Chapter 23
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.
‘Champagne?’ Neil suggests, glancing up from his phone at me when the waiter comes to ask for our order. ‘We should celebrate Kieran’s win.’
‘Sounds great,’ I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
‘Two glasses of Champagne, please,’ Neil instructs to the waiter who hurries off. He puts his phone away and leans back, clasping his hands on his lap and looking out at the view. ‘It’s a great spot, this.’
‘Yeah. It is.’
‘Although, personally, I’m a big fan of the view from Henman Hill – or is it Murray Mound these days?’
‘Both, I think.’
‘M-hm.’
The waiter returns with two flutes of Champagne, placing them down in front of us and checking that we don’t need anything else. Once he’s left, Neil raises his glass.
‘To Kieran.’
I pick up mine and clink it against his, taking a sip. It’s light, crisp and delicious, but it burns down my throat and the bubbles only serve to heighten the swirl of nerves in my stomach. From the outside, this looks like a pleasant drink and a gesture of kindness from Neil, but the atmosphere is all wrong. It’s cold and tense. I don’t feel like a guest being welcomed into the fold. I feel like a burden that’s being given a taste of the high life before I’m kicked to the kerb.
‘Kieran played well today,’ Neil remarks, setting down his glass.
‘He did.’
‘It’s nice to come here and raise a glass to him.’
‘Sure.’ I hesitate. ‘But won’t he be expecting you in the locker room?’
‘He has the rest of the team, and like I said, I wanted to have a chat with you.’
Cool and collected, he gives me a pursed-lip smile. I take a large gulp of my drink. I get the feeling I’m going to need all the courage I can get.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ I ask.
He inhales deeply through his nose. ‘Kieran is through to the quarter-finals of Wimbledon, a goal he hasn’t reached in quite a while. He is proving to himself, and everyone else, that he has what it takes. You see, Flora, I’ve always known that. I’ve been his coach for a long time and, when others thought I should have moved on, I stuck by him.’
‘I imagine he appreciates that.’
‘I hope so. I saw that something special in Kieran when he was an up-and-coming player. Everyone talked about Aidan, but for me, it was Kieran who could go the distance. That’s why, even though it put my friendship with his father on the line, I offered to step in as Kieran’s coach when their working relationship broke down.’
‘Kieran mentioned you used to be friends with Brian.’
‘Brian is… complicated. Ultimately, I respect him. He believed in his boys. His methods may have been tough, but he worked hard to get Kieran to where he is. Our friendship remains fractured, but he knows what I know: Kieran has the talent and ability to win Wimbledon. And many Grand Slams to come. The thing is, he’s had personal issues that have distracted him from those goals.’
I nod sadly, lowering my eyes.
‘Losing Aidan was a heart-wrenching tragedy that would destroy anyone,’ Neil says, his brow furrowing and his voice sounding more human than it has been. The rest of this conversation has felt planned and drafted, but that he said with feeling. He takes a beat, shaking his head. ‘And, of course, then came Rachel.’
I press my lips together.
‘I wasn’t his coach at the time, but as a family friend, I witnessed it all,’ he continues, rubbing his chin with his hand. ‘Kieran has been on a journey. After losing Aidan, he threw everything he had into tennis. You couldn’t drag him off the practice courts. His hands blistered from playing so much. He didn’t know what else to do, how to cope with his pain.’
‘Tennis saved him,’ I murmur.
He nods, his mouth curling into a smile. ‘Exactly. He reached the finals of the Australian Open and became a superstar overnight. That was when it all went wrong.’
‘Chris Courtney.’
‘Not just Chris. Sure, he’s a tough opponent, but with the fame came the pressure, and Kieran already wanted to win for Aidan.’ He exhales loudly. ‘Can you imagine having that on your shoulders? He was just a kid and he felt like he was playing in honour of his brother who had just died. Then you add the pressure of the whole of Ireland pinning their hopes on him, throw in the expectation of his father, his picture on every front page in the world – it was too much and he wasn’t ready. And then that bloody interview about beating Aidan at Wimbledon. It broke him.’
‘I found that article,’ I admit, frowning at him. ‘That was before that final, wasn’t it?’
‘He did that interview before Aidan passed away.’ He nods. ‘It published just after. He felt consumed by guilt. Imagine how it looked: telling everyone that he was the one to watch, not Aidan. It was brotherly banter – but it looked bad. He swore never to do an interview again after that; he couldn’t trust journalists not to twist his words. His dad assured him that it was just one piece. It would be forgotten. Then, he beat the world number one in the Australian Open and that interview was fished out because there wasn’t anything else for reporters to go on. His quotes were pulled from context and flashed everywhere. He thought everyone in the audience would have read it.’
