Notes: It's set in October 1999 and, in order for the story to be possible, in Alternate Britain (which also serves as an excuse for most of the information about British tennis probably being inaccurate). Also, the meteorological conditions can't be expected to have any resemblance to real ones, as I wrote this story in three months earlier. The main characters in this story first appeared in an unfinished epic I wrote when I was twelve. It's not necessary to have read it to understand this, but its existence explains the rather unusual family situation. Also, bear with it: it's a bit dull at first, but gets going after the first few chapters.


Chapter One

The day was more like August than October. The air was saturated and the wind could not even summon the strength to move a single leaf on the trees surrounding the mansion. Belinda Milton turned off the computer. It was impossible to write an English essay when she was so uncomfortable and sticky. She changed into her swimming costume and went downstairs to the pool. But when she got there, she saw a layer of scum on the surface of the water. She trudged back into the house. So much for that plan.

"Mum? Dad?" she called. She knew they were both in the around, somewhere, but it wasn't always easy to find them in a house of this size.

"Yes?" came the distant voice of her father.

"There's a film on the surface of the pool."

"Really?" The voice was closer now. "I hadn't noticed it. I'll check it out." Her father emerged from the sitting room down the hall and started towards her, a weariness in his step. "What a day for this to happen."

Belinda trailed back to her bedroom. She might as well finish the essay, even though it wasn't due for another two weeks.

As she sat down in front of the screen, the phone rang. She picked up her extension. "Hello?"

"Hi Belinda. It's Fay. I was just wondering if I could come over and use the pool?"

Belinda wasn't sure if Fay wanted to see her or just wanted to swim. They spoke to each other a bit more these days, but they were still far from the best friends they'd been five years ago.

"It's gone dodgy, unfortunately. There's this scum on it."

"Oh. Well, can I come over anyway?"

"No trublem. What'll we do though?"

"Well, I know it sounds crazy in this weather," Fay began, "but I'm just itching for-"

"A game of tennis?"

"How did you guess?"

"I am too. So be it. See you in a few minutes."

"Bye." Belinda put down the receiver and pulled on an over- sized t-shirt and loose shorts over her swimming costume, in the hope that the pool would be ok after the game. She put on white ankle-socks and trainers and tied back her hair. Finally, she grabbed her tennis racquet. She had been playing with it for a long time, but it felt unfamiliar and heavy. Before Rick had gone, she'd played at least one game a day, whatever the weather. Since he left, she'd only had a few games with Tim. Eager as he was, her twelve year old half-brother wasn't exactly stiff competition. She'd hoped her new boyfriend Jeff would play with her, but he wasn't crazy about tennis, preferring swimming and football. And her parents claimed they didn't have time to play, although they were gradually going into retirement.

She went downstairs and found a bucket of tennis balls in the cupboard under the stairs. With Rick about to become a professional tennis player, the coach had insisted on using new balls every six games. What he didn't know was that the "new balls" were recycled. The Miltons were rich and Rick's parents weren't badly off, but thirty new tennis balls a day seemed too extravagant. It was bad enough paying Tim to be ball boy. The coach wouldn't hear of Rick and Belinda picking up the balls themselves and Tim wanted 50p a set. Sometimes Rick would intentionally drop points for the sake of making the game longer, rather than starting a new one.

She went outside and started whacking the ball against the wall, getting used to the racquet again, wondering what it would be like to play Fay. They had played years ago, as kids, and Belinda always won by a sizeable margin. But that was before Fay started playing for the county. Belinda too played for the county, but she only played doubles, which was completely different ball game, so to speak. Her singles status was as a handy person for Rick to play and beat on a regular basis.

Belinda's technique was also rusty, she discovered. Her doubles career had never amounted to much since her partners - Rick for mixed and a girl called Peggy for "ladies'" - were both singles players and singles engagements took priority over often- clashing doubles matches. But now Rick had gone and Peggy had also left for university, and so far she hadn't found anyone else to play with.

Yes... it would be interesting.


Fay arrived and they went out onto the court. Leaves had fallen around it, but on this thundery day, not one stirred on the sidelines. During the knock-about, Belinda had difficulty concentrating. She often did when she played tennis these days - on this court, anyway. It held so many memories. Rick was almost the only person she'd played here since he'd arrived five years ago, a gawky fourteen year old. They'd first kissed standing on either side of the net, after months of mutual agony, wondering whether the other was romantically interested. And that was where they'd kissed many times in the years that followed, to the mild irritation of Rick's coach.

When Fay hit a punishing drop shot, Belinda momentarily thought Fay was Rick. Tim had certainly never hit shots like that. But that was stupid. Fay didn't even look anything like Rick, except for them both being white, dark-haired and in their late teens.

Will I ever get over him? Belinda wondered, as she whacked the ball. It had been weeks since they split up, and Belinda had Jeff now. Then again, she and Rick had been going out for years, with few hiccups.

Probably not, she thought. They hadn't just been boyfriend and girlfriend, but best friends too - and brother and sister - almost. Rick's brother was married to Belinda's sister anyway. And Belinda and Rick lived in the same house. Rick's family had wanted to move to Pegford, but houses had been in short supply, so they moved into the mansion. Since Rick had left for Dratton, a town a hundred miles away, to attend university and play in tennis tournaments - his parents had left the mansion. Rick's brother Ray and Belinda's sister Helen had long gone, and now had a considerably smaller house in another part of Pegford along with three kids.

Ok, she told herself as she missed the ball. If I'm not going to get over him, I'll just have to not think about him. "Want to start?" she asked Fay.


Belinda - to her surprise - won easily 6-3, 6-2. They checked out the pool situation and the scum had gone. Fay borrowed a swimsuit from Belinda and they dived into the heavenly cold water.

"May I make a suggestion?" Fay said, when they resurfaced. "Play for the county - singles. Your doubles partners are gone and we're a player short, since Kendra left."

"I thought Tracy was being the fourth player."

"She's only temporary. She's good, but she's got that dodgy ankle and her mother won't let her play much - she's got her GCSEs this year. Tracy, not her mother, that is. Anyway, you're better. You totally thrashed me."

"I'm not that good." Belinda splashed around. "I was just lucky. It's a pants day and you weren't on form."

"Yeah, but the weather must have affected you too."

"Not that much. I'm used to all weather : rain, sun and snow. I played every day for five years."

"So you've had the practice. And you've been playing someone better than you too. You've got a really powerful serve."

"I guess I had to have one, if I wanted to get anywhere. I never did, but I gave Rick a good run for his money."

Something was suddenly becoming very clear to Belinda. Over the years, the attitudes of the coach and Rick to her game of tennis had been obvious. The coach had to grudgingly accept her as a suitable person for Rick to play against, but it was evident that he thought she was just a girl and therefore not really good enough. Rick was a bit more appreciative, with a "Wow!" or something when she hit a good shot. But he wouldn't have said "Wow!" if he'd ever noticed her talent. She was bound to be worse than him - she was female and there was nothing she could do about it. But for a female player, she was better than either Rick or the coach gave her credit for. Never had they encouraged her to take her game further.

The worst thing was that she'd adopted the same attitude. How good she was didn't matter - her only use was to help Rick improve his game. And she was happy to do that. Once, not long before he left, on a similar day to today, she had beaten him, for the first time in ages. He had said it was a fluke - due to the weather, and she'd readily agreed.

When he left and consequently dumped her, she felt used. She saw that she'd dedicated her life to helping him play better tennis. She'd lost all her friends - he was all she had time for. Her schoolwork had suffered too. Her GCSE grades had been ok, but she knew they could have been better. She got mostly 'B's, only getting 'A's in English, English Literature and RE, subjects that required the skill of writing logical argumentative essays rather than solid revision. Her worst grades were 'C's for Maths and double science - still good passes, but far from the 'A*'s everyone agreed she was capable of.

But now she saw - the years hadn't been in vain at all. They had improved her own game of tennis no end. She knew she was good, she had felt good out there on the court. And now was the time to use her skills.

"Ok then, I'll try out for the county," she told Fay.


The following Saturday, Belinda was seated in a black leather chair in the office of the tennis club, across the desk from Mrs Snyder, who organised, coached and accompanied all the girls teams. Belinda was tired but happy. Having told Mrs Snyder she wanted to play singles, the coach had made her play a set against each member of the current under 18s team - not including Tracy who hadn't been there. She had beaten them all.

"Well," Mrs Snyder said. "I can safely say, you're a shoo- in. Not that you don't have your faults of course," she added hastily. Mrs Snyder was reluctant to compliment anyone; she wouldn't stand for any of the young players getting big-headed, and ensured this by rarely giving anyone praise. Belinda was used to her, though. "After playing a boy for so long, you're used to hitting faster balls. And you're too lax in your first sets after playing five set games. Still, you've got stamina and you'd be welcome on the team. Can I just check when your birthday is?"

"10th August 1982."

"Great. That means you have over fourteen months as an under 18."

Where the system had come from, Belinda had no idea, but she was familiar with it. A player remained an "Under 18" until 31st December in the year that they turned 18.

"You got your 'A' levels this year?" Belinda nodded. "What subjects?"

"English Lit, History and RE."

Mrs Snyder frowned. "How much work do you have to do over the next few weeks?"

"Not much," lied Belinda. In the last week, it had been piled on her, and for she hadn't had time to keep up with it. She'd been playing tennis with Fay, she supposed, and spending more time than usual with Jeff. But she knew what Mrs Snyder was talking about, and a little lie like that couldn't hurt...

"In that case... well, there's a tournament going to be held during the half term week, for under 18s players. Each county only gets to send two girls - it's a knock-out tournament and each pair is put into the two halves of the competition, A and B - and I think you and Fay are the best. But if you were going to be busy with 'A' level work, it would have to be Rosemary or Sheila." She named the other two under 18s - both in the lower sixth. "But as you won't be, I'm inviting you to a tournament - it's near Birmingham. What do you say?"

"I'd really like to go," said Belinda promptly.

"Great. Well, I've got a form here for your parents to sign, so take it home and post it to me as soon as possible. You'll have to pay, I'm afraid, but..."

Belinda took the form, hardly listening. Money was no problem, as long as she could convince her parents to let her spend a week away. But they had to, didn't they? She was going to play in a national tennis tournament. Her career might be just beginning!


Chapter Two

Her parents agreed immediately - on the condition that she got all her schoolwork done - and the next week passed in a daze. She and Fay played tennis every day after school, and swam afterwards. It still didn't feel like they were best friends again, but they were getting closer. Belinda had told Fay that she was going out with Jeff, something no one else knew because Jeff was a year younger than Belinda and she didn't want anyone hassling her about it. Worse, word got around fast and she didn't want Rick to get wind of it. It was amazing that she and Jeff had hidden the fact for so long, really. But Fay promised not to tell anyone, and in return told Belinda who she fancied. Fay's best friend, Christine, didn't seem particularly bothered by this renewed alliance, which was good. Seventeen was too old to have "best friends" really.

On Friday, the day before she was to leave, Belinda went over to Jeff's house after playing tennis with Fay, to say goodbye to him. She realised that she'd miss him a lot. When she got to his house, she went in without bothering to ring the doorbell. Jeff's single mother had told her she didn't have to. Still, it seemed a bit rude to go up to Jeff's room, unannounced, so she poked her head round the half-open door of the living room from which voices were emanating.

There she saw Mrs Turnbull, Jeff's mother... and a man she'd known all her life. "Hello Mrs Turnbull," she said, uncertainly.

"Oh, hi Belinda. Good to see you. When will you ever call me Rowena? Probably never, right? Anyway," she pointed to the man, "this is my - uh - friend, Mr Winter."

"Hello - uh - Steve," said Belinda. There was no way she could call him Mr Winter.

"Hello Belinda," he said, with a faint smile. Belinda headed upstairs, leaving Mrs Turnbull wondering how on earth Belinda knew Mr Winter's first name and why she would call him that. She opened the door to Jeff's bedroom. He was lying on his unmade bed, watching tv.

"Why is it that all my boyfriends are related to me - or have the possibilty of becoming related to me?" she asked, to greet him.

He turned to face her. "Hi," he said. She kissed him briefly on the lips, and sat on the bed. "What's all this about your boyfriends being related to you? How many have you had anyway?"

"Only two, including you. Well, Rick was the brother of my sister's husband - well, he still is, he's just not my boyfriend anymore. And if your mother marries Steve - uh, Mr Winter - we'll be related too."

