by Clare Flynn
‘Can’t you play?’
He looked at her as though she were a fly he’d like to swat away. ‘Of course I can play. What do you mean?’
‘You said “when we get knocked out”.’
‘There are one or two good players. The rest don’t take it very seriously. Look, Evie, all we have to do is put in an appearance. I have very little time to play these days.’
‘Were you ever any good?’
‘Penang Tennis Club mens’ singles champion for five years.’
‘Oh, crumbs.’
‘Felicity couldn’t bear to play in the heat. She only played once and we were knocked out in straight sets. So you don’t need to worry that you’ve a lot to live up to.’
‘I’ll do my best. I haven’t played much since school.’
Jasmine was to accompany them, as the Christmas Eve tournament was evidently a family occasion, with a children’s tea laid on and a visit from Father Christmas. The child was thrilled to be included in the excursion, which many of her classmates would be attending too.
As soon as they arrived at the tennis club, Jasmine ran off to join her friends. It was the first time Evie had been in a large gathering with her husband since their awful post-wedding party at the Penang Club. She looked around and saw several faces she remembered from that day. Douglas had timed their arrival so that they wouldn’t have to wait around for long before the matches began and they went straight to the club house where the draw was being made.
An elderly woman, whom Evie remembered was the widow of a former government official, was making the draw. Evidently she was a benefactor of the tennis club and an active committee member. Doug’s and Evie’s names were drawn after a few minutes. As the portly woman reached into the box to pull out the slip of paper which would determine who they were to play first, Evie could have sworn she exchanged a glance with Veronica Leighton, who was standing on the other side of the room. To Evie’s horror, the woman unfolded the paper and read out ‘Mr and Mrs Arthur Leighton’.
Douglas muttered, ‘It’ll be a short match.’
Evie swivelled to face him. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Veronica plays several times a week and Arthur’s one of the few players here who can beat me. And I haven’t picked up a racquet in months.’
‘Pessimist!’ she said.
It took Evie a while to get into the rhythm of the match and adjust her play to Douglas’s. They lost the first three games to love. It was impossible to mistake the smug triumph on Veronica’s face. Arthur was an excellent player, hitting deep strokes from the baseline, while Veronica was agile and graceful moving around the court.
As Evie gradually settled down, telling herself to relax and enjoy the sensation of playing again, she began to enjoy it.
They held Douglas’s service, then Veronica served for the second time. Evie was ready for her, returning her opponent’s first service with confidence and winning the point. A series of crisp volleys saw Evie and Doug winning the game. Evie was relishing the feel of a racquet in her hands again. Why had she ever stopped playing? It was exhilarating and a great way to release all her tensions and frustrations. Veronica, struggling to get to the net from the baseline, was confounded when Evie delivered a succession of short lobs. Veronica grunted in exasperation. The more angry and frustrated she became, the more she fluffed her shots.
The match progressed with Veronica growing increasingly irate at her failure to counter Evie’s service. After a number of unforced errors by Veronica, the Leightons lost the first set six–four.
Evie saw the look of surprise – and what she realised was respect – in her husband’s eyes. Good – it was about time he gave her credit for something. She was secretly thrilled that she hadn’t confessed to winning the tennis singles cup at her school, ten years earlier.
A crowd of spectators had gathered to watch the progress of the match and the unexpected trouncing the Leightons were getting. So far, Arthur hadn’t lost a service game and rarely conceded a point, which was making Veronica’s failings more evident. Douglas too held his own service games so the match came down to the tussle between Evie and Veronica.
Changing ends after another held service by Evie, Arthur, said, ‘Well played, Evie. You’re certainly giving us a run for our money.’
‘A damn good thrashing I’d say,’ said Douglas. Evie felt a glow of pride. Her satisfaction was underscored by the fact that Veronica Leighton’s face was transfigured by anger. The slight woman was unable to match the strength and power of Evie’s groundstrokes and her frustration was increasingly apparent. As Evie smashed another return across the net, the ball bouncing too high for her opponent to reach, she said to herself, ‘That one’s for Mary.’
