Page 79 of Clean Point

The first day of the competition brought a palpable buzz of excitement to the court. A hot summer sun mixing with anticipation of the crowd. I felt the hum in the air, similar to the one that had been simmering in my blood. An anger beneath my skin I’d been itching to get out.

For the last week, we’d been participating in qualifiers and some warm-up games, and I was learning how fun it was to play by Nico’s side. I’d never wanted to share the glory of a win with anyone else. It was mine, after all. I’d earned it.

But turning around, after we’d secured victory over our opponents, to find him with a wild prideful grin spread wide across his perfect lips, his fist pumped in celebration, joy radiating from him … It made the win that much sweeter.

And playing with him was more fun too. We had this ability to read the other plays from only our bodies, written in those almost imperceptible movements and small coded expressions. Our own secret language that only the two of us spoke.

But today, I was on my own, and against Chloe Murphy. She was younger, only twenty or so, and gained entry on a wildcard. It was her first grand slam. A baby at the beginning of their career – if a baby had been training since they were five and had three other titles under their belt.

She was smiling brightly, as if she expected this match to be fun. It certainly would be. But not for her.

I remembered my first Wimbledon. I was the same age as her and I’m sure I smiled just as wide. I had no idea of the fight that lay ahead of me. The competition, the training, the betrayals and the wins. All of it took its toll. But looking back, would I have changed any of it?

When the coin toss fell my way, and Murphy’s perky smile deflated slightly, I felt as if she was already questioning her decision to be here. This was my town, my court, and she was only beginning to realize it.

We got into place, and I could already see the wobble in her couched stance. I pulled back my arm, tossed the ball in the air and spun it into Murphy’s service box. It flew past her – ace. She barely even moved. Let the games begin.

15–Love

30–Love

40–15

I took the point, feeling smug at how quickly I’d claimed it as my own. She looked uneasy, but after a quick glance to the crowds, she refocused, finally realizing this was no playground.

I ran circles around her. She won a few points. There was an arm on this girl, that with a few more years, would strike fear on the court. But today, she was lazy, her footwork still needed refining, and she couldn’t break my serve. She stuck to the baseline, and it was easy to pick her game apart.

I hit screamer after screamer, forcing her all over the court. It was almost too much fun to run her side to side on the grass. The first two sets were mine. The match was mine. I’d forgotten this feeling. My feet on the grass, the thrill of fucking winning. It was a rush, and I’d been cold turkey for too long.

When we shook hands at the end, she looked on the verge of tears, and I felt a little regretful for being relentless.

‘Good match,’ I said, trying my best to keep my smile friendly, and hide my delight at the win. She only nodded in reply, lips pressed together in a small line.

I collected my things and walked off the court, finding Mum waiting for me. She was dressed in a pair of blue jeans paired with a cream top and a Chanel blazer. A pair of sunglasses pushed her blonde hair out of her smiling face, her arms stretched open. My heart almost doubled in size at the slight of her.

‘You might not want to hug me. I’m all sweaty,’ I warned, watching her grin grow.

‘That’s what dry cleaners are for,’ she said, pulling her slim body against mine, her long slender arms wrapping around me. I instantly melted into her, my head landing on her shoulder.

‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ I said to her, her perfume a comforting blanket on my still racing pulse.

She pulled back, eyebrows pressed together. ‘How could I miss this?’ Her attention was pulled from behind me, and Murphy paced past us, heading to the changing rooms. Mum whispered, ‘I never realized you could be so mean to somebody in a game.’

I laughed, tilting my head. ‘Have you watched much tennis?’

She hummed for a moment before shaking her head. ‘But I’ll catch up. I have a feeling I’ll be following this to the final.’ She sent me a confident, playful wink my way, and I did all I could to shake her off. I’d been playing like Matteo was nipping at my heels. I was pulling drive from his words, a new strength. I wanted this more than ever before.

I shook her off, heading toward the cool down area. ‘I think I went too hard on her.’

‘You won. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.’

My bag strap slipped from my shoulder, sparking a memory. ‘Oh, I have something for you. Jon mentioned you’d gotten tickets.’

‘Oh?’ She drew back in surprise as I pulled the bag in front of me, unzipping one of the compartments. I wiped my hands on my skirt before I pulled out the black silky material from inside.

‘My dress!’ my mum cried, her fingers instantly taking the satin material from me. She looked longingly at it. ‘I knew we would be reunited soon!’

‘I looked after it.’ I fought to hide my smile, but failed completely.

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