Sinjin had tried to conserve energy in the first two rounds to save herself for the later ones. But with no play scheduled for Sunday, the traditional day of rest, she was in a good position. She could tap into her reserves as much as she needed to and she would have two days to recover from the effort.
She hit three sharply angled serves to pull out the game. After the last one, she felt the surge of excitement she had expected to kick in when she had first walked on court. Riding the wave, she reeled off eight straight points to build a quick 3-0 lead. Anke shook off her early nerves and found her game but not before Sinjin took the first set 6-3.
The second set was a reversal of the first. Anke was the one who got off to the fast start as Sinjin, perhaps too relaxed after winning the opening set, let her concentration lapse and dropped serve for the first time in the tournament. Painting the lines with her returns, Anke got an insurance break and pushed her lead to 5-0.
During the changeover, Sinjin tried to decide whether to fight for the set or throw it away and prepare for the third. Make her serve it out and see what happens, she said to herself as she toweled off. Hold your serve and see if she starts to feel it. If she tightens up, you still have a chance to win this set. If she doesn’t, at least you’ll start the third serving first.
“Time,” the chair umpire said.
Sinjin bounced out of her chair and took the court with her head up and her shoulders back. Her positive body language let Anke—and the crowd—know that she wasn’t discouraged by the seemingly insurmountable deficit she faced.
One problem with Anke’s game was she didn’t put enough thought into constructing a point. Her strategy was a simple one: hit every ball as hard as she could. She also rushed through her matches, playing each point as if she were late for dinner. The rules allowed for thirty seconds between points, but she rarely took more than fifteen. Instead of taking some extra time before a big point the way most veterans did, she just grabbed the ball and served.
Common sense said Sinjin should slow the pace in order to throw off Anke’s rhythm. Throwing common sense to the wind, she followed Anke’s frenetic pace instead of disrupting it. After punching a backhand volley into the open court to hold serve, she sprinted to the baseline to receive Anke’s deliveries.
She came in on each of Anke’s serves, no matter how good or bad the return. She wanted Anke to feel the pressure of the moment—and from the other side of the net.
Anke missed her first passing shot by an inch then started to press. Her next shot caught the top of the tape. The next two found the middle of the net.
Down 2-5, Sinjin sprinted to her chair for the changeover. Once more, she returned to the court before the end of the allotted ninety seconds. She took half her normal amount of time between points as she quickly held serve for 3-5. Another break and she would be back on track.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted to herself.
She won the first point by hitting an unexpected drop shot in the middle of a long rally. On the second, she sliced a backhand return. The ball landed short and stayed low, drawing Anke to the net just as she had intended. Anke got to the ball in plenty of time only to watch Sinjin hit a lob over her head for a clean winner. Love-30.
Continuing to go for broke, Sinjin grabbed the next two points to break serve.
The crowd, dead silent only minutes before, regained its voice.
Sinjin breathed a sigh of relief but reminded herself not to take her foot off the gas. “You’re not out of it yet.”
When play resumed, she took something off the ball, forcing Anke to generate her own pace. Like a batter who expected a fastball but received a changeup, Anke mistimed her swing. She caught a couple of balls late and overhit the rest. Spraying errors all over the court, she allowed Sinjin to pull even at 5-all.
Two games away from the match, Sinjin finally slowed down. She played at the pace of the server as the rules dictated, but she also made sure Anke had plenty of time to think. Time to rue her missed opportunity.
Anke took deep, gulping breaths to settle her frayed nerves, but the damage was done. Sinjin had her teeth in the match and refused to let go. Playing power tennis from the baseline, she beat Anke at her own game.
She broke Anke at love and served for the match.
When Anke stroked a backhand return long on match point, Sinjin dropped her racquet and raised her hands to her head in disbelief. She had overcome a crisis of confidence in the first set, then she had reeled off seven straight games to win the second.
