pea-brained employers or some other irritation yet to be revealed. He knows his way. He’s been furtivelypractising here, I’ll bet he has, probably ever since he challenged me. My work requires me to get along with people I wouldn’t normally entertain in the woodshed, but this young man is putting a strain on my tolerance and the badminton court is the place to put that right.
*
We played seven bitter games that first evening. Championships included, I don’t remember being more stretched or moredetermined to put a young opponent in his place. I won the four, but only by the skin of my teeth. He was good, but mercifully inconsistent, which gave me the edge. Despite his youth, I reckoned he was as good as he was ever going to be, bearing in mind that he had the reach on me by six or seven inches. And concentration variable, thank God. For a dozen points he’d charge, smash, lunge, lob, drop-shot,retrieve, and force his body into every unlikely angle, and I’d be struggling to keep up. Then for the next three or four rallies he’d switch off and winning didn’t seem to matter to him any more. Then he’d come alive again, but by then it was too late.
And from the first to the last rally not a word between us, bar his punctilious enunciation of the score, a responsibility he arrogated to himselffrom the first point, and the occasional
shit!
when he fluffed. We must have picked up a dozen spectators by the time we’d reached the deciding game and there was even a smattering of applause at the end. And yes, he was heavy on his feet. And yes, his low-angle shots were frenetic, a bit last-minute-ish, despite his superior height.
But, after all that, I had to say he played and lost with unexpectedgrace, without contesting a single line decision or demanding a replay, not by any means always the case at the Athleticus or anywhere else. And as soon as the game was over he managed a broad grin, the first I’d seen from him since the day he approached me – chagrined, but genuinely sporting and all the better for being unexpected.
‘That was a really, really good game, Nat, best ever, yeah,’he assures me sincerely, grabbing my hand and pumping it up and down. ‘Got time for a quick snoot? On me?’
Snoot?
I’ve been away from England too long. Or
snort
? The absurd thought crosses my mind that he is offering me cocaine out of his brown briefcase. Then I realize he is simply suggesting we share a civilized drink in the bar, so I say not tonight I’mafraid, Ed, thanks, I’m tied up, whichwas true: I’d got yet another late-night handover, this time with Giles’s one remaining female agent, codename Starlight, an absolute pain of a woman and to my mind patently untrustworthy, but Giles is convinced he has the measure of her.
‘How’s about a revenge match next week then?’ Ed urges with the perseverance I am learning to expect of him. ‘No sweat if one of us has to cancel. I’ll bookanyway. Are you up for that?’
To which I reply, truthfully again, that I’m a bit under the whip so let’s take a rain check. And anyway, I’ll do the booking, it’s my shout. Followed by another of those weird up-and-down handshakes of his. The last I see of him after we’ve parted, he’s bent double with his bicycle clips on, unlocking the chain of his antediluvian bicycle. Somebody is telling himit’s blocking the pavement and he’s telling them to fuck off.
In the event I had to text him, cancelling next Monday because of Rosebud, which, thanks to Florence’s reluctant acquiescence in toning down the moral outrage, and some backstairs lobbying on my part, was acquiring serious legs. He proposed the Wednesday instead, but I had to tell him I was under the whip all week. And when the followingMonday came up, we were still hanging by a thread and with due apologies I had to cancel yet again, and the rest of the week didn’t look at all good either. I felt badly to have messed him about and was all the more relieved
*
We played seven bitter games that first evening. Championships included, I don’t remember being more stretched or moredetermined to put a young opponent in his place. I won the four, but only by the skin of my teeth. He was good, but mercifully inconsistent, which gave me the edge. Despite his youth, I reckoned he was as good as he was ever going to be, bearing in mind that he had the reach on me by six or seven inches. And concentration variable, thank God. For a dozen points he’d charge, smash, lunge, lob, drop-shot,retrieve, and force his body into every unlikely angle, and I’d be struggling to keep up. Then for the next three or four rallies he’d switch off and winning didn’t seem to matter to him any more. Then he’d come alive again, but by then it was too late.
And from the first to the last rally not a word between us, bar his punctilious enunciation of the score, a responsibility he arrogated to himselffrom the first point, and the occasional
shit!
when he fluffed. We must have picked up a dozen spectators by the time we’d reached the deciding game and there was even a smattering of applause at the end. And yes, he was heavy on his feet. And yes, his low-angle shots were frenetic, a bit last-minute-ish, despite his superior height.
But, after all that, I had to say he played and lost with unexpectedgrace, without contesting a single line decision or demanding a replay, not by any means always the case at the Athleticus or anywhere else. And as soon as the game was over he managed a broad grin, the first I’d seen from him since the day he approached me – chagrined, but genuinely sporting and all the better for being unexpected.
‘That was a really, really good game, Nat, best ever, yeah,’he assures me sincerely, grabbing my hand and pumping it up and down. ‘Got time for a quick snoot? On me?’
Snoot?
I’ve been away from England too long. Or
snort
? The absurd thought crosses my mind that he is offering me cocaine out of his brown briefcase. Then I realize he is simply suggesting we share a civilized drink in the bar, so I say not tonight I’mafraid, Ed, thanks, I’m tied up, whichwas true: I’d got yet another late-night handover, this time with Giles’s one remaining female agent, codename Starlight, an absolute pain of a woman and to my mind patently untrustworthy, but Giles is convinced he has the measure of her.
‘How’s about a revenge match next week then?’ Ed urges with the perseverance I am learning to expect of him. ‘No sweat if one of us has to cancel. I’ll bookanyway. Are you up for that?’
To which I reply, truthfully again, that I’m a bit under the whip so let’s take a rain check. And anyway, I’ll do the booking, it’s my shout. Followed by another of those weird up-and-down handshakes of his. The last I see of him after we’ve parted, he’s bent double with his bicycle clips on, unlocking the chain of his antediluvian bicycle. Somebody is telling himit’s blocking the pavement and he’s telling them to fuck off.
In the event I had to text him, cancelling next Monday because of Rosebud, which, thanks to Florence’s reluctant acquiescence in toning down the moral outrage, and some backstairs lobbying on my part, was acquiring serious legs. He proposed the Wednesday instead, but I had to tell him I was under the whip all week. And when the followingMonday came up, we were still hanging by a thread and with due apologies I had to cancel yet again, and the rest of the week didn’t look at all good either. I felt badly to have messed him about and was all the more relieved
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