Strawberries at Wimbledon

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He looked at her for a long, silent moment and she didn’t think he’d drop it, but then he shrugged and took a sip of tea. ‘Okay. Whatever you want.’ His expression was full of understanding. ‘Right, we’ve established you’re not called nineteen. So, what is your name?’

She hesitated, noticing a poster of the Arctic Monkeys taped up on the far wall, the right-hand corner loose and drooping over. She’d gone to one of their début world tour concerts a few years before. It’d been amazing, her blood thrumming with the bass of the music, heart pumping madly, grinning so widely that after half an hour her cheeks ached. Her parents had been amused by how she’d raved on about it for days, smiling at her indulgently as she babbled on, her mum leaving their latest album on her fold out bed as a random gift. That was…before.

And now here she was, in the after. Without them. Completely alone, apart from her grandparents, who were on a world cruise, distancing themselves from her behaviour.

‘So?’ Adam’s voice jolted her.

‘Huh?’

‘Do you have a name?’

‘I, I-’ she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t gulp the grief away. It wasn’t fair. She wanted her dad here, to heave the boxes around and help her unpack. She wanted her mum here, to hug her and murmur words of reassurance, to soothe her nerves about starting uni. There were so many things that would happen in her life that her parents should be here for, but never would be. What had she ever done to deserve losing them? She had to leave. The emotions were too close, the urge to cry on this stranger’s shoulder too strong. ‘Ask me another time,’ she choked, ‘I’ve gotta go.’ She shot up from the chair. ‘Catch you later.’ Spinning around, she sprinted down the hallway.

Adam didn’t say anything. He just let her go.

Rayne relaxed in the green chair on Centre Court, the plastic warm beneath her bare thighs in the denim cut-offs, revelling in the early afternoon sun burning high in the cloudless sky. The ball kids were shading themselves under striped Wimbledon Championship umbrellas on the side of the court and the stands were rammed, no seats unoccupied, anticipation of the forthcoming match creating a noisy buzz and ripples of energy. The crowd wore an assortment of outfits, some in casual shorts and t-shirts, others in posh dresses and beribboned sun hats. The smart ones had brought water with them and purchased red cushions to sit on. Wimbledon veterans obviously. Not like her, a Wimbledon virgin. The word made her smile. Virgin. Like Adam, when they’d met. Until one very memorable night.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Lily asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Nothing!’ Rayne wrinkled her nose. ‘Was I?’

‘Yes. Were you thinking about Adam?’

Guilty. ‘No! Why would you say that?’ She tucked her black shoulder-length bob behind her ears.

‘You’ve got that dreamy faraway look you always wore when you were together. I’ve never seen you like it with anyone else, or since.’

‘Pfftt! Whatever.’

‘Just saying. Plus, I know you’re busy and I go on about this a lot, but you really should think about getting a love life.’

‘Please. Don’t go there.’ Rayne turned her attention to two teenage ball girls walking onto the white-lined grass. ‘Did you know around two hundred and fifty ball girls and boys help out during Wimbledon?’ If she didn’t make direct eye contact with Lily, maybe she’d drop the subject. ‘Or that what we call Henman Hill is actually Aorangi Terrace? And why do you suppose Murray Mount isn’t as popular as Henman Hill as a name?’

‘Henman Hill has a better ring to it, I guess.’ Lily ignored the deflection. ‘Come on, Rayne. I’ve seen that look in your eye recently, as well as that hunched shoulder thing you do. You’ve been biting your nails too. You need sex, and soon.’

‘Have not! And do not,’ she denied, sliding her nearly-nibbled-down-to-the-knuckle fingers under her bum. Lily had come a long way since the uni days, she never would have made those types of remarks so openly back then, wouldn’t have had the confidence. But gradually Rayne, Frankie and Zoe had brought her out of her shell. It was a shame she didn’t see Frankie much now, even though she lived in London as well, and that Zoe was abroad. She missed the girls. But at least she still had Lily, who was a work colleague as well as a friend, even if she was being annoyingly and unusually blunt today.

Lily’s eyes flickered down at Rayne’s hidden hands and she raised an eyebrow in amusement. ‘Thousands would believe you. I don’t. How long has it been?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Rayne tried out her best back off look. It didn’t work.

