Matchpoint

Chapter 52:

Fifty-five courts. Nineteen for championship courts and the rest all left for practice.

Something about the Wimbledon playing ground is completely different from the other tournaments. Besides the fact that it is widely considered the most prestigious and perhaps biggest tournament in the world, it's the oldest of all four grandslams and the only one to be played on a grass court.

There's this reverence I'm every corner of this tournament, from the manicured grass to the white dress code. It's a long-standing reinforcement of the history that Wimbledon holds.

Being here is different from being in any other tournament. Especially as a coach.

Everything here is elevated. From practice courts to locker room schedules. It's sharp, timed, and almost ceremonial.

Everyone is different here as well. The coaches, the teams, the players. All of them focused and aware of the weight Wimbledon holds.

Coaching at Wimbledon for the first time is like being trusted with a long-standing legacy. It's not only about winning a match. It's about preparing the player to rise to the competition and honouring what that moment means.

It's a shame I'll probably be waiting another year before I get my opportunity to coach a player properly, if ever.

The plan to watch Dom whilst being part of Holly's team failed miserably. It's as if my father knew my plan. Hence why Dom's training conveniently no longer landed when Holly's did.

And now I'm here, at Wimbledon, part of a team that I don't particularly want to be part of.

My father even to the extreme to book Holly's flight a whole day after Dom's, just to make sure Dom and I have no hope of being near each other. It's been a disaster.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Sitting beside me at the hotel bar is a frowning Alex. He's been a good supporter. When everything came out about Dom and I, he was one of the first to contact me and check in. Now we're here in the hotel lobby bar discussing the current situation and my absolute devastation over not being able to coach Dom.

"I honestly have no clue," I sigh, slumping against the table and shaking my head. "It should be me coaching him out there. I did so much work with him, and they're just throwing it away."

"Well, he's got a good shot at getting through round one. He's playing a Neville Nobody," Alex offers, trying to keep me positive. "It's just after that, I'm concerned. He's got a pretty heated pool, and my side is no better."

"I can't just sit around, it's a waste of fucking time." I mutter.

"Clove, I've known you since we were children. You don't take any shit. It's what's always made you stubborn. It's why you chose to go against your father and quit tennis." Alex raises his eyebrows at me. "Why stop that attitude now?"

"What, you think I should go up to my father and demand I get to coach Dom?" I scoff, "'cause that'll work."

Alex grants me a deadpan stare. Clearly unsatisfied with my response.

"I know, but what about your mother?" Alex asks.

"Already tried that, but you know how she is." I respond with defeat. There's no point. Dom's going to lose, and we'll return to Australia in misery. Dom's going to leave the academy and move back to Perth. Then what.

"I do, and I think it's about time you tell her everything you feel. Not a sugar-coated version. The raw truth, the part where you chose to leave tennis, and the fear you have that your father is going to do the exact same thing to Dom." Alex is says fiercely, his fists clenched, eyebrows knitted. "I hate seeing you like this, kiddo."