After Wimbledon

by Roberts, Jennifer Gilby

‘Sure, Ken!’

  ‘Jump in!’

  And Sam starts to sing.

  No matter how many times he said he was awful, I never really believed him. I just assumed he was being overly modest. Even the separate list and the groans didn’t fully convince me. This does.

  He’s appalling. If he's sung a single right note, it was in the wrong place. I spend much of the song gazing at him in wonder that anyone that terrible would willingly sing in public. I only just manage to get my lines out.

  He's booed all the way through and people actually do throw peanuts at him. One snags his shirt and he picks it off and eats it. He doesn’t stop singing. It doesn’t seem to affect his performance.

  At the end, everyone cheers. I’ve heard brilliant singers get far less response. What he is, I realise, is an institution. How long has he been coming here?

  ‘Well?’ he prompts, as we sit down again.

  Solemnly I remove a peanut from my packet and bounce it off his forehead. He grins. 'I hate to say it, but I told you so.'

  ‘I didn’t know it was possible to sing that badly.’

  ‘Well it takes heaps of hard work and dedication.’

  The barmaid makes another announcement and soon someone is droning his way through Robbie Williams' 'Angels.'

  I turn to Sam. ‘Do you come here often?’

  He chuckles. ‘I found it not long after I moved here and just kept coming back whenever I was in town. Mostly because they let me sing a second song after they heard my first.’ He glances over to the bar. ‘And not one person has ever asked for my autograph.’

  ‘Do you think they know who you are?’

  ‘Some do, I would guess. But no one’s said anything. I’m just Sam here. It’s good to have a place like that.’

  I start humming the theme tune from Cheers.

  ‘Exactly. And it’s good to hear how crap I am, as weird as that sounds. No one here is in awe of me at all.’

  ‘Funny that...’

  His lips twitch. ‘Isn’t it?’

  I'm called up to the microphone. I found the perfect track – Avril Lavigne’s 'These Things I’ll Never Say.'

  I get a good round of applause. ‘Hey Sam, how'd you get a girl who can sing?’ someone yells out. I grin.

  ‘You, on the other hand,’ Sam says, as I sit down again, ‘you’re terrific. And interesting choice of song. You took the words right out of my mouth.’

  I stir my drink. ‘Let’s have another look at your list. How do they come up with the tracks?’

  ‘Oh, they vote on them. Anyone can propose one, but a two-thirds majority is required to add it. It’s very democratic.’

  ‘Right,’ I grab a pen and start running down the list. ‘I’m sure I can come up with some more.’

  We’re forced to leave at nine, since Sam’s playing tomorrow. He’s had one pint and is not even tipsy. I’ve had one too many Bacardi Breezers and am in danger of tipping over. It’s necessary for Sam to hold me up as we walk up my front path. Well, mostly necessary.

  ‘We have to do this again,’ I say, as he manoeuvres me through my front door. I slide my arms around him. ‘Lots of times. It’s fun.’

  'Definitely.'

  I nuzzle his cheek. ‘Very gentlemanly of you to walk me to my door.’

  Sam clears his throat. One arm is tight around my waist, the other hand resting on my hip. I’m close enough to feel his heart beating.

  ‘Well, I had to,’ he murmurs back. ‘You can’t stand up. Of course, it wasn’t really a hardship.’

  This is the bit where we say goodnight. That’s what friends do.

  I don’t want to.

  Neither of us says anything. I slowly turn myself around in his arms so that I’m facing him. I shift closer. A tiny gap between our bodies, waiting to be closed.

  He reaches out and pushes my hair back. His fingers rest at the back of my head. I follow suit, stroking down his cheek first. I’ve nearly stopped breathing. The air is crackling between us.

  One swift move and we’re kissing. Really kissing. This is not the soft brush in the kitchen but hard and hungry. I’m up against the wall with Sam’s powerful body grinding against mine. I have one leg wrapped around him, as high and tight as I can get it, one hand on the back of his head crushing his lips against mine and the other running over his back. Christ, I want him. I don’t want to stop. ‘Upstairs,’ I gasp out.

