After Wimbledon

by Roberts, Jennifer Gilby

  'It was, huh?'

  'Mmmm, the best ever.'

  Maybe I shouldn't have said that. What if it was terrible? Then he'll either know I'm lying or will be convinced he's a sex god and do it wrong every single time.

  'Definitely,' he says. 'I have to admit I was surprised.'

  I stop kissing him and pull back so I can see him. I feel quite hurt. This is the only thing apart from tennis that I'm really good at. 'So... you thought I'd be lousy?'

  He kisses me. 'Not at all. I just meant... I never thought you'd be into that stuff.'

  What stuff? I don't remember any stuff.

  'Because I don't think most women would be.'

  I desperately try to remember. Nothing.

  'Especially with all the risks involved.'

  Christ, what did we do? What if he's into needles or asphyxiation or something? And now he thinks I'm into it too.

  What if he wants to do it again? What do I say?

  I reach up and surreptitiously check my neck for bruises. I can't feel anything. And nothing really seems to hurt. But maybe the pain in my head is drowning it out.

  I'm going to have to confess. Admit I have no idea what happened last night.

  I take a deep breath and look up at him.

  His mouth is twitching.

  I narrow my eyes at him. His face breaks into a mischievous grin.

  'You bastard!' I yell, getting a slamming pain in my head for my trouble.

  'I'm sorry,' he says, grinning broadly. 'But you really asked for that. You don't remember one thing about last night, do you?'

  I attempt to look apologetic. 'And we didn't really do anything kinky?'

  'No.'

  Thank Christ.

  'So what did happen?'

  He strokes my hair. 'Well,' he says. 'You told me about being nervous. You offered yourself to me shamelessly - hopefully not for the last time - we kissed for a while and then you passed out.'

  'Oh. How come we're undressed?'

  'I did that. I thought it would be more comfortable for sleeping. I hope you don't mind.'

  'Ah.' I frown. 'So you didn't...'

  'No.' Sam kisses me on the forehead. 'As tempting a sight as you were lying there, drooling away and snoring like a warthog - although the see-through knickers are very nice - I've always had this mad idea that the woman you're groping should be conscious.'

  'That's very gentlemanly of you.'

  'Cheers. I try.'

  I lower my eyes. 'I'm really, really sorry I messed up our evening. I swear I don't usually drink that much. In fact, I hardly drink at all. I just...'

  'Got nervous.'

  'Yes.' I still can't look at him. 'I get nervous about you. Because I care what you think of me. Even though it seems to lead me to do things that make me look worse in your eyes.'

  He rests his forehead against mine. I look up at him.

  'You haven't put me off,' he says. 'And as for being nervous, you explained that pretty well last night.'

  I did? I'm impressed I managed to string a sentence together.

  I reach out and play lightly with his chest hair. 'And now, of course, you have a match to play in a few hours.'

  'And you've got a terrible hangover. Not to mention really bad breath.'

  I cringe. 'Oh Christ, I'm sorry. How bad?'

  'It smells like something from a swamp has died in your mouth.'

  I close my eyes and groan. 'I'm so very, very, sor...'

  He kisses me, bad breath and all. I melt into him.

  'Rain check until tonight?' I suggest breathlessly.

  He plays with my hair. 'It could be another long match. I can't promise I'll be up to it.'

  I suppress a sigh. I can't really complain, given that it's my fault last night didn't work out.

  'Can I see you tonight anyway?'

  Little does he know, that's the most romantic thing a man has ever said to me.

  I stay in bed for a while after Sam has gone and beam at the ceiling. My head is pounding, my mouth tastes awful and I think a colony of something is living on my tongue, but I don't care. I'm seeing Sam tonight. My boyfriend. My real, proper boyfriend who wants to see me even if we're not going to have sex and kisses me even when I taste disgusting.

  Eventually I drag myself into the bathroom, where a whiff of my shower gel makes me throw up. Never mind. Happy, happy day!

  It's only when I go to take my pill that I realise I'm on my last reminder one (I really should get an implant or something, but needles freak me out) and my period hasn't started yet.

