Page 5

“Ready?” Steve asked in a clipped tone. I nodded and walked to the door, picking up my racquet bag. Steve shouldered the rest of the gear.

“I’ll see you over there. Good luck, Stink!” Joel called out.

I nodded and headed out to the lift. Steve followed in silence.

Neither of us spoke until we were almost at the Park.

“Mel, you know I’ve never tried to tell you how to live your life outside of tennis, and I know it isn’t really any of my business, but couldn’t you have waited until the Open was over before leaping into bed with Pete Levine?” Steve finally asked.

Fuck you, Joel , I thought. He must have gone straight to his father and dobbed me in last night.

“You’re right, Steve, it’s not any of your business,” I growled. Steve’s teeth clacked together. He always did that when he was furious about something.

“If you fuck this up today because you were too busy spreading your legs last night …” His angry tone became pleading, “Mel, you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are. Don’t let yourself down because of a man.”

I knew that everything he was saying was true, and that just made me even angrier. And since I didn’t want to be angry with the person I really should be – myself – I settled for being angry with Steve.

“Get fucked, Steve. I have worked hard, and I really don’t think that a little bit of sex is going to spoil things.”

Steve grunted. “Well, all I can say is I hope it was worth it.”

The car pulled up at the player’s entrance.

I leapt out. A small crowd of people were milling, looking equal parts embarrassed and starstruck as they held out phones for selfies.

I posed stiffly for a few photos as Steve unpacked the gear from the hire car.

My mood was foul, which wasn’t going to help my game, but I just couldn’t drag myself out of it.

“Mel, you’re acting like a spoilt, slutty little brat,” he grated at me, not bothering to keep his voice down. People were staring.

I gaped at him. What did he expect me to say to that? I closed my mouth with an effort and stormed off in the direction of the change room.

I rounded on him as he appeared behind me in the room.

“Stop treating me like I’ve already lost the game!” I shouted. He looked at me sadly.

“Well, it’s a foregone conclusion if you can’t get rid of this attitude and calm yourself down.”

Steve turned away from me, mumbling into his mobile.

“Are we going to go and hit some balls?” I asked when he hung up.

“You are. I’m not. I don’t think I’m the right person for you to be around right now. Joel will meet you at court nineteen in ten minutes. Be back here at two.”

I silently grabbed my racquet bag and left.

God, what’s wrong with me? I beseeched as I strode towards the practice courts. I could have gotten into one of the little buggies that trawled the length of the Park, but the nervous, angry energy zinging through me demanded that I walk. Why am I feeling like this?

No answer.

Last night I’d scratched an itch. But it was like a mozzie bite: instead of feeling relief, it had become more inflamed and irritated.

By the time I entered court nineteen, Joel was already there, wearing cotton exercise shorts, a singlet, joggers, and a cap covering his dark hair.

“You dobbed me in!” I accused. Joel nodded curtly.

“I freely admit it. I was hoping I’d be able to talk you out of it, but failing that … he deserves to know. This is his career too, and if you fuck up, it means he’s fucked up.”

That stopped me in my tracks. I’d never thought of it in those terms before. Joel was right; Steve only ever had my best interests at heart.

“Jeez, could you make me feel any worse about it?” I muttered. Joel shrugged, a wry expression on his face.

“Let’s hit some balls.” Joel hit one in my direction. I returned it – not hard, just enough to feel the muscles in my shoulders and back working.

Within minutes I could feel the angst leaving my body as I concentrated on returning the ball to Joel. He didn’t push me hard, but he didn’t slack off either. He warmed me up and he calmed me down. It was just what I needed.

Eventually he deflected one of my balls, signalling that I was warm enough now. I walked towards the net.

“Feeling a bit better now, Stinky?” he asked. I glared at him until he dropped his eyes from mine.

“Sorry. Mel.”

My lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yes thanks, Joel.”

“Listen, don’t let fighting with Dad get to you, okay? Just focus on playing the game to the best of your ability. And don’t let what happened last night affect your mojo either.”

We walked off court, Joel stopping me at the gate. “I’m heading back to the apartment to shower and change now. Go eat, stretch, practise some mindfulness if you can. I’ll be in the crowd. Good luck.”

