I pick up a huge tub of what must be 200 balls and take it over to the roadside court to practise my serve, which was the weakest part of my game last week. I try to recall what I watched on at least four different videos by Tennis with Cody. There was something about making contact at a certain angle. Using your feet to gain power. What was it he said about rotating the wrist?
I pick up the first and hit it over the net. It’s out. So I try again with a small adjustment, sending this one straight into the net. I continue like this until about seventy balls have disappeared, less than five per cent of which end up as even vaguely decent shots. I am getting exasperated when I hear a clank of the gate. I turn to see Sam, backlit and shimmering at the entrance, stepping inside.
‘Getting some practice in?’ he smiles, as every instruction in my head evaporates.
Chapter 26
I say something about waking up early and not being able to sleep. He tells me he’s meeting someone for a knockabout before work. Then he takes a seat at the side of the court and I’m struck afresh not merely by how handsome Sam is, but how age has somehow made the features of his face even more attractive. He’s your classic fine wine. The cute smile of his teenage years is still there, but now his cheekbones are chiselled. He looks so damn healthy, he’d make anyone feel like a physical wreck in his presence. And those long legs that once seemed sort of ungainly are now tanned, ripped with muscles and right there, begging to be admired. I shift my eyes away and pick up a ball.
But as I walk to the service line and fix my feet, the pressure of his gaze makes my chest feel as if a balloon is being slowly inflated somewhere behind my breastbone. I lower my arm.
‘I can’t do this with an audience.’
He laughs and looks down, before raising his gaze back up to me from under those long eyelashes.
‘Okay. I’ve got a couple of emails to send anyway, so I’ll studiously ignore you until Chris gets here.’
When I don’t immediately place the name, he adds: ‘Liam’s dad. A very old friend of mine.’
‘Ah.’
Sam reaches into his racquet bag and makes a point of burying his head in his phone. But as I move to the line,
I realise it doesn’t matter if he’s suddenly engrossed in something else. I feel self-conscious just being within twenty feet of him.
I need to get a hold of myself. This time, as I focus on the opposite side of the court, my overriding thought is not only how I’m going to put this ball in the right place, but also... how I’m going tolookin the process. Which is pathetic.Yet, tapping it over will suddenly not do at all. I take a steadying breath and channel Serena . . . Venus... Billie Jean... Coco. What dotheylook like when they serve? Athletic, that’s what. I can do athletic. I roll my shoulders, take a deep breath and then I go for it. Hard as I can.
The result isn’t terrible, except that it’s out. I pick up another ball and notice that Sam is no longer studying his phone. When he realises I’ve caught him, he tips his chin and quickly starts typing again.
‘You said you wouldn’t watch!’
‘I apologise!’ he laughs. Though I’ve come to realise that this word does no justice to the transformative effect it has on his face. Dimples appear in his cheeks. His eyes sparkle. The sight of the creases around his temples makes my stomach flip so hard it’s almost a punch. ‘I don’t know why, though. What was wrong with that last one?’
‘It wasout.’
‘Meh,’ he says, dismissively. ‘Only a little bit.’
‘Isn’t this the same as being pregnant? There’s no such thing as “only a little bit”. It either is, or it isn’t.’
‘Second serve then,’ he nods, gesturing for me to continue.
I narrow my eyes. ‘Do. Not. Watch.’
Suppressing a smile, he holds up his hands in surrender.
‘I have plenty to keep me occupied without spectating.’
I turn away and go to serve, fully aware he’s still looking.
‘Wouldn’t want to put you off.’
‘Oh, shush!’ I laugh.
My next attempt does go in but it floats over the net with all the power of a wall-mounted hotel hairdryer.
‘I must say, I’m impressed with your dedication. But then you always were very . . .’
‘Very what?’ I ask.