Anke’s eyes were wet when she and Sinjin shook hands at the net. Having been in Anke’s position many times before, Sinjin knew Anke wanted to get off the court as fast as possible so she could cry in the locker room, but she had to impart something to her first.
“Experience got me through this one. You’re only going to get better. Learn from this.”
“I will,” Anke said, choking back the tears that were threatening to fall.
Though Anke was distraught over the loss, Sinjin knew she would take her advice to heart. Anke was a hard worker dedicated to improving her game. As soon as she fulfilled her obligations to the press, she would probably head to the practice court to work on the shots Sinjin had pressured her into missing.
Sinjin raised her arms over her head to applaud the cheering crowd. She kept telling herself to act like she had been there before, but she couldn’t because she hadn’t.
For the first time in her career, she had made it to the second week of Wimbledon.
Middle Sunday
Unlike Chandler Freeman, whose off-court activities continued to make headlines, Sinjin’s weekend was a quiet one. Though Friday’s match had not been physically demanding, it had exacted an emotional toll.
She spent most of Saturday paying the price. While she watched Laure cruise to an easy straight set third round win, she struggled with the realization that the first week of the tournament, as difficult as it had been, was actually the easy part. Now she would have to win four matches in six days. All the round of sixteen matches would be played on Monday. The women’s quarterfinals would follow on Tuesday with the semifinals on Thursday and the final on Saturday afternoon. If she kept winning, the condensed schedule would provide a stern test of both her physical and mental endurance.
As the tournament progressed, the matches were bound to get tougher—and longer. The first week, she had tried to win each match in straight sets. The second week, she simply wanted to win each match. She didn’t care if the scores were close or one-sided as long as they were in her favor. Her entire career had come down to this. She had one week to prove to herself and to everyone else she belonged on her sport’s grandest stage.
In the round of sixteen, she was set to square off against Madeline Harper. Though seeded ninth and ranked ten in the world, the rising star from Ottawa had received very little attention during the first week of the event. Journalists tried to pull interesting quotes from her during her post-match press conferences, but she didn’t give much away. She followed the same strategy on court, sacrificing flashiness for workmanlike consistency. But when she spotted an opening, she unleashed a forehand that was as big as anyone’s in the game.
To beat her, Sinjin would have to change her tactics yet again. Unlike most baseliners, Madeline made frequent forays to the net, especially on fast surfaces. When they squared off, Sinjin would have to get to the net first and play the baseline well enough to keep Madeline on her heels. But with the match a full twenty-four hours away, she had plenty of time to sit down with Andrew and come up with a game plan. She didn’t want to start thinking about Xs and Os just yet. She had something else she needed to do first.
On Middle Sunday, the traditional day of rest during which no matches were played, she took the train to Notting Hill. Outside the tube station, she hailed a cab and directed the driver to a house with a blue door. “Wait for me.”
The cab driver tipped his Manchester United cap as if he were a
nattily-attired chauffeur. “Yes, Miss Smythe.”
Sinjin was still getting used to the star treatment she had been afforded since her upset victory in the first round. She hadn’t paid for her own meal or bought her own drink in days. Funny how a few wins can change everyone’s opinion of you. A few days ago, I was a has-been. Now everyone knows my name.
She climbed out of the backseat and walked up the driveway. Standing on the stoop, she lifted the heavy brass knocker and rapped three times. Laure appeared in the doorway. Sinjin held out her hand, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it thumping against her ribs. She felt like she had just finished a three-hour match when, for all intents and purposes, she was barely halfway through the first set. “Come with me.”
Laure glanced at the taxi idling by the curb. “And go where?”
“There’s someone I want you to meet.”
*
“Would you like me to wait?” the cabbie asked after Sinjin paid the fare.
“No, we’re going to be a while. We’ll take the tube back.”
“Cheers then,” the cabbie said before speeding away.
Laure shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo shorts. “Should I have packed a lunch?”
“It’s not that kind of trip. If you’re hungry, I’ll take you somewhere when we’re done.”