  He pulls away. I try to pull him back, but he takes my hands away and holds me at arm’s length. ‘You have no idea how much I want to,’ he groans, chest heaving. ‘But I can’t. Not like this. You’re drunk and you still belong to someone else.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ I say desperately. Sam’s the only one I want. Hard, fast and above all now.

  He looks taken aback rather than turned on. Then his face softens. ‘You will once you’ve sobered up. And I’ve had enough pangs from my conscience as it is. I’m not turning into a bloke who sleeps with other bloke’s girlfriends – no matter what the state of the relationship. We’re not crossing that line until you get things officially ended with Joe.’

  He steps back, away from me. ‘And for God’s sake, make that soon. But right now, you’re going to go to bed and I’m going to stand in the garden and think about investments and insurance policies until I’m fit to be seen. Then I’m going to go back to my hotel and take a long, cold shower. From tomorrow, I think we should see each other only in public until you’re free.’

  I groan. ‘Damn you for being right.’

  ‘I know. My parents ruined my life by instilling morals in me. Now go to bed before I betray them.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I promise. ‘I’ll get it sorted tomorrow.’

  And I force myself to let him leave.

  I mean it. Tomorrow, I’m breaking up with Joe. As soon as he finishes his match, I’ll call him. Over. Finito. Forget waiting until Wimbledon is over. Joe no longer deserves such consideration.

  Then I’m going to show Sam exactly what he’s been missing all these years.

  Christ, I can’t wait. Tomorrow is when it all begins.

  Chapter 11

  Tuesday. Week 2, Day 2 (Women’s Quarter-finals)

  I wake up to someone pounding on my skull. I force my eyes open, wince at the bright sunlight streaming in through the curtains I foolishly left open, and shut them again.

  The pounding comes again. Gradually I realise it’s actually coming from my front door. Who would be banging on my door?

  Oh, Christ.

  I’m not ready to face Joe. I need to take a shower. And some Alka-Seltzer. And shave my tongue.

  I make a supreme effort and drag myself out of bed. It hurts. One hand shading my eyes, I stumble down the stairs to the door and pull it open.

  ‘What the fuck is this?!’ Joe hisses, thrusting something under my nose.

  I pull the door closed behind me. I’m not letting him in. I squint at the tabloid he’s holding, trying to clear my vision. Slowly the page swims into focus.

  'Pennington and Harker’s Off Court Rivalry' is the headline. And there, in the middle of the page, is a photo of Sam and me at Jane's match. The photographer’s done a fantastic job. We’re looking at each other and our faces say everything. There's a couple of other shots too. Both worth entire press releases.

  I suppose I should tell him it isn’t what it looks like. But, let’s face it, it is. And what reason do I have to lie?

  ‘It’s an article.’

  ‘Not fucking him, huh?’

  ‘I haven’t actually.’ I’m speaking remarkably calmly, although that’s at least partly due to the pain in my head.

  ‘But you’re planning on it, that’s what you’re saying?’

  I fold my arms across my chest. ‘Do you actually care? I mean really?’

  ‘Of course I fucking care!’ Joe grabs the paper back off me and starts to rip it up. ‘You can fuck anyone you like, but not when you’re turning me down, no other players and definitely not him!’

  I bli
nk. Did I hear that right?

  ‘I can sleep with anyone I like?’

  ‘Except him!’

  ‘So... what you're saying is... we have an open relationship? Apart from other players.’

  ‘Right,’ Joe agrees, as if I’m being stupid.

  ‘And... you’ve been shagging other people all along? For the last four years?’

  He frowns. ‘Well, yeah. Not when you’re around, until Saturday. But we’re apart months of every year; I have to have someone. And I know what you’re like. You’re not going to tell me that you’ve been faithful to me all this time!’

  ‘I have actually.’

  Joe looks as close to stunned as I’ve ever seen him. ‘Fuck me,’ he says finally.

  ‘No,’ I say, dropping my arms to my sides. ‘I don’t think I will. Ever again. It’s over between us. Go fuck one of your other women.’

