Strawberries at Wimbledon (A Short Story)

by Nikki Moore

  'God, you really are so well-spoken!' she replied. When he shrugged at her comment, and waited, she understood he was trying to distract her, and was grateful. 'Mum liked it,' she answered, mouth curving, 'she said that everything felt cleaner after it rained. Like the dirt had been washed away. Besides, they were both really into nature, the cycle of life. And rain is good for living things.' As she finished the sugary tea, she felt stronger somehow, more resilient for talking about them and not dissolving into a damp mess.

  'I see. That makes sense. So what are you studying? And why uni?' His pale eyes were intent as he leaned forward, his knees only a couple of inches from hers now. 'Wouldn't that have been too conventional for them? Too establishment?'

  Ignoring the whiff of intriguing, expensive aftershave, she put the mug on the floor. 'Communication and Media Studies; the sandwich degree. I want to be a journalist. They always encouraged me to make my own choices, even ones they wouldn't have made for me, or themselves.’ She paused. ‘It’s funny, if I stick this degree out I think it’ll be the longest I’ve ever been in one place. We were always moving around, travelling the UK and abroad in the caravan, my parents picking up odd jobs here and there, following the latest good cause.’

  'You lived in a caravan? That’s different.’ But he didn’t look mildly disgusted like some people did, he looked intrigued. ‘It must have been amazing, travelling, having that freedom. That they supported what you wanted for yourself too.' Something dark flitted across his face again but he covered it up by draining his tea in one long, steady glug.

  'It is. I mean, was. It was great they supported my choices, and I got to see some fantastic parts of the world, but I hated being the new girl every time I changed school, and we argued sometimes, when I wanted to stay put. I found it hard. They always did their best for me, it was just t-that-’ she stumbled, feeling guilty for questioning their decisions when they weren’t here to defend themselves. Clearing her throat, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, putting the focus back on him. ‘Anyway, what are you studying?'

  ‘Economics and Business Management.’

  ‘Are you enjoying it? Is it interesting so far?’

  His face tightened. ‘It’s necessary.’

  It was a strange thing to say. ‘What do you mean necessary?’

  He waved the comment off. ‘So are you like them at all? Your parents I mean.'

  He obviously didn’t want to talk to her about it, and given how he’d let her run off a few days ago, it only seemed fair that she respected his feelings about this. ‘Am I like them? I-' she sighed and shivered. There was a draft coming in from somewhere and suddenly she felt like a total idiot, sitting around wearing practically nothing in the narrow, ice-box dorm room. Squinting at the packing boxes, she tried to remember which one had her winter clothes in. A sensible girl would have a dressing gown given the time of the year. For the last twelve months though, she’d been anything but.

  'Here.' Adam whipped his jumper off to reveal a pair of surprisingly broad shoulders in a branded polo top, his light brown hair a little too long at the back, brushing his collar. He threw the jumper at her and although a piece of her wanted to say, no that’s okay thanks, I don’t need it, she couldn’t be bothered. And it would be plain weird if she got into bed to warm up with him sat there. He might think she was inviting him to join her, which she wouldn’t be, given the earlier message that she wasn’t his type.

  So she just mumbled a quick thank you as she fought her way into the jumper and pulled it down. Her knees trembled at being wrapped up in his gorgeous smell. Sort yourself out, you silly mare.

  'My pleasure,’ he replied. ‘So?'

  'Honest answer?'

  'Yep.'

  'The irony is that I spent until I was eighteen fighting it,' she admitted. 'I didn't want to be like them. I studied hard, didn't drink or party, took part in every extra-curricular activity I could, dressed sensibly, refused to go to the rallies. I basically did nothing people might think was rebellious or alternative. Then they died, and I…'

  'You what?'

  'Ever heard the phrase good girl gone bad?'

  He grinned. 'Sounds exciting. How bad?'

  'Piercings, tattoos, drinks, parties, dropped out of society for a while.'

  'Do I get to ask where?'

  'Ask me again another time and maybe I'll show you the naughtier ones. You can see the PG rated for now.' Pulling back her long, thick black hair, she pointed at the stud in her helix and the silver hoop in the upper ear cartilage.