Based on Sinjin’s much-too-serious expression, Laure doubted she would feel like eating when they were “done.”
In contrast to tourist-laden Hyde Park, Hampstead Heath was frequented mostly by locals. On Sunday afternoons, the Heath’s three square miles of woods, meadows, hills, ponds, and lakes teemed with residents burning off the calories from lunch or discussing the latest headlines while they basked in the sun.
As she and Sinjin walked through the Heath’s open spaces, Laure felt like they had abandoned the city for the country. But then Sinjin led her to a wooden bench perched atop a gently rolling hill and she was treated to a panoramic view of the sprawling metropolis that was London.
“My mother used to bring me and Stephanie here every weekend,” Sinjin said, taking a seat. “Just about every momentous event in our lives has taken place here.” She patted the spot next to her. “I signed my first professional contract here. Stephanie had her first kiss here.”
Squatting in front of the bench, Laure traced her fingers over the initials that had been carved into the wood. SIS. SJS. Sinjin Imogene Smythe. Stephanie Jacinda Smythe. “Where was your first kiss?”
“I haven’t had it yet.”
“You’ve probably experienced more first kisses than all my other friends combined.”
“I’ve had kisses that made my toes curl and kisses that made me think twice, but I’ve never had one where bells ring, angels sing, and I know this is it. Where I know this is the person I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with. I’ve never been kissed like that. Have you?”
“Once. You gave it to me.”
“Really? When?”
“Three years ago, you kissed me in the middle of Arthur Ashe Stadium. I’ve never forgotten that moment. Or how I wished it would never end. At the time, I thought I was excited about the title we had just won—and mortified by the fact that twenty thousand people were watching us. Now, the more I think about it, I realize I didn’t care about the title or how many people were looking on. I just wanted you to kiss me again.”
She took a long look at the bench, finally recognizing it as the one from the photo in Stephanie’s foyer. The photo of Sinjin, Stephanie, and their mother that Sinjin rubbed for luck before each match. She felt as if something momentous was about to happen. She sat next to Sinjin, alternating between admiring the view and examining Sinjin’s face. Sinjin seemed to be on the verge of tears.
“Who did you want me to meet?” she asked as gently as she could.
“My mum.”
Laure must have looked as confused as she felt. Sinjin took her hands in hers.
“In Brighton, we lived close to the pier so we got to see it every day. On the weekends, it was too crowded and too noisy for Mum’s taste. She preferred it here. The trip is only an hour by train, but for us, coming to London was like going on holiday. While Stephanie and I ran all over the place getting into everything we could, Mum used to sit here and do crossword puzzles. It’s how she improved her English. She would bring The Times and a crossword puzzle dictionary and spend hours filling in all the spaces. We weren’t allowed to leave until she finished the puzzle of the day. So no matter how long it took, we were here for the duration.”
Laure looked out at the Heath. Sinjin’s words were so vivid she could clearly see the images she described. She could hear Stephanie and Sinjin giggling while they played. She could see their mother’s proud smile as she watched over them.
Sinjin’s voice shook as she related the story. She didn’t talk about her mother often. Until a couple of nights ago, she had never offered anything other than the most basic information about either of her parents. Even though her mother had been gone for years, she obviously still grieved her loss. She pulled a photo out of her pocket.
Laure looked at the creased picture. Sinjin’s mother was an arresting woman with regal bearing, warm brown eyes, and skin the color of dark chocolate. Sinjin and Stephanie looked like the woman in the picture, but their height, caramel complexions, and hazel eyes were signs of their father’s contributions to their gene pool.
“When she died, we spread half her ashes in Lagos and the rest here because this was her favorite spot in the whole world. I can still feel her here, so whenever I’m in London, I always come here to sit and talk to her for a while. I brought you here because I wanted her to meet you.”
