Games People Play (3 page)

I’m not at all surprised that Mark and his friends declined Gordana’s invitation. The Ivan Anderson Tennis Academy’s Autumn Social supper isn’t exactly a riveting social occasion if you’re under fifty. I am the youngest person here by a good fifteen years. Dad and I are the living breathing trophies of the I.A.T.A., the club’s crowning glories – well, so Gordana believes, anyway. Ivan got to the last sixteen at Wimbledon once or twice in his heyday, and I’m currently ranked five hundredth in the world; tenth in Britain.

Since we moved back here from Kansas when I was a baby, this clubhouse has been a second home to me. I’ve grown up here; I learned to play tennis here. Despite the often petty squabbles and small-mindedness inevitably found in any collective, committee-run organization, the place and people give me a level of stability crucial to my nomadic existence. I’m glad that Gordana made Dad keep things the same when he took over – well, as much the same as possible. I’m travelling to tournaments around the world thirty-five weeks a year, so any stable community, however flawed, would feel like a blessing.

Five minutes later, two beeps on my mobile phone alert me to the arrival of a text message, and earns me a frown from Elsie. The text is from Mark: ‘
MEET ME AT THE BACK OF COURT 4, SEXY BEAST’.

I grin hesitantly, although my body is already responding to the mental image of him, freshly showered, running his large hands over me. We’ve not actually gone all the way yet, although we’ve talked about it, and he keeps teasing me. I do really, really fancy him. It took me quite a long time to pluck up courage to tell him that I’m still a virgin, and he was surprised. I don’t know why – I mean, he lives the same life as I do; he knows how hard it is to maintain a relationship when tennis has to be the focus of everything. He hasn’t had many serious relationships either, although I guess that, unlike me, he’s managed to find opportunities to have sex. But he’s never had Dad breathing down his neck, forcing him to ‘concentrate on his career’ instead of going out to meet potential partners.

Much as I want him, though, I’m not going to be pressured into it. I don’t want to get hurt. But right now, I think how nice some fresh air would be …

I stand up. ‘Just got to go and make a phone call outside,’ I say to Elsie, who disapproves of mobile phones.

The men, including Mark, emerge from the changing room and leave the clubhouse in pungent wafts of aftershave and spray-on deodorant, heading for the pub in the next street.

I’m glad Dad’s not here yet. He’d have a fit if he saw me slipping out behind them. Although it’s bound to get back to him – I see Elsie’s eyes narrowing – what can he do about it? I’m twenty-three tomorrow, for heaven’s sake, he can hardly lock me in my bedroom to prevent me from having any contact with Mark.

He and Mark clashed, horribly, a couple of years ago, back before I was with José, when Dad was still coaching me. He took Mark on too, and the relationship lasted about three months until their regular shouting matches and ego clashes proved too much for them both, and Mark fired him. Dad hasn’t spoken to Mark since, but the way that Mark stood up to him served only to intensify my long-standing crush on him. I couldn’t believe it when he finally asked me out.

I leave the clubhouse, pretending to dial a number on my phone. The air is cold on my hot cheeks as I walk along the verandah, doubling back on myself once I’m sure I can’t be seen from inside. I creep underneath the windows until I get to the end court, silent in my trainers. I have a sudden fear that Mark has gone to the pub after all, having not received a reply to his text, and I’ll be standing around on an empty tennis court in the dark, feeling like a prat. The gate is slightly open, and I go inside, holding my breath with anticipation. There’s no sign of him, and so I am relieved when I think I can faintly smell his aftershave.

‘Pssst,’ I hear from a distant corner. ‘Over here!’

‘Where?’ My eyes are still adjusting to the darkness. There is a pause, and then a hand suddenly grabs mine, making me jump.

‘Hi, sexy,’ Mark says, pulling me towards him. ‘Are you a naughty girl?’

I laugh softly and kiss him. He smells of tennis balls and shower gel, and lust courses through my body. It’s such a physical sensation, like the feeling of an icy drink travelling down my oesophagus to my belly.

‘Me? Not at all. It was your idea.’

‘I don’t hear you complaining,’ he says, dragging me over to the back of the court. I glance uneasily towards the lit-up clubhouse. Through the window I can see Gordana holding forth to her entourage, gesticulating wildly at her own table; the queen of clubs; a big fish in a pond she and Dad both wish was a lot larger.