"How come?"

"He used to be my stepfather. My parents got divorced before I was born and remarried twelve years later. But in between, my mum married Steve Winter."

"Well, we wouldn't actually be related," said Jeff, slowly. "If he only USED to be your stepfather."

"But he and Mum had kids," Belinda persisted. "So my half brothers would be your stepbrothers."

"That'd be neat," Jeff said. "But I sincerely doubt Mum'll marry him. She's gone out with billions of men since Dad left. Most of them were creeps. Mr Winter's ok though. The other ok one was Mr Boot, but I'm very glad she didn't marry him."

"Why?"

"He had a son, who was - well, he still is - my sister's age. He was cool. But he and Amy were going out. So I'd have to put up with them kissing and stuff. Which seemed kinda gross. I was eleven at the time though."

Was that how the other residents of Belinda's house had seen her and Rick? The adults had thought it was sweet - but Tim and Daniel, Belinda's half-brothers, had not stopped making noises of disgust and disgusting noises.

"And what would have happened if they'd broken up?" Jeff continued. "In fact, they did break up after about a year, so it's a good thing Mum and Mr Boot didn't get married."

What would have happened if Belinda and Rick separated while Rick was still living in the mansion? Maybe it was for the best that they'd ended it when they did. At the time, Belinda had been appalled. The moment she was out of sight, she was suddenly out of mind. But everything was all right, now she was seeing someone safe and unrelated. Well, not related yet, anyway.

"Yeah, that would have been really pants," Belinda agreed fervently.

She and Jeff embraced and kissed, and this time the kiss went on and on. But kissing was all they did; he didn't even attempt to grope her and they remained in a sitting position. Belinda wondered if and when things would go any further. It was a bizarre situation to be in: for over a year, Rick had pressured her to sleep with him, until she eventually gave in, aged fifteen and a half. Now it was her that was waiting. She was willing to do so, but she couldn't help feeling a slight impatience.

Eventually, they broke apart. "Want to go in the pool?" Jeff asked.

"Sure." She had showered after playing tennis with Fay, but she still wanted a swim. Jeff's was another of the few local houses that had a swimming pool.

"You can borrow a suit of Amy's-" His twenty-year-old sister was away at college now.

"No trouble. I'm wearing mine under my clothes." She slipped off her t-shirt and shorts to reveal a black bikini. It wasn't her most practical swimsuit, but she knew Jeff would like it.

Indeed, she sensed him staring at her. She knew she looked good. She was more-or-less perfectly proportioned, there was not a millimetre of excess flesh on her body, and although the weather was poor, she still retained the trace of a suntan.

"Don't forget me for some tennis playing type," he said softly, probably more pleadingly than he'd intended.

"I'm not interested in tennis players." She had also aimed for a light tone, but she had a perfectly good reason for saying it: Rick played tennis.

"Good thing I am." That was more like it.

"Besides," she said, jokingly. "I can't leave you. I've got to marry you."

"Got to?"

"Yes. So I can become the only person in the history of the universe whose ex-stepfather becomes their stepfather in law."


When Belinda left about an hour later, she said goodbye to Mrs Turnbull and Steve. "I'll see you in a week's time," she said.

"Oh, are you going away?" Mrs Turnbull asked.

Belinda explained about the tennis tournament. Steve smiled and said, "I knew all those hours you spent hitting that ball against the wall as a kid would pay off." Evidently, he had told Mrs Turnbull how he knew Belinda.

"Good luck," Mrs Turnbull said, sincerely. Belinda felt happy. She liked Mrs Turnbull a lot; in a matter of weeks she was starting to feel like secondary mother.

But the family situation was getting creepy. Her parents, Mr and Mrs Robinson, Steve and Mrs Turnbull. Ray and Rick, Helen and Belinda, Tim and Daniel, Jeff and Amy. Too many connections. Rick and Amy had been in the same year at school and had been fairly good friends, Belinda reflected as she set off along the road back to her house. If they ended up getting together the lot of them would get into the Guinness Book Of World Records for Most Incestuous Family.

Rick and Amy? What was she thinking?

But she had always been insecure about the girls Rick knew from school. Cassie who he had gone out with on one occasion; Violet who fancied him like crazy; and Lindsay. Red-haired Lindsay. Skinny Lindsay. Party girl Lindsay, tennis-playing Lindsay. Lindsay who Belinda had always assumed would never feature in Rick's life again after a brief relationship in Year 10 -

Stop it, she told herself, viciously, brought close to angry tears in a matter of seconds. What the heck was she getting upset about? She had a boyfriend and a best friend and a future.

But she still wasn't over Rick yet. Not by any means.


That evening, Belinda played a three-set tennis match against Tim. She beat him, of course, 6-0, 6-1. He wasn't bad, she had to admit. If he practised, he'd probably make the school U13 team in summer. Not the county one though.

After their game, it was nearly dark, but Belinda carried on hitting a ball against the wall. She heard low voices close to where she stood.

"I'll bet she wins Wimbledon one day. This year, probably."

"Don't be stupid. She hasn't won any competitions or anything."

"Only because she hasn't entered any. Look at her power."

"She's hitting the ball too hard."

"She hits it like a man."

"Well, she's a girl and she plays girls. It's too hard - she'll hit it out."

"She's still going to win. I've been watching her. She's got stamina too. And speed and skill. And she's young. Everything she needs."

"That doesn't mean she'll beat professional players. Heck, she probably won't get anywhere in the national tournament. Why did she never play for the county if she's so good? They would have snaffled her up in an instant."

"I know what I'm talking about. I bet you a million quid she wins the tournament."

"All right, you're on."

Belinda caught the ball deftly and listened. No more voices. No rustle of leaves as the owners of the voices walked away. She started hitting the ball again, in the hope that the voices would speak once more, but they didn't.

Who did the voices belong to? Why were they making bets on her? Where were they? Why would they be interested in a seventeen year old girl whacking a tennis ball against a wall?

It's all a figment of my imagination, she told herself. She was getting too confident, so certain she would win and go on to achieve great things, and that people would speculate on her chances of success. She wasn't that good, as the second voice had said. The first voice was her imagination, the second was her common sense. She'd thought they'd been real, but they were no more than a fantasy.

She went inside.


Chapter Three

It was a tight squeeze in the minibus, that was for certain. It could seat twelve apparently, but the eight in seemed to be its maximum capacity, with luggage and a about ten million racquets to fit in. The eight were Mrs Snyder; Mr Johns a member of staff member at the tennis club; Belinda, Fay and Rosemary, who was going as a reserve; and two male under 18s plus a reserve. Belinda had never been a terribly efficient luggage packer, but this time she'd been worse than ever. Clothes had been bad enough - ninety five tennis club t-shirts and skirts, other t-shirts and shorts for practice, jeans and sweashirts for non-tennis playing times, skirts and blouses for any possible posher occasions, swimsuits (you never knew!), underwear and all the shoes she owned. Then there were toiletries, school books (she had to get her homework done some time), her dad's laptop...

Luckily the others seemed to have brought nearly as much stuff, so she didn't feel too silly. Unfortunately, that made it more of a crush.

As the bus roared along the motorway, the young players talked. It was then that Belinda realised how little she knew about the kids at tennis club. In fact, she hadn't even known the names of these boys until now.

She didn't really know the people in her classes at school either. She had known some of them since she was four years old, but hadn't spoken to them for ages. Since she was twelve in fact. And how much people could change in five years!

Had Rick and tennis really taken over her life this much? It was the only possible explanation. She'd been aware that she and Fay had drifted apart, but she hadn't seen the full extent of what had happened : she had become a complete loner.

As if to compensate, she paid close attention to the conversation of the minibus occupants, even Fay. She discovered that they all went to other schools - well, one boy was at college and only had two months left as an Under 18. His name was AJ and he fit the tennis club stereotype perfectly. He was rich and made sure everyone knew it. It turned out he had a pool and private tennis court too. But he wasn't an excellent player and was only going as a reserve. And when the year was over, he probably wouldn't get onto any over 18s teams. To Belinda's surprise, she saw that he was cute. She hadn't been attracted to any boys slightly during the time she went out with Rick. Now she was adopting a healthy interest in males again. Yes, she had Jeff, but there was no harm in looking, was there?

(Rick had thought there was. He even told her to take down the posters of the Australian soap stars she had blu-tacked to her bedroom walls. She had happily obliged, and never said a word when he didn't just look, but stared at - and flirted with - girls he actually knew.)

Another boy, Donald, was the exact opposite. He was only fifteen, but a superb player. He wasn't exactly poor, just working class. Of everyone, he'd brought the least luggage. He had auburn curly hair and wasn't particularly attractive, but he was a lot nicer than AJ, Belinda thought.

The third boy, Simon, was seventeen. He was a total headcase, and had them all in hysterics for the bulk of the journey. He and Rosemary seemed to know each other, and Belinda wondered if there more than friendship between them.

The bus finally pulled up outside a Youth Hostel. "Hardly five star accomodation," Rosemary remarked as they went inside. "Don't tennis players get something better?"

Mrs Snyder, unfortunately, overheard and snapped, "You aren't tennis players yet" which caused the group to laugh later. They had been playing tennis for years.

The youth hostel wasn't bad, really. Belinda, Fay and Rosemary were given a small room to share. They spent five minutes shoving clothes into drawers and the wardrobe, and left everything else unpacked. "What shall we do now?" asked Fay.

The matches weren't to start until tomorrow, so the first day was to be devoted to practise and getting to know members of teams from across the country. After lunch, there was to be a gruelling practice session, and there was going to be a party that night. But until then, they were free to do what they liked.

Belinda glanced down at the laptop, and she realised that she should be using these few hours to some schoolwork. There wasn't going to be much of a chance for the rest of the week - besides tennis match after match all sorts of social events were arranged.

"Let's check out the talent," Rosemary suggested. "You saw those boys downstairs - the opportunity is too good to be missed."

"I really should do some homework," Belinda told them, reluctantly. She wasn't interested in anyone in that way, fit or otherwise, but meeting people would be fun. Still, there was plenty of time for that later.

"Aw, you don't have to worry about Jeff," Fay said. "He's miles away, he'll never know."

"Jeff?" Rosemary asked.

"Her boyfriend," Fay said. "He's cute."

"Lucky you," Rosemary told Belinda. "My parents won't let me go out with anyone; what with schoolwork and tennis, they think I haven't got time to see anyone."

Fay and Belinda exchanged a surprised glance. Neither of them had parents that strict. Yes, they made sure schoolwork was being done, but tennis? That was just a hobby for both of them, not something they had to do.

"Anyway," Belinda said. "It's not that; I really do need to get some work done. I'll come down for lunch, though, ok?"


"Hi!" a voice called as Belinda started back towards her room after lunch to get changed. She turned round to see Simon and greeted him.

He fell into step with her. "Is it just me, or are these people freaking you out?" he asked.

"It's not just you," she answered, glad that someone else felt the same way. "They all seem unhealthily obsessed with one thing."

"Indeed," Simon said as they started up the stairs to their rooms. "Teenagers, admittedly, as a rule, do have one track minds, but these people's minds have a different track to most. Thinking about sex is normal. Thinking about tennis isn't."

Oddly, Belinda found herself blushing at the mention of sex. "Yup," she said.

"Well, by the looks of things you're normal," he observed, making her colour further by the implications, unintentional as they no doubt were. "Some of these folks, though. I was just talking to this girl, and she suddenly interrupted me with, 'Stop trying to chat me up, I need to concentrate on my game.'"

"Wow," Belinda said. "That's scary. I thought it was bad enough when this girl told me that schoolwork didn't matter in the slightest when you were going to become a tennis pro."

"Can we survive a week of this?" Simon asked. They had reached the landing, where they were to go their separate ways.

"I don't know," Belinda said. "At this rate, I'll be lucky if I'm still alive on Monday."

"I'll keep you sane. Relatively sane, anyway."

"Sounds good to me," she said, setting off towards her room. "See ya."

Surrounded by freaks or otherwise, she suddenly felt happier than she’d been in ages.


The three hundred and eight four players spent the afternoon slaughtering each other. In each group of three - Belinda, Fay and Rosemary being one - the reserve (Rosemary) and the player in group B (Fay) would run the player in group A (Belinda) into the ground, while the coach (Mrs Snyder) looked on, smirking and shouting at them. When Belinda thought she could handle no more, she and Fay swopped over.