  'I meant where you went when you dropped out of sight.'

  'Oh.' Damn. If she'd been the sort to blush, that would have been the moment. He definitely didn't fancy her.

  'So, is the good girl back, or is the bad girl still running things?' He looked around her room again, eyes scanning the dog-eared pile of books on the floor and the plastic bag that had notepads, pens, rulers and paperclips spilling out of it. He was probably thinking that for a girl she didn’t own much. He’d be right; they’d never really had any money, and she’d got used to travelling light.

  His fingers drummed the chair either side of his thighs as he gazed at the unpacked boxes again. It gave her the chance to study him, the smooth clean-shaven jaw, his neat ears and slight bump on the bridge of his nose. He wasn't her normal type but there was something about him that was quietly sexy. Was it wrong to feel deflated that he hadn't pushed to see the other piercings and her tattoos? No. Forget that.

  'Actually, I think I'm both. But I may need to keep the bad girl in check a bit more.' Saying it solidified it in her mind. Now she was here, she had to buckle down. Her parents may not have believed in further education and traditional career paths, but they'd supported her dreams and ambitions. Because they loved her. Her grandparents did too, despite their disappointment in her. Remembering she was loved might get her through until it stopped hurting less.

  'I don't know, I wouldn't be too well behaved.' He replied, looking almost sad. 'Sometimes I wonder if it's overrated.'

  'You say that, but you don't know the things I've been up to over the past year.' Her mouth pulled down. It wasn't in her nature to regret, but in unravelling, she'd nearly unravelled completely. Thank god drugs had felt a step too far.

  'No regrets.' He declared, standing and scooping both mugs up carefully. 'I think you were just trying to keep them alive.'

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps by being more like them?’

  She pursed her lips, and tugged the jumper down over her knees. She hadn’t thought of the last twelve months in that way before. She had just been lost in a fog of grief and hadn’t known how to cope with it. ‘Maybe, but they didn't drink heavily or sl-' for some reason she didn't want him to think badly of her. 'Sleep on people's sofa's.' She finished lamely, instead of sleep with random strangers.

  'Doesn't sound too bad to me.' He stared out through the double-glazed window before checking his watch. ‘Bugger, I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late for a lecture. I’ll find you later.’ Swinging around, he strode to the door.

  ‘Adam, wait.’

  ‘What is it?’ He looked at her over his shoulder, fingers curled round the door handle.

  ‘Your jumper.’ She knelt up on the bed to whip it off over her head.

  ‘It’s fine. Keep it as long as you want. Actually, just keep it,’ he smiled and winked. ‘Looks better on you anyway.'

  ‘I can’t just have it. It looks,’ she rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of the shoulder, ‘and feels, expensive.’

  ‘Oh, it is.’ He said carelessly, tugging the door open, ‘But don’t let that bother you. I’ve got loads like it. Mum has me drowning in upmarket wool.’

  ‘I can’t just take it from you, Adam.’

  ‘Why? You’ve already given me something.’

  ‘Huh?’ she scrambled off the bed as he stepped into the hallway, sticking her head out of her room to shout after him as he jogged away. ‘What are you on about?�
��

  There was a smile in the reply he threw over his shoulder, his deep voice echoing along the corridor, bouncing off the walls like a tennis ball on a clay court, until it ricocheted into her. ‘Your name.’

  ‘So, what's with the Cleopatra haircut, Ray? I liked it long.' Adam rolled up next to her as she stood in the queue for drinks following a close, bated-breath tennis match. 'And the knuckle-dusters?'

  It'd taken a tie-break in the penultimate set followed by a two-point lead in the last set to get to a clear winner. The whole time, she'd been mega-aware of Adam behind her, occasionally leaning forward at tense moments, his breath warm on her neck, making her whole body tingle. At one point she'd thrown him a dirty look, thinking crossly that he was doing it on purpose, but he'd seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on her stupid hormones. It had almost ruined the tennis for her. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on the thwack of the racquets, the thunk and bounce of the yellow ball, the athleticism and stamina of the players as they sprinted back and forth grunting with effort, with Adam so close.

