After Wimbledon

by Roberts, Jennifer Gilby

  5-7 7-6 6-3 to Joe. The momentum's firmly on his side and he only needs one more set for the title.

  The crowd and I rally behind Sam as they walk out to begin the fourth set. We scream 'Come on, Sam!' and wave our flags. Someone starts chanting, 'It's coming home, it's coming home, it's coming, the trophy's coming home.' I love it.

  Right from the start, Sam sets out to change the momentum. He takes his time, forcing Joe to slow down. This irritates Joe, who's pumped and wants to get on. His play becomes a little sloppier. Sam edges ahead.

  The crowd gets increasingly wound up as Sam consolidates his position. By the time he wins the set, the energy is frenzied again. One more set. And Sam is playing the better right now. Victory is so close!

  The roar that starts the set is worthy of a whole pride of lions. This is it. The deciding set. The last few games of professional tennis that Sam will ever play. The end. For better or worse.

  Joe is determined not to let this get away. Both of them raise their game, giving it everything they have. The ball flies over the net so fast it seems incredible that they can even see it, let alone hit it back. The tennis is beautiful - everything you could ask for from a final.

  Neither concedes their own serve. 6-6 comes and goes.

  At 8-7, Sam has two break points. Or rather, two match points. 15,000 people lean forward in their seats. Hand-wringing, breath-holding, nail-biting fans.

  Two points. Two chances. Too close to call.

  Joe saves the first with an ace. The collective groan can't be suppressed.

  One more chance.

  Sam returns what Joe probably thought was an unreturnable serve. They're drawn into a rally so fast it seems more like table tennis than full size. Neither can win; both refuse to lose.

  There's a gasp of agony as Sam's return goes into the net. Deuce.

  A fast serve, a brief rally and then a sneaky little drop shot that curves over the net. Game, Harker.

  My stomach muscles clench.

  Buoyed by this success, Joe goes on the attack. He breaks. He'll serve for the championship.

  A note of desperation gets into the calls from the crowd. Sam has to break back now, or it's all over.

  Sam raises his game yet again, but Joe matches it. He won't be shifted.

  And then it's 40-30. Joe has his own match point.

  Sam will save it. He has to. He's supposed to win this match.

  He does. Saved. Deuce.

  Ace. Advantage Joe.

  Deuce again.

  Advantage Joe.

  Deuce three.

  Advantage Joe.

  Deuce four.

  Advantage Joe.

  One more, Sam.

  It might have been an ace, but Sam gets to it somehow. A rally begins. The ball rockets back and forth, sending the players hurtling side-to-side. It goes on and on. And on.

  Sam hits a blistering shot. Joe shouldn't reach it, but somehow he does with the very tip of his racquet. It goes flying towards the net in a neat little arc. It's going to hit it. Sam is running forward anyway, but he started from so far back.

  It'll hit the net. It'll be all right.

  It does. On the tape right at the top. It bounces into the air and then plops down.

  On Sam's side of the net.

  For a moment, everyone is silent. Then Joe collapses to his knees, throwing his arms above his head and punching the air. Sam looks at the ball, his racquet, the scoreboard, the umpire, me and finally Joe. Then he takes the last few steps to the net and swaps his racquet over to his left hand so his right one is free to shake hands. There he waits for Joe to finish his victory dance.

  The umpire leans forward. 'Game, set and match, Harker, 5-7 7-6 6-3 4-6 10-8.'

  I haven't moved.

  I always believed that Sam would win. Even when Joe was playing brilliantly and Sam was fighting through. Even with all the distractions Sam's had. The world number one, the defending champion, his last Wimbledon and now GBR after his name. It was just right. That's how it would have happened in a film.

  Sometimes, real life just sucks.

  I'm numb all the way through the presentation. I clap in the appropriate places and attempt a smile. The crowd is no different. The disappointment is so strong right now.

  But when Sam lifts the runner's up trophy, I clap for all I'm worth. He gave it his all. It could so easily have gone the other way.

  One day it will. Just not this year.

  Maybe we have to wait for someone British-born.

  It's some time before I can catch up with Sam, outside the locker rooms, and by then I've recovered enough to be supportive. I don't want him to think that I'm disappointed in him. I'm not. It just wasn't meant to be.

  That sounds terribly accepting. The fan part of me is crushed, but I need to just be his girlfriend right now.

  His expression is neutral and his air contemplative as he walks towards me. He stops in front of me, setting his bags on the floor. 'Well, that's it then.'