Fay, already exhausted, struggled even more. Fortunately, when she as about to die, Mrs Snyder disappeared, and the three lapsed into a gentle knock-about.

A slow-moving ball hit Belinda on the head. "Ow!" she yelled.

Rosemary and Fay couldn't stop laughing. "Are you ok?" Fay asked, through her giggles, and Belinda assured them that she was.

"You were a million miles away," Rosemary pointed out. "What were you thinking about? That lush bloke over there?" She pointed in the direction of a guy on a neighbouring court.

"No," Belinda said, "although now you mention it, I probably should have been. I just thought I saw the Snyder coming back." She dragged herself over to the fence surrounding the court to retrieve the ball that was looking seriously worse for wear since the start of this afternoon.

She hadn't though. She had been looking at a figure she was sure she recognised, but couldn't be certain about.

But what would Steve Winter be doing here?


When the practice finished and everyone had showered and eaten a light meal, the three girls returned to their room. While Fay and Rosemary got ready for the party, Belinda called her parents on the mobile phone she'd brought with her to let them know she'd arrived safely. Then she dialled Jeff's number.

"We won't listen if you don't want us to," Rosemary offered, demonstrating by plugging her fingers into her ears.

Belinda was really beginning to like the younger girl. "I'm sure that won't be necessary," she said.

Indeed, the conversation they had was hardly of the x-rated nature. Even when she said, "Well, I'd better finished getting changed", Jeff made no suggestive remark. Sometimes he was almost too nice.

"One thing, though," Belinda said before ending the call. "Have you seen Mr Winter all day?"

"No, why? Do you want to speak to him?"

"No. I was just wondering," she said. "Well, gotta go." She didn't want him asking any questions. "Love ya."

"You too," he said. She turned off the mobile and put it on the desk.

"Awww!" Rosemary said.

"If you don't mind me asking, who's Mr Winter?" Fay asked. "Is he your-"

"Former stepfather," Belinda finished for her. "Yes. Who's now seeing with Jeff's mother."

"We-ird," Fay said.

"Small world," Belinda remarked, opening the wardrobe door.

As she got ready for the party, it occurred to her how little contact she'd had with Steve since the divorce. For so long - her childhood years - he'd been an integral part of her life, and then, kablam, nothing. It wasn't that he lived far away and he was still on fairly good terms with Belinda' mother. And her father, for that matter. Steve still saw plenty of Tim and Daniel, and he had always treated Belinda like a daughter. And yet, communications had been minimal.

Now she thought about it, she'd had plenty of opportunities to see him, but she'd always been too busy. He'd take Tim and Daniel out for lunch on Sundays, but Belinda would say no: she had tennis games to play, and homework to do, and Rick to spend time with. Steve would have taken Rick out for lunch too, but Belinda still said no. She wanted to be with Rick alone, not trying to make small talk with a man who was gradually becoming a stranger and rolling her eyes as her half-brothers were brats. She spent hours with Rick every day, but she couldn't get enough of him.

God. He really had monopolised her life.


Chapter Four

Belinda had never liked parties much, but this was the worst one she'd ever attended. It was held in a local hotel and reminded her vaguely of the wedding reception when Helen and Ray got married, which had been one of the most boring days of her life.

Pants unmemorable elevator music was playing quietly in the background, but there was nowhere obvious to dance. All there was to do was munch on tasteless snacks and talk to people.

Except there wasn't anyone to talk to. Most of the kids were engaged in conversations with an assortment of adults. Coaches or just general Persons in the Weird World Of U18 Tennis. They all seemed to know each other, at any rate, and from what Belinda overheard, tennis was the singular topic of conversation.

Belinda appreciated that tennis was what everyone had in common, and was therefore a talking point. And she didn't mind discussing the game, to a certain extent. From the thousands of matches she'd played, she possessed several memories, and she had a healthy level of interest in professional tennis. She and Rick had always watched Wimbledon together when-

No, she wasn't going to think about Rick. That was her resolution for the evening: no more thinking about him. She was going to enjoy herself if it killed her.

But that didn't appear to be a possibility, whether she died in the process or not. Because all anyone wanted to talk about was tennis! And it was practically all the administrative side too - tournaments and cups and the infrastructure of British tennis in general. Things she knew hardly anything about.

And it was all ever-so-posh. "Hallo old chap, I haven't seen you since we ate strawberries together at Edgebaston!" It set Belinda's teeth on edge.

Was this the world she belonged to? Country clubs and boarding schools and jolly good fellows? She had never noticed it before now.

But then, her day-to-day life was fairly normal. Perhaps she lived in a mansion, but she had no connection to the gentry. The money in her family was new money - Steve's money, in fact, for the most part. Yes, she played county tennis, an activity primarily for the AJs of this world, but it was her tennis skills not her social class that decided that. Her parents had never become "tennis parents" - they had driven her to the club but that was about it. And she and Helen and her half brothers had all gone to a state school, mixing with people from all social classes. Well, not quite all - Pegford was arguably a middle class town - but the combination seemed normal enough. They went to school and went out to nightclubs and would go to universities of all standards and get jobs as teachers and engineers and have 1.8 children, two cars and a dog.

Most of these people, in contrast, would never have to do a day of work in their lives. They had grown up with silver spoons in their mouths, and silver tennis racquets in their hands. She hadn't even known so many people like this existed until today... and didn't think the discovery was particularly pleasant.

She stood at the table of snacks, glancing occasionally at Fay who was involved in a conversation with a blond guy. Belinda knew better than to interrupt - Fay didn't have the best of luck with boys - but felt jealous nevertheless.

"Is it just me or does this party seriously suck?" the familiar voice of Rosemary sounded behind Belinda.

"It sucks," Belinda confirmed, turning around. She and Rosemary and Fay were even dressed differently to the majority of the people here, she noticed. They were dressed smartly but cheaply in strappy tops and short-ish skirts. Most of the other girls were wearing dresses that looked like they had been tailor made and cost about a few thousand pounds.

"No booze," Rosemary pointed out mournfully.

"Well, that's only to be expected, I suppose," Belinda said, making that realisation as she spoke. "After all, most of us are underage."

"But you would have thought the adults would have champagne or something, at least."

"I guess they don't want us getting hold of it," Belinda said. "They don't want us to play tennis hungover." She doubted a little alcohol would really affect anyone's performance, but that was probably the reason. She wasn't unduly bothered anyway; she'd never been much of a drinker. She didn't like the taste of alcohol, or the effects, and Rick didn't drink, his coach had warned him off the temptation of alcohol, so she hadn't-

I'm not meant to be thinking about him, she told herself sternly. Shut up, brain.

"No one's smoking either," Rosemary said. "I guess they're all too healthy for that."

"You don't smoke, do you?" Belinda asked, the words popping out before she could stop them.

"Not really," Rosemary answered. "I mean, it's not a habit or anything. But when I go out I do sometimes. Just to piss my parents off really. I mean, when I come in stinking of smoke they can't tell that it's me that's been smoking, but they're always laying down so many rules, I need to break them. You know?"

"Yeah." But Belinda, who had never touched a cigarette in her life, didn't know. She couldn't at that moment think of a single restriction her parents had imposed. Of course, they expected her to behave sensibly, but since she always did, there had never been a problem.

"It's the same with dope. I mean, it doesn't really do anything for me, but my parents gave me the anti-drugs talk so many times, I had to experiment. But there's no chance of that here."

Belinda had never even seen dope. But never mind that. "No chance of shagging some stranger in the toilets either," she said, another activity she'd never engaged in.

"Yeah!" Rosemary enthused.

Belinda didn't have time to wonder whether Rosemary had ever done that, because a third voice joined them. "What's this I hear?" it asked. "Shagging some stranger in the toilets? I'll go along with that."

It was Simon. "Dream on," Rosemary said.

"Ok. How about me shagging two not-such-strangers in the toilets?"

"Sounds good to me," Belinda joked, determined not to feel any embarrassment this time. "Men's or women's?"

"Seriously," Rosemary said, "should we bust out of this joint?" She put on a tough-guy voice. "I mean, there's got to be some decent night life around here, right?"

"Not for about five miles," Simon told them. "This place is in nowheresville. I didn't even see a pub on the way here."

"Arg," Belinda said.

The three of them talked for a while, and were joined by Donald, who looked completely out of place here as well. They were all fully aware that they should be mingling, but they had yet to discover anyone worth mingling with. "There's got to be some normal people around here," Donald said, but they didn't seem to be particularly in evidence.

"Fay's found one," Belinda observed. Her friend was now sitting on the blond guy's lap, getting off with him. She could hardly believe her eyes - was the same Fay who had never had a boyfriend and yet it looked perfectly natural. She just felt a quick pang of jealousy.

Belinda went to the toilet, good-naturedly refusing Simon's offer to accompany her. She really thought Simon and Rosemary would make a good couple, but although they knew each other, there didn't appear to be anything going on. She'd find out later.

Belinda took a slightly circuitous route back to the place where her friends were standing, in the hope of seeing some people who looked somewhat normal. But no, all the kids were still talking to adults about that six-letter word.

"Oof!" She collided with someone walking in the opposite direction. "Sorry," she said, jumping back.

Then she saw who it was.


Rick.

The one she had intended not to think about all night. Well, whatever happened, she was pretty sure she could forget that plan.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He smiled, lazily and frustratingly. He was as gorgeous as he'd always been, but the arrogance she'd witnessed at their last encounter had only become more noticeable. "I could ask you the same question."

"I asked you first."

"Oh, bit of this, bit of that. I don't have much else to do, so I'm basically helping out. Watching matches. Bit of coaching. Now you tell me."

Coaching? Who did he think he was? For a start, most of the kids here were probably as good if not better than him; secondly, he couldn't instruct to save his life. He was far too self-obsessed to want to help anyone else get better.

"I'm playing tennis," she said defensively.

"I never thought of you as a singles player," he said, thoughtfully. What he meant was he didn't think she was good enough. Well, she'd show him. She'd win this thing, in fact, if it killed her. "Don't have too many expectations," he added, as if reading her mind. "There's some pretty good female players here, from what I've seen so far."

The strange thing was, if he'd said those same words a few months ago, she wouldn't have been irritated at all. "Yes, Rick," she would have agreed. "Absolutely, Rick. Three bags full, Rick." She felt sickened by how long she'd spent... worshipping him. Never questioning a word he said.

"You mean there's some cute female players here," she said, acidly.

"That too," he agreed. "But I mean it: they've had experience."

She felt like hitting him. On top of everything else, he was contradicting himself. While he thought he was God just because he'd won some national tournament, he was saying she wasn't good enough when she'd been giving him healthy competition for five whole years.

"Well, I'm sure they'll get some more experience with you around," she said, a bitter double entendre.

Before he could think of a reply, a girl approached them. She was about five foot five and had blonde curly hair, and although she was frowning slightly, there was something very perky about her.

"Hi darling!" Rick said to her, giving her a big smile, and opening his arms to hug her. She jumped into them, and the two of them remained in an embrace.

Belinda, guessing Rick would make no introductions and not wanting any, walked away. Presumably, the two of them had only met tonight. She'd been right about the experience thing.

She could hear what Rick would say to the girl when she asked, "Who was that?"

"Oh, just some stuck-up tart," he would say. "Never mind."

Belinda hated herself for caring.


Chapter Five

"Simon likes you!" Rosemary sang after she and Belinda parted company with Simon and Donald on the landing of the youth hostel.

"Don't be silly," Belinda said, feeling mildly embarrassed. Simon had indeed been flirting with her for the remainder of the evening... but she got the feeling he was like that with everyone. She liked him well enough - he was cute and funny - but she had Ri- Jeff. Another wave of self-loathing at the near mistake.

"Aw, I like being silly,” Rosemary protested. “Besides, I'm serious. He was flirting with you like mad."

"I'm sure he's like that with everyone," Belinda said, neutrally.

"Well, he is a bit, but not to the extent you experienced."

"How do you know him, anyway?" Belinda asked, through genuine curiosity and an attempt to change the subject.

"School," Rosemary said. "He's in the year above mine, but he went out with my best friend for a while and I got to know him pretty well. But he's not seeing her now... and he likes you! And if you don't believe me, he told me so himself!" She opened the door to their room.

