She's back ~ L. Hamilton

79. | Three weeks

June 2023
Three weeks until Wimbledon

The plane touches down in Heathrow, naturally I put my cap and sunglasses back on as everyone stands up to get off the plane, but I know it's a pointless attempt. I saw articles before we took off about how I was heading to London, so I know all too well photographers are going to be lined up outside the airport to photograph me the second they spot someone with blonde hair.

As I stand up, I notice two teenage girls are standing with their mother closer to the back of the plane, their mouths are open in shock as they smile and point towards me, looking startruck.

I don't know what comes over me, and for the first time, instead of ignoring them, I wave. Their eyes go wide and they each wave back enthusiastically, their mouths agape.

I can't help but laugh before I slip my handbag further up my shoulder and follow the crowd off the plane.

My suspicions were confirmed, the second I walk through the arrivals gate, I'm greatest by yelling and flashes. Photographers are lined up behind the bars that family usally stand, waiting for their loved ones to come home. But to the left, I notice a group of young girls, all yelling in my direction.

The youngest girl couldn't be older than seven, and she's holding up a page, there's a child's drawing on it with scribbled writing that I barley make out that reads 'Go get them'

I smile to myself, and I surprise myself as I walk over to the group of young girls.

"Hello" I say with a smile, crouching down to their level

Their faces are all stunned in shock. The little girl with the sign snaps out of it first, throwing her arms around my shoulders. I thank god for my core strength because otherwise i would've fallen backwards in front of all these people.

"Hello" I laugh, hugging her back

"Your so cool" she yells and I burst into laughter at her words

"So are you"

I stay there for a minute longer, I take a photo with them all, sign their papers. And just before I leave the little girl hands me her poster and insists I keep it, she says it's to bring me luck for the Wimbledon final.

When I eventually push through the crowds and get into my car at the airport, I ask the driver to take me to my hotel, the savoy - where all the other tennis players are staying - and I ask him to drive past the Wimbledon grounds on the way

He gives me a nod. And something about the way his eyes pass over me in the rearview mirror, the way he holds back a smile on his face, I can tell he is excited to do it.

I look out the window as we begin to drive. I watch the buildings and British billboards pass, until we finally reach the outskirts of the All England Lawn Tennis Club.

It's with a pang, I realise it's the first time I've done this drive alone. Throughout my career I've always been in the car from the airport with either my uncle or Darren, and now I have neither.

"Did you want to stop?" The driver asks

"No, thank you," I say.

I just enjoy the sight of it - seeing the park and the courts fly by my window. I like gazing up at the ivy growing over the building at the front entrance. I feel the most like myself just outside that arena. As if I fully embody my own promise.

It's an unparalleled pleasure to be as good at something as I have been at playing Wimbledon.

I miss my uncle.