‘By the way…’ Mark whispers, sliding his hands under my T-shirt.

‘What?’

‘… I love you soooo much,’ he says, and his breath is warm on my throat and my ear and in my heart. ‘You are just so beautiful. You make my heart jump, you know.’

This is a different Mark to the cocky player on court, the bad loser, the racket-thrower, the stroppy muttering curser. This is
my
Mark: sweet and romantic and passionate. Nobody else has ever made me feel like this, not ever. Mark is in a whole different league. I hug him hard, my chin fitting perfectly into a bespoke notch at the side of his neck. ‘I love you too. I
love
you!’ We kiss.

‘What are you doing after this?’ I whisper. It would be so easy to go home with him, to continue what we kept starting but never concluded. Perhaps I am ready. Perhaps it’s time.

‘Pub with the lads,’ he replies, stroking my breasts gently. I wait for him to invite me to come with him, but he doesn’t. ‘They’re waiting for me.’

‘Can I come?’

For a moment his hands stop moving, then continue, like a missed frame of film in a movie. ‘Oh babe, aren’t you wanted in there? Ivan’ll throw a fit if he shows up and you’ve disappeared.’

Not for the first time, I wish he and Dad hadn’t fallen out. Then Mark could come with me, sit next to me, and everyone would know without a doubt that we were an item, rather than having to gossip and speculate about it. But then I swallow down a needling worry that it wouldn’t make any difference; that Mark would still do exactly what he wanted, even if Dad weren’t a problem.

‘Let’s concentrate on what we’re doing right now, shall we, instead of worrying about what we’re doing later?’

He pushes himself against me, a master of distraction, hard beneath the soft fleecy fabric of his sweatpants.

I look nervously again at the lit-up clubhouse, and pull away from him a little. It scares me when he does that.

‘Oh Rach, Rach, you drive me mad. I want you so much,’ he moans. He’s kissing my neck now, and my skin feels so alive and sensitive it’s as if I can feel every tiny cell of his lips brushing against it.

Gooseflesh sweeps up and down my back, although I’m not at all cold.

‘Sorry. I’m not trying to tease you or anything, it’s just -’

‘What?’

‘Soon,’ I mutter, ‘I know I’ll be ready soon.’ And I really think I will be, as he pinions me against the fence, and the green wire presses honeycomb patterns into my back. I wrap one leg around his hard thigh, and forget about Dad. After all, twenty-three is ludicrously old to still be a virgin, tennis career or no tennis career. And Mark isn’t going to wait for me forever…

‘Just not yet, OK?’

He sighs, and kisses me again.

Fifteen minutes later, and rather sheepishly, I creep back underneath the windows to the clubhouse, hoping I don’t appear too obviously ravished. Mark got his own way and I allowed him go off to the pub without a murmur, in an attempt to compensate for not letting him go all the way. Anyway, he was right. Dad would have gone up the wall if I’d absconded from the dinner so early. I plan to slink back to my seat, still clutching my mobile as if the call had just finished; and I am concentrating so hard on looking innocent that for a few moments I fail to register the utter change in atmosphere inside the pavilion.

Whereas before the room had been filled with breathy chat and the tinkle and hoot of laughter, I am greeted with complete silence. At first, I think that somehow they’d all managed to see Mark and me snogging on Court Four, and I instantly blush a deep, panicky scarlet. But they aren’t looking at me. All eyes are turned in the direction of Gordana and Elsie, who are standing up, actually eyeballing one another like two cartoon bulldogs. Gordana, usually so composed, looks as if she is going to punch Elsie on the nose.

I run over to the table. ‘What’s going on?’ I hiss at my grandmother, as the entire room follows the exchange with rapt attention. A couple of the kinder souls attempt to rekindle the conversation at their respective tables, but are indiscreetly shushed – this is clearly the most exciting thing to happen at the tennis club since the near punch up at the last AGM over allocation of court time for the lowly Intermediate members.

Gordana grasps my hand. ‘Elsie has gone too far this time,’ she says coldly.

Elsie sniffs. ‘I’m only describing what I saw,’ she replies.

‘Shall we go into the kitchen? Or outside, for a walk?’ I ask, trying to drag Gordana away by her sleeve whilst looking at everyone else in the room and hoping that my expression says, For heaven’s sake, show a little discretion,
please
.