Belinda wasn't sure what to say, but Fay was in the room already, getting ready to go to bed. "Never mind that," she said. "Methinks Fay has something to tell us."

"Nope," said Fay, with a small giggle. "Nothing to tell at all." She didn't giggle very often; Belinda wondered if there had been some alcohol at the party that she and the others hadn't noticed. No, in all likelihood, Fay was simply drunk on LURVE. Again, Belinda was jealous, but happy for her friend all the same.

"Oh yes there is," Rosemary persisted.

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Tall blond handsome stranger?" Belinda asked. "Does that ring any bells?"

"Oh, him," Fay said. "I suppose so."

"Good," Rosemary said. "Now you've remembered, we want details. What's his name? How old is he? Where does he live? Is he a good kisser? Do you fancy him? And more importantly, are you going to see him again?"

"Ayp! Well... his name's Edward. He's just turned eighteen. He lives in Oxford-"

"Brilliant," Belinda interrupted; of all the counties he could have been representing, that was one of the closest to home.

"Um... what else?" Fay asked, although she obviously remembered.

"Good kisser?" Rosemary prompted.

"Um... I suppose so."

"Well, you certainly seemed to enjoy it enough," Belinda said. "Do you fancy him?"

"Um... kinda."

Belinda and Rosemary did not believe that for one second. "And are you going to see him again?" Rosemary concluded.

"It depends," Fay said, not exactly convincingly.

"Fay's in LURVE!" Rosemary yelled, and she and Belinda danced around the room, while their friend buried her head in her hands.


Belinda woke up the following morning feeling tired and groggy. She'd never been very good at sleeping in strange beds in strange locations with other people around, and the number of thoughts whizzing round in her mind had made slumber almost impossible. Before that day, she'd had enough to think about - tennis, the future, Jeff, Rick, schoolwork, the two voices - but that day had provided far too many extra stimuli for her brain to allow her to rest. All the people she'd met, the places she'd been to, the situations she'd been in, the things that had crossed her mind - it was too much. She kept telling herself she needed a good night's rest but with no avail. It had been sometime after one o'clock when she'd eventually fallen asleep.

Energy, she told herself, as she looked around the room for a towel and various toiletries. I have to feel energetic whether I'm tired or not. In a few hours time, I'll be playing the first important match of my life.

She opened the curtains of the room. The sky outside was grey, but it wasn't raining. That was something, at least. All the courts were outdoors, and matches would have to continue in except in the most extreme weather conditions, owing a limited number of days and a limited amount of daylight - there were no floodlights or anything available.

She set off for the bathroom, leaving her two roommates sleeping. Rosemary had to be prepared to play in case Belinda was seriously injured, but there was no reason for her to panic.

Owing to the number of first round matches - 128 in total - they were being spread over two days. Although there were enough courts to accomodate all the players at once, there weren't enough officials and ball-people. So today all the people in group A would be playing, and tomorrow group B - girls in the morning, boys in the afternoon, a system that would be in place all week.


It wasn't until about half an hour before her match that Belinda realised that she wasn't necessarily going to win.

For some reason, she'd got the feeling that it would be like Wimbledon: seeded players against unknowns, for the first few rounds at any rate. But here they were all unknowns - for all she knew, she could be up against the best young player in Britain.

Besides, what gave her the right to think she was seeded anyway? Yes, she'd had a lot of practice, but so had all these people. Yes, she'd comfortably thrashed the local opposition - and even against both Fay and Rosemary yesterday the two sides had been more-or-less even - but she had no idea how good everyone else would be.

What would happen if she got kicked out? She was welcome to stay here for the rest of the week, to practise and watch tennis, but there was no obligation. She could get her homework done, though, so maybe it would be a blessing if she did lose.

There seemed to be a lot of people accumulating around the court on which she'd play. She couldn't understand it: her friends were here - and Edward, for that matter (with his arm around Fay) - but who were all these other people? Perhaps her opponent, a girl named Katerina Kirk from Cleveland (an alliterative name if ever there was) knew a lot of people here?

Suddenly she spotted an unwelcome face in the crowd. Rick.

And standing with him was the girl from last night.

What were they doing here? Surely they couldn't be here to support her - nope, they were here to put her off.

Belinda's grip of her tennis racquet tightened. What right did they have to be here? Rick was family - he shouldn't be doing this. It wasn't fair!

All her earlier hopes of losing evaporated in an instant. Not only am I going to win this game, I'm going to win the entire tournament, she thought. I'll show them!

The match started. Belinda got to serve first, making her happy. An ace, she thought. I'll start the game with an ace, start as I mean to go on.

Her first serve was out.

Her second, less risky, serve was in, but Katerina returned it easily and Belinda ended up losing the point. She could have sworn she heard someone giggle.

Right, she thought, as she tossed the ball high in the air. It might not have been the best start, but this game, this set, this match and this tournament can all be mine. Don't you worry about it, Rick and whatever-your-name-is.

She lost the game, winning only one point.

She couldn't believe this. It couldn't be happening. Even if she held her service now, if Katerina did the same the set was a goner. And there were only three sets - if she lost either the second or the third, she'd had it. Out. Indefinitely.

This can't be, she thought desperately as she changed ends. Losing four points can't destroy my chances of winning this entire thing, can it?

It was all Rick's fault. He was putting her off, totally. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she could see the expression on his face. He was amused. She wished he could get someone to make him go away, but chances of that were slim.

I'll show him, she thought again, then gave herself a mental slap. No! This is all wrong. I'm trying too hard, doing everything for the wrong reason and some God is punishing me. I shouldn't care about him. I should do this for someone else - for anyone else. For Mum and Dad, for the rest of my family, for Jeff, for my friends, for the owner of that voice that thought I could win Wimbledon, for myself. Simply for the pleasure of playing tennis. I can do this. I can. Rick doesn't exist, all that exists is me and Katerina and our racquets and the ball and the net and the lines.

Katerina served and Belinda was struck by the lack of speed with which the ball crossed the net. She knew she hit the ball hard and fast herself, but Fay and Rosemary were quicker than this, surely?

It was out too. So was her next attempt.

"Love fifteen," the umpire said.

You haven't proven anything yet, a cynical voice in Belinda's head reminded her as she crossed to the other side of the court. Katerina was just unlucky.

But the next serve was in, and Belinda won the point. And the next. Katerina got the next one, but Belinda took the next, winning the game.

Even again, she thought. Saved. Now don't think anymore. Just play. Play for today, for the hour, for the moment.

So she played, and won the game. She played some more and won the set 6-2. She played some more and won the next set 6-2 as well, never having her service broken again. Katerina was good, but her serve was too slow and she took too many chances that didn't pay off often enough. The match was Belinda's.

She shook hands with Katerina over the net. She was through to the second round, and as far as she was concerned, Rick Robinson no longer existed.

Then she noticed him, walking away from the court with his arm around the girl. His back was turned so she couldn't see the expression on his face, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going to congratulate her: now the match was over he could spend more time with Miss Blonde. She couldn't see why he hadn't left before, when he realised that Belinda was win, something that had been obvious from the end of the first set, in her eyes at least, and in the eyes of Mrs Snyder - who had spoken to her between the sets - too. Rick would have known as well, but still he had lingered.

Was it possible that he really did want her to win, and that he had enjoyed watching her play?

No. He had probably been educating his new girlfriend in how Belinda played. And, for the first time, she wondered how good the girl was at tennis. Presumably, she was in group B, as she hadn't been playing that morning, so there would be no chance of them meeting across the net until the final.

What if that did happen? She didn't know if she'd be able to bear it. Managing to push Rick out of her mind for the duration of this match had been difficult enough, considering how often she thought of him and the knots he tangled in her heart strings, but playing against his girlfriend? It would be impossible to concentrate.

Could she manage to get over him in the course of a week? She sincerely doubted it, and wracked her brain for a method of recovery she had yet to try.


Chapter Six

Belinda's team mates couldn't stop going on about her victory for the duration of lunch break. With the exception of AJ (who got along with the bulk of the people here better than his team mates, but had watched her match and congratulated her), they all sat at a table together. Edward sat here too, with his team. He and Fay had jointly acted as Master of Introductions, and surprisingly, the Oxford lot seemed relatively normal. One girl, Donna, looked vaguely familiar - Belinda recognised her name too - and as it turned out, she played doubles as well, so they had probably played each other a few times in the past. Given the proximity of their homes, they were likely to meet again in the future too. It was nice to make a friend.

"Can you pass the water?" Belinda asked Simon who was sitting closest to the jug. She could have probably reached it herself, but didn't want to take the risk of spilling it.

"For you, I'd do anything," he said, handing it to her.

Anything? Hmm, this could be useful... no. There was no need for him to get involved, and besides, the whole idea was pathetic-

She spent the rest of lunchtime having an argument with herself, but by the time she, Simon, Rosemary and AJ reached the court where Donald was to play (Fay had apologised for her absence - she was going to watch Edward), she had reached a decision.

She pulled Simon aside from the rest of the spectators just as the match was beginning. "You know how you said you'd do anything for me?"

"Yes?" he said, sounding excited. Oh, she shouldn't be doing this. She knew how he felt about her, it was just so wrong, getting him to deal with part of her past that wouldn't go away. She shouldn't be doing this at all, and he should be the last person to-

"Would you mind doing a little spying?" she asked quickly, before she changed her mind again.

"Spying? Why, certainly. Upon who?"

She looked around, but for once Rick and the girl had left her sights. "Well, it's this girl. She's about five foot five and has blonde curly hair and she's about sixteen and she's pretty and she hangs about with this bloke who's nineteen, six foot two, dark brown hair, brown eyes, muscu-"

"Rick Robinson, perchance?" Simon interrupted, before Belinda could tell him Rick's inside leg measurement, make of tennis racquet and GCSE grades.

She was taken aback. "How do you know him?"

"Well, believe it or not, he did play tennis for the club up until last December, and he made an appearance yesterday afternoon, said a couple of words to us, so-"

"Oh, right," she said, feeling completely idiotic. "But how did you know I was talking about him?"

He grinned. "I have powers beyond your understanding, mortal. No, all things considered, it's fairly obvious. One, you only know a few people here. Two, I saw you speaking to him and aforementioned girl last night. Three, I know you and him used to go out-"

Now she felt like an absolute moron. She had worked out an excuse for getting Simon to spy on the girl if he asked, one that avoided mention of the small matter that she used to go out with Rick. But Simon already knew that.

"How do you know it's past tense?" she asked, miserably.

"Firstly, if it was present tense, you'd be just a little pissed off about last night and how they're acting today. Secondly, Rosemary tells me you're going out with a bloke called Jeff. Are you?"

When had Rosemary said that? Last night, presumably. But why?

Well, so that Simon didn't get the wrong idea, presumably. She could hear the conversation now:

Simon: Is Belinda going out with anyone, perchance?
Rosemary: Fraid so. A bloke called Jeff.

But-

"Um, I guess so," she said. "But-"

"But you still fancy Rick and want me to beat up the bitch with her own tennis racquet," Simon interpreted. "Consider it done."

"NO," Belinda said, perhaps too emphatically. Because, much as she hated to admit it, she'd like Simon to do exactly that. But it wouldn't do any good, Rick would still be a total and utter jerk. "I just want to know what her name is, and if she's any good at tennis."

"You're worried about meeting her in the final?" Simon guessed.

How could this bloke be so perceptive? But she supposed he had been paying attention to her. For how long? "I-" she started, then changed her mind. "No, of course not. I'm hardly expecting to get to the final, and-"

"You could," Simon said. "You're good enough."

"No I'm not. Mrs Snyder says-"

"Mrs Snyder criticises everyone. You Are Good. From what I've seen of your playing-"

"Yes, but you haven't seen everyone else's," she insisted.

"Belinda, I overheard the umpire talking to someone after your game today. They were saying they hadn't seen any tennis like yours in ages, said you could win Wimbledon, probably this year-"

Belinda suddenly grabbed his hands. "What did you say?" The voice, that was what the voice had said!

"You see, you are good! Everyone thinks so!"

"Who said that? The umpire or the other guy? What did the other guy look like?"

"I can't remember and I don't know. He had his back to me. Pretty tall, I guess, average build, dark-haired... sorry."

It could be anyone. Besides, it was a chance remark. A very complimentary remark, yes, one that thrilled her, but it wasn't necessarily made by the same person who had spoken to her that night.

"Never mind," she said, letting go of his hands.