Veronica began to argue with virtually every line call by the umpire, a retired army officer, who was distinctly unamused. This behaviour earned her a quiet reprimand from her husband and loud murmurings from the crowd.
Then it was over. The second set went to the Barringtons, six–two.
Veronica picked up a stray ball, hitting it broadside straight into Evie’s ribcage, causing her to double over in pain. ‘Frightfully sorry. Didn’t notice you were standing there.’
To Evie’s astonishment, Arthur grabbed Veronica by the arm, jerked her towards him and told her to get her things as he was taking her home.
‘I’m not going home. I’m having a drink. Don’t be a bad sport, Arthur. We have to drink the health of the victorious couple. Surely you’re not going to be a sore loser?’ Her words were spoken with venom.
But Arthur was in no mood to argue and the Leightons left the court.
Evie and Douglas won their next two matches but were knocked out in the final by a young army officer and his former gym instructor wife. There was no sign of the Leightons.
Evie basked in the admiration of Jasmine who insisted on holding onto the runners-up shield on the short car ride home. She secured her parents’ permission to display it in her bedroom, alongside the ribboned medal she herself had won the same day in the egg and spoon race.
16
That night, when Douglas came to her bed, Evie told him she had been to see the doctor. ‘I wanted to be sure before I told you, but it looks like we’re going to have a baby. Apparently, it will be in about six months.’
Douglas’s face was transfigured for a moment by amazement and joy, but to Evie’s horror his expression quickly changed to anger.
‘You’re pregnant and thought it was a good idea to fling yourself around a tennis court all day? What the hell do you think you’re doing! You’re putting my child at risk.’
Evie gaped at him, taken aback. ‘But I asked the doctor and he said exercise was a good thing. He says it’s a lot of old-fashioned stuff and nonsense that pregnant women should go into a kind of purdah.’
‘Going for a gentle walk, he means. Maybe a couple of lengths of the swimming pool. He certainly didn’t mean pounding around a tennis court for the best part of a day.’
‘It wasn’t all day.’
‘It was several hours all told.’
‘But I feel fine. Better than I’ve felt in ages. I enjoyed the exercise. I thought you enjoyed it too.’
‘You mean you enjoyed giving Veronica Leighton a thrashing.’ His face was full of anger. ‘I can’t believe how irresponsible you’ve been, Evelyn.’ He flung back the sheet, got out of bed, and left her room.
Evie stared at the closed door, misery swamping her. Never mind two steps forward, one step back, with Doug it was one forward and three back. No matter how hard she tried, she always came up short as far as her husband was concerned. And the one special card, the last ace in her pack had been played, and the game was lost.
She asked herself was he right? Had she taken an undue risk? She hadn’t fallen, hadn’t overtired herself. And the doctor had said exercise was not only harmless but beneficial. She remembered the vicious retaliatory shot Veronica had sent her way, smashing the ball into her ribcage. It cou
ld just as easily have struck a little lower and put her unborn child at risk. Her hands moved protectively over her belly. There was no sign yet of her pregnancy, no swelling evident. She lifted her nightdress and looked down at her ribs where already a purplish tinge was spreading. What an idiot she had been. Just a few inches lower and she might well have lost the child. Anger at herself – and at Veronica Leighton bubbled up inside her to mix with a growing sense of remorse.
She got out of bed, put on her dressing gown and went across the room to the door. Moonlight flooded the landing as she crept along it towards the master bedroom. She eased the door open only to find it was deserted, the bed untouched. A cold fear clenched her stomach. Had he gone? Returned to Batu Lembah? Abandoned them at Christmas. Tears rose involuntarily and she cursed her own stupidity. She should have waited to tell him until the memory of the tennis match had faded – or had the good sense not to play in the first place. It was her own fault. She had been playing fast and free with her marriage and the life of their unborn child. An overwhelming desire to wind back the clock, to relive and reorder the past day, swept through her, only to be replaced by a heavy oppressive sadness. She had messed things up badly. And how would she break the news to Jasmine that her father wouldn’t be with them at Christmas?
