Page 87 of Match Point

He started well and then things fell apart

He held on in there, but his spark had faded

Now it’s back

Maybe he got tired of everyone

telling him he couldn’t do it

Maybe he’s found love

Shut up

I’m being serious

At the Australian Open this year, I would

have told you that his heart wasn’t in it anymore

Watch him play this afternoon

You’ll see

See what exactly?

He’s playing with heart again

And it’s making him unbeatable

*

Later, when Kieran wins match point, the court erupts with noise. Everyone is on their feet cheering and clapping, the Irish fans chanting support. I wait for him to finish shaking hands with his opponent and the umpire before he looks to me.

With a sly smile, I quickly unzip my jacket to reveal the Snoopy T-shirt underneath.

He tips his head back and barks with laughter, before nodding at me, a dopey grin on his face. I beam back at him, lifting my hands above my head as I continue clapping along with his growing fan base until he’s walked back through the players’ tunnel and out of sight.

23

Neil is waiting for me when I come down the steps off the court.

I’m on a high, flushed with excitement at Kieran’s win. If the headlines today affected him, it was in a positive way – he was more determined than ever, going for every ball like it was match point. He even added a little showmanship in, recovering a drop shot by hitting the ball through his legs with his back to the net. It was a winning point and the crowd went absolutely wild. He’d smiled at the reaction, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise at his own brilliance. I don’t know enough about the game and his career to make a call on whether he’s playing with more heart, like Iris believes, but he was definitely more animated in this match than I’ve seen him before. And not in an angry way, but in a fun way. Like our spontaneous training session on the local park courts, I could tell he enjoyed today’s match.

I’m not expecting Neil to be waiting for me. I know that I’m not wanted behind the scenes after a match, and I was planning on heading to the nearest strawberry stand to purchase a bowl for Kieran to celebrate his win.

‘Flora,’ Neil says through a fixed smile, sliding his sunglasses up his nose and putting his hands in his pockets, ‘are you available for a quick chat?’

‘Uh… sure,’ I say, stopping in front of him, my beaming smile fading fast. ‘What’s up?’

‘Maybe we can chat elsewhere,’ he suggests, glancing at the phones pointed in our direction as spectators coming off the court form a circle around us.

Neil is famous in his own right, as a former Wimbledon champion and now as Kieran’s coach, but I think people are also starting to realise who I am, and we’re drawing a larger crowd than I’m used to.

I nod and he gestures for me to accompany him as he walks towards the Clubhouse, a building reserved for players and their teams, and VIP ticket holders. When the doorman stands aside to let us in, I immediately feel underdressed. Of course I had to be invited into the VIP building on the day I’m wearing my Snoopy T-shirt. As Neil whips off his sunglasses and leads me up the stairs, I quickly zip up my jacket.

We walk down a maze of corridors in silence, Neil strolling while typing into his phone, me scurrying along behind him, admiring the framed pictures hanging on the walls of Wimbledon legends and the elegant vases of fresh flowers dotted around the pristine halls that fill the building with a soft, sweet fragrance.

Neil leads me to an exclusive bar where we’re seated on the balcony overlooking the grounds. Sitting up straight as I perch nervously on the edge of my seat, I gaze out at the stretch of outside courts and the crowds of people milling around the pathways, making their way to various matches and soaking in the atmosphere.

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