CHAPTER 43
Leo
I hear the bang on my front door, but I ignore it.
The same thoughts that I’ve had for the past few days swirl around my head.
He believed Gordon. He believed you tried to sleep with him. He questioned you. He thought it could even be a possibility.
And you thought you loved him.
You do love him.
I shake my head angrily, trying to swat them away. The banging persists, despite me clearly not coming to open the door.
‘Leo, it’s me. Please let me in,’ I hear Jack shout through the letterbox and groan.
I might be fucking depressed, but I can’t lose everyone. I heave myself up and glance in the mirror. Jesus.
I smooth out my unwashed, unbrushed hair and pull down my T-shirt, toothpaste stains mingled with god knows what food streaking down the front.
Is this what I’ve become since getting back?
——
I told Cece I picked up a stomach bug on the Eurostar and he told me to stay at home so he wouldn’t get it before his weekend away. I’m due to write a final report on George’s requests in Paris, but I can’t bring myself to think about it. About everything we shared.
I almost chucked my phone across the room when Chris Stapleton came on shuffle yesterday. Red Hot Ranch is still unfinished.
He had to fucking ruin country music for me. And cowboys!
Prick.
——
I shuffle to the door and prepare myself.
‘Leo, thank god!’ Jack is standing there, iced chai in one hand, a banana cake with frosting from Grange Home Farm in the other. ‘I’ve been worried sick after the other night.’ He loosely puts his arms around me, making sure not to spill my drink.
I called Jack on my way to the Eurostar in tears. I needed someone who knew George, who knew what he was going through on court, to reassure me that I must be wrong. That he wouldn’t just believe his brother. That I wasn’t imagining that Gordon had nearly assaulted me, then lied about it.
In the end, I couldn’t even tell him about any of it. I just said that George had decided to end it and I didn’t know why.
That was two nights ago. I haven’t been able to face anyone, not even Rosa. I’ve been wallowing since. Not even going to the courts to smash out some of my anger, my sadness.
My hands start itching to hold my racket, my muscles needing that release. I pull back and look up at him.
‘Jack, please can we play tennis?’
He looks surprised but pleased. ‘Of course. Get ready and I’ll book.’
——
After reassuring me that George wasn’t booked to play anytime soon, we’re on court and I’m starting to feel like me again.
Jack says nothing, just keeps feeding me the perfect balls to smash back at him, running me around, ensuring my entire focus is on the ball, on his next move, the conditions of the court.
It’s like therapy, like the best meditation to me.
Thirty minutes pass within what seems like seconds and we don’t stop until he holds a hand up, panting.
‘Water break? Please!’ he shouts and I smile back, jogging to the bench. I’m breathless, sweat pouring down my face, my pulse hammering, my muscles red-hot.
I feel the release of emotion coming before I can stop it and burst into tears on the spot. Jack jumps over the net towards me and gathers me into his arms. I’m so glad it’s the middle of the day and nobody is here but us.
‘Hey, hey, Leo.’ He strokes my back, despite me being a sweaty mess. ‘It’s OK, I’m here.’
‘He didn’t believe me, Jack,’ I sob into his shoulder. ‘He believed him. Not me. Just like Gordon said he would.’ I shake, my breaths coming thick and fast now.
‘Leo? What are you talking about?’ His voice sounds so concerned it sets off another wave of tears and I try to pull myself together. I have to tell him, to tell someone. I pull back to look him in the eye.
‘Gordon.’ I shake, but he rubs his hands up my arms reassuringly. ‘He didn’t actually do anything, but I thought he would.’
‘Leo. What did he do?’ Jack is serious now. His body rigid.
‘I thought he might . . . He cornered me in my room, Jack, alone. And he asked me why I wouldn’t sleep with him.
That I was already fucking his brother so why not him?
’ My voice is small and my eyes lower. ‘He touched my face and I think he would have tried to kiss me, but I slapped him. So hard I hurt my own hand.’ I shudder again and Jack pulls me into his arms, his jaw set, eyes forward.
‘He told me that if I ever told anyone he would end my career, that I was nothing and nobody would believe me over him anyway. He –’ my voice breaks – ‘He asked if he should pay me, told me I was just a dirty whore.’
I bury my head, unable to go on, ashamed that the wonderful, kind, gentle Jack has to deal with this. He just grips me harder and lets me cry it out, softly telling me it will be OK and shushing me gently until the tears subside and my breathing evens out.
