Page 46 of Match Point

‘Yes, you do,’ he counters. ‘Everyone does. You’re playing too nice. I want you to find your fury and take it out on the ball.’

‘I really don’t have any upper body strength. I’m more of a casual tennis player. You know… I’m dainty and elegant.’ He smirks and I give him a pointed look. ‘I am.’

‘Sure, but you’re also fiery and powerful.’

‘Where did you get that?’ I mutter, raising my eyebrows.

‘We’re going to do some warm-up volleys and then I want to see you smash the ball when I feed the lob, okay? Get your racket back early so you can judge the flight of the ball properly and you want to hit it with your arm outstretched at your highest point.’

‘Fine. I’ll give it a go.’

‘Show me that aggression. You’ll feel great afterwards. It relieves tension, boosts morale. You’ll feel empowered.’

‘If you say so. But—’ I say, narrowing my eyes at him ‘—if I miss all these lobs and feel like even more of a loser, you owe me a drink.’

‘Okay. And if you do walk away from this feeling empowered, then you owe me one.’

‘Deal.’

That’s fine by me. Either way, I’m having a drink with Kieran, and that makes my chest tighten and my hands tingle. I shake them out, doing my best to give him a cool smile as I walk backwards from the net.

‘Ready?’ he checks, once we’re both in position.

‘Ready.’

We start with some soft, easy volleys and then he gives me a warning nod before sending the ball up high in a loop towards me. I watch it drop and then I hit it down. It plops near his right foot. He watches it bounce and dribble away down the court.

He turns back to face me, arching a brow. ‘That was… terrible.’

‘It was dainty!’

‘Let’s go again.’

After another well-positioned attempt, but lacking in power, Kieran puts his hands on his hips and gestures for me to come meet him at the net again. I tip back my head and groan, preparing myself for either a lecture or a pep talk.

‘Why can’t you just accept that I’m not the sort of person who can smash a tennis ball?’ I query, picking at the grip of my racket. ‘I’m not competitive; I don’t have the fire in me that you do.’

‘Yes, you do,’ he insists, his eyes boring into mine. ‘And I know that, because on the day we met, you threw a drink at me.’

I hesitate. ‘I was having a bad day and you really pissed me off.’

‘I made you angry.’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘What else makes you angry, aside from me of course?’ he asks with a sly, secretive smile, as though he knows something I don’t.

I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Take your time. Think about it.’

Plucking nervously at the strings on my racket, I eventually let out a heavy sigh. ‘The way Jonah made me feel about myself. That he has this ability to say things that reinforce my own doubts and flaws.’

‘He makes you feel small and powerless,’ Kieran says in a low, understanding voice.

‘Yeah. But I can’t blame that all on him. I guess it’s hard to have confidence and self-esteem when my dad left me, and Mum was too caught up struggling with her own demons to notice what I needed.’ I hesitate, frowning at him. ‘Is this becoming a strange kind of therapy session?’

His lips twitch into a smile, his expression softening. ‘Tennis can be therapy to me,’ he admits, glancing across at the other people playing on the courts down the way. ‘When I feel in control on the court, it helps.’

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