Chapter 4
From the moment Jeff’s three friends arrive, the kitchen is filled with so much laughter you’d think it had been years, not days, since they’d last seen each other.
He met Lisa and Nora at the school gates, before getting to know Rose, who was already close with both.
As a group, they are inseparable. If you’re around my brother when one of them posts on WhatsApp, so much pinging follows that it’s like standing next to someone playing a glockenspiel.
‘Jules! I didn’t realise you were coming,’ exclaims Rose, as she takes off her coat.
‘She’s at a loose end now Frankie’s gone travelling,’ Jeff explains, helpfully pointing out what a loser I am.
‘Hope none of you mind me gatecrashing,’ I say.
‘Don’t be silly. The more the merrier – I’m not cooking,’ she grins.
I can’t remember the last time I saw Rose, but she’s as striking as ever, tall and slim, with long, red hair.
You’d never guess what a difficult time she’s had over the last year or so – but then she never was the type of person to take anything lying down.
She is the most outspoken of the group, confident and fiercely loyal to her friends and her sweet, devoted husband.
‘How are you?’ I ask, tentatively.
‘Great!’ she smiles automatically, then catches herself. ‘Oh, you mean health-wise?’
After her breast cancer diagnosis, Rose had to undergo surgery and a long course of treatment, but was given the all-clear in the summer.
‘Well, this is not a year I ever want to repeat, but I feel loads better than I was expecting, much more my old self,’ she continues.
‘That’s really good to hear.’
‘And I’m having a career change, did you hear? I jacked in my old job and am now in training to be a teacher. The miracles of modern science . . .’
‘Choosing to spend every day with thirty kids? That would take a miracle,’ Lisa adds, handing a bottle of wine to Jeff.
She looks happy and relaxed too, but I’m so out of the loop that it’s only as we sit down to eat that I discover why, when Jeff mischievously drops into conversation that she has ‘taken a new lover’. The phrase makes Lisa choke on her drink and Nora splutter with laughter.
‘Thank you for that,’ Lisa says, wiping her mouth. ‘You make it sound like there have been dozens before him. And anyway, it’s been months. He’s not new anymore.’
In truth, while Lisa is a two-time divorcee, that headline doesn’t give an entirely accurate picture of her romantic history.
She did once admit that a tin of tuna at the back of her kitchen cabinet outlasted her first husband, but attributes that marriage, while at university, to a ‘rush of blood to the head’.
She was convinced that her second, to a forgettable guy called Brian – or possibly Brendan – was for keeps.
Except he had one of those classic midlife crises, which started with him dating a younger woman and reached its sad and inevitable conclusion when he mentioned to Lisa recently that he was thinking of starting a podcast.
I get the impression she’s better off without him.
Lisa is an everyday superwoman, raising two kids, excelling at her job as a senior TV executive, never really pausing to relax.
I’ve always liked her. She’s funny and down to earth, but also, I feel an affinity with her as a single parent, even if I became husbandless for a very different reason than she did.
‘What’s your boyfriend called, Lisa?’ I ask.
Her ears look a little warm as she fights the smile on her face. ‘His name’s Zach. We met at work, after he was brought in from the LA office, temporarily at first. But then he stayed . . .’
‘Oh, is he American?’ I ask.
‘Yes, and he’s lovely,’ Jeff gushes. ‘He reminds me of Patrick Duffy in his Dallas days.’
Lisa shakes her head. ‘I can’t tell you how much I wish you’d stop saying that.’
‘It’s a compliment!’ he protests.
‘You have no idea how much Jeff loved Bobby Ewing,’
I reassure Lisa. ‘He can narrow down the moment he realised he wasn’t into girls to a single three-minute scene in that show.’
‘I think you’ll find that was Tom Selleck in Magnum PI,’
he corrects me and starts to dish up.
I should never have doubted Jeff’s hosting abilities. The casserole is delicious, as is the Waitrose torte that follows, and he never ever allows anyone’s glass to be empty.
‘No more,’ Nora protests unconvincingly, as he tries to top her up, then realises this isn’t a battle she’ll win. ‘Oh, go on then, you’ve twisted my arm.’
Of the three other women here, I probably know Nora better than the others. She is one of those people who always seems to have a smile on her face: a kind, optimistic soul against whom nobody has a bad word to say. At least, that’s how I remember her in the days when I’d see her more regularly.
When Ed was alive, he played five-a-side with her husband Iain and they became one of those couples who we’d regularly have over for drinks or a barbecue, along with their two kids, Olivia, who’s studying to be a dentist, and Jack, who must be nine or ten now.
I still see her every so often when she’s heading into the tennis club, but I can’t remember the last time I spent an evening with her.
She and Iain were our friends, rather than mine.
They belonged to Ed and me, together. After he died, I couldn’t bear accepting dinner invitations – from her or anyone else – when there would always be one empty space, even if it wasn’t actually set.
Then there was Frankie. Thirteen is an unbearable age to lose a parent and I owed her as much of my own time as possible.
I subconsciously distanced myself from everyone except the family I had left: Jeff, my parents, Frankie.
It’s only now she’s gone, as I watch my brother laughing with these women, that I find myself asking: When did I become so friendless?
‘I hope you haven’t got many students tomorrow,’ Rose tells her. ‘Though I’m guessing Saturday morning is not a particularly quiet time for a tennis instructor?’