  'Cleopatra?' She touched the ends of her sharp bob, brushed the blunt fringe out of her eyes. 'Nothing. I fancied a change, needed something more grown up.' Wiggling her long fingers, which sported a selection of colourful cocktail rings, she gave him a pretend scowl. 'And they’re hardly knuckle-dusters, just decoration. Anyway, what about you? What's with the semi-thuggish look?' She gestured to his brown hair, which was shorter at the sides and no longer brushed his collar at the back, the day old stubble and the edge of a tattoo that circled his defined bicep, peeping out from beneath his white t-shirt sleeve. He reminded her a bit of the actor Tom Hardy. Gorgeous but a bad boy. Not the Adam she was used to.

  'Haven't lost the spunky attitude I see.' He answered back, grinning, throwing his serve. ‘God, I used to love the way you stood up to my mum.’

  She chose not to answer directly. No way was she going there. There were too many old scars.

  And damn it. Why did he have to be even hotter than when they'd been together? He'd been a twenty year old boy when they'd split, always with an old head on his shoulders, but he was definitely a man now. A broad-shouldered, muscle ripped man with clear blue eyes that still had the ability to make her feel like the only girl in the world.

  Effing hell, stop it Rayne. Too many years have passed, you’ve made a new life for yourself, and so has he.

  Shuffling forward in line, she pretended to study the menu while she thought of a suitably bland answer. In truth, she’d already made her choice. She was at Wimbledon, and it was sunny. It'd be rude not to have a refreshing, tangy Pimms. 'I wouldn't be me if I didn't speak my mind would I?' She lobbed lightly back at last.

  'I guess not,' he returned.

  'You though, you've changed.' The upper class look had all but disappeared. 'No-one would know from looking at you, that you come from money. Shit,’ shaking her head, ‘sorry, that sounded like an insult. What I meant was, you always used to be so-'

  'Boring?'

  'No! Posh. Well-dressed. Articulate.' Sensible. Nice. Maybe too nice in hindsight? Not enough of a risk-taker for her? He'd been her home, her centre for two years. She'd always felt guilty after he'd left. Like she'd used him somehow. If that was the case, it hadn't been intentional.

  'Wow, sexy,' he drawled.

  'I always thought so,' she mumbled under her breath.

  'What?'

  'Nothing.'

  'Okay.’ Adam shifted in line, flexing his shoulders.

  As he moved, she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Not the same one as when they’d been together - this was different, with darker undertones - but it was still just as fresh and appealing. Basically, him all over.

  ‘So, there's a lot to catch up on,’ he said casually. ‘What have you been doing with yourself?'

  'Left uni with a First,' she rattled out, stepping forward another place, 'got a junior reporter job at the regional paper I did my industrial placement at, moved to a national after a year, did well there and I'm a news journalist in the City now.'

  'You don't sound very enthusiastic. It's everything you wanted, right?'

  'It is.' She smiled briefly, not wanting to talk about it. It had always felt like their relationship had been sacrificed for her career. The right choice at the time, but it felt uncomfortable, even now. Out of all the people she’d known in her life, Adam was the one who deserved to be let down the least. 'I just don't really want to talk shop today.' She was super-aware of his muscular arm tight against hers, the zing of excitement shooting through her, the warm breeze blowing her hair against her cheeks. 'Lily says I'm a workaholic, and she's right. So when I get time off, I like to relax. Switch off.'

  'What? Come on! There’s no way you’ve changed that much. Are you really telling me you're not working on a story?' He raised an eyebrow, gesturing around them with his arms. 'At uni that busy brain of yours was always whirring away on some idea, or failing that you were working on a blog post.'

  Sticking her tongue out at him, she laughed. 'Fine. If I could get an exclusive interview with one of the British players, even though I don't work on the sports desk, my editor would love me.'

  'I knew it!' he chuckled, white teeth flashing.

  She flicked him playfully on the shoulder. 'All right, you win that one.' Then inhaled sharply, glancing away. She was flirting. Stop it. She must be mad. But it felt so delicious, and was so much fun.

  'So, what else?' he quizzed. 'Are your grandparents okay? And as for the rest, I already know you don't have a boyfriend,’ he teased.