About to return to her bed, although certain she couldn’t sleep, she heard a sound downstairs, a chinking of glass. Was he still here? She tiptoed down the staircase and across the hall. Her husband was standing framed in the open French window, looking out onto the moonlit lawn, a whisky in his hand. Relief washed over Evie.
Scarcely daring to breathe, she moved across the room and went to stand beside him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper. ‘Really sorry. I’ll go and see the doctor again straight after Christmas and make sure everything’s all right.’
He continued to stare across the garden but said nothing. The cicadas were emitting their endless high-pitched vibrations. Avoiding her eyes, he started to speak at last. ‘It’s just that…’
She touched his arm. ‘I know. I understand how much having this child means to you. I was wrong to take a risk like that.’
She saw Douglas was still angry.
‘You don’t want the baby, do you? That’s why you did it.’
Evie was aghast. ‘Not want the baby? I want nothing more. What on earth makes you say that?’
‘The tennis. Provoking Veronica.’
‘I was trying to win the match. I thought you were too!’ She started to feel indignant.
‘That ball she slammed at you. You wanted her to do it. Why don’t you admit it, Evelyn?’
‘Call me Evie! And that’s absolute poppycock. That ball got me right in the ribs and hurt like hell but it wasn’t anywhere near the baby. I certainly didn’t want it to happen. I’m desperate to have this baby. I thought you’d be as pleased as I am.’ The anger bubbled up. Anger and frustration that they appeared to be completely incapable of communicating with each other. No matter how hard she tried, he slapped her down. Well, she’d had enough.
To her astonishment, Douglas made a strange choking sound and she realised he was struggling to control his emotions. Instinctively, she reached for his arm and guided him to the sofa. He sat beside her, his head in his hands. Evie waited, saying nothing, conscious of the sound of his breathing, mingling with the chorus of cicadas. Trying to argue or reason with him was pointless and would drive him further away from her. There was clearly something damaged at the core of the man. It must be to do with his loss of Felicity and her own apparent shortcomings in comparison. How could she possibly compete with a dead woman, one whom he had clearly sanctified, one who could no longer afford him any opportunity for criticism – if indeed she ever had? Evie felt bleak. Lost and lonely. Unsure what to do or say, she remained beside him, silent, waiting.
Eventually he stirred, glancing at his wristwatch. ‘It’s gone midnight,’ he said at last. ‘Happy Christmas, Evie.’ He reached for her hand and raised it to brush it lightly with his lips. ‘I’m sorry. I was unfair to you. I am happy about this baby. More than you can imagine.’
Relief and happiness rushed into her. She gave him a broad smile. ‘Me too. I made you a present for Christmas. Would you like to open it now?’
‘You made me something?’ He looked astonished.
She went over to the cabinet in the corner of the room and took out two gift-wrapped parcels. ‘They’re only small things, but they’re all my own work.’ She gave a little laugh, embarrassed.
He unwrapped the first gift, revealing a pile of half-a-dozen white linen handkerchiefs, each hand-embroidered with a monogram, DB. ‘You made these yourself?’
She nodded, happy that he seemed pleased with them. ‘I like to sew. Go on. Open the other.’
He did as she asked, drawing from the wrapping paper a black silk pouch with a woven cord clasp. ‘What is it? It’s beautiful.’ He ran a finger over the Chinese dragons.
‘It’s a pouch for your tobacco.’
He shook his head and she saw his eyes were misted. ‘No one, no one, has ever gone to the trouble to make something for me. It must have taken you ages.’
‘I did it in the evenings when Jasmine was in bed. I wanted to give you something personal.’
‘Thank you, Evie. It means a lot to me.’ He looked sheepish. ‘Did you get something for yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t need anything.’
‘I have something for you. It’s an heirloom I want you to have. Wait here.’
He disappeared into the study and she could hear him unlocking the door to the desk. He returned with a small leather box, slightly faded and worn around the edges. ‘It belonged to my mother and my grandmother before her. I’d like you to have it.’
