We shelter in the clubhouse and make some hot tea while we wait for the rain to ease.
‘Did you always want to teach tennis for a living?’ I ask, sipping my drink.
She shakes her head. ‘The thought never even occurred to me when I was younger. I studied law at university.’
‘Really?Why the change of heart?’
‘A desk job would have been all wrong for me. I’ve always been happiest outdoors. Plus, I’m competitive.’ I’d never thought of this before, but she really is – behind that soft, gentle personality there’s clearly a fire in her belly when it comes to sport. ‘I tried everything at one time – volleyball, hockey, cricket, the lot. I just loved being part of ateam, you know? That feeling of belonging. The camaraderie. Does that make sense?’
‘Hmm.Yeah,’ I say, but it takes me a moment to commit to the statement.
I have never felt like this about playing sport competitively.
‘Are you enjoying the social tennis on Saturdays, by the way?’ she asks.
‘Oh, I am. The women on the B team are all lovely,’ I reply.
‘I’m really glad they have made you feel welcome,’ Nora grins.
‘They definitely have. Though I’m a bit concerned about the way they keep referring to us as “new blood”. I have warned them that when their summer league begins, I’ll cheer from the sidelines, but I’m not playing for the team. Barbara, the captain, still keeps inviting me to their Tuesday sessions though.’
‘Well, those training sessions wouldn’t commit you to anything,’ she shrugs. ‘It might just be nice for you to hit with some different players.’
‘Hmm. This is how they reel you in,’ I say suspiciously.
‘Would that besoterrible?’ she smiles, in the same tone you’d use to coax a kitten from a tree.
‘Yes! I’m not as good as the current players and neither are Lisa and Rose. If they came near the bottom of the league last year, I dread to think how good the opposition is.’
‘They did badly because they were short of players, that’s all. There’s more of you now.’
‘More ofthem. Honestly, Nora, I’d really prefer to stick to these lessons. If that’s okay?’
She clearly realises this is a battle she’s not going to win. ‘As long as you’re enjoying yourself, I’m happy.’
‘I mean . . . who wouldn’t lovethis?’ I wring out my soaking wet jacket and she laughs. ‘Seriously, though. They’re the highlight of my week.’
Her face lights up. ‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. I’ve got a few things going on at the moment that have been giving me sleepless nights. There are lots of changes afoot at work and, well, Frankie being away is a constant headache. But when I’m on this court, I stop worrying. It feels like the only time.’
‘Free therapy,’ she says, knowingly. ‘That’s what my sister used to call tennis when she was going through a divorce. You know, I’mreallyhappy you’re enjoying this, Jules. And I can’t believe how quickly you’re improving. You can tell you’ve played before.’
‘Not for decades.’
‘Yeah, you said that,’ she says, taking a sip of her drink. ‘So what was it that made you give it up?’
In so many ways, it is not much of a reason. It wasn’t like I had one of those obnoxious parents who thrust a racquet in my hand before I could walk and spent the next decade yelling at my missed shots. And undeniably, for a short, intense period, I loved the game. Scrap that, I was obsessed. But bythe time I called it quits a year or so after I started, it was like ditching a friend who’d been dragging me down for months.
I must stress that I was never as good as Jeff makes out. He might believe what he says, but he’s speaking as someone whose tennis-related expertise doesn’t stretch beyond celebrity sightings at the US Open.
I first picked up a racquet after watching Wimbledon one year with my mum when I was off sick with chickenpox at the age of thirteen. The only thing that stopped me scratching at my spots was my decision, there and then, that I wanted to be Gabriela Sabatini when I grew up. The moment I recovered, I signed up for a summer camp at Mossley Vale, a club a few miles away that was well known for its junior programme. I adored those first classes. Led by an encouraging young coach called Luke and full of like-minded newcomers, they were endlessly fun. When I wasn’t playing I wasthinkingabout playing and I soon started overtaking the other kids in the class. To my utter surprise and delight, it wasn’t long before I was invited to train with the U15 team.
It was there that my shortcomings became instantly apparent and my relationship with the sport began to sour.
From the word go, it was intense. The head coach was shouty and intolerant, though at the time, everyone was convinced by his mantra, ‘This is how winners are made.’ I wasn’t alone in being desperate to win his approval, though there were only tiny scraps on offer: If you performed well enough to impress him during a practice session, you got an honourable mention at the end and I’m sure it must have felt like you’d been anointed. In my case, I never got to find out.
I was the youngest girl on the team, and while I could beatanyonein those early beginners’ lessons, here I was totally out of my depth. I knew it. The coach knew it. And the other players definitely knew it.