"Anyway," he said, "as far as the girl's concerned, I'll have the knowledge by the end of the day."

"Thanks," Belinda said. And she really meant it, but momentarily Rick was out of mind, only her opportunities in this tournament. If she won, would she get to go Wimbledon, get a chance of going anyway?

Nah. She was getting ahead of herself. She'd only got through the first round so far. She couldn't get too excited yet.

The two of them drifted back to the rest of the onlookers, and glanced at the match for the first time. Donald had won the first two games.


He went on to win 6-1, 6-2, 6-1. He was good, no question about it. But Belinda spent a lot of the afternoon paying no attention to the match, focussed on the conversation she was having with Simon about anything and everything. When they returned to the youth hostel after the match, they linked hands. She couldn't be sure whether it was her decision or his, but it felt natural.

Belinda went back to her room before the evening meal, to phone her parents and Jeff. Rosemary didn't join her - she was still congratulating Donald - but Fay was there, brushing her hair.

"Did Donald win?" Fay asked.

"Yup, straight sets. 6-1, 6-2, 6-1. What about Edward?"

"He lost. 3-6, 7-5, 2-6, 4-6. But never mind."

Never mind? It wasn't the end of the world or anything, but surely... ah. Belinda understood. With Edward out of the tournament, Fay would get to spend more time with him.

Fay wouldn't intentionally lose her match tomorrow with this in mind, would she? Boys weren't worth it, not when there was so much at stake. But would Belinda do the same if the boy was Rick? Jeff, rather? Or Simon?

Simon? Since when did he come into the same category as her boyfriend and her ex?

No she wouldn't. No matter who the boy in question was. Because this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, boys would always be around.

But Edward and Fay wouldn't always be able to spend time together.

Anyway. Belinda needed to Fay to stay in the tournament, to put up some opposition to Miss Blonde. Wouldn't it be cool if Belinda and Fay ended up meeting in the final? Cool, but unlikely. What were the chances of two girls who had been best friends since the age of four being winner and runner up in a nationwide competition?

Before Belinda could contemplate the situation any further, Fay spoke to her. "I saw you and Simon," she said. "And I know what you're trying to do. Get on Rick's nerves." Belinda opened her mouth protest, but Fay continued. "And don't pretend you haven't seen him here with that girl. Well, it's not going to work. He'll just find it funny. Because his ego is the size of a planet. No one is as good-looking or talented as he is, and he'll be like, 'Aw, Belinda's got an ickle boyfriend! Isn't that sweet?'"

Belinda could hardly believe her ears. The main problem was that Fay could well be speaking the truth, but Belinda wasn't ready to admit to it yet, if that was the case. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I like Simon, but-"

"Yes, that's the other thing. You seem to be forgetting about a certain Jeff."

"He's just a friend," Belinda protested.

"Who, Simon or Jeff?"

Why was Fay being like this? Wasn't she supposed to be in a good non-interventionist mood? "Simon, of course," she said. "Look, what are you saying?"

But she wasn't sure. She liked Simon, he was funny and nice, and good looking. All right, she was attracted to him. But there was no way she would ever get into a relationship with him. It would be too messy - she hardly knew him, for one thing, and they lived miles apart - and she had Jeff.

But she had hardly thought about Jeff at all today.

"I'm not saying anything," Fay said. "All right, I am. Simon likes you, but you're obviously not over Rick and you're going out with Jeff. Just don't drag him into this, ok?"

"I won't," Belinda said, thinking it might already be too late.

She picked up the mobile phone and dialled Jeff's number.

"I won," she told him. "6-2, 6-2."

"That's brilliant," he said, simply. "Well done."

"And Donald - this guy on my team - won 6-1, 6-2, 6-1."

"Great. Did Fay and - whoever the other guy is - play today?"

"Simon," she said, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. "No, they're playing tomorrow."

They talked a little more - Belinda explained the structure of the tournament. But the things she wanted to tell someone - about Rick and about Simon - there was no way she could say to him, and so the conversation was cut short.

"By the way," he said, "there still hasn't been any sign of Mr Winter, if you're wondering. Which is strange, he's usually round all the time."

Interesting, but it didn't necessarily mean he'd been here.

"Right," Belinda said, still not willing to tell anyone about the possible sighting yesterday. "Well, I'd better go, phone my folks and stuff."

"Ok," Jeff said, a little regretfully. "Love you."

"I love you too," Belinda echoed, and pressed the button to end the call.

But did she really love him? She was pretty sure he loved her, but was it a two-way thing? There was nothing wrong with him - surely he came fairly close to being her ideal boyfriend? But... there was something missing. She had no idea what, but it wasn't...

Wasn't the same as what she'd felt for Rick? Had she loved him? She didn't want to admit it now, not with him acting like this, but she had been young and foolish then, so...

She glanced down at the phone in her hands, and called her parents, vowing to stop thinking so much about everything.


At dinner time, Simon sat down beside her and said, "The information is yours."

"That was quick," she remarked.

"Yup. The name's Kim Kershaw, she's sixteen and hails from Exeter. And - bad news - she's very interested in Rick and... even worse news, she's really amazingly spiffingly good at tennis."

Belinda had thought as much.

"But I'm sure she's not as good as you," Simon assured her quickly.

He didn't know that, though.


Chapter Seven

The entire group spend Sunday evening in a large auditorium watching tennis-related videos. Belinda was bored senseless. Watching tennis ok, but she'd been doing that all afternoon - and it was more interesting to watch friends and people her own age play tennis than anyone. Besides, most of the videos didn't even show tennis matches, just posh people sipping champagne and talking to each other about how wonderful British tennis was. Belinda spent the first half of it staring at the backs of Rick and Kim's heads, who were sitting a few rows in front of her, wondering if they were holding hands and wishing she could just concentrate on the mindless video. She spent the second half playing charades silently with Simon and Rosemary, on either side of her, to the annoyance of everyone surrounding them.

The following morning, their group watched Fay playing. At the end of the first set, which Fay had won 6-3, Belinda pulled Simon aside.

"I know this sounds really terrible... but I want to watch Kim play a few games."

"To see how good she is?" Simon asked.

"Yes, it'll be the only opportunity I get to see her play, since I'll be playing at the same time as her from tomorrow onwards. I mean, I know this is my only chance to cheer Fay on too, but-"

"Fay's thrashing her opponent, though," Simon assured her. "She won't mind if you disappear for a couple of games."

"Ok," Belinda said, relieved. "The only thing is, it'll be a bit uncomfortable, because Rick'll be watching too, and-"

"You want me to go with you?" Simon guessed. "No trouble."

"Oh, I'm pathetic, aren't I?"

"No." And with that, Simon took her hand and tugged her gently in the direction of Kim's court. She didn't agree with him, but she was glad. Glad he was here and that he understood her. Oh, she didn't deserve this. She was using him, getting him tangled up in schemes that even she wasn't sure of her motivations for.

Naturally, Rick was watching the game, standing slightly detached from the other spectators, but he didn't see them arrive. His attention was completely focussed on Kim.

As was that of everyone else. Her opponent stood no chance; Kim was winning 6-0, 1-0. She was good, depressingly good, sickeningly good. Belinda tried to find fault in her playing, but without success, and in spite of her jealousy, found herself transfixed by the game. When Simon dragged her away when the score became 4-0, she didn't want to leave.

When they got back, Fay was losing the second set, 1-3.


Fay won the match, though. 6-3, 1-6, 6-2. (The drastic loss in the second set was down to Mrs Snyder's "if it's going, let it go" advice. Fay, on realising that she had little chance of recovering the second set, conserved her energies for the third when the slate would be clean again. This risk paid off; her opponent was knackered by that stage.)

Belinda was about to go and congratulate her friend, when she realised that someone else had got there first. Rick, with Kim in tow. "Well done!" Belinda overheard him saying, as he shook her hand. "I never expected to see you here, but you're good."

Belinda wanted to slap him. Did he always have to be so condescending? But Fay seemed grateful. Of course, Fay would be. She was still that admiring twelve year old-

Belinda: So what do you think of Rick then?
Fay: He's a GOD!

-who thought Rick was wonderful in every way. Belinda wanted to gag.

That afternoon, Belinda watched Simon playing. He won, but after a completely erratic game. At moments, he was stunning; other times, almost amateurish. She wondered if he was trying to conserve energy too. The final score was 3-6, 7-6, 6-1, 0-6, 8-6.

But Belinda couldn't focus fully on the game, because Rick and Kim were both watching this one, the entirety of it, only metres away from her. Their arms were wrapped around each other's waists the whole time, and Belinda spent far too much time wondering if Rick was actually interested in the girl or just trying to get on Belinda's nerves. Of course he was interested in her - who wouldn't be? - but Belinda got the feeling that she had something to do with the situation. She also wondered if they were genuinely interested in the game, or trying to annoy her by their presence.

To add insult to injury, they managed to congratulate Simon before she could, then walk away before she and Simon could put on any sort of act.

Perhaps it's better that they weren't here to see, Belinda reflected. I shouldn't be doing this to Simon, I shouldn't be reducing myself to their level, and Fay's right: Rick would only laugh if I appeared interested in Simon.

She really really needed to get over him. She hated him - every time she thought of him, she only recalled what an arrogant prat he was. She never remembered the good times they'd had together, multiple as they were. At least, when she did, she regarded them all in a cynical light.

But... she still cared. Cared enough to put up some pathetic attempt to hurt him, and cared because he was succeeding in doing the same to her.


That evening, they were given the option of going to the cinema in Birmingham. Those involved in games the following day were advised to practise instead, but since there wasn't a lot of daylight left, Belinda didn't want to be hanging around this place for the bulk of the evening while most other people enjoyed themselves. Simon had the same idea; Rosemary and AJ didn't have much reason to practice; but Donald and Fay remained behind. Fay's real reason, no doubt, would be to spend more time with Edward under unsupervised conditions. Belinda wondered for more than a few moments if the two of them would end up having sex in the room Fay shared with Belinda and Rosemary. It was a shocking thought: Fay had always said that she would never sleep with anyone until she’d been involved with them for at least six months, but she really wasn't acting like herself right now.

As she left the building, Belinda thought guiltily that she should really get on with some homework instead, but if the film wasn't too long she could maybe get an hour done before going to bed.

They all travelled into the centre of Birmingham in minibuses, her contingent sharing one with most of the Oxford lot. On arriving in a car park, Rosemary said, "Don't you just want to get out of here and go clubbing?" and Belinda did. She had only been to a nightclub once in her life and hadn't really liked it, but she was in the mood for getting away and having fun.

"Shall we?" AJ suggested.

It was tempting, but they decided against it. No specific rules had been laid down concerning how they spent their time, but getting horribly drunk wasn't the best of ideas, bearing in mind the matches they had to play the following day. Besides, they didn't want to get stranded in the middle of the city with hardly any money on them.

So they went to the cinema and saw a film with a refreshing lack of racquets, nets and balls in it. However, when the male lead said "I love you" to the female lead, Belinda couldn't help thinking, "Fifteen-love".

It also occurred to her that she hadn't phoned Jeff today yet.


She didn't get round to phoning anyone or doing any homework when she got back, because she, Rosemary, Simon and Donald found themselves playing a rather silly game of Scrabble. Whose idea it was, and where the Scrabble set had come from, Belinda had no idea, but they'd all instantly agreed and it had been more fun than any of them had anticipated. After attempting to make words such as "Rimb" and "Yaged", Simon refused to let Belinda have the word "Net" so she threw all her plastic tiles at him. An enormous tile fight ensued, graduating to pillows, resulting in some adult coming into the room and asking if there was a problem. They all went to bed tired but happy.

During the game, Belinda only thought about Rick six times. She was getting better.


"What a manky day," Fay observed at breakfast the next morning. She didn't seem unduly bothered though; not with Edward sitting right next to her.

"I like the rain," Belinda said. At any rate, it wasn't raining too badly, only drizzling.

"Are you mad?" Simon asked. "Have you turned into someone in a Garbage song?"

"No, but I bet she's played tennis in all weather and most other people haven't, right Belinda?" Rosemary said, with a smile.

"Absolutely," Belinda agreed.

And she had a reason to feel confident about today's match. On Sunday, Mrs Snyder had done a little spying on her opponent, yet another girl with an alliterative name, Sarah Stewart from Strathclyde. "She's ok," Mrs Snyder had said, but that basically meant she sucked. Mrs Snyder never complimented people, but she never insulted them completely either. "Her serve's not that strong, and she won't go near the net. And she complains a lot."