‘Not really,’ Nora laughs.
Nora is head coach at Roebury, which accounts for the athletic physique she maintains, despite having two servings of dessert.
‘While we’re on the subject of tennis, I have something to ask you all.’ She tucks a strand of thick, dark hair behind her ear and hesitates. ‘It’s a bit of a favour.’
‘Is this something you’ve deliberately waited until we’re all a bit pissed for?’ Rose asks, intrigued.
‘Possibly,’ Nora admits, tentatively. ‘The thing is, there’s a problem at our club.
An . . . imbalance. On the men’s side, we have tonnes of players of all abilities and an A team in the city’s top division.
But the women are a completely different matter.
Aside from a small core of very experienced players in their women’s A team, most of the others are . . . how can I put this?’
‘Crap?’ Jeff suggests.
‘Aging,’ she says. ‘Which is not the same thing at all, by the way. Skill and experience often count for more than speed and athleticism. The number of female members has been dwindling for years and it’s reached a critical point. We need to do something about it.’
‘Why are there so few?’ I ask.
Nora shrugs. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Everyone is just so busy these days, I guess.
I’ve been banging on to the committee for ages about trying to do something about it, but things have really come to a head since the Women’s B team finished one place from the bottom of the league last year.
They’ve got even fewer people now – which means if they carry on like this, the upcoming season will almost certainly be their last. I’ve come up with a few good incentives – a discount on membership, some free coaching sessions.
But I guess I was hoping that . . . maybe you lot might help? ’
She pulls the sleeves of her oversized jumper over her hands and looks at us hopefully.
‘Of course we will,’ Lisa says instantly. ‘I’ll get it straight on our school WhatsApp group.’
‘I’ve got a thirteen-year-old niece,’ Rose adds. ‘I’ll ask if she might be interested.’
Nora shakes her head. ‘Thanks, but it’s not teenagers we need. Basically, I need to recruit women of our age and . . .’ she looks around the table, ‘your level.’
‘We don’t have a level,’ Rose points out. ‘None of us play.’
‘Lisa used to when her kids were little,’ Nora argues, turning to her hopefully. ‘You played really well last time I saw you on a court.’
‘That’s only compared with Brendan,’ she says. ‘His technique involved hitting the ball like he was swatting a fly then storming off in a mood if he was losing.’
There’s a short silence as I become aware that Jeff is glaring at me. ‘I can’t believe you’re sitting there – saying nothing,’ he says. I shift in my seat awkwardly.
‘You can play, Jules. You were really good.’
I want to kick my brother under the table when I see Nora’s wide, optimistic eyes.
‘I was not good,’ I tell her.
‘You played in competitions at one point,’ he persists.
‘Yes, and it put me off for life.’ I turn back to Nora. ‘Please don’t get excited. I stopped playing tennis years ago. I really don’t like the game.’
He releases a sound from his mouth like that of a deflating bike tyre. ‘You loved it.’
I glare at him. ‘No. I did not. Anyway, how would you know?’
‘Look, I understand, I really do,’ Nora interjects, diffusing a family argument.
‘But this is what I’m up against. We’re all up to our eyes taxiing kids around to a dozen different clubs, working every minute of the day, being pulled in all directions.
This is precisely why recruitment is a struggle.
And I hesitated to ask because I knew all this, not to mention the fact that Rose has so much to deal with and now has her teacher training and—’
‘I’ll join,’ Rose declares.
Everyone turns to look at her.
‘Would your doctor say that’s okay?’ Lisa asks.
‘He specifically told me exercise will help with my rehab. Besides, it’s over a year since the surgery and I don’t mind admitting that the last twelve months have made me realise how short life is.
We’ve all got people who rely on us, but sometimes we need to do something for ourselves.
When do these lessons take place, Nora?’
‘Sunday at 2.30pm and, once the evenings get lighter, Tuesdays at 5pm.’
Rose nods decisively. ‘I’ll be there.’
Nora looks almost overcome. ‘Oh Rose, thank you!’
‘Well, if you’re going, I’m going to have to go,’ Lisa decides, knocking back a glass of wine.
Nora’s eyes widen. ‘Really?’
‘I knew you could count on this lot,’ Jeff tells Nora. ‘Though I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with myself if you’re all off having fun without me . . .’
‘Come to Rusty Racquets,’ Nora says. ‘Everyone’s welcome to those – it’s an open session, for beginners and those getting back into the game.’
He scrunches up his nose. ‘Rusty Racquets? Can’t you give it a name that makes us sound a bit less decrepit?’
‘I’ll consider a rebrand if it means you’ll come,’ she grins.
‘Not necessary. I’m in.’
It’s all very touching. And I’m happy for Nora. But when Jeff nudges me in the elbow and says, ‘You know you want to,’ I refuse to budge on the matter.
‘I really can’t. Besides, you’re a gang. I wouldn’t want to intrude.’
A cacophony of protest follows, about how that’s ridiculous and they all really want me to take part. But I’m already getting a horrible feeling of déjà vu that only makes me dig in further.
‘I’m sure the others will love the lessons and I’ll spread the word, I swear,’ I tell Nora. ‘But I’d rather spend my weekends doing just about anything other than playing tennis. Sorry.’