It seems to work, since a stilted sort of chat breaks out again, enough that I can talk to Gordana without the entire room hearing. She shakes off my hand and continues to glower at Elsie

‘What did she see?’ I whisper.

‘It is slander and vicious gossiping without any truths,’ she replies, rather inarticulately. When Gordana is distressed, her standard of English slips dramatically.

‘I merely asked,’ says Elsie, ‘why two men and a woman would come to your house at ten to seven in the morning, stay for two hours, and then take Ivan away with them again, if they aren’t police officers conducting a raid?’

She pats her perm, so triumphantly that I want to smack her too. Then, belatedly, I realize that she’s talking to me; that it’s my house she’s referring to.

‘Well, Elsie, firstly, I have no idea. But obviously if they were police officers conducting a raid, we would have been informed by now. Secondly, I don’t think Dad, when he turns up, is going to be too happy to hear what you’ve been implying about him in front of everyone. Lastly, and most importantly, it is absolutely none of your business, and Gordana and I would thank you to keep your nose out of our family affairs.’

My knees are shaking when I finish this little speech, and I can feel the sweat pressing dark under my arms. I have never had a confrontation like this before with anyone, apart from Dad, and it makes me feel sick. But Gordana’s stricken face is enough to make me lose my rag. I can tell she feels totally humiliated, in front of all her friends.

‘Come on,’ I say to Gordana again, ‘let’s go and get some air.’ This time she allows me to steer her towards the door. As we pass, most people’s eyes drop towards the dusty floor, although a few smile tight little sympathetic smiles in our direction. Elsie sits down again, but I notice that everyone on our table leans away and studiously ignores her.

Once outside, I drag Gordana into the car park and we hide conspiratorially behind a large and muddy Range Rover belonging to the captain of the Midweek section, Miranda Matheson.

‘Where is he?’ she hisses at me.

‘I don’t know. When did you last speak to him?’

‘Yesterday, here. He seem OK then. You?’

‘Last night. He and Anthea were still up watching TV when I went to bed. I was out early this morning. He hasn’t been here all day.’

We stare doubtfully at each other. ‘It can’t be true,’ says Gordana.

‘Elsie wouldn’t completely make it up, though, would she? And why hasn’t he told us?’

Gordana leans against the spare wheel of the Range Rover, which is mounted on the back door of the car like a trophy. She is still clutching her wine glass.

‘It does not mean they arrest him. Maybe it is early business meeting.’ Then she grabs my arm with her free hand. ‘No! It cannot be raid. If it was raid, they take stuff out of house. Elsie didn’t say they take anything.’

‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘And what would they be raiding the house, for anyway? Illegal money? White slaves? Anthea’s diet pills?’

But Gordana didn’t smile. ‘We must ring Anthea,’ she said, balancing her wine glass on top of the Range Rover’s spare wheel and pulling out her tiny silver phone. ‘Ivan’s telephone has been off all day.’

She dials, as expertly as a City trader, and waits a moment. ‘Yes, Anthea, it is Gordana. Is Ivan there?... No, he is not here either…Where has he been today?...Out where?...You don’t know. Was anyone in the house today, this morning, I mean, early? Elsie say she saw some people… Right. I see. Please tell him to ring me when you see him. Thank you.’

‘Well?’

‘She say Jehovah’s Witnesses.’

‘At seven in the morning? Aren’t there usually just two of them? And why would he leave with them?’

‘I don’t know. She say she went out early too and when she come back he is not there. Something is not right.’

The club’s adopted cat, Timothy, trots up to us and rubs himself against my legs. I think briefly of Mark.

‘I’m going to go home,’ I say, extracting my bike lights from my backpack. ‘We can’t lurk about in the car park all night. Are you going back inside?’

Gordana draws herself up to her full height, I guess already mentally preparing to face Elsie again.

‘She’s just a silly, bitter, bored old woman with nothing else in her life,’ I say. ‘Don’t let her get to you. You know that nobody likes her, and they all love you. She hates that. And she’s jealous of you.’ I hug my beautiful grandmother as if she is my best friend. Which, in many ways, she is.

‘Very well,’ says Gordana, sniffing delicately, then stooping to stroke Timothy. ‘Ted is not coming to collect me until eleven-thirty. Will you ring me when you get home, and let me know...what is going on?’

I sigh. ‘Of course, if I find out.’