She had already gone through one divorce. There’s a period of identification, and then a period of separation. Even with Cal, maybe even because of Cal – she had what she needed from Paul. That’s what she thought, listening to the Essingers discuss his future. It amazed her how they could talk like that when she was sitting right there. The way they treated everything connected to them as common property … For a while she was flattered to be included. As a kid she felt left out even of her parents’ marriage. Her mother made it very clear who her priority was. And then the Essingers took her in. But it was also clear who their priority was: the guy on court, hitting a tennis ball. And yet she felt sorry for him, too. The way Liesel watched him, resentful with worry, not understanding what she saw. From time to time, she had to ask Bill what was going on, why something had happened. And Bill, annoyed, answered as quickly as possible; he didn’t want to explain. To be the focus of such love, to have so much of it concentrated on you. This is why he sometimes couldn’t look you in the eye, he shrugged away affection, he wasn’t good at it. Because he felt that his career was a disappointment to them.
Sometimes he fought with Liesel about this – she refused to admit it. What do I care about your ranking? she asked him. Which put him in the position of explaining to her why he had failed, the various ways … to instruct her in his own sense of failure. Kids often have to keep their parents up-to-date. Why do you fight with your mother about this stuff, Dana asked him. She doesn’t have to know what it means to play qualifiers. You don’t understand, he said. They have this totally unreasonable perception of me. They love you, she said, that’s all. They’re your parents. But he insisted: it’s very corrupting. You have to make sure they know what’s going on. Otherwise, you start to believe it yourself, what they think of you. Would that be so terrible, she said. But again, he wouldn’t look her in the eye.
Living with him was like watching him play tennis – he was concentrating on something else. She watched him now, against the bright blue surface of the hard court, alone on his side of the net, moving and stroking the ball and moving again, never looking up, entirely focused on the task at hand, but also, in his own way, helpless, exposed, when he sliced a volley wide into the tramlines. Another deuce – the first service game is often the hardest, you just need to get over the hump. Because in spite of everything, she wanted him to win, from a depth of love that was almost like anger. Come on, she thought, as he lined up his serve again, bouncing the ball to get a rhythm going. Her phone buzzed twice in her pocket but she ignored it. Come on! Come on! Come on!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Benjamin Markovits grew up in Texas, London and Berlin. He is the author of seven previous novels, including You Don’t Have to Live Like This, which won the 2015 James Tait Black Prize. He has written essays, stories, poetry and reviews for the Guardian, Granta, the Paris Review and the New York Times, among other publications. In 2013, Granta selected him as one of their Best of Young British Novelists. He lives in London and teaches creative writing at Royal Holloway, University of London.
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
The Syme Papers
Either Side of Winter
Playing Days
Imposture
A Quiet Adjustment
Childish Loves
You Don’t Have to Live Like This
COPYRIGHT
First published in the UK in 2018
by Faber & Faber Ltd
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This ebook edition first published in 2018
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© Benjamin Markovits, 2018
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ISBN 978–0–571–33807–8
A Weekend in New York Page 29