I mean, he might not have done, but it felt like he had.
‘What are they doing now?’ asked Zoe as the two men took to the court.
‘Warming up.’
‘Ah,’ said Zoe. ‘How do they decide who goes at which end?’
‘They’ll toss a coin in a minute. Whoever wins gets to choose whether to serve first, the other gets to choose which end to start on.’
‘And is it better to serve first or not?’ asked Zoe, seemingly about as confused as I’d been only a couple of months ago.
I thought back to all the knowledge I’d gleaned from watching Marcus play, and my newfound tolerance, if not quite enthusiasm, for the game. ‘I think it depends,’ I said, keeping my voice low, so as not to draw too much attention to myself. Also, I didn’t want to getsomething wrong and for Patrick to overhear. ‘If you have a strong serve and you’re confident about using it on this surface, it probably makes sense to go first, to try to get that first game done and dusted. If your opponent has a good serve on grass, it’s probably best to go first, too, to stop them taking the lead early on.’
Zoe gave me a sideways glance.
‘Is this the same woman who declared she knew nothing about tennis and couldn’t possibly take the job?’
‘Well, you pick things up, don’t you?’ I said.
Secretly, I was pleased with how I’d immersed myself in the tennis world. I thought this was shaping up to be some of the best work I’d ever done. Perhaps it was the decent amount of time I’d spent getting to know Marcus. I was trying not to give too much weight to the idea that I’d spent far too much time with him. Sometimes alone in hotel rooms. Once in bed with him, both of us half naked, longing for him to touch me but then inching closer to the edge of the bed so that neither of us would be tempted. I’d never have thought I was capable of pretending to date someone, of lying to my parents, of going out to dinner with my hot interviewees or of seeing photos of myself in the press and not minding. Like karma, this job – and Marcus – had come along at exactly the right time, pulling me out of the devastation of losing Charlie. I thought the way he put himself first, in a boundaried, ambitious way rather than a selfish one, might be beginning to rub off on me – I usually felt uneasy for days when I thought I’d upset Cassie, sometimes I even felt physically sick, experiencing symptoms that didn’t go away until I’d seen her again and been reassured that she’d forgiven me. The fact that she’d turned up at Claridge’s and I hadn’t exactly been pleased to see them might usually have sent me into a tailspin afterwards. I’d have been going over and over things in my head, wondering if I’d been too harsh, if I’d madeher feel unwanted, if I should have handled things differently. And of course some of those thoughts had crossed my mind, but I had also been able to talk myself down this time – Cassie hadn’tseemedupset. She’d been a bit offish when I asked about the new guy she was seeing, but that was probably because she didn’t want to say in front of Marcus. And also, I was allowed to have feelings too, to be annoyed when they did things I didn’t like, like turning up unannounced and pretending they just ‘happened to be passing’.
As Marcus and Pedro practised their lobs and smashes, I turned to Patrick.
‘Do you think Marcus has a chance of winning here at Queen’s?’ I asked him, keeping my voice low.
Patrick nodded, not taking his eyes off Marcus, watching every move he made.
‘Yes, but he must take his game to the next level. And not just his game, but the technique we have been working on, his attitude, his stamina. It must be perfectly aligned and if that happens today, like a beautiful synergy, he can do it.’
‘He looks good out there,’ I said, as he hit a brilliant serve.
Patrick turned to look at me.
‘You know, he is much calmer these days,’ he said. ‘More able to contain his emotions out on court. And I think we might have you to thank for that, Ava.’
‘Me?’ I said, surprised.
Patrick shrugged. ‘You are good for him. I was worried when I heard there was something romantic between the two of you, because he does not need distractions, of course. But in fact he seems much happier and more positive than he was before. There should be fun and joy in tennis, too, and finally he seems to be finding it. Whatever you are doing to him, do not stop now.’
I blushed at the thought of exactly what Patrick imagined I might be doing to him.
And I was confused, too, because how could anything I’d done have made a difference? The only thing I could think of was that I’d forced Marcus to talk about things he’d previously kept buried inside, and having them out there in the world – even just saying them to me – might have shifted something for him. But Patrick said he seemed happy. I didn’t think being interviewed for a magazine would usually have that effect on someone. And I supposed, when I thought about it, I’d been feeling much better lately too. It was difficult to gauge, because I’d kind of been at rock bottom after Charlie left, so any state of mind was an improvement on that. But if I was really honest with myself, travelling to all these glamorous places and getting front-row seats at tennis tournaments and being taken out for nice dinners was only part of why the last couple of months had been so great. There was something about Marcus that made me feel seen in a way I’d never been before. I liked his quiet energy, his focus, the flashes of humour, the way he listened to me, really listened, and was interested. And even though I was going to try my absolute best not to, because it would end in tears, I knew it would, I had a sneaking suspicion that I was falling for Marcus and the more time I spent with him, the further I fell. We hadn’t spoken much about us the morning after our stay at the hotel. We’d gone to breakfast together, he’d talked about the week he had planned, I’d filled him in on my suspicions about Mum and Cassie orchestrating a meeting with him, we talked a bit about tennis, and what the grass court season meant to him. And then we’d left the hotel and got ‘papped’ by photographers and so it felt that, all in all, the night had been a success. And yet there was now this lingering longing, this memory that came back to me again and again, of his hands on my body, of the two of us lying between those luxurious white sheets, and when I thought about it, it was like my skin was on fire.
The warm-up ended and Pedro García prepared to serve, having won the toss. He was tanned like Marcus, but was smaller and leaner with a pointier, clean-shaven face. Fierce concentration burned behind his eyes as he bounced the ball in front of him over and over again, waiting for the perfect moment to toss it into the air. Silence settled on the crowd, the only sound coming from a plane flying overhead, preparing to land at not-too-far-away Heathrow. Marcus was crouched outside the baseline, ready to receive, perhaps trying to anticipate where Pedro’s serve might land. I still didn’t know what his top-secret game plan involved, but I wouldn’t put it past Marcus to have studied every single opponent he’d ever had to play, gathering information from footage of their games – were they left- or right-handed, which shot did they favour, where were their weak points?
García sliced the ball over the net. It bounced slightly lower than it did on clay, I could see that now, and Marcus returned it with an easy forehand. García lunged to reach it but the ball went into the net.Love-Fifteen. Zoe whooped loudly and I wasn’t sure whether to tell her to be quiet or not, whether it might annoy Marcus.
‘Um, he doesn’t really like a lot of—’
‘Whoo-hoooooo!’ yelled Zoe.
She was still whooping one hour and nine minutes later when Marcus was at match point. He was up one set, and five games to two in the second. It was Marcus’s serve.
He sent it fast and deep. García was clearly struggling, but he just managed to reach it. Meanwhile, Marcus raced into the net, using his backhand to send the ball sailing past García’s right shoulder, landing it just inside the baseline, exactly where he’d been practising hitting the cans with Patrick.Game, Set and Match Marcus Taylor.
‘Yes!’ shouted Patrick, on his feet. ‘Yes, Marcus!’
It had been a triumph and Marcus knew it. He’d dominated the match from beginning to end. He looked over at our box and when he saw us all on our feet – I had no memory of even standing up, but there I was, clapping and whooping – he ran over. First he high-fived Nick, then Patrick, who wasn’t content with a high five and pulled him in for a hug.
