Page 54 of Match Point

Then, I sat down at the kitchen table. I opened my pad to a clean page, selected a pencil from the tin and I started sketching. Before I switched on the TV to watch Kieran’s match, I actually managed to finish a draft of the panel I’d hoped to complete today, so I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

Ever since the story idea sparked into my head, it’s as though the characters have invented themselves without much work from me. They’re driving the plot themselves and every now and then, I’ll find myself sketching something about them that takes me a little bit by surprise – sometimes that alters the plot I’d planned a little – but that’s okay. I’m happily losing myself in their story every day, learning about them as I go. I can’t describe the feeling I get when I’m drawing. I’m not sure you can even call it a feeling. It’s more of a state, a contented haze that I get to enter from which the rest of the world is completely shut off. I haven’t found this place in a long time and I was scared I’d never get to retreat to it again, but recently I can’t stop stepping back into it whenever I get the chance.

Even if this story goes nowhere, even if it doesn’t become the graphic novel I’m hoping it will be, I’m so grateful that it’s taken me this far. It may sound strange, but when I’m sketching, I know I’m doing what I’m meant to be doing.

I wonder if that’s how Kieran feels when he plays tennis.

At least with my chosen art form, I can enjoy it alone without anyone else muscling in on it, but I guess you don’t have that luxury in sport. Kieran’s opponent in the first round is a young Swiss guy, Alex Berger, who, according to my googling, has a killer serve. ‘Power, power, power’ is how the article described Berger’s style, which sounds mildly terrifying and, from the look of him, that does make sense. He’s shorter than Kieran, but seems to be pure muscle, his biceps filling the short sleeves of his white shirt, his thick thighs stretching the fabric of his shorts.

When Kieran strolls to the baseline to start their warm-up, my stomach twists and lurches. Chewing my thumbnail, I have no idea how I’m going to sit through this entire match alone.

FLORA

Are you watching him?

IRIS

No, I have to watch the play on centre court

But I’ll keep checking the score when I can ??

I feel so nervous

I want him to win so badly

For him or for you? ??

If he wins, he stays in the flat longer, right?

He’s rented the flat out

for the whole tournament

Tennis players don’t tend to hang around

Wimbledon once they’ve been knocked out ??

So if he loses today,

he might leave today??

Maybe

I hadn’t thought of that

Do you think he can win?

If he wants it badly enough

Wimbledon always has a few surprises in store

Shit it’s starting

*

God, he’s beautiful to watch. Kieran’s a breathtaking Adonis flying across the grass court, so effortless, nimble and fast, so fluid and powerful. You can see the fire in his eyes as he goes for the ball with a fierce expression of grit and determination, whipping it over the net in one swift, flowing swing of his racket that has become a natural extension of his arm.

At the end of the first set, I conclude that his opponent has no chance. Kieran won it 6–4, and he looks like he’s barely broken a sweat. When the camera zooms in on his face as he finishes swigging a bottle of cloudy vitamin water, his eyebrows are pulled together, his mouth a straight line – he’s giving away nothing, but surely he can accept that he’s got this in the bag. I’m absolutely buzzing! Now that I’ve seen what he can do, the nerves have morphed into smug satisfaction and I’ve taken the opportunity to swap my glass of water out for a can of Pimm’s.

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