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Authors: J. K. Brighton
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water twice over if it hadn’t been for you. Good night, Jim.”
He waited a moment before taking his leave, but there were no words of reassurance, only another cut.
“Oh Lewis... your management agency called. Apparently the clothing sponsor is none too happy about the image you’re projecting. Any more bad publicity and they’re threatening to terminate the contract. It would appear they have grounds. Good night, Lewis.” Then he turned his attention back to the book without reading another word. ‘Softly softly’ wasn’t Jim’s way – even when it was desperately needed.
Chapter 8
Lewis was lying on an airbed, floating in the pool having decided that he’d done more than enough for one day. He had told Mike Crawford to work him hard, and his physical trainer had taken to the task with sadistic enthusiasm. The massage afterwards wasn’t exactly a pampering either, so Lewis felt that he deserved an hour of lazing about and soaking up a few rays through a liberal layer of Factor 30 which Mike had insisted on coating him with. He was now luxuriating in the tepid water which lapped around him, and the caresses of the warm early evening sun. He relished the peace and relative tranquillity of the house they now occupied, only a few miles away from Melbourne Park where the Australian Open would start in five days time.
Lewis reflected on what a smart decision it was to come here, instead of the Langham Hotel where they had stayed the year before. Lewis wasn’t too sure about the idea at first, and had needed a bit of convincing. He liked staying in hotels - especially now that he could afford the best. And the novelty of their luxury hadn’t quite worn off. He also knew that the underlying reason behind renting the house was that Jim could keep a closer eye on him during the tournament, which made him even more resistant. But he had let his coach have his way, and was now truly thankful.
Ten minutes later, Lewis left the pool and went into the house. He showered then threw on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt before going into the open plan living area in search of his dinner. Jim Murdoch was sitting at the table pouring over his laptop, whilst Fiona was in the kitchen area preparing the meal. Lewis smiled to himself as he looked at her from behind. She was almost fifty now, with no care to hide it: hide the stoutness that had crept up on her, and the grey that was slowly replacing the brown in her hair. Fiona Murdoch was a woman who had learned long ago to accept what life would bring, and perhaps more importantly – what it wouldn’t.
“Did you have a good swim, Lewis?” Fiona asked over her shoulder , her eyes warming him with their smile.
“Oh aye. I was up and down that pool like a yoyo,” he laughed in response. “How’s the food going, Fiona? I’ve worked up a fair appetite with all those lengths.”
“Twenty minutes, Lewis, and it’ll be ready... Funny how I didn’t hear too much splashing in the pool… when you were doing your lengths.”
Lewis threw her a wink, enjoying the banter. “That’s the southern hemisphere for you, Fiona - water does strange thing here apparently. Did you not know?”
She shook her head, pretending annoyance. “Get away with you, and let me get on here now, or strange things will be happening to your dinner.”
“Right you are, Fiona… So Jim - has it come through yet?” asked Lewis as he threw himself onto a couch.
The coach raised his twinkling eyes - the man wallowing in his work. “The draw?” he asked, as if he didn’t know what was being referred to. “Aye, I’m just going over it now.”
“Who have I got?”
“A qualifier in the first round.”
“Nice one.”
Jim looked over to Lewis and ominously added, “An Australian qualifier.”
“Ooh!” harped the lad. “That should make it a bit more fun.” He was trying to make light of it, but he knew exactly what Jim was implying, and knew exactly what lay in store for him.
Jim put
He waited a moment before taking his leave, but there were no words of reassurance, only another cut.
“Oh Lewis... your management agency called. Apparently the clothing sponsor is none too happy about the image you’re projecting. Any more bad publicity and they’re threatening to terminate the contract. It would appear they have grounds. Good night, Lewis.” Then he turned his attention back to the book without reading another word. ‘Softly softly’ wasn’t Jim’s way – even when it was desperately needed.
Chapter 8
Lewis was lying on an airbed, floating in the pool having decided that he’d done more than enough for one day. He had told Mike Crawford to work him hard, and his physical trainer had taken to the task with sadistic enthusiasm. The massage afterwards wasn’t exactly a pampering either, so Lewis felt that he deserved an hour of lazing about and soaking up a few rays through a liberal layer of Factor 30 which Mike had insisted on coating him with. He was now luxuriating in the tepid water which lapped around him, and the caresses of the warm early evening sun. He relished the peace and relative tranquillity of the house they now occupied, only a few miles away from Melbourne Park where the Australian Open would start in five days time.
Lewis reflected on what a smart decision it was to come here, instead of the Langham Hotel where they had stayed the year before. Lewis wasn’t too sure about the idea at first, and had needed a bit of convincing. He liked staying in hotels - especially now that he could afford the best. And the novelty of their luxury hadn’t quite worn off. He also knew that the underlying reason behind renting the house was that Jim could keep a closer eye on him during the tournament, which made him even more resistant. But he had let his coach have his way, and was now truly thankful.
Ten minutes later, Lewis left the pool and went into the house. He showered then threw on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt before going into the open plan living area in search of his dinner. Jim Murdoch was sitting at the table pouring over his laptop, whilst Fiona was in the kitchen area preparing the meal. Lewis smiled to himself as he looked at her from behind. She was almost fifty now, with no care to hide it: hide the stoutness that had crept up on her, and the grey that was slowly replacing the brown in her hair. Fiona Murdoch was a woman who had learned long ago to accept what life would bring, and perhaps more importantly – what it wouldn’t.
“Did you have a good swim, Lewis?” Fiona asked over her shoulder , her eyes warming him with their smile.
“Oh aye. I was up and down that pool like a yoyo,” he laughed in response. “How’s the food going, Fiona? I’ve worked up a fair appetite with all those lengths.”
“Twenty minutes, Lewis, and it’ll be ready... Funny how I didn’t hear too much splashing in the pool… when you were doing your lengths.”
Lewis threw her a wink, enjoying the banter. “That’s the southern hemisphere for you, Fiona - water does strange thing here apparently. Did you not know?”
She shook her head, pretending annoyance. “Get away with you, and let me get on here now, or strange things will be happening to your dinner.”
“Right you are, Fiona… So Jim - has it come through yet?” asked Lewis as he threw himself onto a couch.
The coach raised his twinkling eyes - the man wallowing in his work. “The draw?” he asked, as if he didn’t know what was being referred to. “Aye, I’m just going over it now.”
“Who have I got?”
“A qualifier in the first round.”
“Nice one.”
Jim looked over to Lewis and ominously added, “An Australian qualifier.”
“Ooh!” harped the lad. “That should make it a bit more fun.” He was trying to make light of it, but he knew exactly what Jim was implying, and knew exactly what lay in store for him.
Jim put
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