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‘I’m fine.’ She sounds a little breathy on the phone. I hear theding ding dingof a tram in the background and realise she must be on her bike. ‘Are you home right now?’
‘No. I’m with Gabriel. Why?’
It’s hard to leave Gabriel, but Margie sounded slightly panicked on the phone, and he has to prepare for his match tonight. As much as I want to be there for him, that also means giving him space to get his head right. I’ve already established I’ll be there after the game, and for whatever comes next.
Despite the absolute shitshow of a morning, hearing Gabriel say we’re serious has lifted a weight off my shoulders.
As I get home, I see Margie out the front of the house talking to our neighbour over the fence. Sadie sees me coming and bounds up to the gate.
‘Fei was just saying that someone rang the doorbell a few times, then tried to go around the side,’ she says as I step through the gate. ‘She says he stuck around for a while. Sadie was barking like mad.’
Fei is around the same age as Margie and of Chinese descent. She’s wearing an old grey top flecked with mud, and gardening gloves. ‘It was very strange behaviour. I’ve never seen him around before.’
‘What did he look like?’ I ask.
‘He had a cap on, but he was wearing a pair of jeans and a white shirt. I don’t think he was looking to break in,’ Fei says. ‘I think he wanted to see if anyone was home.’
It could have been a journalist looking to spring an interview on me as I stepped out of my home. After this morning, I’m not surprised at the lengths people will go to for a story.
‘I’m going to get a security system installed,’ Margie says. ‘Even if this is just a one-off, I don’t want to take chances. I’m only getting older, and if you’re not here, Noah, the house feels lonely.’ She looks down at Sadie and snorts. ‘You were supposed to be a guard dog.’
‘Kill ’em with kindness, that’s Sadie’s motto.’ I lean down to ruffle Sadie’s fur.
28
Gabriel
Lukas Froebel.
I adjust my sports bag on my shoulder and take a deep breath. Lukas Froebel is a few metres in front of me, jogging on the spot to keep his calves warm. We’re waiting to be called to take the court, and my nerves are so bad it feels like there are worms chewing through my gut.
It’s not just because this is a quarter-final.
It’s not just because I’m playing against Lukas, one of my oldest friends.
It’s everything. It’s the journalist reminding me I’ve never won a grand slam at the grand oldage of twenty-five; it’s knowing Noah’s watching me and that there’s a very good chance he’ll watch me lose; it’s the fear of having to swallow that defeat and pull myself together for our next tournament. After what happened this morning, I’m not in the headspace to compete or have cameras on me.
But I have to.
This is the biggest match of my career.
Lukas turns to me. His blond hair is perfectly styled: shaved at the sides and back and chopped haphazardly into spikes on the top of his head. He looks cool, calm and frustratingly effortless. I’ve pulled my hair back into a ponytail and spent five minutes debating whether or not to wear a headband, because I worry it makes my ears stick out too much.
Lukas claps me on the back. ‘Let’s just focus on the match today, hey?’ he says. ‘You got big balls, man.’
‘Thanks,’ I mutter. It doesn’t feel like I have ‘big balls’. It feels like I’m going to throw up.
Clearly unsatisfied with that answer, Lukas grabs my shoulders and makes me turn, forcing me to look into his eyes. ‘Hey, look at me. You’re gonna go out there and smash it, you hear me, Madani? You’re going to go out there and play the best tennis of your goddamn life.’
I don’t meet his gaze. The last thing I want is to be reminded that we’re friends right now; it’s easier if he’s just someone else. Some faceless opponent. ‘To do that, I’d have to beat you.’
‘Hell, I hope you do,’ he says fiercely.
Tears well in my eyes again, but I blink them away, shrugging Lukas off. ‘Stop it.’
‘I won’t,’ he replies. ‘Now tell me you’re gonna kick my arse.Tell me.’
‘I’m gonna kick your arse,’ I say, wiping my nose on the back of my hand.
