ‘Oscar?’

  ‘My kitten.’

  He laughs. ‘Likewise. Except the singing lessons, which would be a complete waste of money. And I already have a driving licence. I’ve always thought I’d like to learn woodcarving. I like wood.’

  ‘Marry me,’ I say, before I think.

  A delicious, sexy chuckle. ‘I don’t know. Can you keep me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed?’

  ‘I think we’ll scrape by,’ I say dryly. ‘I’ve got a bit to contribute. And for the rest – well, I could offer payment in kind.’

  ‘Oh yes? Well, you’ve already said you can’t cook and I have a cleaner. Hmm, I wonder what else I could possibly need...’

  ‘I’m sure I could come up with something. I have many talents that you don’t know about yet.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Well...’ I say, in my sexiest voice, ‘... I can juggle.’

  He snorts. ‘Excellent. I like a girl who knows how to handle balls.’

  I bet you do.

  ‘Well you’re in luck, because I also play table tennis.’

  He bursts out laughing. ‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘A highly attractive quality in a woman. Where have you been all my life?’

  ‘On the tennis tour. Lusting after you from afar.’

  I didn’t actually mean to say that. This conversation is running away with me.

  Sam’s silent for a minute. ‘Really?’ he asks quietly.

  I flush. ‘Kind of.’

  He clears his throat. ‘I wish you’d said something.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ I say honestly. ‘It would never have worked before now, because all I cared about was winning Wimbledon. Either I’d have chucked you because I’d decided you were messing up my game or you’d have got sick of playing sec
ond fiddle and left me. Either way, no happy ending for us.’

  ‘And now?’

  My heart starts thumping.

  ‘Well... it’s hard to say,’ I say. ‘I guess we just have to wait and see.’

  ‘After Wimbledon.’

  ‘After Wimbledon.’

  I wish it were over already.

  Chapter 8

  Saturday. Week 1, Day 6 (Third Round, Bottom Half)

  I’ve just arrived in Wimbledon when I bump into Joe. I try to smile and walk past. It doesn’t work. He catches me by the arm and stops me.

  ‘Now you can’t even give me five minutes?’ he asks, eyes narrowed. ‘What’s with you? This fucking infection won’t let you say hello?’

  I feel simultaneously guilty and irritated. Guilty because I know I’m not being much of a girlfriend and irritated that I feel I should be. How can I be scared to end a relationship I don’t even want to be in anymore?

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, trying to sound sincere. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

  I give him a quick hug and a peck on the mouth. He gives me a full snog back, tongue and all. I suppress the urge to shove him away.

  ‘Oh yeah, I saw you’re facing Diana.’ He laughs. ‘You’re totally fucked, aren’t you?’

  I can’t believe I was worried about not being supportive enough.

  ‘You couldn’t even be slightly encouraging?’

  He shrugs. ‘I’m just being a realist. Diana’s got serious skills and she’s focused. You won’t find her filling her head with retirement and babies and all that shit. I mean, you don't really have much chance at the title anyway, but at least last year you acted like you wanted it. This year... you’re all over the place. You only got past Katie because she was ill. You haven’t got a hope.’

  ‘Well, thanks very much!’ I snap, wrenching my arm away from him. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘Probably the same thing I’ve been doing all week, since you’ve “had a headache.”’

  Christ, is that all he cares about?

  ‘I told you...’ I start, fists clenching by my sides.

  ‘I know what you told me,’ he interrupts. ‘And I think it’s shit.’

  I start to go red and pray he’ll think it’s anger.

  He grabs my arms, ‘This has got something to do with Pennington, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What?’ Christ, what has he heard?

  ‘You know what I mean. Pennington, your new best friend. I know you’ve been hanging around with him. People are talking. Are you fucking him?’

  I look straight at him, incredibly relieved that I can tell the truth. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Good,’ Joe says, but his grip tightens on my arms. ‘Because the only player you fuck is me. Got that?’

  ‘Got it,’ I say, for the first time almost afraid of him.

  He leans forward and speaks right into my ear. ‘Tonight,’ he hisses. ‘My room. No excuses. Even if you do have an infection, that doesn’t rule out everything. Be there when the match is over.’

  Then he lets me go, spins on his heel and walks off.

  I stand there, nothing moving but the contents of my stomach. Then I glance around quickly.

  We’ve had an audience, which I stupidly didn’t think about. There are people coming and going all around. I suppose it’s too much to hope that no one heard anything. I just pray that none of them are journalists, but given where we are that’s unlikely.

  I’ve never known him like this before. But then, I’ve never refused him before. I don’t like this side of him one bit.

  What would happen if I didn’t go tonight?

  I try to force it out of my mind as I walk away.

  I sneak in a little time on the practice courts during a dry spell, but I think everything I practise is getting worse instead of better.

  It starts raining again. Hard. I stand by the net, getting soaked. The temperature’s dropped today and I’m cold. I’ll probably get sick again. But who cares? It won’t make much of a difference.

  I have an urge to run to Sam. Just to be in his arms. But, feeling the way I do right now, anything could happen. And probably would.

  Eventually I get up and go inside to dry off.

  I’m changed and making my way out of the grounds when I bump into Sam and Kathy. There’s no one else I could produce a smile for right now.