Laure placed a hand over her heart. No one—friend or lover—had ever made such a magnanimous gesture on her behalf. A light breeze bearing a faint scent of coconuts gently kissed her tear-streaked cheeks.
“Coconut rice was Mum’s favorite dish. She could eat it three times a day,” Sinjin said as the aroma grew stronger. She put her arm around Laure’s shoulders and held her tight. “I think she likes you.” She pressed a kiss to Laure’s temple. “I think I do, too.”
Round of Sixteen
The second Monday of the tournament brought something none of the organizers wanted to see: rain.
Thanks to a multimillion-dollar translucent roof, the matches on Centre Court could be played until conclusion after a brief delay, but the players on the surrounding courts would have to wait for the downpour to end before they could see action, and even then they weren’t guaranteed they would be able to complete their matches. Sinjin was one of those players.
Waiting anxiously in the players’ lounge, she peered out at the gunmetal gray sky. Her match was the third one on the schedule for Court Fourteen. If either of the matches preceding hers ran long, she would run the risk of having her match suspended because of darkness. If that happened, it would contract her compact schedule even more. Instead of playing four times in six days with a day off after the quarterfinals, she would have to play for four straight days and she wouldn’t have a day off until Friday—if the rain didn’t disrupt the rest of the week’s schedule.
Wimbledon, like the French Open, did not have lighted courts. Matches at the Australian Open and the U.S. Open were often contested until the wee hours of the morning, but play in Paris and London ended as soon as darkness descended. On normal days, matches at Wimbledon could be played until nearly ten p.m. But with the sun nowhere to be seen, fourth round matches would probably be called at least an hour before then. Centre Court could be bathed in bright artificial light if the need arose, but because the organizers were determined to have the tournament remain a daytime, outdoor event, the lights were illuminated only when inclement weather necessitated the roof’s closure.
Sinjin tried to convince herself that if she kept winning, the schedule makers would have no choice but to place her match on Centre Court. Until then, she kept being relegated to the outer courts as the top seeds
hogged the spotlight. There had been some upsets in the first week of the tournament, but the top eight seeds were still around, the only exception being her dismissal of Rosana de los Santos in the opening round. Though she was let down by the scheduling committee’s decision to place her match on an outer court, she couldn’t blame the organizers for not putting her on one of the show courts. Her past results certainly hadn’t warranted the exposure. But the way she was playing, the past didn’t matter.
Laure scrolled down the Web page displayed on her phone. “According to most forecasts, this front’s going to clear out in about an hour, but there may be intermittent showers later this afternoon.”
“Fantastic,” Sinjin said sarcastically. Each year she told herself the rain affected everyone equally, but each year she could only focus on how it affected her. She had practiced for an hour on one of the indoor courts under Andrew’s watchful eye, but the only thing she could do now was wait for the rain to stop. Of all the things she did well, waiting wasn’t one of them. Stephanie could watch paint dry and be perfectly content, but Sinjin was more like their father: eager to make things happen.
She paced the perimeter of the players’ lounge like a caged tiger.
“Why don’t you sit down before you wear a hole in the carpet?” Laure said after she completed another circuit of the room.
She reluctantly complied with Laure’s request. She wasn’t the only player having problems corralling her nervous energy. All the competitors who hadn’t been lucky enough to be scheduled to play on Centre Court were scattered around the lounge. Some played cards, others board or computer games. Some slept, others lined up to take their turns on the Ping-Pong table. A few stood in front of the plasma TV in the corner watching what little live action that was taking place.
On the screen, Blake Freeman was making five-time champion Venus Williams look ordinary. If she got past Madeline Harper, Sinjin would be next on Blake’s radar. Most players feared matching up with Blake on her favorite surface in her favorite tournament, but Sinjin was looking forward to the challenge. She wanted a chance to measure herself against the best. And if it happened, she knew the match would be guaranteed to take place on Centre Court. She would finally get her chance to play on the most revered court in her sport. The mere thought of it gave her goose bumps.
Lucky Loser Page 11