  Thanks, Lily for airing your views on Centre Court. She sidestepped the subject of her love life, and no way was she going to ask about his. She didn’t want to know. But she had to keep the conversational ball in play. 'Gramps and Gran are fine. Getting older, but in good health.' Her dad's parents. Her mum had never known hers. 'I see them about once a month or so. They always liked you. I’ll tell them you said hi.’

  ‘Do that. I liked them too.’ He smiled down at her.

  ‘They liked you because you brought me back to them.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He gave a one shouldered shrug. ‘You would have made it up with them eventually.’

  ‘Yes, but it was you who talked me into bridging the gap sooner rather than later. I think they’re still hurt even now that I chose to sleep on strangers sofas for that year before uni, rather than living with them. But it just didn’t feel right. It was too hard being with people who reminded me of Dad, when I missed him and Mum so much.’

  ‘I think they understood more than you realised,’ he replied, taking a step forward and guiding her along with a hand on her elbow. ‘They lost a child, even if he was an adult. And I didn’t want you to have any regrets, after what happened with my father.’

  She shivered at the white-hot zing of his touch, and subtly inched away, ‘I know.’ But she couldn’t stop the sympathy and care for him washing over her like an echo. Touching his arm in a comforting gesture, ‘Does it feel any better now?’ she asked.

  He nodded jerkily, ‘It’s faded. It’s been a long time. But still, there are so many things I wish we’d had a chance to talk about. If I’d have known he was going to have a critical heart attack so young, I would have done things differently, you know?’

  She smiled up at him. ‘I do.’ It had always been this way with him, so easy to share her feelings and innermost thoughts. But it was too dangerous to do that now. She had to step back. Wrinkling her nose, she asked, 'so, how’s your mum?’ Who had disliked her intensely.

  He laughed, ‘You haven’t got any better at your poker face, I always knew what you were thinking. She’s fine thanks, about the same, except now she runs Parsons permanently,’ the family’s exceptionally profitable luxury-food company, ‘with Dad’s old business partner, Richard.'

  ‘That makes sense, with you out of the country.’ Emotion bubbled up in her chest as she remembered one of their last arguments as a couple, the memo
ry of the anguish and anger pressing down on her lungs.

  'Let's not talk about it now, all right?' He craned his neck to study the drinks menu written up on the blackboard.

  'No problem.' She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. 'By the way, do you think it’s the universe playing tricks or just coincidence that you ended up sat behind me, after all this time?'

  'I got my tickets via ballot.' He looked uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to another. ‘It’s great to see you though.’

  'I'm surprised you're actually talking to me.' She confessed. Oh balls to it; she might as well say what she was thinking. Plus there was a burning curiosity that longed to know what he thought of her. 'I always imagined you hated me, after the way things ended and you left.' And that he’d never got in touch with her, not once.

  He stared down at her, eyes cooling, and a pulse fluttered in his jaw. He curved his mouth into something resembling a smile. 'It was a long time ago. And, it would be ridiculous for me to hold it against you nearly five years later, right?’

  ‘I guess.’ A wash of relief spread through her, although she was equally disappointed that he’d got over it so well, when she still had so many regrets.

  'What can I get you?' The barman gazed down at them expectantly. She'd not even noticed they'd reached the front of the queue, so caught up in her conversation with Adam. Uh-oh. Big uh-oh. Men never distracted her.

  'Er. Um. I, can I have-?' Come on Rayne, pull it together. Deep breath. Act like you're on a job, chasing a story. Professional, calm, competent. 'Two Pimms’ please.' She ordered. 'Adam, what can I get you and Flynn?'

  'If you’re sure, we’ll have a beer each.' He nodded. 'Thanks.'

  He obviously still remembered it was best not to argue with her about that kind of stuff. How she'd always insisted on going halves, paying her way, even though he’d always had loads more money than her. 'Two beers, as well,' she finished, shoving both hands into her shorts’ pockets, looking away from him and feeling awkward. Nerves were tumbling in her tummy, her palms were damp and the sun was burning the back of her neck. It was too weird, being with him again. He was familiar and at the same time a stranger. Coming up to five years was a long time, and uni felt like forever ago. How could you miss someone and not realise it until you saw them again?