Chapter 45
Sam’s playing an away match the day after he left me breathless on his sofa, but we arrange to go for a drink after work on Tuesday night.
It’s lovely, everything about it, but I’m hit by a beat of paranoia immediately afterwards, a lingering feeling that I need to rein this in.
Whatever this is. Still, he is uppermost in my mind the following day, in between trying to work out how we’re going to field a team for our tennis fixture this evening.
It was already a stretch, with two of the regulars on holiday, several injured and others working.
Our best bet until an hour earlier was Samira, the flight attendant.
But she was on call and is now destined to be pointing out the emergency exits to passengers on their way to Magaluf while we are playing away at Bolton Heath.
Barbara, in desperation, WhatsApp-ed the entire team saying we should all ask around to find a stand-in. Anyone would do.
‘Does she really mean anyone?’ I say in a text to Nora, as I’m returning to the office after a supplier meeting.
‘Oh, I think so. They only need a body for us to be able to field a full team tonight. They can stand there like a plant pot if necessary. I’ve just heard her asking the window cleaner if his wife is free.’
‘Any luck?’
‘They have a prior arrangement to go ten-pin bowling.’
When I enter the building, Kayla starts waving from across the shop floor. I stop as she begins zigzagging through the display stands.
‘What’s up?’ I say, when she reaches me.
‘It’s all happening,’ she says, wide-eyed.
‘What is?’
‘Armageddon. Check your emails. There’s an all-staff meeting at three today.’ She draws a finger across her throat, in case I hadn’t already worked out the grim implications.
The announcement appears on the websites of the financial press minutes after staff are informed.
‘Lifestyle chain Fable however Barisian said it was not willing to continue funding a turnaround after it had “consistently missed its business plan targets” and posted losses.
‘“While the management team has tried to stabilise
the firm,”’ the statement continues, ‘“it has become clear that the
ongoing funding requirements would far exceed amounts
the group considers viable. Immediate redundancies will be made so the company can continue trading while sale discussions take place and its future structure is assessed.”’
So, half of us are going. But, just to add to the fun, we won’t know which half until the start of next week, when meetings will be held with individuals to discuss their future.
I realise as I take in the news with a rock in my gut that, until this moment, I’ve been high on sex and tennis in recent days.
But my endorphin bubble has now been well and truly popped.
By any stretch of the imagination, this is bad.
‘Fuck,’ I say, not very eloquently.
‘I know,’ says Kayla. ‘This is the first time since I came off Tinder that I am seriously regretting it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d prefer to be on a date with some dullard than sitting at home by myself, panicking about what’s coming tomorrow morning.’
Just the thought makes me feel ill. If I was at home all by myself tonight, I’d whip myself up into a nervous frenzy and unquestionably end up googling things like, ‘How much money can you make selling feet pics?’
I’m about to head upstairs when something occurs to me.
‘What is it?’ Kayla asks. I spin around slowly.
‘Just an idea, that’s all. I might know something that could take your mind off this.’
I pick Kayla up at 5.30pm and am both surprised and not a little impressed at how composed she is, especially when I think back to my own mental state before my first league match.
‘Does it matter that I don’t know how the scores work?’ she asks, topping up her lipstick.
‘Not at all. I’ll keep track.’
‘How about the fact that I don’t know the rules?’
I scrunch up my nose. ‘I’ll keep you in check.’
‘Any tips before we get there?’
My head swims with the dozens, if not hundreds, of instructions I must have picked up in the last few months. I wonder how I might boil down a sport which some people devote their lives to mastering into a single sentence.
‘If you see a ball coming your way, hit it. Ideally with your racquet,’ I say, which makes her snort. ‘Have you really never played this before, Kayla? Like, ever?’
‘I didn’t say that. I played all the time as a kid.’
‘What?’
‘Only on a Wii though,’ she adds.
I am more than a little dismayed by the revelation when we arrive that, although Kayla’s presence means all the scheduled matches will go ahead, the fact that she is not a paid-up member of our tennis club means any wins she has are null and void anyway – they fall into the category of ‘just for fun’.
But, as I step on court, I’m not entirely convinced how much fun this is going to be. I now strongly suspect that we are about to be battered to a bloody pulp by our opposition.
Between points, I have to shuffle Kayla around on the court like a chess piece on a board. Even serving underarm, she gets more double faults than I’d thought humanly possible, though is blissfully oblivious to the penalties we incur every time.
But . . . there are many buts. She has good hand–eye co-ordination.
She is surprisingly athletic for someone who says she dodged PE for a whole year using the same forged note about menstrual cramps.
Most importantly of all, there’s this: she loves it, every minute, particularly when she hits the odd accidentally brilliant volley and gets a little cheer from Lisa and Rose at the sidelines.
The final point of the match ends with an impressive forehand from one of the other team’s players. They have beaten us 6–0, 6–0 – a clean sweep. I go over to hug my partner.
‘Oh! Is that it?’ Kayla asks, surprised.
‘Yep, all over. You were fantastic.’
‘I must admit, I played better than I was expecting,’ she says, fighting the smile on her face. ‘Tell me though . . . did we win?’