  'Welcome to retirement.'

  He smiles weakly. 'I have to admit, despite all I've said, this wasn't how I wanted to begin it.'

  I walk into his arms and hold him tight. 'I know.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  I pull back so I can look him in the eye. 'You have nothing to be sorry for and I won't let anyone say otherwise. Not even you.'

  His smile reaches his eyes. 'Stealing my lines again.'

  'Girlfriend's prerogative.'

  He draws me into a kiss, which leaves me grinning stupidly.

  'They wanted to know about you,' he murmurs, between soft brushes of his lips. 'About us. How, when, where, why - everything. It still amazes me how interested people get in our lives. I mean, at the end of the day we're just two people who think they could have something special and are trying to find out. Nothing so unusual about that.'

  'Oh, I don't know.' I wind my arms around his neck. 'It seems pretty special to me.'

  Sam and I don't even make it out of the All England Club before we're caught in a scrum of journalists. Sam doesn't let go of my hand. In fact, he gently strokes it with his thumb as we answer questions.

  'Won't it be difficult for you to keep the relationship going with one of you still on the tour?'

  I start to take a deep breath, but am surprised to find I don't need it. As significant as this moment is, it's easier than I expected.

  'Actually, I'm taking a break from the tour. I've been thinking about it for some time and I've finally decided to do it.'

  'When will you be back?'

  I hesitate. 'I don't know. I'm going to give it six months and then decide what I want to do. This is a trial to see how I feel. And how things go.'

  'Between you and Sam?'

  They had to ask.

  'We decided to retire independently. Our relationship is separate from tennis.'

  I've said those words before, haven't I? Only this time I really mean them.

  'We'll cross that bridge if we come to it,' Sam adds.

  In many ways, I suppose that's a relationship in a nutshell.

  I spy Libby, doing her best to elbow her way through the crowd. 'Hey, Libby,' I call. 'How would you like an exclusive?'

  She punches the air as Sam and I fight our way towards her.

  'You want to know something?' asks the drowsy man lying next to me as he strokes my hair.

  I rub my fingers lazily over his chest. 'What?'

  'I remember the first time I ever saw you.'

  'Really?'

  'It was at Wimbledon, when you were still in the juniors. You were on the practice courts and I was heading to my third round match.'

  I shift my head against his shoulder and look up at him. 'What did you think?'

  'Nice legs, shame about the braces.'

  I punch him half-heartedly. 'How romantic.'

  'Hey, my head was full of tennis. Be impressed that I noticed you at all.'

  'Well, I obviously didn't make much of an impression, given that you
never made a move.'

  'You did actually. But back then... well, when it came to women, I was pretty shy.'

  'You?'

  'Believe it or not. And you seemed so focused, so... uninterested.'

  'I was interested,' I admit. 'But I thought you were way out of my league. Even though I'd go home and fantasise about you.'

  'I hope those fantasies were thoroughly disgusting.'

  'Oh course. And I sincerely hope I'll get to bring them to life.'

  'I always try to be accommodating,' Sam says solemnly. 'And starting tomorrow I'm at your service.' He frowns. 'Within certain limits, which I hope we can agree on.'

  I stretch out my legs. 'No spanking, then?'

  Sam's silent for a few moments. 'Well, I'm really not keen on hitting you, but I guess if it's something you're really into, then maybe...'

  I kiss him. 'I'm joking, you daft thing.'

  He looks sheepish. 'Oh, good.'

  I trail my fingers down his cheek. 'Just think, there's nothing we have to do tomorrow. It's the first day of the rest of our lives.'

  He grins. 'What do retired people usually do?'

  I think about this. 'Play bowls. Garden. Write letters to TV watchdogs. Stuff like that.'

  'Of course, most retired people aren't in their thirties.'

  'I'm not in mine for another two years!' I shudder. That still seems terribly soon.

  'You don't look a day over 25.'

  I snuggle into him. 'Flattery will get you everywhere.'

  'What do you think these retired people should do tomorrow?'

  I tilt my head and pretend to consider. 'I think they should have a morning - maybe even a whole day - of hot sex.'

  'Much more fun than playing bridge.'

  'And then, the day after, we could even repeat the performance. Maybe Wednesday as well. And Thursday. Friday I'll require a brief break so I can go out and get you a birthday present.'

  I groan. 'I hate birthdays. I'll probably just spend the day hiding under the bedcovers. I don't want any presents.'

  'Not even ones with whiskers and cute little paws?'