  This realisation makes me throw up again. Then I get dizzy and have to sit on the bathroom floor with my head between my legs.

  It's probably nothing. It's almost certainly nothing. Doesn't the little leaflet say they're 99.9% effective or something? And I always use condoms anyway, so they're really just for back up. I've skipped a period before - once - and I wasn't pregnant then.

  Except that, just because it was okay then doesn't mean it is now. I've had sex, therefore I could be pregnant.

  Joe's baby. A lifelong tie to him. Oh, Christ.

  And Sam? Yes he wants children, but his own, not his arch-rival's. Would he stick around? Probably not.

  I should do a test. Or several. That's the sensible thing to do. They'll almost certainly be negative. I'll pick some up when I go out. It'll be fine.

  I hope.

  I buy six tests somewhere far from home, praying all the time that no one recognises me. I shove them into the depths of my bag.

  I should go home and take them, but I don't. I convince myself that my period will show up today, if I just wait.

  I head to Wimbledon instead.

  I nearly walk into Sam in the village.

  'Hey, where are you rushing off to?' he asks, steadying me.

  'Oh, nowhere,' I say quickly. 'I'm just... meeting Adrienne. Are you going over there yet?'

  'Just to practise. Harker's up first. Will you be watching the match?'

  'Of course.'

  'And I'll see you after?'

  'Definitely.'

  'Here,' he slips me his room key card, 'let yourself in. I'll be there as soon as I can get away.'

  Sam looks around. 'If I kiss you now, everyone's going to know before long,' he says softly. 'Do you want me to?'

  I start to say yes, but then I remember.

  'No,' I say. 'I mean, we'd get a lot of attention. Maybe it's best just to keep it to ourselves for now.'

  He nods slowly. 'If that's what you want.'

  I open my mouth to explain - somehow - and then shut it again as I spy Joe coming towards us. I sense Sam stiffening beside me.

  'Ah,' Joe says, eyeing us both, 'the love birds.'

  'Harker.'

  'Just leave it, Joe,' I say irritably.

  Joe holds up his hands. 'I didn't say anything. I hope the two of you will be very happy together.'

  Yeah, right.

  'I'm serious,' he says. Smiling. Rather like a crocodile sheds tears. 'I wish you many good years. And just think, if things work out and you two end up getting married and having kids and all that shit you supposedly both want...' he turns his gaze to Sam and looks him right in the eye, '... you'll be able to think about me and know... that I've had your wife up the ass.'

  For a moment, I think Sam is going to hit him. Undaunted, Joe strolls off down the street.

  My face is burning and I can't look Sam in the eye.

  'I'd better get over there,' Sam says quietly. 'I'll see you tonight.'

  'All right,' I say. 'And please ignore Joe. He's just trying to get to you.'

  'Yeah, well.' Sam runs a hand over his hair. 'He's succeeding.'

  I watch him walk off, fear freeze-drying my insides.

  I sit in the bar of Sam's hotel with Adrienne, watching Joe's match. His form has not dipped. If anything, it's getting better. This is the best he's ever played on grass. And I'm worried.

  I'm worried about Sam too. That Joe will get to him, that I'm
distracting him, that the tough matches he's had so far have worn him out. A look at the tournament so far and you'd have to favour Joe for the title. The one that he absolutely must not win.

  And, of course, I'm also worried about me and Sam. That Joe's taunt will put him off. That I'll screw things up. That the tests will be positive.

  I try to watch the match, but all I can think about is those boxes in the bottom of my bag. I should just go and do the tests and get it over with. But I'm too afraid to move.

  It's a tougher match than Joe's last few. He's up against the world number six, a rising star with a liking for grass, who hasn't dropped a set so far. Joe has to fight. But he's still winning.

  The first set goes to a tie-break, which Joe wins. Then he breaks in the second set. It looks like the match is going to go his way.

  Maybe an abortion wouldn't be so bad. It's what Joe would vote for. I wouldn't even have to tell him. Or Sam. It could just be my little secret. The problem would just go away.

  Except, I wouldn't just forget about it. I don't know if I'd ever forgive myself. It's not the baby's fault that it was conceived with the wrong man.

