If I Were You

Chapter 42 Flynn

Not normally nervous, I can’t help planting myself close to the fence, hands on the wire as I watch Amy wandering around the court, clearly lost.

The two pristine grass tennis courts are thrumming with guests warming up; others are assembled in the sunshine. Amy barely spoke to me when I saw her, dazedly handing me a delighted Reggie on a lead. At the time I was relieved, I didn’t want to admit how badly the flashmob had gone, but now I’m concerned something else is going on. Should we have done more to stop her playing, come up with an excuse?

There is no way this isn’t going to be a disaster. Even in my six-foot two-inch frame she seems strangely vulnerable, her shoulders rounded, her gait hesitant, her movements jumpy and uncertain. I can’t help my insides clenching in sympathy for her. But there is another part of me, a shameful part, that is concerned about my reputation.

Sport has always been something that has defined me, my name synonymous with sporting success. I’d spent hours as a child throwing, hitting, kicking a ball at the wall of our garage, desperate for a playmate, the inside of the house too cold and sad to want to spend time in, the monotony of practising emptying my brain of anything else.

It was the thing that gave me confidence, allowed me easy access to a world of men. Other boys at both prep school and senior school admired my natural ability to hit a ball with any number of bats or rackets. It was like a language, and I’d always been fluent in it.

Can I run on and pull Amy away? I don’t want her to take this thing away from me.

Then I think of her face back in the bedroom, teaching me to dance, wanting so desperately to try and make this weekend work for her sister. So I send up a silent prayer and cross my fingers.

‘Hey,’ Laura says, offering me her plate with a scone topped with a dollop of clotted cream and jam. She stands next to me.

‘Oh, thanks,’ I say, taking it from her.

I’ve barely eaten all day and quickly stuff the scone into my mouth, crumbs spilling down the green maxi dress Amy dressed me in. When I look up Laura is grimacing at me.

‘You’re a savage.’ Fortunately, she follows it up with a laugh and, uneasily, I join in.

‘I’m sorry about the flashmob, I was a bit tense. It will be fine, it’s just a bit of fun.’

‘I’m going to practise later,’ I say, glad she seems happier now.

‘I guess it’s about the only thing I’ve been in charge of this weekend,’ she admits, ‘so I wanted it to be great.’

‘It will be,’ I say.

‘Thanks.’ She stays next to me looking at the court as people are given their mixed pairings. ‘So, Jay told me Flynn almost played first pair for Sussex.’

‘Hampshire.’

‘Well, somewhere. Honestly, men and sport,’ she says, puffing out her cheeks. ‘It’s like the only time they feel they can cry.’

‘That’s not true!’ I exclaim, causing Laura to look at me oddly. ‘I mean,’ I cough, ‘it’s important, isn’t it? It’s how we, how men, I mean, can come together, to bond, to connect.’

Laura listens and then tips her head to one side. ‘I just wish they’d be as passionate about other things,’ she says, staring back at the players.

I think of my friends. Many are quick to anger, but I can’t recall seeing many of them cry. I’d always thought Jay was quite in touch with his emotions, but even he doesn’t really cry. The last time I saw him do so was after a football loss, and he barely got out of bed the day after Chelsea lost the FA cup to Leicester. Should men reserve that kind of emotion for things in their own lives? I shift, realizing there is truth in what Laura is saying.

Things went south at school between Eddie and I over sport. He never forgave me for captaining the cricket team in our last year. Surely that isn’t why we lost touch?

Laura breathes out slowly. ‘Well, I better go and see if Mum’s OK …’

I think of Amy wanting to please Laura, the atmosphere back in the hotel room, the scenes from last night, and I grab Laura’s arm as she goes to leave.

‘Hey, before you go,’ I say, ‘I really am sorry about before and the dancing.’ I add, ‘Stuff is going on with me and Flynn right now, I’m a bit distracted.’

Laura turns back to face me. ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t do this and just focus on, you know, my wedding. But,’ she breathes through her nose, ‘is this all about how you don’t want to move in with him like we talked about on the phone yesterday? Or have you actually dumped the guy? Because you told me you wouldn’t this weekend.’ The words tumble out in a rush.

‘I …’ my mouth drops open, my brain slow to catch up with what she is saying. What? What did Amy say yesterday? Yesterday.

‘Or was it all an exaggeration?’

‘An exaggeration,’ I repeat.

‘So it was?’ Laura rolls her eyes. ‘So there isn’t a drama? You were just scaring the shit out of me that you were going to dump your boyfriend at my wedding.’

‘Dump him,’ I say, panic flaring immediately. ‘Why would Amy dump m— Flynn?’

Laura narrows her eyes, ‘Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?’

‘I …’ my brain has gone into overdrive. Was Amy about to dump me? Is Laura serious? I knew that the prospect of me moving in had made her nervous, it’s why I knew I had to go bigger, but I had no idea things were so bad. All my worries seem to make the world blur. ‘I’m just, I …’

‘Well, if it means anything, I don’t get it. Most women would love a man who wants to move in quickly, make a commitment …’

I’m starting to feel light-headed, her words jumbling as I try to work out what she is telling me.

‘We’re not going to break up,’ I say – a promise to myself? I think of our room, a box nestled in amongst my clothes.

Dump me?

Some of the players are warming up on the court, taking turns to serve. For some reason Amy has chosen to stand in the centre of the court and keeps ducking and shielding her head.

‘What is he doing?’ Laura frowned. ‘Can he ever be serious?’

The last conversation – and this question – makes my voice hard. ‘Not everyone needs to show they’re stressed all the time.’ A thought I’ve often wanted to level at Amy, who doesn’t understand just because I’m not always explicitly talking about stress, doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.

Laura folds her arms. ‘Is that meant to be a dig at me?’

‘What? No,’ I say.

‘Because I’d be a lot less stressed if my chief bridesmaid didn’t keep going AWOL.’

How is this going wrong again? Laura never talks to me in this tone.

Just then Reggie snuffles into my hand and I bend down to ruffle his head, plunging my face into his soft fur.

Laura is slack-jawed. ‘I thought you were scared of him.’

Looking up at her, my arms still round Reggie, I shake my head. ‘I sort of got over it.’

‘Right,’ Laura says slowly, her brow furrowing. ‘I feel like I hardly know you at the moment.’

I can’t meet her eye, pressing my face back into his fur to avoid a response. Over his fur I scan the guests, idly wondering who else is in the tournament. Patty, white socks up to her knees, her grey bob clipped back, is deep in tactical discussion with Amy who appears to just to be nodding dumbly. Jay is standing nearby talking to his partner. Of course, it’s Tanya.

This weekend is so messed up.