‘Where’s Marcus?’ said Mum, bustling up to me with a look of disgruntlement on her face. ‘I’ve told everyone he’s coming, so he’d better show up. It’ll be very embarrassing if he doesn’t. Everyone’s looking forward to meeting him. Ben’s parents watched his match on television yesterday! They can’t believe the two of you are actually dating.’
I imagined that would be the response from most people – what,him? Andher?
‘Did they?’ I said, trying not to look worried. ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. He’s been held up, I expect. There’s a lot to do after winning a tournament like that.’
‘He has been in touch, though, I take it? He wouldn’t – you know – just not come, would he?’ said Mum, looking at me with raised eyebrows. ‘Because he seemed very nice, but Ava, you don’t always have the best taste in men.’
‘Thanks, Mum, you say the nicest things.’
‘I’m saying you could do better – thatisnice.’
‘Than Marcus?’ I scoffed.
‘No, not than Marcus. I’m talking about all the other ones.’
‘You make it sound like there have been hundreds of them,’ I said.
‘I did try to warn you ...’ said Mum, crossing her arms.
‘About which one, I’m confused?’
‘Charlie. I said he was selfish. It took him months to ask me a single question about my job at the doctors’ surgery, and he didn’t give Cassie the time of day until very recently. You know how hurtful it is for her when people ignore her. I’ve never trusted him and I’ve been proven right, haven’t I?’
‘And your point is?’ I asked, fast getting fed up with this conversation.
Mum sighed, as though I was the one being difficult. ‘My point is, I hope your new boyfriend is nothing like your old one. Because if he lets us all down and doesn’t show up this evening, it is going to be extremely humiliating for me.’
‘For you?’ I said, laughing. I couldn’t help it. Of course she would be worried about herself first and foremost.
‘You’re being very spiky, Ava. I think I’ll go and ask Dad to dance while you simmer down a bit.’
‘You do that,’ I said, as spikily as I could just to annoy her.
As she walked away, I was aware of two things: that I was acting like a fifteen-year-old again and had to stop doing that when Mum was annoying me, and secondly, that there was a very real chance that Marcus was not going to show.
A message from him finally came through just after nine. Mum had been glowering at me across the dance floor for at least half an hour and I – obviously – had not felt like dancing. What I really wanted to do was flee to my room and throw myself face down on the bed, but Mum and Dad would never forgive me if I made a scene. And as usual I felt compelled to brazen it out and pretend that it was completely fine that I’d been stood upAt a Weddingand that it didn’t matter a jot that my mum had been mouthing off to anyone who’d listen about my amazing new boyfriend who was so into me that he’d decided to let me down in front of half of my entire family – and the gossipy half, at that.
Ava, I’m so sorry, I’m not going to make it after all. It’s been crazy here – I had to meet a couple of potential sponsors, doan interview with The Guardian and then Dean sprung a pre-Wimbledon promo on me. I haven’t even had a second to call you! Are you okay? I hope this hasn’t inconvenienced anyone. Wish the bride and groom well from me X
There was some serious burning going on behind my eyes and I felt as though I could just crumble to the ground right there, in front of everyone. Luckily, I made it to the nearest chair and slumped down on to it, re-reading the message, trying to work out the subtext. Because what was he really saying here? We’d literally just slept together – it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours and already he was backing away, like I just knew he would. Why hadn’t I listened to my instincts?? I’d known this was a bad idea from the start, but he’d lured me with his pretty face and his kindness (until now) and the words he’d used when he’d told me that life felt so much better when I was around. His life might be better with me in it, but mine was far, far worse now that I’d met him. All it had done was give me a glimpse of something really amazing and then whipped it right out from under me again. I was a very ordinary girl from Reading who should have known that fairy tales literally did not exist.
I put my phone away and annoyingly managed to catch Mum’s eye a second later. She was shaking her head and tapping an imaginary watch. What she thought of all of this was the least of my worries. I got up and walked outside into the hotel garden, thinking some fresh air might help, and at least it felt as though I could breathe out here. There was only a smattering of people braving the cool air, the smokers mostly, and I perched on a bench and pulled my cardigan tightly around myself and acknowledged how awful I was feeling and that it was okay to feel like shit when somebody you’d just slept with and thought was lovely had treated you like you meant nothing to them. It was clear, now, that tennis was his one true love; it would always be that way and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
Wimbledon
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was the morning of Marcus’s first-round match and instead of being excited to watch him play at the most famous tournament in the world, I was dreading seeing him. Not even my yoga class had helped, and I’d almost told him I wasn’t coming to any of his games, but a deal was a deal and it was nearly over so the good girl in me wanted to see it through. Plus, of course, there was the article – I’d be submitting it in two weeks’ time and I needed to be at Wimbledon to finish the story, because it would be the tournamentLuxereaders would most want to hear about, even though Marcus Taylor was the last person on earth I wanted to see right now. He told me he’d had sponsorship meetings off the back of winning Queen’s. That he’d been offered a lot of money to wear a particular set of clothes, to use this racquet, to wear this watch. It didn’t matter whether it had been the positive coverage in the press about a newly romantic and calm Marcus Taylor or his phenomenal performance at Queen’s that had done it – either way, we’d achieved what we’d set out to achieve when Dean first hatched his ridiculous plan. And Marcus was safe in the knowledge that his team would be well looked after financially by him for the following twelve months at least. Meanwhile, I continued to be angry at myself for letting myself fall for someone like him. I must have beendeluded to think that he’d be interested in any more than one night with me – it was probably only because I’d represented a bit of a challenge for him that he’d bothered at all.
I came out of the Tube at Southfields, immediately knowing which way to walk because of the swathes of tennis lovers heading in the same direction, carrying straw hats and picnic baskets. Church Road ran from the Underground station to the All England Lawn Tennis Club, otherwise known as Wimbledon, in one straight line. Unless you’d been lucky in the ballot or had big money to shell out on hospitality seats, the only other way to get in was to queue, which people were doing in droves, or even better to camp out in Wimbledon Park, the expanse of green parkland that today was littered with multicoloured tents. According to my research, 1,500 tickets were given out daily to fans who were brave enough to rough it overnight in a field – 500 for Centre Court, 500 for No.1 Court and 500 for No.2 Court. If that wasn’t dedication, I didn’t know what was.
I went directly to the players’ area on the first floor, which reminded me of the business-class lounge at Heathrow, which in turn reminded me of Marcus and the anticipation of meeting him I’d had at the time; the way I’d still been missing Charlie. That felt like a lifetime ago now. At that point, I’d had my journey with Marcus all to come, and now it was nearly over and I was trying desperately not to think about that today, to enjoy this time for what it was. I needed to focus on the article, to capture the atmosphere of Wimbledon, the details I could write about that would transport the readers there as they read my piece.
Straight away I spotted Dean on the phone and Patrick chatting to one of the other coaches, so I found a seat outside on the decking and got out my laptop, mainly to try to look as though I belonged among the throng of household names, top seeds, their trainers and their influencer girlfriends. Below us were panoramic views of the grounds andCentre Court, which was covered in beautiful bright-green Boston ivy. Today, Marcus would be playing on No.3 Court.
When a shadow fell over my keyboard, I knew it was him immediately. I leaned back in my chair, shielding my eyes from the sun.
‘Hello,’ I said.
