I HADN’T THOUGHT her suggestion would work, but the mere mention of Leo Mannering filled me with fresh fury and, with no other outlet, I took the anger out on the court. I hit as many unforced errors as winners, but out of sheer determination to show that old fart how wellfucking fairiescould play, I somehow ground out a win. In my player’s box, Tomas and Macca stood applauding and, after the previous evening, I couldn’t but realise they weren’t just in my box but on my side, in my corner, ready to dig in and fight for me – something Miles had never had. Fuck. I needed to get off court and find him.
But first, I had to smile for the crowd and face the on-court interviewer.
“Matteo, congratulations,” she said, her voice echoing around the stands. “That win didn’t look easy. Tell us what was going through your mind when you lost that second set?”
That I had really wanted to finish in two so I could catch Miles after his match.
“Yeah, it was a fight all the way,” I said instead and waffled on a bit, eyeing the exit.
She retracted the microphone to ask her second question. “You’ve had a huge rise over the last couple of months, going from a ranking of one-hundred and ninety before the French Open to sixty-two at the start of this week – how has that been for you and how does it feel to be playing here in Cincinnati for the first time?”
Sixty-two.
I didn’t need Miles’s skill at mental arithmetic to know that was twenty-one places off my highest ranking – a number frozen in my mind like it had been captured by the shattering glass andbreaking bones. Like it had been bruised into my flesh. But I needed not to think about that. Needed not to let it become an ill-omen. Needed to focus on rambling out an answer that didn’t make me sound like a wanker. Thankfully, three questions was usually the maximum, so I was almost free.
“You’ll be up against the young German wildcard, Alexander Pfeiffer, in the next round,” she said. “He amazed us all by coming through over Miles Callahan earlier today – have you seen him play before?”
I stared, a dozen emotions hitting me at once – shock that Miles had lost, concern that he wasn’t all right, annoyance at finding out like this, and a deep, terrible relief that we had avoided playing each other.
“Matteo?” she said, prompting me as the crowd waited.
“Sorry, that news was so surprising that my brain shut down there for a moment,” I said, earning a ripple of laughter from the stands. “After running around on court for almost three hours, there isn’t much energy left for thinking, I’m afraid. No, I haven’t seen him play, but he must be in excellent form to take out Miles, so I look forward to the challenge.”
“And we look forward to enjoying it. Matteo Russo, ladies and gentlemen!”
In a daze, I waved to the crowd and escaped. Congratulations from Mum and Katie were waiting on my phone, but nothing from Miles. I hastily brought up his match score while I made my way to the locker room.
Round 2 – Centre Court – 1:22
USA
Miles Callahan3
4
4
GER
Alexander PfeifferWC
6
6
