Page 105 of Match Point

‘No, that’s not… I didn’t think that. I’d rather forget about it anyway.’

He’d bowed his head. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘We need to stop talking about this and talk about the fact that you’re through to the Wimbledon final! This is amazing, Kieran. I’m so proud of you.’

‘I got a free pass,’ he’d said, his expression clouding over. ‘Everyone knows that if it wasn’t for his calf cramp, then he would have won. He could barely run in the last set.’

‘That’s not true. You would have won anyway. That’s what I think.’

When he didn’t reply, I’d taken a few steps towards him and tentatively put my arms out, pulling him into a hug. His hands slowly came across to my lower back, pressing me into his body, as he lowered his head and exhaled into my hair, as though he was breathing out more than air. He was breathing out the stress, the anxiety, the chaos of the day, and he was finally still. We’d stood there for a few seconds and I’d felt my resolve fracturing as I melted into the warmth of his chest, felt the safe solidarity of his arms around me, breathed in his freshly showered scent that sent tingles down my spine.

I’d so badly wanted to talk to him then. I’d wanted to ask him how he felt and tell him how I felt, talk to him about his day, tell him about my call with Dad. But it wasn’t fair to burden him with all of that when he’d just played in the semi-finals. He was exhausted.

So, I’d pushed away and told him that we should go to bed.

He’d remained quiet and pensive as I’d got the duvet and pillows ready for the sofa.

It was for the best.

But looking at him now, as he remains still against the counter, sipping at his energy drink like a robot that’s been programmed to play tennis and then completely switch off in between, I’m not sure it’s been for the best at all. The last couple of days, I’ve left him at the mercy of Neil and Brian, with no one else to talk to. They’re hardly a barrel of laughs. I doubt he’s had a moment of light relief and, considering this is the biggest event of his career, that might be what he needs. The worst thing is that he knows I lied to him about the job interview. What a stupid excuse.

‘You’ve been working on your book,’ he says suddenly, jolting me from my thoughts. He puts his energy drink down on the counter and gestures to the pages piled up on the kitchen table next to my sketching pencils.

‘Yes, it’s been going well actually.’

‘You didn’t do any drawing yesterday, though.’

I blink at him. ‘Oh. Uh, no I didn’t. You noticed. How did you—’

‘You leave your pile of sketches out. The top one was still the same yesterday as it had been on Thursday.’

‘You’re not supposed to look at my drawings,’ I say lightly.

He shrugs, allowing a weak smile. ‘Can’t help it.’

‘The inspiration wasn’t flowing yesterday. Or today, to be honest. I tried to get a bit done, but I’m not sure it’s any good,’ I admit. ‘Not my best work.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ His eyes drop to the floor. ‘You’ve had to contend with your life being splashed about for everyone to see. I can’t imagine that’s good for creativity.’

I watch him carefully. He looks troubled and tense, and I want to help him.

‘Kieran, are you okay?’ I ask gently, my fingers twitching, aching to reach out to him. ‘Is it your dad?’

He glances up at me, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘What about him?’

‘The things he was saying when you came in. I don’t know, they seem a bit harsh.’

‘He wants me to win.’

‘I know, but does he need to be so mean about it? That stuff about Chris Courtney embarrassing you tomorrow, it’s a little unnecessary.’

‘He’s right, though, isn’t he,’ Kieran says in a low, defeated voice. ‘The way I played today, I embarrassed myself.’

‘I’m sure you weren’t that bad.’

‘You weren’t there,’ he snaps.

I press my lips together. He’s frustrated with himself, I can see that, but there was something else that crossed his expression then. Hurt, I think.

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