  I can't do it.

  Joe takes the second set. He's swaggering again.

  But his opponent fights back. The third set is beginning to swing the other way.

  I shouldn't think about this stuff. Not until I've done the tests.

  His opponent takes the third set. Joe is pissed off. The fourth set goes out the window. Two sets all.

  Will Joe get back in control? Somehow, I'm sure he will. He's going to go through to the final. He wants so much to come up against Sam that he won't let anything stand in his way.

  I'll do the tests before Sam's match. They'll only take a minute or two. Then I'll know.

  It takes him a while, but Joe eventually breaks and wins the match. He's through to the final. The only question now is whether Sam will join him.

  All those times I've told Christ to name his price for Sam to win. Maybe this is it. If I am pregnant, I'll lose Sam. The payment for a British Wimbledon champion is my chance at love.

  I may have an overinflated idea of my own importance.

  Joe's match is over. Sam's hasn't started yet. Time to go do the tests.

  I don't move.

  This being the semis, Sam's match is also potentially tough. His opponent is ranked well below him, but only due to a nasty injury that took him out of contention for a long while. I'm so nervous I can hardly breathe by this time. Sam looks beautiful on the court. He looks like the champion. He should be the champion. Please don't let anything go wrong today.

  If the tests are positive, I won't be able to tell him. It'll have to be a secret until after Sunday. But then what will I do tonight? The last thing I should do is let things go further with Sam. It would just make things harder if he leaves. What can I use for an excuse?

  Of course, with Sam I probably don't need one. I think he's a man who understands what no means.

  Sam breaks once to take the first set and I find some measure of relief. He's playing well and he doesn't look like Joe's comments have bothered him. But then, he's not playing Joe right now. The final could be a different story.

  I don't want to lose him.

  My stomach muscles are beginning to ache from being clenched.

  He takes the second set as well, but on a tie-break. His opponent is starting to fight back. Please let this be a straight sets win. Sam's spent way more time on court than Joe has over the last fortnight. It gives Joe an advantage I don't want him to have.

  His opponent takes control of the third set and wins it. All around me, people groan. I don't think I can make a sound anymore.

  Sam raises his game in the fourth set. I pray.

  He wins it! He's through to the final!

  Sam versus Joe. It had to be.

  People rise to applaud. The British ones yell and cheer. I'm unsteady on my feet and can't seem to clap properly. I feel weak and dizzy and it occurs to me that I haven't actually eaten today. Please let that be the only reason.

  I order a snack and slowly work my way through it. When I've finally forced down the last mouthful, I creep up to Sam's room.

  I can't do it. I just can't.

  Maybe if I wish really, really hard it'll just go away.

  I sit on Sam's bed, staring at the test boxes. I'm sure they must be radioactive, because I swear they're glowing.

  I can hear my watch ticking as time passes. I keep checking it without registering the time. Sam will be here soon. I have to do the tests.

  Suddenly I grab them, roll off the bed and stride to the bathroom. I set them down by the sink and open them up. I line up the sticks and start to read the instructions.

  At first, nothing penetrates. I try again and force myself to concentrate. Right. Pee on sticks for ten seconds. That's an awfully long time. I need to drink some more.

  I'm sitting on the toilet lid, finally feeling ready to pee and trying not to chicken out, when there's a knock at the door.

  Oh no.

  I dart out of the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me. Then I take a deep breath and open the door.

  He greets me with a soft kiss that nearly makes my knees buckle. I slip my arms around him and kiss him back. He tastes good. And smells good. And feels good.

  I don't want to lose him.

  'Have you had a good day?' he murmurs, as we slowly break apart.

  'Uh huh.'

  'I didn't bring wine. I figured it was safer.'

  I try to laugh, but all I manage is a forced giggle. He frowns. 'Are you all right?'

  'Sure!' I say, trying to smile. 'Why wouldn't I be?'

  Sam doesn't answer. He's standing stock still, looking past me into the bathroom. The door has quietly glided open and the tests are in full view.

