Match Point

Chapter 27

27

I’d volunteered to sleep on the sofa after Brian left. Kieran had acted as though he didn’t understand and had tried to persuade me to stay in the bedroom.

‘We both know that you need a good night’s sleep,’ I’d reminded him with an assuring smile. ‘Imagine if I talk in my sleep or kick you or something. It would be so bad if I did anything to keep you up. This way, you can be sure of getting the important rest you need before tomorrow.’ He hadn’t looked entirely convinced, so I’d finished getting the duvet sorted on the sofa and then walked over to him to kiss his lips lightly. ‘Everything’s fine, okay? But nothing is more important than tomorrow.’

If he realised I was echoing his father’s words from earlier, he didn’t show it. He’d sighed and reluctantly agreed, before kissing me again. He’d pulled me into a hug, his hands travelling around my back and pressing me closer into him, his head nuzzling into my hair.

‘I’ll miss you, though,’ he’d whispered softly in my ear.

A lump had formed in my throat and I hadn’t trusted myself to speak.

The truth was, if Kieran had disagreed with what his dad was saying, he would have told him. He would have pointed out that he’d come this far and he was playing better than ever before, just like he told me in the locker rooms. He would have told him that he needed me. But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all. With yet another person in his corner disapproving of what we had, I’m not surprised that he was starting to listen.

I knew I couldn’t give up on us yet, but I accepted that I might have to take a step back and wait in the wings until the end of the tournament. If distance was what Kieran needed to win, then I wouldn’t hesitate. So, when Brian eventually left to go to his hotel, I’d already decided I would sleep on the sofa. I don’t want to make things even more complicated or confusing for Kieran than they already are. This way, he doesn’t have to make a choice. He’s already got enough on his mind. I’ll make the hard decisions for him.

Of course, I’ve barely slept.

When I hear Kieran head into the bathroom, I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Forcing myself out of bed, I whip off my pyjamas and pull on some high-waisted ripped mom jeans and a T-shirt. I’m fully aware that his team will arrive any minute and I’d rather I wasn’t caught in my pyjamas or a towel this time. I’ll shower once they’ve left. I’m tying my hair up into a loose bun when, bang on cue, the doorbell goes.

‘Good morning,’ Neil says, sweeping in ahead as I answer it.

‘Morning,’ I reply as a few more people from Kieran’s team come trundling in.

The rear is brought up by Brian, who gives me a strained smile as I shut the door behind him. ‘How are you both this morning?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. I haven’t seen Kieran this morning, so I can’t speak for him.’

‘Ah.’

Strolling into the living room, I start moving my things out of the way. I notice the look shared between Brian and Neil as I fold up the duvet and pillow from the sofa to put away in the chest. Closing the lid, I straighten and fold my arms across my chest.

‘Flora,’ Neil begins, leaning towards me conspiratorially with a solemn expression, ‘I really think it’s for the best that—’

‘I know what you think,’ I snap, and it comes out a lot sharper than I’m expecting. Neil’s eyes widen in surprise at my tone and Brian arches his brow. I take a deep breath and mutter, ‘I want Kieran to be happy, so I want him to win. I’ll do whatever he needs.’

Neil nods in response. ‘Thank you, Flora. And I imagine you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m sorry about that stuff in the paper about your parents. If you need to speak to Nicole, then please don’t hesitate to give her a call.’

I snap my head up. My blood turns cold.

‘What?’ I whisper, before I start looking around frantically for my phone. I sweep it up from the coffee table and google my name.

‘Oh, you haven’t seen it,’ Neil says, sounding panicked. ‘I didn’t realise…’

He trails off at the sight of my expression. Most of the articles about me are either fluff stories about our cute date night at Bounce, using the footage captured by others in the bar, or the ones relating to Jonah and his sad story.

But there’s a new one that comes up as the most recently published:

From a traumatic childhood to a whirlwind Wimbledon romance: How Kieran O’Sullivan’s love interest Flora Hendrix overcame troubled teen years with an alcoholic mother and an absent father to find happiness with the bad boy of tennis.

