‘How did they make this look so easy in the demo?’ she asks.
‘Things canonlyget better,’ I mutter, but she doesn’t seem convinced. ‘So how are the kids? Leo must be, what – fifteen now?’
She hits the ball into the net and bends to pick it up. ‘Sixteen, thank God. I never want to repeat fifteen again.’
I laugh. ‘Was he a handful?’
‘I’m his mother. I love him. But, yes, I’m willing to say it: he was a complete pain in the neck for a while.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘But then he had his birthday and the clouds parted,’ she says. ‘It was so weird. Overnight, he transformed into a nice,considerate human being again. He’s got a girlfriend these days, so I suspect that helps.’
‘It’s easy to be in a good mood when you’re in love.’
‘Well . . . exactly,’ she laughs, reddening slightly. ‘So have you heard from Frankie?’
‘Yes. She arrived safely in Paris,’ relieved even though the mere mention of this subject is enough to remind me of last night’s dream, in which she’d been kidnapped by a roguish Captain Jack Sparrow type, who threatened to hold her hostage until I transferred ownership of the semiandthe Honda Civic.
‘Time’s up, folks,’ Nora announces, as we finish the rally. ‘I saw some great shots there. How many points did you and Jules get, Lisa?’
Lisa and I lock eyes, realising that we’ve singularly failed to keep score while chatting.
‘Eighteen, wasn’t it?’ she asks, with a hopeful, possibly deluded, note in her voice. It was more like three, but Nora jumps in before I can correct her.
‘Oh, very impressive!’
We look away, sheepishly.
The final half hour is devoted to what Nora generously terms ‘match play’ although this is about as far from anything you’d see at Centre Court in Wimbledon as you could imagine.
The format is doubles. Lisa is paired with Annabel, an attractive Scottish doctor in her mid-sixties. I am with Jeff. It’s the first competitivethingwe’ve done together since a school talent show in which he sang ‘I Just Called To Say I Love You’ by Stevie Wonder, while I accompanied him on the bugle.
‘Would you like to serve?’ Annabel asks.
‘Honestly, I can’t think of anything I’d like less,’ Jeff tells her, before inviting her to do the honours instead.
Our game begins with a minor debate between Jeff and me about where exactly inside the service box the net player is supposed to stand at the start of a point before Nora comes along and ushers Jeff into place. Annabel heads to the back of her court and fires off her first serve, with Jeff receiving. It is immediately clear from the speed and precision of her shot that there is little about Annabel’s game that qualifies as ‘rusty’. Jeff is so taken aback when the ball skims past that he lets out a gasp then stops to look at his racquet as if the only possible explanation is that there is a hole in it.
The next points are over just as quickly and Annabel and Lisa are winning one game to love without breaking a sweat. We switch ends.
‘I don’t know why you’re looking so smug, Lisa, darling,’ Jeff calls over. ‘You haven’t even touched the ball yet.’
‘I’m clearly just a very intimidating presence over here,’ she fires back. ‘Because something has got you two completely flummoxed.’
‘I’m not having that,’ he mutters to me, loud enough for her to hear. ‘We need to win at least apoint. Come on, Jules. Get your head in the game.’
While this is all very amusing, I don’t mind admitting that I don’t really want to loseeverypoint either. Sadly, the first three of the next game disappear in the blink of an eye. But at forty–love, there is a bona fide rally between Annabel and me, which lasts for nine shots and only breaks down when she mishits a backhand and Jeff cries, ‘YESSSS!’
‘Don’t get too excited,’ I mutter, but even my heart is thrumming now and not only from the exertion.
To my astonishment, we win the next four points. Jeff even hits the ball a couple of times. Somehow, we find ourselves at Advantage.
I notice an odd and unexpected sensation beginning to creep under my skin.
There’s something about the sound of each shot, the whoosh of the racquet and the small beat of jubilation when it lands where it was intended that forces me to ask:Am Iactuallyenjoying this?
I push the thought away immediately.