The coach was certainly right about the last part. Belinda had reasoned that if her opponent was from Scotland, she would be fairly familiar with playing in rain, but it was if she had never seen the stuff before.

"What kindae weather dae yis call this?" she yelled, shaking a fist at the grey sky before the match even began.

But the rain didn't ease off at all, and Belinda could tell that all Sarah wanted to do was get into the warmth of the changing room as quickly as possible. She touched every soaking tennis ball with disgust and seemed to spend most of the match trying to avoid standing in puddles. Belinda won easily, 6-1, 6-0. Sarah wasn't disappointed. "At least ah get tae go home and see ma man again," she said, as they shook hands over the net.

Simon, Donald and Rosemary - the nutters had watched the entire thing - congratulated her then she hurried to the changing room, eager to get out of her water-logged clothes. She had a truly beautiful shower, then started on her way out of the changing room. On her way, she met Fay coming in.

"How did it go?" Belinda asked.

"Won. 6-3, 6-1. We just wanted it over with so we could get inside. What about you?"

"Cool. Won 6-1, 6-0." She was glad Fay wasn't trying to lose; maybe she'd been under-estimating her friend.

"Well done. Well, I think I'm going out tomorrow. Chances are, I'll be playing this girl who's apparently stunning."

"What's her name?" Belinda asked, suddenly having a bad feeling about this.

"Kim someone."

"Kershaw," Belinda provided. "Yeah, I've heard about her. Poor you. But I'm sure you can beat her." But she wasn't sure of that at all.

"I'm not," Fay said. "Oh well." Oh well indeed: Fay out of the tournament meant she could spend the rest of the week with Edward.

Belinda left the changing room and almost collided with Rick.

For once there was no Kim around, but she still had less than no desire to communicate with him. She thought about scuttling away before he could say anything, but didn't get the chance. "Hi," he said, "how did your match go?"

"I won. 6-1, 6-0."

"Well done." Why did that sound like an insult? "All those times we played out in the rain must have helped."

That was the problem: every time he spoke, he complimented himself. A few months ago, she'd never noticed that. How blind had she been?

"How did Kim do?" she asked, poisonously, although she knew the answer already.

"6-0, 6-0." Kim would have to win more decisively than Belinda, wouldn't she? "She'll play Fay next round."

"I know," Belinda hissed.

"Well, I didn't know you knew. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

The most infuriating thing about that was he was right: how could he have known? But she wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

She really should try to be civil, shouldn't she? They would probably be spending Christmas together or something. There was no real reason for this animosity. They weren't going out anymore, but that didn't automatically make them enemies, right?

But she couldn't think of a single nice, normal remark to make. So she just said, "Well, must be off."

"See you around," Rick said, casually. She had no doubt about that: they'd have another encounter before she knew it. She just wished there was a way of preventing it.

She walked away, wondering why everything had changed so quickly. For so long, they'd had so much to say to each other. They were brother and sister, best friends, boyfriend and girlfriend. They could have talked forever. They could have spent their lives together. Now she couldn't bear to spend a few seconds within twenty metres of him.

When would the wounds ever heal?


Chapter Eight

That afternoon the rain eased off slightly, and she went to watch Simon's match. Donald was playing at the same time, but Belinda justified not watching him by the suspicion that he would make it to the next round while Simon wouldn't.

She was right. Simon got thrashed in three sets; Donald, as it turned out, won in three.

Still, it wasn't a bad match to watch. Simon made faces at her between games, and better still, there was no sign of Rick and Kim.

Until the end, that was. Somehow they managed to materialise and commiserate with Simon and disappear into the bloated clouds before Belinda could get near to him. It was aggravating... but she really had to stop letting them get to her. She was pretty sure that was all they were doing, and the more they realised they were bothering her, the more they'd do it.

"Oh well," was all that Simon said as she walked towards the changing room with him. "He was better than me, so he won. That's all there is to it."

"What are you going to do now?" she asked. He had talked of going home after he was out of the tournament: he had homework to do, like her, and he'd implied that the environment bored him.

"I'll stick around," he said. "Watch you win."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," she said, but she was happy. It wouldn't have been the same without him here. Still, she felt bad for making use of him - as a spy, as a sounding board, as a companion, perhaps. That surely wasn't a bad thing...

If she and Rick were still getting along well, would she rather spend time with him? If they'd never split up in the first place, the answer would have been yes, but now she saw him for what he was, Simon was worth a hundred Ricks any day. What about Jeff, though? If he was here, would she rather be with him or Simon?

She didn't want to answer that question, because the answer was Simon. But that wasn't the point. Simon was here and good company and Jeff wasn't, but once they got back home, Simon would be miles away. It wouldn't be practical to act on her feelings... messy, the whole thing was way too messy.

But she had another five days with Simon, and she'd enjoy them. As long as Rick kept out of her way.


That evening, everyone played volleyball. It was good enough exercise but could take place inside, unaffected by the rain and the dark. Belinda thought about skipping it to do her homework instead: for all her athletic ability on the tennis court and in the swimming pool, she had only played volleyball a couple of times and was appalling at it. She always wanted to let the ball bounce, and the net was too high. But Rosemary convinced her that sitting in her room alone with the laptop while everyone else had a carefree evening was too depressing, so she braved the hall where it was being played. She could always do her homework later.

Luckily, everyone else was utterly hopeless at it too. Even Kim who ended up on the same team as her; if anything she was worse. She couldn't serve if her life depended on it, while Belinda managed to get about 50% over the net at first. Petty as it was, that made her happy. The fact that she didn't see Rick all evening made her happier still. Perhaps her wish was gradually coming true and he was disappearing from her life.

Or perhaps not. When the volleyball session finished at ten and most of the group retired to bed - all the adults here were strong advocates of early nights, and most of the kids were happy to agree, but ten o'clock was TOO early for Belinda - she still felt filled with surplus energy. Volleyball wasn't exactly tiring, and the tennis match that morning hadn't exhausted her in the slightest. So she decided to go for a jog around the youth hostel before getting started on her schoolwork. She slipped away from her friends, and left the building. The sky was black and it was spitting slightly, but that didn't bother her.

She jogged around the building once and decided to do it again. As she came to the car park at the front, a car's headlights flashed into view. She caught her breath.

She stopped for a moment to examine the vehicle more closely, wondering if she had mistaken the car's identity. No, it was Rick's car all right.

There was nothing wrong with that. She'd already noticed it here; her only reaction had been to fight a minor urge to damage it with her tennis racquet. (She resisted, fearing for the racquet's welfare.)

And she didn't any reason why Rick couldn't go out at night. He wasn't here to play tennis, there weren't any rules, and he was nineteen, old enough to drink, if not to drive at the same time.

But sitting in the passenger seat was a girl. A girl that wasn't Kim. Kim had been playing volleyball and although Belinda only got a glimpse of her, she didn't have Kim's face.

Well! Belinda thought, as she set off again, hopefully unseen by the couple in the car. This was an interesting development! Perhaps it wasn't a good development - it hurt her to see Rick with some girl, no matter who the girl was. Did she really mean so little to him that he felt no remorse in relentlessly dating random girls right before her eyes? But it was definitely interesting. Had Rick dumped Kim or did Kim have no idea about this? Who was this girl - had Rick decided she had a better chance of getting to the final than Kim did, and was therefore thought he could harm Belinda more by hanging around with her instead? Had Kim realised Rick was using her and told him where to go? (Possibly using her, Belinda told herself. She didn't know that for a fact.)

A lot of unanswered questions, and Belinda had no one to discuss them with. Not Fay: as a twelve year old, Fay had been fascinated by Belinda's love life in the absence of her own, and as a seventeen year old too, but now Fay had Edward. Not Rosemary either: it was all too pathetic. Any friends back at home she could phone? No, she didn't really have any, besides Jeff and there was no way she could talk to him. (Oops, she really had to phone him tonight.) Her parents, then? (She had to phone them too.) No, they had too skewed a view of Rick, they thought of him as a son. Besides, they weren't actually aware of the fact that Belinda and Rick were history yet. They had met Jeff, but to the best of their knowledge, he and Belinda were just friends. It was too difficult talking about ones love life to ones parents.

Who else? Helen? For a moment, she seemed like the ideal person. Her twenty-seven year old sister always had tons of advice - and rightly so, she was a psychologist. Although she had very little personal experience in the boyfriend department - she and Ray had been best friends for years, eventually got together at the age of eighteen and married a couple of years later with no problems - she had been the only person Belinda confided in when she and Rick split up.

Then Belinda remembered that she hadn't been able to vent her anger properly to Helen because Rick was her brother-in-law. It would be the same again now.

Simon?

No, she had already burdened Simon enough. But if Rick and this other girl became a public couple, Simon would ponder about it anyway. Besides, she had no expectations of him managing to single-handedly get her out of this mess - she just wanted to mention her discovery.

So she completed her lap around the building and went inside again, wondering where he was.

After a brief fruitless search of the communal rooms she realised he'd be in his room. Possibly sleeping or about to go to bed; either way, there was a good chance of Donald and AJ being there too, and it would look strange to turn up on her own without Rosemary or Fay.

Never mind. It could wait until tomorrow.

So she went into her room, and made brief telephone calls to her parents and Jeff, apologising for her lack of word yesterday.

"There's still no sign of Mr Winter," Jeff reported. "Mum has no idea where he's gone either; she's tried phoning him, but all she gets is his answering machine at home, and his mobile is never turned on. She's even called some of his friends, but they don't know either. They say he comes and goes; well, I suppose you can do that when you're a millionaire of no fixed employment."

"What exactly does he do for a living anyway?" she asked. "I mean, I know I lived with him for years, but whenever I asked what job he did, he gave some explanation that my childish brain couldn't understand. So when everyone at school asked me what my parents did, I just told them my real Dad's job. Anyway, I could've asked him or Mum since then, but it seemed a bit silly, you know, to have gone for so long without finding out? So, can you enlighten me?"

"Not really, I'm afraid," Jeff said. "Just does deals and manages his portfolio, as far as I've gathered. If that. He doesn't exactly need to work now, does he?"

"I guess not," Belinda said, wondering exactly how rich he was. He was responsible for having her house built, and she was under the belief that he still owned it and her parents were buying it gradually. He had a mansion of his own in another part of town, too.

"Why did you ask about him a couple of days ago anyway?" Jeff asked.

"Oh, no particular reason," she said. Then she changed her mind: if Jeff and his mother really were wondering where he'd gone, she should let him know he was alive and well. Probably. "I just thought I saw him here a few days ago, but I'm pretty sure I was mistaken."

"Strange," Jeff said. "What would he be doing at some tennis tournament in Birmingham?"

They ended the conversation shortly after that, and Belinda glanced at her watch. It was 10.29 - Rosemary was lying in bed, reading, with no intention of going to sleep anytime soon, and Fay wasn't in the room, presumably with Edward. Belinda had half an hour to do some schoolwork... it wasn't a lot of time, but she could make a start at any rate.

Reluctantly, she turned on the laptop and loaded the English essay she'd started work on so long ago. The day Fay came round to her house and they played tennis - it wasn't that long ago - what, two and a half weeks ago? - but it felt like forever. So much had happened... and more to the point, she'd completely forgotten what she had intended to write in this essay. She had the book with her, but she'd left the plan she'd made at home.

Was any of her other work easier? A Religion essay? Yuck, she didn't have the plan for that either. And History - "How successful was Bismarck's policy of Kulturkampf and subsequent anti-Socialist measures?" That seemed slightly less daunting - at least she had her notes with her for that and she knew how to structure it. But before she knew it, the half hour was gone and she hadn't written a word. She couldn't think how to start it, because there were so many other things on her mind.

She turned off the computer and got ready for bed. Fay wasn't back yet, but Rosemary agreed to switch off the light so the two of them could try and sleep. Belinda couldn't sleep, so she tried to talk to Rosemary, but her roommate had fallen asleep almost instantly. Lucky her, Belinda thought, nothing troubling her at all.

At half past midnight Fay returned, happy and giggling.

"You know what?" she said. "I think I'm in love."

Belinda pretended to be asleep, wondering what she'd done wrong, how she'd offended God or whoever was up there. Why couldn't her life be simple, like that of her friends?


