For the Love of Tennis | ✅

Chapter 23

My alarm causes me to jerk awake. Quick as a flash, I grab my phone from the table and switch it off. The quicker I’m out of here, the better.

It takes me a while to get up. I fumble around for my clothes, too scared to turn the light on lest Mum sees and catches on. But it’s hard to be quiet, especially with a room so messy.

I hop down the stairs, balancing my weight on the bannisters so I don’t touch the creaky steps. Then I pad to the door, swiftly open it, and I’m out of the house.

An owl calls to my left but I pay it no heed. I only have one thought and that’s to meet Megan, hear what she has to say, and be done with the whole thing as quickly as possible.

Street lamps light my way. There’s no one about; the roads are empty and silent, and I find it relaxing.

When I reach the park gates, I realise my mistake. I can’t get to the tennis courts inside since the gate is locked. I swivel around, trying to find another route, but there is none.

And then there’s a figure behind me, and Megan’s face comes into view, lit up by a street lamp. Maybe it’s the way it shines down on her face but she looks worse than usual.

“You took your time,” she says. Her voice is more gravelly today. Perhaps it’s because she’s only just woken up.

“We can’t get in,” I reply.

“No need. I just said meet at the courts so that we both knew where we were going.”

“And so why are we here?”

“Pay-back time. I told you.”

“And what are we doing for pay-back?”

“All in good time, Dixon.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She cocks her head to the side but her eyes tell me she knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“You pronounce it like Dickson.”

There’s a flicker of a smile. “It’s amusing.”

I can only cross my arms at that comment. “Right. Well hurry up. Don’t offend me and then waste my time.”

She leads the way down the streets. The darkness seems to swallow us up whole. It’s only a few metres down when Megan produces something from her pocket - I recognise it to be a car key. A second later, there’s an orange tell-tale flash of headlights.

“Get in.”

“Where are we going?”

“Hairdressers.”

I slide into the passenger’s seat. The light comes on above our heads, illuminating leather seats and a glossy bonnet.

“Eighteenth birthday present,” Megan says smugly. “It cost—”

“I don’t give a shit about how much it cost. Just drive.”

She doesn’t reply to that. Only starts up the engine and revs it with a smirk.

Then we’re racing down the road, houses whipping past us, engine roaring in our ears.

“My Dad,” Megan says suddenly, “is obsessed with your Mum.”

“I know,” I reply coldly. And then it’s back to silence again.

After barely any time, and probably a hundred speeding tickets later, we arrive at the salon.

It looks different at night. The dark gloom gives nothing away of its interior, but I’m still left with an uneasy feeling at the sight of it.

This is the place where my mother got raped.