  A smile slowly spreads over my face. 'That would be all right,' I say. 'But nothing else. Now, I suggest we have an early night. Followed by an early morning.'

  'I like that plan,' Sam says. 'I like that a lot.'

  Epilogue

  Five years later

  I never went back to the tour. Deep down, I knew I wouldn't. And by the time Wimbledon rolled around again, I was up to my ears in arrangements for our wedding. I still felt a pang watching the final, and I suspect I always will, but I've adapted to real life now and I couldn't go back.

  I now have a wonderful husband, three beautiful, exhausting boys (the first two were twins!), a (part-time) job that I love teaching the Tennis Tots, my dream house and two cats. It's a good life. Knackering, but good.

  Sam, meanwhile, teaches older children to play, does the commentary at Queens and Wimbledon every year and is writing a book about the ATP tour. When worn out by the boys, he retreats into his woodshed. Sadly, his ability at woodcarving roughly equals his ability at singing, but it makes him happy. I just keep him well supplied with logs and guard anything wooden I particularly like.

  We are teaching the boys to play tennis, but we're determined to remember that we're raising children, not champions. Maybe we'll produce a tennis star, maybe we won't.

  Mum did file for divorce. Relations between us are somewhat strained, since she still blames Dad and I for ending her career and Sam for ending mine. Although she continues to run the Club very well, I can't see that she's happy. But she's set on her course, so there's not a lot I can do.

  It took Dad a while, but he did recover. And then he started dating Maddy. I really thought it was a rebound fling, but they seem very happy. I'm not sure whether it will lead to a second marriage. I mostly smile and try not to think about it too much.

  Adrienne, meanwhile, has produced two daughters. She is hell-bent on engineering at least one marriage between our respective children in the future. Knowing her, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she succeeded.

  Is this a happy ending? Well, we're happy, but the story goes on. I don't know what happens in the rest of it, but I'm looking forward to finding out.

  THE END

  Author Notes

  Thank you very much for reading After Wimbledon. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Now you’ve finished, I would be extremely grateful if you could leave a quick review on Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk or your local site. I'm a self-published author, so your reviews and recommendations to friends are crucial to the success of this book.

  You can find me on my blog, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Library Thing and Shelfari.

  Thank you to my betareaders Mark, Anna and Katerina, and my proofreaders Jane, Jen, Alexx and Jackie.

  Cover design by JelenaM at 99 Designs.

  Also by Jennifer Gilby Roberts

  Novels:

  The Dr Pepper Prophecies

  From jobs to boyfriends to family, Mel's life is not going to plan. And, no matter how hard she tries, she just can't seem to make it better.

  So, she sets out to help her friends instead. Whether they like it or not. After all, what's the worst that could happen?

  Well, she could lose her best friend. Or is he the man she loves?

  Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, other Amazon sites

  Short Stories:

  Wedding Hells (Prequel to The Dr Pepper Prophecies)

  Mel’s perfect little sister is getting married and she’d rather cut her own arm off than attend.

  But her boyfriend is there. And there’ll be cake. So maybe it won’t be as bad as she thinks.

  Maybe it’ll be worse ...

  Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, other Amazon sites

  Christmas Crackers (Sequel to The Dr Pepper Prophecies)

  As far as Mel is concerned, two family Christmases are two too many. What she really wants is for the parents just to focus on someone else for once and forget all about her life.

  And, for once, she might actually get her wish...

  Due out December 2013

  Flights of Nancy

  What if you knew exactly when Mr. Right was going to show up?

  Nancy does. And, after years of waiting (im)patiently, the great day has finally arrived. And so has he.

  He's not exactly what she was expecting ...

  Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, other Amazon sites

  About the Author

  Jennifer Gilby Roberts has a degree in physics and a postgraduate certificate in computing, so a career writing fiction was inevitable really. She was born and grew up in Surrey/Greater London, but now lives in Richmond, North Yorkshire with her husband, small daughter, two middle-aged cats and a lot of dust bunnies.

  Taking care of her daughter is now her main job, but previously she worked many thrilling jobs in administration. In these she learned the real truth of business: that every successful executive would be lost without their PA.

  She can also be found getting red-faced at zumba class, reading historical porn (as her husband calls it - Regency romance to the rest of us) and humming nursery rhymes while going round Tesco. Her current obsessions include toffee crisp bars, Costa fruit coolers and the TV show Torchwood.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Author Notes

  Also by Jennifer Gilby Roberts

  About the Author