Chapter Nine

"Interesting," Simon declared the following morning when Belinda told him about the girl from last night, over the table at breakfast. "Did you get a look at her?"

"Not really," Belinda said, taking a swig of orange juice. "I didn't want her to see me, and I was too surprised by the fact that it wasn't Kim to really pay much attention. I guess she was our age - which doesn't exactly rule anyone out, does it?"

"Well, at least you know it's not a coach or someone's mother," Simon said. "So we're down to... let's see, what's sixty four times three?"

"I can't do Maths to save my life," Belinda protested.

"A hundred and ninety two," Donald provided.

Belinda and Simon exchanged a worried look: was Donald listening in on their conversation? But they quickly, silently, reasoned that it didn't matter if he was. He probably wouldn't have a clue what they were talking about, and even if he did, what did it matter?

"Right," Simon said. "Well, it wasn't you. Or Fay or Rosemary, I presume. And it wasn't Kim. Or that girl who looks about eleven."

"Who's that?" Belinda asked.

"Dunno, but I've seen her around, and I'm pretty sure she's actually playing here, not just someone's little sister or a ball girl. Anyway, that takes us down to a hundred and eighty seven. And a few people will have gone home, so let's say that's a hundred and eighty. And presumably we can eliminate everyone we noticed playing volleyball."

"It's no good," Belinda told him. "There's just too many people here, we'd never work it out. Besides, what would be the point? Rick was with her, end of story."

"But aren't you wondering what Rick wanted with her?"

"Probably a shag," she said dismissively. "Kim was saying no or something." Belinda didn't quite believe that was the only reason, but it was possible. Why would he be going out of his way to get on her nerves? Because he was trying to make her realise she still cared, and take him back? Who was she kidding? Was her ego getting as big as his? He had probably forgotten what her surname was. She was living in a fantasy.

Was that her fantasy? That Rick still loved her? How stupid was that - she hated his guts! Yes, he was hurting her feelings, but that didn't mean she'd ever want to go out with him again.

She stood up, abruptly. Not because she wanted to get away from Simon, but because she wanted to get away from her own thoughts. "I'd better go and get ready for the match," she said, and walked away before anyone could say another word.


It was raining again. Not quite as hard as yesterday, but still to the extent that she'd be soaked to the bone by the end of this match. That suited her fine.

Her opponent - Felicity Frank, thankfully-not-from-some-county-beginning-with-F-probably-because-there-wasn't-one-but-from-Norfolk - had, according to Mrs Snyder, no weaknesses. "However," the coach had continued, "she doesn't have any strengths either." So Belinda didn't feel too afraid.

In addition to the favourable weather and this information, Felicity looked like she hadn't had a second of sleep. Her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with black. She yawned between her practice serves, and as she waited for Belinda to make her first serve, she shivered visibly.

Belinda, who hadn't had much sleep either, felt sorry for her. Presumably she'd spent all night worrying about today's match - unless she had an evil ex-boyfriend behaving strangely, a horrendous crush on a bloke she couldn't go out with, way too much schoolwork and a missing ex-stepfather as well. Someone here had to have some problems.

But Belinda didn't feel sympathetic enough to go easy on the girl. She won the first three games.

Then she noticed that Fay was watching.

"Fay!" she exclaimed, during the end-change. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be playing? Surely Kim can't have slaughtered you that quickly?"

"No," Fay said. "Indeed, I'm meant to be playing, but the rain's supposed to ease off in the afternoon, so they're postponing it till then. There's enough officials and ball people to have girls' and boys' matches at the same time."

"Why didn't they ask me if I wanted this postponed?" Belinda asked.

"Probably because they know you're mad and like playing in the rain," Fay grinned. "Nah, I guess you just started before us when it wasn't so heavy."

Well, it was a good situation anyway. It meant she'd be able to watch Fay and Kim playing this afternoon, although she wasn't too hopeful about the result. It also meant she got more supporters: all her team, plus Edward of course... and Rick and Kim.

So it was Rick and Kim again. Belinda wondered if she'd have an opportunity to tell Kim about last night. But no, where was the point? She felt sorry for Kim, falling for evil Rick, but it was really none of her business. Who cared about them? She had a tennis match to play!

And she enjoyed the game a lot. In fact, she couldn't remember having more fun on the tennis court. She ran rings around Felicity, in the same way she did with Tim at home, but it was much more satisfying, because Felicity didn't know what was going on. She was getting more and more flustered: she was probably used to winning, and suddenly she was being beaten into the ground. Belinda felt sorry for the girl every time she failed to return the ball into the court, but that didn't stop her. She was having too much fun. She won, 6-0, 6-0.

"Killer hangover," Felicity explained as they shook hands over the net. "I'm usually a bit better than that."

So that accounted for her appearance... but how on earth had she got a hangover by playing volleyball?

"Sorry," Belinda said.

"Nothing to be sorry for. My fault entirely."

Oddly, the first person to congratulate Belinda was Rick. "Nice one," he said, then disappeared into the swarm of oncoming fans.

That was weird. Had he just congratulated her without congratulating himself? Maybe he was being sarcastic, but she had done well, he couldn't deny that. Had she done something else that she didn't know about?

She relayed this to Simon. He was baffled by it too. "I really don't get him," he said, "in the few times he's spoken to me here, he's seemed perfectly ok. But he spends ages treating you like scum and then acts somewhat normal. I don't know what he's trying to achieve."

"I don't care," Belinda declared. "He doesn't matter to me any more. I've got plenty of other things to think about."

Simon didn't press the issue, but she got the feeling he didn't believe her. She didn't believe her either, and the fact that she spent nearly all of lunchtime wondering what Rick was up to confirmed this suspicion.


The weather forecast had been right: it was only spitting by the afternoon. Belinda, Simon and Edward went to watch Fay playing; Rosemary and AJ offered to support Donald. (Belinda hoped he'd get through to the fourth round so she could watch him tomorrow.)

Rick was there, naturally, cheering for Kim as if he would never be able to speak again after this match. The match hadn't even begun yet; Belinda winced. It seemed pathetic, somehow.

The outcome was obvious from the beginning; it had been obvious since Belinda had heard who Fay's opponent would be. Fay put up a strong fight, but she wasn't really on form (staying up late last night probably hadn't helped), and Kim won 6-3, 6-2. The girl was good, there was no denying it.

Fay left the court first, and once again, Rick managed to say the first word. Belinda couldn't hear it, with the noise of the rest of the crowd shuffling, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Why is he being so friendly to all our team?" Belinda asked Simon.

"Well, he was once part of it," Simon reasoned. "He knows us all. And he said well done to you, just like the rest of us."

Was that really the case? That there was absolutely nothing going on at all? That Rick was congratulating her team mates because he knew them, and that he was spending time with Kim because he had every right to? Did she have any evidence to suggest otherwise?

"You're probably right," she agreed. She really had to stop thinking about Rick, he just wasn't worth it.

She watched the spectators gathering around the two tired players, and Belinda and Simon joined the throng. Then a thought struck her - where had Rick gone? Shouldn't he be going crazy over Kim's victory? He had been encouraging her for the entire course of the match - where was he now?

And then she caught a glimpse of a figure, jogging away from the court. She was fairly sure it was him. What was going on?

Oh, I don't care, she thought. What Rick did was none of her business. But still, she wondered.


Chapter 10

Fay did not seem terribly upset about being out of the tournament. She was intending to stick around, but Belinda doubted that she'd spend much of the days that remained watching tennis matches. Belinda wished she could get Fay to do her homework for her, but her friend had better things to do.

Perhaps Belinda would just have to start doing homework in the afternoons instead of watching tennis. Her plan to use the evenings wasn't exactly working. But she'd get at least one essay written tonight. The official arrangement was that some retired professional tennis player that no one had ever heard of was going to talk to them about life as a pro. Normally Belinda would have been interested, except the bloke had retired in 1971, so she thought his words might be a little irrelevant.

At the dinner table, Mrs Snyder gave her the scoop on tomorrow's opponent, Chantal Chambers from the West Midlands. "Chantal Chambers Is Young," was Mrs Snyder's first comment. "Very young. Would you like to hazard a guess as to how young?"

Belinda remembered Simon's mention of a girl who looked about eleven. "Eleven?"

"Close enough; twelve. But she's good: in a few years time, she could be world-class. This is your cue to sigh in jealousy."

Belinda sighed in jealousy. She was jealous - why couldn't she have started playing for the county when she was that young? Because she'd never had proper training as a kid, hadn't really been given proper instruction as an adolescent, and was only here now because of some chance remark of Fay's. Did she get to blame Rick again, for not letting her recognise her own abilities? Or her parents, for never seeing her as anything more than a crazy kid hitting a ball against a wall? Now she looked back on it, it had been Steve that gave her the most encouragement. "You know, you might be really good one day," she remembered him telling her, and that had filled her with pride. But he'd never considered honing this talent either.

"She's got a lot of energy too, so don't even think about tiring her out," Mrs Snyder continued. "Her only real flaw is that she has the temper of John MacEnroe. Also, be warned, she's a brat. Being local and everything, her parents are watching every match, and she'll start whining, 'Daddy have this umpire fired' if she doesn't agree with one of his calls."

"So what do you advise?" Belinda asked.

"Get on her nerves with sneaky shots."

After the meal, Belinda called her parents then Jeff. She had intended to keep them brief so she could get on with her studies, but just before she could tell Jeff she had to go, he said, ominously, "We need to talk."

"Do we?" Belinda replied, trying to keep her tone light when in fact waves of panic were forming inside. She knew that her relationship with him wasn't healthy - a few brief words to him every day, and very few thoughts of him. "What about?"

"About us. We never seem to have anything to say to each other."

"Well, no," Belinda said, "but what is there to say? You're not at school and presumably not doing much-"

"I've got stuff to tell you, though, if you'd give me a chance," he interrupted.

"Really? What?"

"I don't suppose it matters."

"It does matter, but anyway. All I've been doing is playing tennis and I tell you the results. Of course, I could go through every detail of every match, but I'm sure that wouldn't interest you."

"You're right," he said. "It wouldn't interest me."

"Well, there you go."

"If we've got different interests, then why are we bothering?"

Belinda was shocked. She'd never heard Jeff speak to her like this before. He'd never voiced any doubts about their relationship. "Look, it's just for this week. When we're back together again, back at school, it'll go back to normal. If truth be told, I'm as sick of tennis as you are; in fact, I think I was sick of it from the first day I got here."

"So what else have you been doing? In the evening or whatever?"

"Not a lot. On Saturday they had this party; on Sunday we watched some thoroughly boring videos, on Monday we went to the cinema, last night we played volleyball and tonight there's this talk by some retired professional tennis player, but I can't be bothered: I'm going to catch up with my homework instead."

"You've met someone, haven't you?" Jeff asked.

"I've met lots of people," Belinda pointed out.

"You know what I mean."

"I haven't," Belinda insisted. "Like I said, it's just the distance and us doing different things; it'll be all back to normal when I come home."

Would it be? Would she forget about Rick - and Simon - that quickly when they were out of sight? And they wouldn't remain out of sight - she'd still see Simon at tennis club, and Rick was bound to re-materialise sooner or later.

She should tell Jeff about them, she knew. But any mention of Rick would just make him paranoid, so there was no need. As for Simon - well, what was there to tell about Simon? They were just friends, and she was supposed to make friends here. But again, Jeff would get the wrong idea.

"I certainly hope so," he mumbled.

"Look, I've got to go," Belinda said. "I'm getting really stressed about this homework - I've got three essays to do in four days, and might have up to four tennis matches."

"You can't even spare me a few more minutes," Jeff observed.

"I can... what do you want to talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know. Go, then."

"Look, Jeff, I'm sorry. I miss you. I want to come home."

"No you don't."

And he was right, she didn't. Not in a sense. Certain aspects of this place weren't necessarily pleasant. For a start, the showers in the youth hostel were dodgy sometimes, and the food was really not filling. And then there were too many people obsessed with tennis... and Rick and Kim. But at least it was interesting here. New experiences. What if she won this thing? She'd be a star one day and a schoolgirl again the next: the prospect of settling into a routine again, an uphill slog to the exams held no appeal at all.

And there'd be no Rosemary. And no Simon.

She realised that Jeff had hung up, and a stab of unhappiness hit her. Didn't she want to be with him again?