  ‘Going to fuck him instead?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, taking a breath. ‘And more hopefully. Like, only each other. Possibly on a permanent basis. Marriage, children even. We both want that stuff.’

  ‘Why?’

  I shrug. ‘Some people do when they get older. It sneaks up on you.’

  Joe checks behind him on reflex. I roll my eyes. ‘I didn’t mean literally.’

  ‘You want a baby?’

  ‘Plural and soon.’

  He looks nervous. ‘Well, I sure as shit don’t want that stuff.’

  I smile. ‘Great, no problem. You go have sex with random strangers and I’ll marry Sam and have loads of babies. Everyone’s happy. We’ll be off the tour after Wimbledon anyway, so you’ll never have to see us again.’

  ‘Fine! Whatever. He can push a pram with you. But I bet I’m better in bed. He’s too much of a goody goody to be any use.’

  ‘I’m warned,’ I say solemnly.

  Joe eyes my chest in my nearly see-through top. ‘Last fuck?’

  ‘No.’

  He shrugs. ‘Your loss.’

  He stalks off down the path and I dart back inside.

  I’ve done it! I’m single!

  I have to see Sam.

  Actually, first I have to get dressed.

  Half an hour later I’m showered, dressed and the painkillers have kicked in. I ignore all remaining hangover effects. A smile keeps bursting out as I head towards Sam. I bounce along the pavement, almost tempted to skip.

  It takes an unbearably long time to get to Wimbledon. My heart is pounding with anticipation as I reach his hotel and head up to his room. This is it!

  I arrive outside his door and take a deep breath. There’s so much adrenaline flowing that every limb is trembling. I smooth my hair back, check my face in the glass of a portrait hanging on the wall and knock on the door.

  ‘I’ve done it!’ I beam, the second the door opens. ‘I’ve broken up with Joe! I’m single!’

  Sam stands there, one hand holding the door open. He’s in a T-shirt and boxers and his hair is still sleep-mussed. He looks unbelievably sexy.

  But he isn’t smiling.

  ‘We broke up,’ I repeat, uncertainly.

  ‘That’s good,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m sure it’s for the best. I take it he’s seen the article then?’

  I don’t know what to do with myself. In my fantasy, he was carrying me towards the bed by now.

  ‘Yes, he brought it over,’ I say. ‘And it’s sorted. So... we can be together now.’

  I go to kiss him, but he turns his face away. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’

  I don’t understand.

  ‘But last night...’

  ‘Well, I’ve learned a few things since then.’

  ‘What things?’

  He frowns. ‘Lucy, have you actually read the article?’

  ‘Joe ripped it up. All I saw was the headline and the pictures.’

  He sighs and steps back, holding the door open. ‘Come in and read it now.’

  I step into the room and he hands me the paper. I read the headline again. Then, for the first time, I see the rest.

  Will Bennett’s Dirty Play Tip the Balance?

  Competition has long been fierce between tennis champs Joe Harker and Sam Pennington, but now it seems to extend to love as well as tennis. Pennington has been repeatedly snapped during the Wimbledon tournament cosying up with Lucy Bennett, Harker’s girlfriend of the last four years.

  Since Pennington’s move to England three years ago, he and Bennett have lived less than a mile apart and belonged to the same tennis club. Rumours are rife that their affair has been going on much of that time and may even have been a factor in Pennington’s split with long-term girlfriend Julia Ashby last year. With Pennington about to retire, it seems they have stopped bothering to hide their relationship.

  Bennett and Harker are a favourite couple with fans the world over and have been tipped to marry. However, it seems Harker's number two ranking isn’t enough for Bennett, who has set her sights on the top of the pile.

  Christ, who wrote this crud?

  It appears Bennett is no stranger to double-dealing. During her relationship with Harker, she has been linked with a number of other men, including coach Jose Ferraras and golfer Jim Stoleman. Nor does she seem concerned about betraying the trust of those closest to her. One of her previous liaisons was with Jacques Gaston, who at the time was the boyfriend of her close friend and training partner Adrienne Nichols.

  The hell he was.