‘You don’t usually mind talking about this stuff, so it must be a while. Everyone needs it. It’s natural, normal. Like wine, chocolate, shoes,’ she wiggled both fair eyebrows. ‘You know, all of life’s essentials. Speaking of which,’ reaching under the chair she produced the punnet of strawberries and fresh cream she’d bought earlier, and held them out, ‘here you go. Fresh from Kent.’

‘Thanks.’ Freeing her hands and picking a ripe, red strawberry up Rayne twisted off the green stalk. ‘Okay, I forgive you. Thanks for the lecture, Mum. So, what are you suggesting I should do about my non-existent love life, if I was interested in having one?’

Lily pursed her lips. ‘Well, you could always go out to a bar, have a few drinks, and meet a hot, willing guy.’

‘As much as I’m amused you of all people would advocate that I go trawling in bars, I’m fine thanks.’

‘Why? What’s the problem, if it suits you-’

‘And you’re safe. I know. But you don’t do it.’

‘I’m not you.’ Lily flushed at the look Rayne gave her and concentrated on rooting around for the fattest strawberry. ‘Sorry, I- I mean… argh.’ She looked up. ‘Yes, I only believe in sex in committed relationships. But at least I date.’

‘I don’t have an issue with dating. I’m just not bothered at the moment, that’s all.’ Rayne was aware her voice had a defensive tone to it as she rolled a small, firm strawberry between her fingers. ‘And it’s not like I’ve never had a hook-up before. I’ve been with guys since-’ for some reason, Adam’s name stuck in her throat. ‘The problem is that when I think about it, I want relationship sex.’ She sighed. ‘But without the relationship.’

Lily frowned. ‘Explain.’ She dipped her strawberry into lashings of cream and dropped it in her lip-glossed mouth.

‘I’m not after a serious relationship right now. Sex without strings would suit me, but,’ she sighed, ‘the sex isn’t usually that great. They don’t know what I like, and vice versa. They don’t know me, there’s no connection, no cuddling afterwards. It’s just physical.’ She held up a hand. ‘Before you say it, I know that’s the whole point of no strings sex; the physical without the emotion or affection. But if the sex isn’t that good, if I don’t get that much out of it, what’s the point?’

‘Right. Hmmm… not complicated at all then.’ Her friend sat back, plucked up another plump strawberry and chewed it slowly, expression thoughtful.

‘I know,’ Rayne groaned, stifling a laugh. ‘I’m not hard to please, am I?’ She rolled another strawberry in the cream and ate it, lush fruitiness and smooth sweetness coating her tongue as she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun’s glorious heat.

There was an announcement over the speakers that the match was about to start and a few good natured, excited cheers erupted among the spectators. People started returning to their seats, the general volume increasing as the commentator said something about it being a beautiful day for a match.

Lily said something, but Rayne didn’t catch it, opening her eyes and leaning closer. ‘What was that?’

‘I… something…something… perfect!’ Lily beamed, looking pleased with herself.

‘Huh? What is?’ Lily’s lips moved again but Rayne still didn’t hear. ‘Say what?’

‘You need to have sex with an ex!’ Lily exclaimed, just as the crowd around them fell silent. ‘Oh.’

A few sniggers and titters sounded, and a lady in a straw hat with a white ribbon wrapped around it turned and raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow at them. Two rows down, a group of guys sporting We did Wimbledon t-shirts looked over and let out a round of good-natured wahey’s!

‘Oops. Oh, God.’ Lily went scarlet, closing her eyes and leaning forward to bury her face in her knees.

Rayne choked on laughter, holding her side. ‘Good one, Lil.’

‘Stop it!’ Lily hissed, sitting up and fanning her face with one hand.

’S-sorry.’ Rayne sniggered.

‘I was just trying to help.’

‘I know. Sorry. Great timing though; now everyone’s going to think I’m desperate.’ Her wry smile took any sting out of the words. ‘Not that I care.’

‘Of course not. You never do.’ The red in Lily’s cheeks started fading to a pretty rose pink. ‘I do think my suggestion’s worth considering though. If you sleep with someone you already know you’re compatible with, you’d have a good time. Plus you’d be comfortable because they’ve seen it all before and you wouldn’t fall for them because you’d know all the reasons it wouldn’t work, because of the break-up. See? Sex with an ex,’ she finished triumphantly. ‘The idea rocks.’