I squeezed his arm. “Thanks again, Joel. You know, you’re not such a dickhead when you’re really trying.”

“I know, but it’s just too much effort to try that hard all the time,” he replied with a grin as he walked off. I headed back, making a quick detour via the player’s lounge for some takeaway meals. I returned to the main arena and my change-room feeling much more serene.

Steve was sitting with his head in his hands. I walked in and sat down beside him, handing him one of the containers and opening the other.

“It’s okay, Steve. I’m feeling fine now. I’m calm.”

He looked up at me and his eyes seemed empty. “Just try your best, Mel. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you.”

I nodded. I’d let him down, that much was obvious.

I didn’t even think that begging God for one more chance was going to help me today. That didn’t stop me from trying though.

Please God, just one more little win. I know that I was supposed to come and light a candle for the last one, but … I knew I had no excuse. God owed me no favours.

I spent the afternoon stretching and trying to meditate. I wished there was time for a nap; I was starting to feel my late and sleepless night.

The bell for my match went off, but it felt too early. I walked down the tunnel in a daze, and I didn’t register the noise of the crowd like I had before.

Norieva eyed me calculatingly across the net. My heart started up an unnerving rhythm that didn’t bode well. Norieva was ranked above me and was seeded far higher than me in this tournament. But I shouldn’t let that sort of attitude get in the way.

I took my place, ready to serve. My mind wasn’t in this game and that was a worry. There were too many non-tennis related thoughts zinging around in my brain.

I served to Norieva. She returned the ball with a high-pitched grunt. I wasn’t a fan of the grunt. It didn’t make the ball go any faster or any more in the direction you wanted it to. And silence often put off my opponents better anyway.

We rallied for a little while until she sent a ball right into my opposite corner. I couldn’t make it there in time. Love-fifteen. I shook my head, and up in the stands I could feel Steve’s disapproval like a laser beam in the back of my skull.

The first set was at five-love in Norieva’s favour when it happened.

She smashed the ball across the net into the far corner.

I spun on my right leg to try my hardest to get over there in time.

That was when I felt a sensation in my ankle that was both excruciatingly painful and dreadfully familiar.

As I fell towards the Plexicushion, it was all I could do not to scream out a whole bunch of swear words. In fact, I think I probably did.

It was more than just twisted this time.

Shit!

A medical officer was with me within seconds. I dreaded imagining what Steve was thinking up in the stands. The medical officer’s mouth was a grim line in his otherwise business-like expression, as he helped me to hobble to the side of the court and assessed my ankle.

“I can’t treat this in a time-out, Mel,” he told me. “It’s a sprain. You’re going to have to forfeit – there’s no way you’ll be playing on with an injury like this.”

I sighed but nodded. The medical officer called the umpire over so I could officially ruin my Australian Open chances.

“Your mind wasn’t on the game, Mel. That’s why this happened,” Steve snarled darkly as he stormed into the change room.

“Not what I need to hear right now Steve!” I hissed back, wincing as Julie turned my ankle this way and that. I tried not to yelp with the pain – instead I almost bit through my lip. I’m a bit of a sook when it comes to pain.

Fuck, fuck, fuck !

Oh God, I’m sorry! I should’ve come and lit a candle instead of screwing Pete Levine last night!

“We could have strapped it, given her some pain meds and she would’ve been fine!” Steve shouted suddenly, making me jump. My ankle burned.

“If you’d sent her back out there you may as well have just kissed goodbye to her career!” Julie snapped. “Go have your temper tantrum somewhere else!” She pulled a whole bunch of stuff out of her bag.

“Okay, this is called a Cryo-cuff. It’s going to compress the injury, and pump –”

“I know what a Cryo-cuff is, Julie. Just put it on and then please, will someone get me an anti-inflammatory?”

Steve returned, standing over me and glaring down.

“What the fuck were you doing out there, Mel? You shouldn’t have been in a situation where you could have missed that ball!”

I breathed deeply through my nose. It took more than ten seconds for me to be calm enough to open my mouth.

“Steve, it’s done now. There’s nothing either of us can do to change that.”

“I don’t fucking believe this!” he grated through his teeth as he stormed off again.