  Nicola Shaw, former wife of Australian player Jack Shaw, has also revealed that her ex-husband confessed to having a steamy affair with Bennett during the Australian Open in 2010.

  Christ, he swore he wouldn’t tell anyone about that.

  The question tennis fans will all be asking is: what effect will this have on the two players? Will a broken heart destroy Harker's chances of winning the Wimbledon title? Or will the truth hurt Pennington more? Either way, it's Bennett who may have to answer to the fans.

  It’s that slimy guy from the press conferences who’s written this. Christ and now everyone’s reading it. But surely no one’s going to believe this drivel.

  Judging by his expression, Sam does. He stands in front of his bed, legs braced apart and arms folded. ‘Well, did you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have an affair with Jack Shaw?’

  I wince. ‘Well, technically, but...’

  ‘And sleep with this Jacques bloke?’

  ‘Well yes, but...’

  ‘That’s enough,’ he says, holding up a hand. He runs a hand across his hair. ‘That’s about all I need to hear.’

  I drop the paper. ‘You don’t understand...’

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ he says stiffly. ‘By the sound of it, way better than you. I never thought you could do such things.’

  I’m stung into silence.

  He walks away and stands looking out of the window. ‘You know, over this past week I’ve been salving my conscience by telling myself that we’re just victims of bad timing. You coming to the natural end of a long-term relationship, knowing it’s over but having to delay making the break. See, I’ve been working on the basis that you’re basically a nice girl, who wouldn’t normally screw people around. Now it seems I’ve had you all wrong.’

  He turns back to me. ‘I’m a one-woman man,’ he says. ‘Pure and simple. And I’m looking for a one-man woman. I am not interested in someone I can’t trust not to screw around behind my back. I’ve had my share of this shit already and I deserve better. So this affair, or whatever it is we’ve been having, is over. You live your life however you want, but leave me out of it.’

  I can’t speak. My thoughts are too jumbled together to create words from, let alone sentences.

  ‘I need to get some breakfast and prepare for my match,’ he says coldly. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  He turns away from me and starts rummaging through a bag.

  I slowly walk out.

  I walk to the lift and go down in a daze. I don’t know what to do
now. I’m too upset to run back and fight my corner. How could he let me go so easily? Doesn’t he care about me at all?

  That’s it, isn’t it? He’s been toying with me. Now I’m bad for his image, so he drops me. Most likely without a second thought. Christ, I’m an idiot. Yesterday I had two men and now I have none. Fantastic.

  The doors open at the lobby. I’m about to step out when I hear, ‘There she is!’ Journalists rush towards me and start firing questions. I’m too sore to really care.

  ‘Have you seen the article today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there something going on between you and Sam Pennington?’

  ‘No.’ I will myself not to cry.

  ‘How are things between you and Joe Harker?’

  ‘We split up this morning.’

  ‘Because of the article?’

  ‘Partly, but it’s been coming for a while.’

  Why can’t they all feck off and die?

  ‘What’s your comment on the article?’

  I stab the button for Adrienne’s floor. ‘It’s shit,’ I snap. ‘And if I get my hands on the guy who wrote it, I’ll insert my racquet handle somewhere dark and delicate.’

  The doors close on them.

  Adrienne's not in her room, but Henri lets me in and kindly leaves me alone. I shut the curtains, turn off the lights and put on the TV to drown my sobs. Except I don’t cry. I just sit there on the bed, feeling numb, and wonder what to do. Until Adrienne arrives, no doubt summoned by Henri.

  ‘You’ve seen it then?’

  ‘Seen the article, heard the talk, witnessed Joe talking to journalists,’ Adrienne says, sitting down next to me and starting to rub my back.

  ‘What did he say?’ I ask dully.

  She winces. ‘I don’t think you want to know. But what happened with Sam? Everyone was saying you both denied there was anything between you, but that he’s going around looking miserable. What’s going on? Have you seen him?’

  I nod. ‘I went there this morning. After I saw Joe. I was so happy because we’d broken up. But Sam read the article too and believed every word. Now he thinks I’m a two-faced slut.’