  Sam swallows hard and drags his eyes over to me. He's gone white. 'Those aren't what I think they are, are they?' he asks, his voice catching.

  So much for keeping it a secret. Why didn't I do the stupid things earlier?

  I close my eyes briefly and nod.

  He takes a shaky breath. 'Are they... have you done them or are you waiting for the results or what?'

  'I haven't done them yet. I was just about to when you got here.'

  He nods slowly. 'Well, you'll better do them then.'

  'Sam, I...'

  'Just do the tests. Please.'

  I nod, step into the bathroom and shut the door.

  A little later, I step out.

  Sam is sitting on the bed with his head in his hands, but immediately leaps to his feet. 'Well?'

  'One minute to wait.'

  He sits down again, bracing his hands on his knees. I sit beside him and wring my hands. We both stare at my watch.

  60 seconds. 45. 30. 15. 0.

  I can't get up. My limbs are too heavy and something's crushing my chest.

  'Are you going to...?'

  'Yes.'

  I still don't move.

  'All right,' Sam says, rising in one swift motion. 'I'll look.'

  Before I can say a word, he strides into the bathroom.

  I wait, but he doesn't come out. Somehow, I clamber to my feet and stumble to the door.

  'Well?' I croak.

  Sam comes to stand in front of me.

  'What does a blue line mean?'

  I can't move.

  'It means it's positive,' I whisper. 'It means I'm pregnant. Do they all have them?'

  He nods.

  The world implodes. Sam catches me as my knees really do buckle. He sits me down on the toilet lid and holds me upright as I start to sob uncontrollably against his shoulder.

  'It'll be okay,' he says to me, though I don't think even he believes it. But he holds me close, strokes my hair and - most importantly - doesn't leave.

  But then, this is his room.

  'What am I going to do?' I sob.

  Sam takes a deep breath. 'Well, that's not for me to say. You'll have to tell
Joe and agree between you what's going to happen.'

  This is a nightmare. I cannot have that conversation.

  I'll have to.

  I stop crying eventually. My best sobs haven't changed a thing. 'I'll just splash some cold water on my face,' I say dully.

  Sam lets me up and stands beside me while I try to dull the red glow I've created. I still feel shaky.

  I pick up one of the test sticks and turn it over, wanting to see for myself.

  Then I frown.

  'Sam,' I say, holding it up. 'Is this what it looked like before?'

  He nods.

  I close my eyes and thank every deity I've ever heard of. 'Sam,' I laugh, 'that's the control window. A blue line there just means the test is working. One in this bit here would make it positive.'

  I turn over the rest of the sticks. They're all the same.

  Sam's face slowly clears. 'So, what you're saying is that...'

  'They're all working and they're all negative! I'm not pregnant!'

  I'm crushed in his arms. I'm laughing hysterically and crying hysterically and Sam's mumbling something with the words 'sorry' and 'idiot' in it and I'm so relieved I could fly.

  'You stupid arse,' I say, kissing him hard on the mouth.

  'I'm sorry! I never did this before. I didn't know position mattered.'

  I run my hands over his hair. 'That's it,' I say cheerfully, 'you are banned from ever reading my pregnancy tests again.'

  He smiles and rests his forehead against mine. 'Even if I'm the father?'

  'Especially if you're the father.'

  He heaves a sigh. 'That's a relief.'

  I laugh. 'You're relieved? How do you think I feel? For a minute there I thought I'd have to jump off a bridge.'

  'Please don't.'

  He kisses me tenderly and my eyes close as I mould against him.

  'Right. These are going in the bin,' he declares.

  The elation starts to fade a little, replaced by exhaustion from being in a state of nervous tension all day. I wish I'd just done the tests this morning. I could have saved myself all that worry.

  'I think I need some dinner,' I say. 'Room service all right? I don't feel much like going anywhere.'

  'Me neither.'

  Far from reviving me, dinner just makes me sleepy. Sam and I end up curled round each other, snuggling and watching Today at Wimbledon. I'm delighted to find that Jane Filer has won her semi-final - which I have to admit I'd forgotten all about. We might have a British girl's champion at least.