‘Thanks for sharing your logic with me, but really I have no intention of going there.’

‘Why not?’ A sickeningly familiar, deep voice quipped right behind them. ‘I agree with Lily. Sounds like a great idea to me.’

Something in her midriff plummeted to the floor through the soles of her feet. Time slid sideways and she nearly did the same out of her seat.

Oh, shit.

She turned her head slowly. ‘Adam.’

‘Hello, Ray,’ he grinned, using the nickname he’d adopted after they’d started sleeping together. ‘How are you? It’s been ages.’

How long had he been sat there? ‘Yes. Four years, nearly five.’ Fab, now it looked like she’d been counting. Which she hadn’t. ‘Good thanks,’ she gulped, unable to believe it was really him, within touching distance, and how different but the same he looked. So grown up, with shorter brown hair, much broader shoulders and laughter lines scrunching up the corners of his pale blue eyes. Was it just the baking sun making her hot and dizzy? ‘You?’ she squeaked uncharacte‌ristically, ignoring the smirk on Lily’s face. A few deep breaths helped secure some sanity.

‘Excellent.’ He nodded at the court as the players came on wearing their whites, the English guy wearing a sweatband round his forehead, the Spanish contender looking cool and unaffected by the high temperature. ‘We should catch up after the match.’ Adam’s voice lowered and he touched her shoulder briefly, fingertips burning her bare skin. His glance swept past her. ‘Lily.’ He nodded and smiled. ‘Everything okay with you?’

Lily craned her head around and returned his smile, eyes warm. They’d always got on well at uni. ‘Good thanks, Adam. Hello,’ she added to his companion, her smile growing.

‘Sorry.’ Adam gestured to the younger, strawberry-blond guy beside him. ‘This is Flynn, my intern.’

Rayne was surprised by his use of the word. Intern was so American and Adam had always been so British. Maybe travelling abroad had changed him. And intern for what? Not that she cared.

‘Hi,’ Flynn waved slightly, a dimple flashing, staring admiringly at Lily’s English Rose beauty.

Adam and Rayne exchanged a bemused look. At uni they’d protected Lily together. There’d always been men trailing around after her, and she’d been pretty naïve about some of their motives. More than once, while Rayne had chatted to Lily about being careful and not falling for guys too easily, Adam had taken those guys aside and warned them to treat Lily well. To only pursue her if their intentions didn’t involve bedding and then dumping her. He was old-fashioned like that. Gallant. She’d always loved that about him. It was unusual for an eighteen year old guy, but a product of his upbringing. An upbringing that’d come between them more than once.

‘It’s starting.’ Adam gazed at her, and whispered huskily, as one of the Umpires’ signalled first serve and the crowd edged forward on their seats with an expectant hush.

‘It is.’ Rayne turned to face forward. She didn’t like the fact it felt like they were talking about more than the battle to be played out on the striped lawn.

It had never been a battle with Adam, except for their last few weeks together. The majority of their relationship had been easy, playful and happy. So, so happy.

He’d turned up at her room a few days after they’d met, two mugs of tea in his hands, holding one out when she answered.

‘Hey, Nineteen. I thought you might drink this one? Three sugars, right?’

She stepped back and leaned against the door, amused. ‘You mean it’s not the same one you made the other day?’

‘Well…I can’t deny I didn’t consider trying it, after the way you ran out on me, but on balance I figured that giving you food poisoning from off milk wouldn’t be very clever.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ he said solemnly, ‘this set of halls isn’t that big and since I’ve noticed I’m the only one you’ve really talked to, I thought they’d easily trace the crime back to me.’

‘Really?’ She grinned and took the mug off him, surprised at how much better she’d felt the past few days. She’d been immersing herself in classes, making friends with a lovely but quiet fellow classmate called Lily and sharing a quick coffee with some louder but equally nice girls – Frankie and Zoe – who were studying different degrees but in the same halls. Getting a decent night’s sleep for the first time in months and drinking less alcohol was also helping. ‘Thanks.’ She wrapped her hands around the mug, nodding for him to come into the narrow room. ‘That’s the only reason you wouldn’t force-feed me old tea? Because of the fear of getting caught?’