As I scan the article, I feel like I can’t breathe. They don’t have many of the facts, and have managed to make a few nuggets of information into a full-blown rambling article – in reality, readers learn very little about me here. But the journalist writes about my mum’s ‘devastating addiction issues’ before her tragic death; they detail when my dad left and his subsequent marriage; they even have a line about how I’d ‘find solace’ in the Lake District with my grandmother. As I get to the quote from Jonah about how I ‘never liked to talk about’ my childhood, it all becomes clear. I can’t believe he mentioned this to a reporter.

‘Are you okay?’ Neil asks, and he sounds genuinely concerned.

I must look really bad for him to be worried about me. My brain springs into action.

‘Don’t tell Kieran,’ I say urgently, looking up from my screen.

He frowns. ‘But—’

‘I mean it, he can’t know about this,’ I say, keeping my voice hushed and grabbing Neil’s wrist. ‘You have to keep it from him today. Don’t let anyone mention it to him. If he sees this, he’ll get really upset and it could affect how he plays. Please.’

Neil rubs his forehead. ‘Flora—’

‘We’ll make sure he doesn’t see it,’ Brian assures me, understanding instantly.

My shoulders lower in relief. ‘Thank you.’

Neil eventually nods, seeming a little torn. I can understand his initial reluctance. The last time he kept something important from Kieran, he got an earful and I know the last thing he wants to do is risk fracturing his relationship, but he knows it’s for the best. I know that Kieran will blame himself for this, and that guilt, however misplaced, would be near to impossible to shake in the lead-up to this afternoon’s match. He’d be distracted and angry. We can’t risk it. I can’t put this burden on him today.

‘Maybe it’s best, Flora, if you… keep your distance today,’ Brian suggests. ‘We don’t want anything that will distract him from such an important match, and if there’s lots of attention on you, he might lose focus.’

My heart sinking, I nod.

When Kieran appears in the doorway, his bag slung over his shoulder, Neil brightens, strolling over to him with gusto.

‘Right, big day ahead,’ he declares, rubbing his hands together. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine.’ Kieran looks straight past Neil at me. His face eases into a smile. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ I reply, glancing at Brian.

Kieran follows my line of sight and his smile fades. ‘Dad. You’re here.’

‘Raring to go,’ Brian nods, taking a step forwards so he’s flanking Neil.

I bow my head, retreating.

‘Everyone out, let’s go, the cars are waiting,’ Neil announces. ‘Kieran, I think you’ll be happy with the schedule we’ve set up before the match. You’ll have a couple of treatments and then warm-up and we talk over strategy, okay?’

‘Yeah, fine,’ Kieran says distracted. ‘Flossie, Matthew will come and pick you up before the match. We’re playing second, so it depends on how long the previous match goes on, but I think my match will probably start around four – what do you think, Neil?’

‘Actually Kieran, I… I don’t think I can be there today,’ I say.

The room falls silent. Kieran stares at me, his eyebrows pulled together. Neil drops his eyes to the floor. Brian lifts his chin. My words go against every gut feeling I have. I want to be there in that box watching him. I need to be there for him. And with my childhood being bandied about for entertainment, I need to feel close to him today especially. But this isn’t about what I want or need. This is about what’s best for Kieran.

‘You’re not coming,’ Kieran says slowly, as though saying it out loud will help him to understand it.

‘I have… an interview,’ I say, my brain scrambling for something believable. ‘A job interview. It’s late this afternoon and I won’t be able to make it to Wimbledon in time.’

He tilts his head. ‘You can’t reschedule?’

‘No, it’s super competitive. This was the only time they could do.’

His eyes bore into me and although I try to hold his gaze, I can’t. I look down at the floor.

‘This is my first time playing on Centre Court,’ I hear him say in a small voice.

God, this hurts. This really fucking hurts. He’s telling me he needs me without telling me he needs me. Something in me falters. Maybe everyone has got this wrong. I open my mouth to speak, but Brian jumps in, stepping round Neil to pat Kieran on the arm.

‘And you’ll have me and Neil and all of your team in your box, there for you. You’ve got the support network you need. She can’t drop her life to fit around yours, Kieran. If she’s got a job interview, then she can’t miss it. She’ll be cheering you on from afar, right, Flora? This is the Wimbledon semi-finals, Kieran. You shouldn’t be thinking about who’s in the box, but how you’re going to play. Who you’re up against. Forget who’s in the box and who’s not. Focus on you.’

Kieran lowers his eyes.