I finally pull away and look up, my eyes raw. He’s not the carefree Jack I know. His face is stricken, tight with anger. I’ve never seen him like this.
‘Leo, please. We have to tell him.’ He sounds pained.
‘But he questioned me, Jack!’ I shake my head. ‘Gordon must have said I tried to sleep with him and George doubted me?’
‘I can’t believe it, Leo. I just can’t. He can’t stand Gordon. And he really, really likes you.’ He’s pacing now, his frustration coming to the surface. I go over and take his arm, squeezing lightly.
‘Please don’t say anything to him. I can’t take having to rehash that day again, especially to him. And especially if there’s a chance he won’t believe me.’ I look up at him, my eyes wide. ‘Please, Jack. Don’t.’
‘I won’t, but—’
I interrupt.
‘Thank you, Jack. I appreciate it. I do. And I really do love you. But there’s nothing more to do now.
I can’t be with someone who could think for one moment that I would do something like that.
’ I go to collect my things, my body exhausted now.
‘I’m just glad I found out who he really was before it was too late. ’
Jack shrugs, unhappy at the conclusion, but I can’t go through it again. Can’t face thinking about that afternoon. About George.
——
Two weeks pass and I don’t hear anything from him.
Life returns almost back to normal, as if he never happened. I keep worrying that I’ve dreamt it, that those feelings weren’t real, the connection faked.
But Wimbledon is coming up and he’s everywhere.
I try my best to avoid it. But can’t help seeing the headlines. He pulls out of Queen’s, cancels his appearance at the Hurlingham, much to everyone’s disappointment.
He’s still the British number one, still the favourite despite his last match. Still the beautiful, cold man that every woman believes she can fix.
Good fucking luck, I say.
I try not to see any footage from that night, but it’s impossible. Commentators, fans, online idiots all try to pick apart what happened.
People are saying he had a migraine, maybe a hangover, a cold. Cece even asked me if we had the same stomach bug: ‘Some dodgy French oysters perhaps?’
But I know that he was falling apart and, despite everything, it pains me. I care for him. I can’t bear to see him like that.
Rosa has tried to comfort me. I couldn’t be more grateful for her too.
I told her about Gordon right after Jack and she came over immediately.
After much discussion, I reiterated that I didn’t want to speak to George, that I didn’t want to tell him what happened with his brother, scared he would take his side over mine.
She pulled out the big guns to comfort me instead.
Romcoms (none featuring Julia Roberts), chocolate buttons and a bottle of champagne to toast to me ‘getting rid of the arsehole’.
I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it, laughing along, while covering my sadness. I know she can see straight through it, but she ploughed on instead, taking my mind off him and on to our summer instead.
——
But inevitably he’s straight back into my life. I laugh in disbelief when I see the email.
Leonora,
Good one for you here! Your new member George Hampden is appearing again at the Lacoste party tomorrow.
Has he invited you already? If not, don’t worry. I have spoken to them.
Please go. We’re nearing the interview now and it’s time for you to ensure it’s a success. Were you there with me last year? Can’t remember.
Make sure to dress for the occasion.
Cece.
——
‘You have to Princess Diana that shit, Leo.’ Rosa is rifling through my wardrobe. ‘This is serious. Make him see what he’s missing, what he fucked up.’
I sit on the bed, cuddling Cassian. My little emotional support pal has been particularly snuggly since I got back. He knows. Dogs are the best.
She pulls out the Louis Vuitton dress and I inhale sharply, remembering the feel of his hands on my skin, sliding the dress higher as he kissed up my thighs.
‘This is so gorgeous, Leo!’ Rosa breaks into my train of thought. ‘But too much perhaps?’
‘No, Rosa. That’s the dress I wore in Paris . . .’ I tail off. She places it back in the wardrobe carefully and we continue, but my mind is elsewhere.
I think of dancing in our suite, ordering room service. Falling asleep on him. Waking up to his notes. I think of his real smile, blinding me. I think of him telling me that he had fallen for me.
Obviously, it wasn’t enough.
I can’t believe we’ll be in the same room together tomorrow. It’s painful, the ache in my heart showing no signs of fading.
We’ve been apart longer than we were together. It’s silly to think that it hurts this much.
But it does.