‘That must have been horrible for him.’
‘But he kept fighting,’ Neil says, waggling his finger at me. ‘He kept going after that. He was bruised and volatile on court – a fucking nightmare sometimes, to be honest – but he didn’t want to give up. His dad kept him focused and then he met the love of his life.’
‘Rachel,’ I say, twirling the stem of the glass round in my fingers.
‘When she left him, it was the last straw. He broke,’ Neil says, with a sorrowful sigh. ‘He was all over the place. He couldn’t focus, he lost his confidence, he hated everyone. Then he had to take quite a lot of time off because of an injury, and I remember thinking that he wouldn’t come back to the game and maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But he did. Tennis, it’s all he knows. Of course, by that point, he and Brian were a disaster. Neither of them were listening to each other. It didn’t work anymore.’
‘That’s when Kieran sacked him?’
‘It was the year Kieran got through to the semi-finals of the US Open. I was there as a commentator, and I remember watching him play and thinking, “He’s not completely out of it yet.” I knew if he could get a grip on his mental state, he had the talent to win. And over the years he’s proven to me that he has the motivation to get there, but then whenever he’d get close, he’d bow to the pressure. He’d pretend he wasn’t serious. Go out drinking, lose his temper, piss off the umpires. He kept his expectations low.’
‘Then he’s not disappointing anyone if he loses, least of all himself.’
‘Exactly, Flora. This year, he’s back on form. It’s fantastic. I couldn’t be prouder.’
I watch him carefully. ‘Neil, why are you telling me all this? Why am I here?’
He picks up his glass, takes a sip and places it back down again. ‘That overview proves to you that Kieran has had his fair share of downs, as well as a smattering of ups in his career. The one most damaging was Rachel leaving him for Chris. Beneath that brooding exterior, Kieran is sensitive. She broke his heart and he stopped believing he could win.’
‘What has that got to do with me?’
His eyes fixed on me, he lifts his chin. ‘What happens when Wimbledon is over? Where does this thing between you two go from there?’
‘Neil, we haven’t talked about that. We’ve known each other for three weeks.’
‘That’s my point. But the tournament will come to an end, and Kieran is showing to everyone right now that he’s not done with the tour. God, Flora, the way he’s playing right now, he might actually win this thing. You think Chris Courtney wasn’t thinking that last night when he pushed him to the brink?’ He leans forward and jabs his finger against the table to accentuate his point. ‘Kieran’s career is taking off again. He does well here, he does well everywhere. He’s not retiring anymore, I can tell you that much.’
I shift in my seat. ‘I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.’
He leans back, folding his arms. ‘Do you know what the life of a tennis player is like?’
‘Busy?’
He snorts. ‘You got that right. Constantly on the move, travelling the world. It’s a difficult life and maintaining a relationship is hard. Especially a new one. Trust me. I’ve been married three times.’
‘Neil, I don’t really—’
‘He likes you, Flora,’ he states, his relaxed smile fading as his mouth becomes a hard, straight line. ‘I’ve seen him with girls he’s dated before, but this is different.’ I blush furiously, taking another gulp of my drink. ‘So let me tell you what happens next. You two have this whirlwind romance because you’re in this perfect Wimbledon bubble, and then as time goes on, reality sets in. It doesn’t work out and Kieran loses the best shot he’s had in his career at achieving all the dreams he’s had since he was a kid.’
A lump forms in my throat. ‘So what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s human to be selfish. But maybe you need to consider what it will ultimately cost him.’
‘Why are you so certain that he wouldn’t win no matter what’s going on?’
‘Because unlike you, I know Kieran very well,’ he asserts. ‘He pays me a lot of money to be the person to tell him what’s good for him and what’s not.’
‘But you’re not that person to me,’ I remind him coldly.
He looks surprised at my comeback, before an icy smile crosses his lips. ‘No, but perhaps I can offer you some advice as… a friend. Sometimes, Flora, it’s best to step back before anyone gets really hurt.’
He takes a moment to pull out his phone and read a message that’s just come through, his brow furrowing in concentration.
‘I’m afraid I have to go,’ he says, sliding off his seat. ‘Feel free to stay here a bit longer and enjoy the view. The staff saw you coming in with me, so they won’t mind.’ He hesitates, clearing his throat. ‘To be clear, Flora, none of this is personal. It’s… business.’
‘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.