‘Good, let’s go,’ Brian says, nodding to Neil.

As they file out of the room, I stay where I am chewing on my thumbnail. Everything about this feels unnatural, and even though I want to do what’s best for him, I can’t let him go to Wimbledon without saying goodbye at least. I rush forwards into the hallway just before they open the front door.

‘Kieran!’ I say, prompting all of them to turn to look at me. He cranes his neck to see me past his father. ‘I… I just… have you got the bubbles?’

His hopeful look fades.

‘Wouldn’t leave without them,’ he says, patting the side of his tennis bag.

I smile at him, but he doesn’t see. He’s already turned away and is busy putting on his cap, lowering the visor over his face in preparation. My eyes begin to sting.

‘Okay, everyone, heads down,’ Neil instructs from the front, before he opens the door and the waiting paparazzi swarm around the gate at the bottom of the steps.

I stare at the closed door a long time after they’ve all gone through it. I feel like I’ve somehow let Kieran down, and it’s an emotion that weighs down on my heart so heavily, it’s hard for me to move. I finally force myself to traipse into the bathroom to get ready for the day, but I feel like a zombie, going through the motions without any purpose.

At least the story about my sad childhood doesn’t get much traction. The story making waves is that Brian has, against all odds, made his way back into Kieran’s inner circle.

*

When my dad’s office calls the first time, I ignore it.

My eyes are glued to the TV screen. Kieran’s match is underway and he’s two sets down. This match has been the hardest to watch and I’m almost glad I’m not in the box so I can bury my face in my hands and groan loudly whenever he makes a mistake.

The support on Centre Court for him is amazing: there is a huge amount of green scattered around the vast stands – green jumpers, green shirts, green caps – and many Irish flags waving in between points, his fans making themselves hoarse as they cheer when he wins a point. But there haven’t been all that many of those. He’s up against Denmark’s Arne Jensen, who, Iris told me, favours grass and is number-eleven seed. Jensen seems much more focused than Kieran today, and it doesn’t help that Kieran has started to lose his temper. He also received a time-wasting warning from the umpire in the second set for taking too long on his serve. He tried to protest, marching over to the chair and shouting at the umpire that it was an unfair call, but she didn’t budge. It’s been painful to watch.

Brian has been sitting in the box next to Neil, shaking his head and flinging up his arms in exasperation whenever Kieran glances up in their direction. The commentators have already remarked on how Kieran seems to be making a lot of unforced errors: ‘This is Centre Court for you,’ one of them said a moment ago. ‘Some players can’t take the pressure and they get inside their own heads.’

When he sends what should have been a winning forehand straight into the middle of the net, he yells out in exasperation and hurls his tennis racket on the ground. He’s getting a warning from the umpire, standing at the bottom of the chair with his hands on his hips, shaking his head, when my dad’s office calls again. It’s actually nice to have an excuse to mute the TV. I’m not sure I’ll be able to watch much more of this.

‘Hi, Andy,’ I say breezily on picking up. ‘Sorry I missed your call.’

‘Flora, hi. It’s me.’

The sound of Dad’s voice immediately makes me sit up straight.

‘Dad! Hi!’ I exclaim, feeling flustered and nervous. I’m used to speaking to his PA, not him directly. Every time we speak, I’ve forgotten how to act. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, fine,’ he says in his formal clipped accent. ‘I was actually calling to ask you that question.’

‘Oh.’ I swallow. ‘That’s… uh… nice of you.’

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch more regularly recently.’

‘That’s okay. I know you’re busy.’

‘Yes. It seems you’ve been busy, too.’

‘I’m so sorry if reporters have been bothering you and Camila. I haven’t told them anything and I’m hoping if we keep ignoring them, they’ll get bored and give up on trying to find the story.’ I hesitate, raking a hand through my hair. ‘I don’t know if you’ve seen the most recent one today about… my childhood…’

‘Yes, that’s why I was calling. My team brought it to my attention this morning.’

I bite my lip, my face flushing with heat. ‘It’s all nonsense. I think… God, this is embarrassing, but I think my ex-boyfriend maybe gave them a few titbits of information to run with. Is it going to affect your business?’

He sighs heavily. ‘Flora, I’m not calling so that you can apologise to me. I’m calling so that I can apologise to you.’