Julie packed my swollen ankle into the cuff and set it to the correct compression. “Just let him stew for a bit. He’ll calm down eventually.” She started hooking up the water. I watched in vague interest, hoping that she’d give me some painkillers as soon as she was done.

“Did I hear someone calling for drugs?” a deep voice asked from behind me.

“Oh my God, thank you! How did you get in here, Joel?” I asked as he held out a pill and a bottle of water to me. I downed them gratefully.

“I’m your trainer now, remember? Steve got me an All Access pass.” Joel looked way too pleased with himself. Julie looked up at him and smiled. She hadn’t finished setting up the Cryo-cuff. Joel only ever called his dad ‘Steve’ when he was trying to impress someone.

Sure enough, he turned the full force of his smile on Julie. She blushed, strands of her red hair falling about her face. I rolled my eyes. Joel turned to me and winked. God, he just couldn’t help himself!

“You should eat something with that medication, Mel.” He put down the bag that was slung over his shoulder and unzipped it, dragging out a Tupperware container and a fork. He handed both to me. I opened it and immediately felt my jaw ache as saliva flooded my mouth.

“Uh, yum!” I exclaimed at Sandra Herbert’s signature chicken and rice salad. It was one of my favourites; packed with nuts, herbs and cranberries. “How did you get this? Your mum didn’t send it down with you, did she?” I asked Joel, who stared at me like I was some sort of stupid person.

“I made it,” Joel replied, slowly like he was talking to a half-wit. I shrugged and tucked in. It was delicious – even better than his mum’s, although I’d never tell him that. A little moan of enjoyment slipped out. Joel grinned.

“Yes, the man can cook,” he boasted. Julie goo-goo eyed him. I eyeballed her in frustration.

“Is that cuff on properly?” I asked sharply.

Julie came to her senses and went back to work, but I noticed her sending longing glances in Joel’s direction.

I had a feeling I knew whose bed he’d be sharing that night.

The thought sent an odd, sick feeling through my stomach.

I screwed up my face; did I really hate having a mental image of Joel shagging Julie so much that it was nausea-inducing?

“All done!” Julie said in satisfaction. She manoeuvred my leg so that it was elevated, patting me on the knee, but she was looking over my head at Joel.

“How long do I have to keep this on?” I asked. Julie flicked her gaze down at me, lips pursed in annoyance.

“Oh, gee, sorry for having the hide to injure myself and force you to do your job!” I snapped. Joel’s hand fell on my shoulder .

“Settle down, Stinky,” he murmured. I growled under my breath. Julie blushed.

“Two hours would be good. You can do a second session if you think it’s needed, but you will have to give the ankle a break for at least half an hour in between.

You need to go and get some scans done tomorrow to check for any fractures.

Just rest up in your hotel tonight. I’ll come round later and strap it up for you.

” She was directing her words to Joel again.

I gave up fighting it. Why not let him deal with it? He was my ‘trainer’ after all.

“Thanks Julie,” Joel replied suavely. I almost choked on my last mouthful of rice salad. “Can I get your number to tee up a time we could get together?”

Julie recited her number to Joel, who programmed it into his phone. I couldn’t wait for her to leave.

“She’ll need a chair to be moved out to the car, and back up into the hotel. I’m sure there’s one around here somewhere.”

Julie beamed at Joel once more, gave me a cursory glance, and walked out. I lay back down against the bench. Joel took a seat by my head.

“You know she’s way too old for you,” I said.

Joel grinned. “Jealous, Stink?”

I gagged. “You wish! Now, can we please get out of here before the reporters start bashing the door down? I have no intention of giving interviews today.”

Joel patted me on the cheek and walked off to find me a wheelchair. I wrinkled up my nose at the thought of him wheeling me out. I wondered where Steve had gone. He was probably so mad that he couldn’t stand to be near me.

I’d been waiting for months to break the quarter-final drought, and I’d done it.

I’d been waiting almost a year to break the sex drought, and I’d done it.

Was it too much to ask that I just have a good match against Norieva?

Not even a win, but just a good, solid match?

One where I didn’t injure myself badly enough to forfeit?

Why was it that I couldn’t just have everything in my life fall into place for once?