Page 90 of Match Point

‘Actually, Neil, I think it’s very personal,’ I mutter, arching a brow.

He looks down at his feet for a moment before giving me a what-can-you-do shrug.

‘I’d appreciate it if you kept this chat between us,’ he says. ‘Whether you believe anything else I’ve said, I’m not wrong that Kieran is a sensitive soul. He needs me right now.’

I press my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of agreeing.

‘Right, then.’ He gives me a sharp nod, and turns on his heel, marching out of the bar.

My heart sinking, I turn to look out over the courts. Every now and then a cheer goes up from one of them as a player gets one step closer to achieving their dream. I knock back what’s left in my glass and leave, my sunglasses hiding the tears of humiliation filling my eyes as I make my way home alone.

24

Kieran knows something is up. I’m trying my best to act as though everything is normal, but it’s not easy when Neil’s voice is in the back of my mind, telling me that I’m being selfish for even entertaining feelings for Kieran when he has the chance to achieve his childhood dream. I want that for him. And the reason I want that for him, is because I care about him and his happiness. As in, really care. I’ll admit it. I’ll hold my hands up and say it.

I’m falling for Kieran O’Sullivan.

When I’m not with him, I’m thinking about him all the time. And when I’m with him, I feel deliriously happy and safe and confident and important. All those things you’re supposed to feel when you’re falling for someone. My feelings for him are growing every single day and the idea of the tournament coming to an end makes my heart ache as I beg for time to please slow down. He makes me laugh, he’s kind and thoughtful, he’s smart and sexy, and he’s opening up to me. He trusts me and I trust him.

So lying to him isn’t coming naturally. Neil’s advice had been painful to listen to at the time, but the cuts grew deeper the more I thought about it and heard what he was trying to say. He wants me to be the one to end it. But it’s unfathomable. I can’t end this. It’s too good, too exciting, too perfect. But then the guilt comes creeping in. Am I being selfish? Have I thought properly about what comes next? Can this really work? Are we on the path of a doomed whirlwind romance that everyone else can see from a mile off?

My head was in a total spin that night, and I couldn’t tell Kieran any of it. Neil may be a dickhead, but he’s right about Kieran’s sensitive nature. I know that by now. It’s obvious that Neil’s demands are already bothering Kieran, and if I told him about our drink, I don’t think Kieran would be too happy about it. Driving a wedge between a player and their coach right before the quarter-finals would be a disaster. So I’m stuck in this alone.

When Kieran got back after his win, he was confused as to why I left the grounds without coming to see him after the match, so I had to tell him I had a really bad headache. Then he started fussing over me, being all sweet and attentive, which made everything worse. He’d just got through to the quarter-finals of Wimbledon for Christ’s sake, and here he was running me a bath and waiting on me hand and foot. I tried to persuade him to go out, celebrate his win with his team, but he dismissed the suggestion and insisted he was exhausted and wanted to chill with me. I went to bed early just so I could close my eyes and not have to look at his beautiful torturous face, and then pretended to still be sleeping when he left the next morning for training.

He bent down and kissed my temple before he left.

As soon as the front door shut, I pressed my face into the pillow and screamed in frustration. I knew then that there was no chance I would do what Neil wanted me to do and break it off before it’s really begun. Instead I just have to accept that I’m a selfish bitch who is potentially going to be blamed for the tanking of Kieran’s career.

But I can’t make such a painful decision when no one has any idea what the future holds. Neil could be wrong and this could last. Or maybe Neil’s wrong about the way Kieran feels about me. He could be playing his part very well and I could be another fling that he’ll dump as soon as Wimbledon ends. He’ll go on to win all the Grand Slams in the world and I’ll be the one left broken-hearted and embarrassed for thinking any of it could be real.

Either way, I don’t want to end our story before it has the chance to play out.

So, I have to sit here on Court Two watching Kieran play in the quarter-finals of Wimbledon, knowing that his team, sitting right next to me, all think that I’m gambling his future on my selfish desires. Meanwhile, I’ve been acting strange around Kieran because, thanks to Neil, I now can’t stop thinking about what the fuck we’ve got ourselves into.

‘Silence, please,’ the umpire tells the two-thousand-strong crowd, as Kieran prepares to serve at the start of the second set and some of his fans shout words of encouragement through the silence that settles over the court.

Thanks to reading Iris’s blog this morning, I know that Kieran is playing Felipe Díaz, a Spaniard ranked number seven in the world, and a hot favourite to win Wimbledon thanks to his stunning performance on grass so far this tournament. In his last match, he won in three straight sets.

Kieran is currently a set down, the score 3–6. When Díaz broke Kieran’s serve in the first set, I heard Neil mumble, ‘He’s being indecisive’ to the assistant coach, and I could see Kieran’s frustration with himself when he lost the first set, shaking his head with his hands on his hips as he walked to his chair.

I’m trying my hardest not to betray any emotion to anyone. My face straight and expressionless, helped in large part to my sunglasses, I’m here for Kieran, no one else. So when he looks to me just before he chooses the ball he’s going to serve with to kick off this second set, he can see I’m looking straight at him. I tilt my chin up just a little bit.

You’ve got this. Forget everything else, just win this next point.

He selects a ball, shoving the other in his pocket and stepping up to the baseline. The crowd waits with bated breath. His shoulders relaxing, he tosses the ball up in the air and hits it with so much power and precision that the thwack of his racket connecting makes me gasp.

‘Ace,’ the umpire announces to rapturous applause.

Wiping his forehead, Kieran allows himself just the hint of a grin as he strolls to the other side of the line. I smile to myself. I don’t know the game well enough to understand what Neil meant when he said Kieran was being indecisive in the first set, but I know Kieran well enough to know that he’s just made the decision to win.

*

3–6 6–3 6–3 6–3

I beam with pride as Kieran’s score is displayed on one of the screens in the grounds, while I hang around after the match. After a wobbly start, Kieran found his footing and seized on some unforced errors by Díaz to take the second set. From there, it was fairly smooth sailing as Kieran dominated the match, breaking serve early on in the next two sets.

As he walked off the court to an eruption of cheers from his Irish fan base, he looked up at me and nodded. Neil frowned at the gesture, but a giddy warmth flooded through me. This time, I wanted to hang around afterwards to congratulate him, rather than scarpering as I know Neil wanted me to do. He’s through to the semi-finals of Wimbledon! This is HUGE.

---