I falter, stunned into silence. He clears his throat and continues.

‘I can understand why you’d feel that I… abandoned you at a difficult time in life, and I’m aware that I haven’t been present as you’ve grown up—’

‘Dad,’ I interrupt, ‘I didn’t leak anything to the press. That article isn’t my opinion.’

‘Nevertheless, I wouldn’t blame you if it was,’ he says. ‘One might say that reading the article this morning was a bit of a wake-up call. Moving forwards, I would like to work on our relationship, Flora.’

I bite back a nervous laugh. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the call or what he’s saying, but it’s the way he’s saying it: formal and business-like, as though he’s speaking to a client about a deal, not his daughter about her life. I’ve learnt to accept that my dad is not a father figure in my life. I’ve come to see him as more of an acquaintance who feels guilted into having to look after me financially when I need it. There was a time when I wanted my dad to take notice of me, but somewhere along the way, I accepted what we were. It made everything easier. He’s this important businessman who I’ll always be slightly intimidated by because I never won his approval, and I’m the artistic daughter from a doomed marriage that he never quite understood. We work by keeping things polite, emotionally restrained and distant. The truth is, Dad doesn’t really know how to be a dad.

Hence the phone call that makes working on our relationship sound like his next strategy outline.

‘Okay,’ I say, glancing at the TV to see that it’s 6–6 in the third set.

‘Good. I’ve spoken to Camila and we’d like to fly over to see you this summer.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘You want to come to London?’

‘You can show us your flat and the area, and perhaps we can meet your boyfriend.’

A lump rises in my throat. ‘My boyfriend.’

‘Kieran O’Sullivan.’ He pauses. ‘The reason I’m calling now is because I noticed you weren’t on Centre Court. I was worried that perhaps this article about your mother… as I said, I wanted to check you were all right.’

I find myself smiling into the phone. ‘Thanks. That was thoughtful of you. I’m fine. You’re watching the match then?’

‘I had a glance at it. Unfortunately, I won’t have time to watch the rest, but I’ve always been a fan of O’Sullivan,’ he says, his tone lifting into something like excitement. ‘I watched him in the US Open early on in his career and you could tell there was something special about him. I was delighted to hear you were dating him.’

I’ve never heard my dad so enthusiastic before. He sounds almost relaxed, as though he’s actually enjoying the conversation, which I’m not used to at all. It throws me.

‘Oh. Uh, yeah, it’s been a bit mad.’

‘Yes, well, I’m afraid I don’t have long to chat now because I’m in the office, but another time we can catch up and you can tell me about him. How you met, et cetera.’

‘Right.’ I nod. ‘I’ll fill you in on all the… et cetera.’

He pauses and I can hear him exhale. ‘I’m sorry about what they’ve written in the article about your mother.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ I say quietly.

‘She did love you, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘I wasn’t always very kind about her.’

I smile weakly. ‘She wasn’t always that kind about you either, Dad.’

‘No, I can imagine.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I do want to work on our relationship, Flora.’

‘Yeah. Sounds good. I mean, I want that, too.’

‘Good. Right, anyway, I’m afraid I have to go to a meeting,’ he says brusquely.

‘Yeah, me too. Well, not a meeting, but… I have to go.’

‘Oh look, he might have had a stroke of luck there.’

‘Who?’

‘Kieran,’ he informs me. ‘The other guy has gone down during the third set tie-break. Looks like an injury.’

I spin round to face the TV. The camera is focused on Jensen who is sitting on the ground gripping his calf, his face scrunched up in pain.

‘Let’s hope he takes this opportunity to fight back,’ Dad enthuses. ‘As I said to Camila when we watched his last match, tennis is all about your own psychological warfare. You have to refuse to back down, even when things seem hopeless.’

‘I… agree.’

‘Hmm. Well, perhaps we can come to Wimbledon next year. It might be fun for us to do together. Me and you, I mean.’

I nod slowly. ‘Yeah. It might be.’

‘Very good. I will discuss with Camila and we can propose some dates to you for our trip this summer,’ he concludes. ‘Speak soon, Flora.’

‘Okay. Speak soon, Dad.’

He hangs up. Feeling completely bewildered from the call, I reach for the remote just in time to hear the roar from the crowd as Kieran wins the third set.