Evie flipped the box open to reveal a gold ring with a pearl surrounded by tiny diamonds. She swallowed. ‘Did this belong to Felicity before me?’
Douglas looked aghast. ‘No, of course not. No one’s worn it since my mother. She died when I was ten.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ She put it on her finger and held out her hand. ‘So delicate and it fits perfectly. Thank you, Doug.’
Later that night as she lay awake in bed with a sleeping Douglas beside her, she remembered how he had looked horrified at the idea of Felicity owning the ring. She didn’t think he’d been appalled at her suggestion that he’d been insensitive enough to have given her something that had once belonged to his late wife. No, it was the idea of giving Felicity the ring in the first place that was abhorrent. Maybe things weren’t quite as she’d thought.
17
Jasmine was overcome with excitement on Christmas morning. It was Evie’s first Christmas in the presence of a child, and she found the little girl’s pleasure infectious. Jasmine cried out with delight when she opened a box to find a grinning Shirley Temple doll inside. Even Douglas managed to crack a smile, and was willingly drawn, once the Christmas dinner had been consumed, into assisting his daughter in the construction of a Bayko suburban house, with its own garage made of bakelite bricks held together by steel rods.
From time to time, Evie glanced at her finger where the ring Douglas had given her sparkled. She watched her husband playing with their daughter, and contentment suffused her. It had been a long and difficult road but she believed that at last she had arrived. She was home. Douglas may not love her, and she no longer thought she loved him either since her feelings for Arthur had surfaced. But they had reached an accommodation with each other. She was growing used to his unpredictability and volatility and he was beginning to show her some respect that might one day evolve into something more – especially once the baby arrived. Evie sent up a silent prayer that it would be a boy. But if it wasn’t, they would keep trying until he had the son and heir he longed for.
Douglas looked up from where he and Jasmine were lying on the floor, the plastic pieces spread out in front of them. His eyes and mouth twitched slightly in an approximation of a smile.
/>
Jasmine, intercepting the glance, called over to Evie. ‘Come and help us, Mummy. There’s so many pieces. Please!’
Reluctant to break into such a rare father and daughter communion, Evie hesitated, but Douglas reached a hand up and drew her down to join them on the floor. ‘You’re not getting off so easily. We’ll be here all night otherwise.’ He rolled his eyes in mock frustration.
‘Nonsense. You’re loving it! Every man’s dream is to build things.’ But inside, a wave of triumph and happiness swept over her – she was part of a family again. Less than a year ago, back in Hampshire, she wouldn’t have dreamed it could be possible. She hitched her skirt up and knelt beside Douglas and Jasmine and was soon as absorbed in the task as they were.
The family construction project was interrupted when the door opened and Veronica and Arthur came into the room.
‘Merry Christmas, one and all!’ Veronica called loftily, no sign of the previous day’s anger in her demeanour. Heart sinking, Evie scrambled to her feet.
‘What a touching little scene!’ Veronica’s tone was heavy with sarcasm. ‘You’re playing happy families!’
To Evie’s amazement, it was Douglas who replied, ‘Not playing, Veronica.’
A look of annoyance flickered over Veronica’s face, but she recovered, plastered on a fake smile and said to Jasmine, ‘We’ve brought your Christmas gift.’ She thrust an elaborately wrapped parcel into the child’s hands.
Jasmine opened it to reveal a doll’s tea set and immediately expressed her thanks.
Waving a hand airily, Veronica said, ‘Now surely it’s your bedtime, little girl? Time for the grown-ups to play.’
Evie suppressed her rising fury. In response, Arthur squatted down on the floor beside Jasmine and the model house and said, ‘I’ve always wanted to have a go at one of these. When I was a boy I’d spend hours making things with my Meccano set.’
Veronica gave an exaggerated sigh and what was obviously a forced and false laugh. ‘Boys will be boys,’ Her voice was patronising. Addressing Evie, she said ‘What does a girl have to do to get a gin sling around here?’