Page 52 of Match Point

‘Hi, Neil,’ I say brightly.

He frowns, putting his hands on his hips. ‘I didn’t realise you were in here.’

‘That’s okay, I can leave,’ I offer, swinging my legs down to get up as his team start filing into the room.

‘No, Flossie, you don’t need to move,’ Kieran begins, holding up his hand. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you that a few people would be here; they just need to run through a few things if that’s okay.’

‘Of course. I’ll go to your room and work in there. It’s really no problem,’ I assure him with a smile, dodging around the physio who has come in carrying a massage table.

Picking my way across the room under his gaze, I pop into the kitchen to grab a drink before I get out of their way and find his nutritionist in there, filling up our fridge.

‘Would you like some Evian?’ she offers, glancing at the tap water in my hand and gesturing to the crate of bottled water by her feet.

‘I’m good, thanks,’ I say, smiling to myself as I recall Kieran’s aversion to tap.

He’s such a diva, I think affectionately.

Tucked away in the bedroom, I’m so engrossed in my sketching that I don’t notice the flat has fallen quiet an hour or so later until there’s a soft rap on the door and Kieran comes in with a sheepish expression.

‘Hey,’ I say, noting his hoodie and pyjama bottoms, ‘you’ve had an outfit change.’

‘Slipped on something comfortable after the acupuncture,’ he informs me, rubbing the back of his neck as he leans against the doorframe. ‘I’m sorry about that. I feel bad that you had to shut yourself away in here.’

‘Don’t feel bad; I was really happy to draw,’ I assure him brightly, getting up and moving across the room to the door. ‘How did today go? How are you feeling about tomorrow? Confident?’

He shrugs. ‘As confident as I can be. Neil wants me to spend the evening watching some videos to analyse my play.’

‘Sounds fun.’

‘Doesn’t it,’ he says drily.

‘I… uh… I have something for you.’

He arches an eyebrow at me. ‘A gift?’

‘Sort of,’ I answer, reaching into my back pocket to pull out a bottle of bubbles that I picked up from a shop on my way home from seeing Iris.

His forehead creases in confusion. ‘Bubbles.’

‘Do you remember blowing bubbles as a kid and being completely mesmerised by them to the point where you didn’t care about anything else, you were just looking at pretty little bubbles floating through the air?’

He doesn’t look convinced. ‘Uh. I guess. Although I don’t remember feeling that poetic about them.’

I roll my eyes at his teasing. ‘It hit me today. Blowing bubbles is perfect for your pre-match ritual! It’s calming and sweet and it focuses the mind. Here.’ I lift his hand and press the bottle into his palm. He closes his fingers round it. ‘Before you go on court, if you’re nervous, you blow some bubbles and it will help you feel better.’

‘You want me to sit in the men’s locker room at Wimbledon blowing bubbles,’ he clarifies. ‘It will sure give the other lads a laugh.’

‘Which is also relaxing! Laughter is therapeutic, reduces stress, boosts endorphins,’ I list cheerfully. ‘I am telling you, Kieran, we have found your pre-match thing.’

‘Bubbles,’ he repeats with a sigh.

‘Yes,’ I confirm. ‘Bubbles. Personally, I think you should keep that bottle on you at all times. If you’re really in trouble during a match, you can even blow bubbles during the breaks when you switch ends.’

He narrows his eyes at me, scrutinising my expression to check I’m being serious.

‘Flossie,’ he begins, sliding the bottle of bubbles into his pocket, ‘if you ever see me on a court at Wimbledon blowing bubbles then you’ll know I’ve officially lost it.’

‘I’ll know you’re doing everything you can to win,’ I challenge. ‘And that would make me proud of you. Plus, you know, I’ll get a little thrill from it.’

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