‘Yes. That’s the only reason.’ His eyes met hers then fell away, and he sat down in the flimsy black chair on wheels that sat in front of her desk. ‘I guess you haven’t got any coasters,’ grabbing a spare piece of paper, he put his tea on it beside her laptop. ‘Great job unpacking by the way,’ he arched an eyebrow, looking at the two boxes with clothes, make-up and other stuff spilling out of them stacked up against the bare wall. It made the room feel impossibly cramped. There was a restrained energy about the way he studied her belongings that made her think he was itching to get up and start sorting it all out, but was too polite to.

She shrugged one shoulder, setting her mug down on the floor. ‘It’ll get done when it gets done. And you’re wrong, you know,’ she said, sinking down on the edge of her messy bed, loose vest top riding up her stomach as she stretched. She’d not long woken up. Her first lecture didn’t start until after lunchtime.

‘About what?’ his gaze flickered over her legs in the tiny pyjama shorts she wore, her knees no more than six inches from his.

‘You’re not the only one I’ve spoken to. Lily and I have been hanging out quite a lot.’

‘Lily?’

She rolled her eyes at his puzzled look. ‘Come on, don’t act as if you haven’t noticed her. The daintily gorgeous blonde three doors up.’

‘Oh, her.’ He grinned. ‘She’s very pretty and seems sweet, but she’s not my type.’

‘Is that so?’ she drawled, scooting back across the covers so she could lean against the wall. The plaster was cool against her back, but it felt good to have something solid to lean against. For too long she’d felt like she was falling through air.

‘She’s too much like some of the girls back home,’ he replied solemnly. ‘Wholesome. Well-bred.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘It would be like fancying my little sister, Belinda.’

She laughed, ‘I see. But still, what’s wrong with wholesome and well-bred?’ She paused, ‘God, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard someone use that phrase in real life. Who are you, the Lord of the Manor or something?’

A shadow chased its way across his face but he shook his head and smiled easily. ‘Not quite. You can blame my mum. She’s very well spoken. Likes to host lots of social events, work tirelessly for deserving causes and generally hold everyone around her up to very high standards.’

‘Sounds like a heap of fun,’ she mused, matching his determinedly light tone. ‘So where are you from?’ she asked curiously, leaning forward over the edge of the bed to grab her tea, aware as she sat up and his eyes flickered from her top back to her face she’d flashed him accidentally. She suppressed a smile, fighting to keep a straight face. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. Or maybe he thought she was hot too. That would be interesting. Even though she’d decided the other day she should stay away, there was something about him she found endearing and attractive. The flutters in her belly made it feel like she was starting an exciting, new game. ‘And what is your type?’

‘Buckinghamshire. And I’ll let you know when I find it.’

‘Right.’ Not her, then. She took a mouthful of scalding tea, his last comment not just taking a few points off her but throwing her out of the whole match.

‘So,’ he stretched his arms behind his head, muscles bunching under his jumper, ‘now that you’ve decided I’m not trying to poison you,’ he nodded at the mug as she took another warming gulp, ‘and you’ve let me sit in your room, do I get to know your name?’

She let out a long suffering sigh, shaking her head in pretend sorrow. ‘It’s all take, take, take with you men isn’t it? You bring me tea and immediately want something in return. You want to know all my secrets.’

‘I’m starting to think your name’s a national secret,’ he retorted, ‘what’s the matter, are you ashamed of it or something?’ Dropping his arms he sat forward in the chair, eyes sparkling. ‘Is it really embarrassing? What is it? Come on, it can’t be that bad, as long as it’s not…Griselda?’ he guessed.

She shook her head solemnly. ‘Nope.’

‘Gertrude? Ermintrude? No, I’m not sure that’s even a name.’

‘Neither of those, and actually, I think she was the talking cow off The Magic Roundabout,’ she laughed.

‘Oh, that was a bit before my time.’

‘My parents still had a video recorder when I was growing up, and that was one of the box sets.’

‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘I give up then. Quasimodo?’

She spluttered tea over her quilt, setting the mug down on the carpet and clutching her side as she giggled. When she recovered, she wiped her eyes. ‘Oh, thanks a lot! So, that’s what you think of me!’