  ‘Been out practising?’

  ‘Yeah. Backstroke and a bit of butterfly.’

  He laughs. ‘That’s probably all anyone will need today.’

  ‘We’re in the wrong line of work.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  He turns to Kathy. ‘This is Lucy.’

  Apparently that's all he needs to say.

  ‘I’ve got tickets for Centre Court on Monday,’ Kathy says, in a friendly tone. ‘I’m looking forward to your match.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get too excited. I haven’t got a hope.’

  ‘Says who?’ she demands. ‘Everybody’s beatable.’

  I think I’m noticing a family resemblance.

  ‘Well, most spectators,’ I say sadly. ‘All the journalists, except my friend Libby. The commentators. Me. And Joe.’

  ‘He actually said that?’ I sneak a look at Sam's face. He looks appalled.

  I shouldn’t talk about it.

  ‘Yup. In his words, I’m "totally fucked".’

  Kathy raises an eyebrow. ‘He sounds delightful.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I say quickly. ‘He probably didn’t mean it. We had a bit of a fight. Anyway...’ I search my brain for something else to say. ‘I really should get something to eat. Have you had lunch?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Sam replies. ‘Join us?’

  Of course, I will.

  ‘So are you the married one in York or the engaged one in Chester?’ I ask Kathy shyly. Meeting Sam’s family is nerve-wracking. I want her to like me. Even though I’m messing her brother about.

  And I am, I know. All this is no better for him than it is for me.

  ‘The married one in York.’

  ‘Are you involved with tennis too?’

  She laughs. ‘Only as a cheerleader for Sam. I think he used up all the sports genes for generations. No, I’m a lawyer. And, unfortunately, a very busy one. It's all I could do to get Monday off.'

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘What does the rest of the family do? Virtually all of mine work in sport.’

  ‘Helen – the one in Chester – is a nurse, Dad was an engineer, Mum taught history and John owns a dry cleaner's.’

  ‘We’re an eclectic bunch,’ Sam says. ‘Are yours really all into sports?’

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘Mum was a tennis pro and Dad was her coach and there’s four more working with them at our local tennis club. Then there’s one PE teacher, two leisure centre managers, one deputy manager, two lifeguards, one aerobics teacher, three junior coaches, two cricket umpires, one sports doctor, one physiotherapist, a long distance runner and a hurdler. Oh and my Uncle Victor is a sports psychologist.’

  Sam and Kathy look slightly stunned.

  ‘There might be a few more I’ve forgotten,’ I add. ‘Oh and of course there’s the black sheep Aunt Caroline, who’s an accounts clerk, and Maddy, who’s an interior designer. But it’s just normal for us. We’re too active for desk jobs. I couldn’t stand being stuck in an office all day.’

  ‘And I can’t imagine doing something so physical,’ Kathy replies. ‘I’ll leave that to you and Sam.’

  I wonder if she has any idea what kind of physical things I’d like to do with her brother.

  That thought reminds me of Joe. I shudder involuntarily, the smile wiped off my face.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Sam asks, leaning forward across the table.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, forcing the images away. ‘Cold draught.’

  I sit up and produce a bright smile. ‘So, tell me about New Zealand. I’ve heard it’s lovely.’

  After lunch, we head back to Wimbledon to go support Jane Filer in t
he girls' singles. She has to wait for one of yesterday's matches to finish. Fortunately it's completely one-sided and, in less than an hour, she's on court. Sam, Kathy and I sit in the stands, waving a little union flag and inevitably attracting attention. Sam has to sign several autographs every time they change ends. A nice old man with not very many teeth congratulates me on reaching the fourth round. Admittedly he calls me 'Lacey', but that might just be his accent.

  The rain has stopped for the moment and the weather actually looks quite promising. I'd like to see Jane's match run straight through. It can rain all it wants during Joe's.

  My stomach clenches again when I think about tonight. Maybe he was just in a bad mood this morning. Everybody says things they wish they hadn’t.

  People around me suddenly applaud. I jump and then quickly join in. Beside me, Sam shoots me a concerned gaze. I avoid his eyes. I need to keep my mind on the match. Maybe then it won’t go wandering off down dark alleyways.

  Jane wins the first set, 6-4. I clap. I try to smile, but it keeps slipping around the edges.

  Sam’s looking at me as often as he’s looking at the court. I think Kathy’s noticed. Probably so have plenty of other people. Meanwhile, I try to keep my eyes on the ball at all times. Even when I can’t really see it through tears.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Sam murmurs into my ear.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I hiss, more harshly than I’d intended. I need him to stop asking. I can’t start crying in public. Least of all here.

  ‘Okay.’ He sounds slightly hurt.

  I want to say sorry, but I’m afraid I might sob if I open my mouth.

  I’d like to squeeze his hand, kiss his cheek or do anything to make it clear that I’m not angry with him. But I can’t. We’re in full view of lots of people with cameras.

  Jane breaks her opponent in the fourth game of the set. We applaud. As our hands drop down to our sides, my fingers brush against Sam’s, accidentally on purpose. Hidden between us, I stroke the back of his hand gently. He tangles our fingers together for a moment. I hit a peak in the track of my emotional roller coaster. We both join in late with the next round of applause.