She wanted it all, that was her problem. She didn't want tennis to take over her life, yet she wanted to win this thing and get to Wimbledon. She wanted 'A's in her A Levels, and to go to a good university, but she couldn't be bothered to work. She wanted Jeff for his security, and Simon for his charm, and Rick... she didn't want Rick back, she didn't, but she wanted him to stop hurting her. And yet she found a sick fascination in seeing him with other girls.

"Trouble in paradise?" Rosemary enquired, startling her. Belinda hadn't noticed her coming into the room.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you finished a call to Jeff without 'I love you too'. If you don't mind me pointing it out."

"Yes, you could call it trouble," Belinda said. "But if my life's paradise, I'd hate to be in hell."

"Your life isn't bad," Rosemary argued. "You've got a nice house and nice parents and nice friends and a nice bloke and another bloke who's crazy about you and you're great at tennis..."

If only she knew, Belinda thought. Everything may seem great, but I still can't handle it.

And then she thought, God, I'm so ungrateful! There are people starving out there, and the only person I feel sorry for is myself. Tears of self-loathing pricked at her eyes.

She was about to share this thought with Rosemary, but didn't get the chance. "So are you going to listen to this talk?" Rosemary asked.

"Nah," Belinda said. "I can't be bothered. Besides, I've got homework to do."

"You've always got homework to do," Rosemary pointed out.

"Yes, because I never manage to get it done." Belinda felt dangerously close to crying.

"Ok. Well, I'll leave you in peace." And with that, Rosemary left the room. Part of Belinda wanted her to hesitate and ask what was wrong; part of her was glad to be alone.

You are NOT going to cry, she told herself sternly. You are going to pick up the laptop and write your history essay and forget about everything else-

She knew there was no way she'd be able to in a state like this.

Tennis, she suggested to herself. It's still light outside, I can whack a ball against a wall and pretend that it's every rotten thing in my life. It might make me feel better.

That seemed like a more realistic plan, so she grabbed her racquet and some balls and hurried downstairs, hoping no one she knew would see her. She managed it, and spent the next half hour alone, hitting the ball, trying to block out all her thoughts. She practised aiming for different parts of a wall, moving closer to it and further away, making it difficult for herself to keep returning it. Sneaky shots, she told herself. Those are the only things I need to concentrate on.

She became exhausted and the light had started to fade and raindrops were falling once again. Still feeling a little shaky, she headed back to the entrance of the building.

And in the car park, she noticed Rick's car manouevring. She couldn't help but watch as it pulled onto the drive then round a corner out of sight. She hadn't been able to see the passenger's face, but there had definitely been a passenger. And that passenger wasn't Kim, for the girl - presumably it was a girl - had red hair. It wasn't the same girl as the other night either.

Belinda went inside. Maybe she did want to go home after all. In this place, the moment she started feeling all right, something that was either strange or upsetting or both occurred. She didn't know how much longer she could go on for.


Chapter Eleven

When Belinda walked into her bedroom, she found Fay and Edward writhing on Fay's bed. They were both - thank goodness - fully clothed, but the look of guilt on their faces suggested that they wouldn't have been for much longer. Or was she imagining things?

"Oh, hi Belinda," Fay said. "I thought you'd gone to the talk."

"No, I was just outside playing tennis, but it's getting dark."

"Come on, Fay," Edward said, sitting up, "let's go somewhere else."

"No, it's no problem," Belinda said. "I just came in here to dump my tennis stuff and get my laptop and schoolbooks; I'll go to the lounge."

Fay and Edward protested a bit, but Belinda assured them that they needed the privacy of the bedroom much more than she did (but not in as many words.) Besides, she argued, the change of environment might do help her settle down to her studies.

Actually it did. The lounge was big but empty and anonymous, and in the next couple of hours, Belinda managed to churn out her essay on Bismarck's domestic policy. The style wasn't particularly good - in fact, she was writing like an eight year old - but she got her point across. She didn't think she'd lose any marks for poor style.

Yes, she'd get this work done. She'd write the Religion essay on Sunday afternoon when she was back at home and had her notes; the English essay she'd complete sometime within the next three days; it shouldn't take too long. She had to do some reading for English - for Religion as well, actually, but she could do that in bed. She had some history notes to make, but they weren't so imminent and wouldn't require a superhuman effort: the textbook was quite easy to condense. But she wouldn't do any more homework tonight - what time was it? Ten o'clock, an hour until bed. Hrm, everyone should be coming out of the talk now-

As if on cue, Simon came into the room. "Hi, Belinda, what you doing?"

"I skipped the talk to get some schoolwork done," she said. "I managed to write an essay, at long last. How was the talk?"

"Pretty good," Simon said, "considering the subject. He was a good speaker, pretty funny really."

Belinda glanced at the door, for signs of Rosemary and Donald. Usually, wherever she and Simon went those two wouldn't be too far away. "Where are Rosemary and Donald?" she asked.

Simon grinned. "Amazingly enough, they've both managed to find girlfriends in the course of the last two hours."

"Surely you mean 'boyfriend' in Rosemary's case?"

"Nope."

"So you mean 'girlfriend' as in 'friend who is a girl'?"

"Nup. Rosemary's bi, remember?"

"What?"

Simon cursed under his breath. "You mean she never told you? I thought it was common knowledge. Well, I suppose she wouldn't mention it, you being roommates and all."

"What?" Belinda repeated, unable to absorb all the information.

"Well, you know how some people are about things like that, they'd get all paranoid and stuff. I'm not saying that you would, but you never know. Some of the nicest people in the world get scared senseless when they discover one of their friends is gay or bi."

"Wow," Belinda said, in no position to say anything more intelligent. "Um, what happened?"

"It was cool," Simon said. "There was this girl there asking the guy all these questions, and you could tell most people around her were getting annoyed. Just because they get annoyed at everything that doesn't seem formal and polite, you know? Anyway, you could tell the girl didn't really give a monkey's, and afterwards Rosemary went over to talk to her. About three sentences into the conversation, the girl said, 'Are you a dyke?' and Rosemary said, 'No, but I'm bi' and the girl said, 'Will you go out with me?' and Rosemary said yes. Loads of people overheard too - I don't know if they were setting out to shock everyone or whether they're serious... but it's cool, isn't it?"

"Yeah, cool." Belinda was struggling to digest all this. "You say Donald found a girlfriend too?"

"Yeah. I don't know if you'd call her that, but she was sitting next to him in the talk, and they had this really long conversation and were still talking when I left. So, you never know."

"You don't," Belinda agreed, wishing she could voice a more intellectual opinion on either of the developments. Had she totally lost her skill with words?

"So, we're not doing too badly for ourselves, us lot," Simon said. "Fay's found a boyfriend, Rose and Donald have girlfriends..."

"Well, we're all slags, aren't we?" Belinda said, in a tone so light-hearted it surprised her.

"Absolutely. Everyone else here must be thoroughly disgusted with us." He didn't exactly sound bothered about this terrible reputation attached to his team.

"Pegford Slags. It has a nice ring, doesn't it?"

"It does indeed. Perhaps we can get Mrs Snyder or someone to change the team's name to that officially?"

“Mrs Snyder! I wonder who she’s seeing!”

They bantered for the next hour, losing track of the time and being interrupted by no one. (A lot of people had probably gone to bed.) They talked about nothing and everything; everything, that is, except anything that reminded Belinda of her manifold problems. It was great.

At eleven pm, some official-looking woman appeared at the lounge door. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think you really should be going to bed, you know?" she said.

Belinda looked at her watch. "I guess so," she agreed. A few days ago she might have been annoyed by this instruction, but it only made sense: she had a match tomorrow morning and she was in too good a mood for something like that to get on her nerves. Besides, it wasn't even an instruction, just a suggestion.

So she and Simon headed for the stairs.

At the foot of the stairs, they almost crashed into Rick and the red-headed girl.

"Hi," Rick greeted them in an amicable tone. "How goes it?"

"Helloooooo," said the girl, although Belinda didn't know her and in all probability Simon did either.

Belinda and Simon exchanged a glance, then said "Hi" in unison. Then the four of them walked up the stairs, Rick and the girl in front. There was something surreal about the occurrence: they all climbed in silence, and neither couple was holding hands. Not that Belinda and Simon were a couple.

On the landing, the girls and boys were to go their separate ways. "I'll see you tomorrow, will I?" the girl asked Rick, eagerly.

"Sure thing," he told her. He hesitated for a moment, then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. The girl sort of lunged towards him, but he stepped aside. "See ya."

The girl stared at him for a second, then shrugged and started down the corridor on their left.

"Night folks," Rick said, going right. Belinda and Simon didn't go anywhere, just waited until the other two were out of earshot.

"Is she the girl from the other night?" Simon asked.

"No, that's the weird thing," Belinda said. "I saw them before - I was outside playing tennis around eight and I saw them going out somewhere. I forgot to mention it to you before." Simon really had managed to distract her from her troubles if she'd forgotten to impart that bit of information!

"I really wonder what he's up to," Simon mused. "Do you think we'll ever find out?"

"I'd like to," Belinda admitted, "but I doubt it. He's the only one who seems to know, and I can't see myself asking him in the near future."

"Oh well," Simon said. "Well, I guess I'd better go to bed."

"Yup, and I'll find out if Fay and Edward have finished whatever they were up to in the bedroom before."

"If they haven't, you can come to my room for a bit. Donald and AJ won't mind."

"Nah, if that's the case, I'll kick them out. I need my sleep. Well, see ya."

"Byezebye." They headed in opposite directions. Despite the encounter with Rick a few seconds ago, Belinda felt strangely elated.

Fay and Edward weren't in the room when she got back, but Rosemary and her newfound girlfriend were. Just talking, luckily. Belinda didn't have a problem with lesbians, but she'd never met any, and the thought of seeing two girls kissing or whatever was somewhat unnerving. But they just seemed to be discussing their favourite bands. "Yeah, Republica ROCK!" the girl enthused, somewhere between a squeal and a yell as Belinda opened the door.

"Oh, hi Belinda," Rosemary said. "Belinda, this is Steph. Steph, Belinda."

"Hi," they said together. "I'll leave you to it," Belinda continued. She'd been perfectly prepared to kick Edward out, but telling a stranger where to go seemed a bit rude.

"No - you need your rest. We'll go down to the lounge, it's no problem," Rosemary said. Belinda argued a little, then let them go.

She got ready for bed, and settled down between the sheets, expecting sleep to come quickly on this less troubled night. But too many thoughts were still zooming around inside her head:

Thought #1: That was the good thing about having slags as roommates. She got the room to herself.

Thought #2: She was still jealous of them.

Thought #3: Well, it was her own fault. If she wanted to go out with someone here, Simon would probably be more than happy.

Thought #4: God, she wanted to.

Thought #5: No. Jeff.

Thought #6: Would it be possible to maintain a relationship with Simon? They didn't live that far away - somewhere between twenty and thirty miles - and they could always phone each other.

Thought #7: No. Long distance relationships just didn't work. She knew that.

Thought #8: Was that the first time Rick had seen her and Simon together? They'd been watching the same tennis match on what felt like numerous occasions, but Rick had never paid much attention to her.

Thought #9: Rick hadn't said anything to her during that encounter that was upsetting. That was the second time in a row that had happened. What had changed?

Thought #10: She hadn't even felt upset by seeing Rick and the girl together. Why not? Was she finally getting over him?

Thought #11: No, she wasn't upset because Rick didn't seem particularly interested in the girl. It had been the other way round.

Thought #12: So why had Rick gone out with her in the first place? She had no doubt that it was him who'd asked her out.

Thought #13: Had he acted cold towards the girl because Belinda was nearby? Was he actually trying to NOT hurt Belinda's feelings?

Thought #14: No. Not after all the times he'd gone out of his way to annoy her in the first few days here.

Thought #15: So what was he playing at?


As the days had passed, Belinda had been aware of the increasing number of spectators at her matches. She couldn't quite understand why: yes, people were falling out of the competition and had the opportunity to watch other matches, but why would they watch her? She hadn't really made any new friends here as the days passed... they could be friends of her opponents, though, she supposed, yet they clapped for her.

The main area of increase seemed to be in the number of official-looking people. At first she couldn't interpret that change either. Yes, they were no longer needed at so many matches, but while a lot of kids spent forever sucking up to them, but Belinda avoided them as much as possible. However, yesterday at lunchtime, she'd overheard some official people mention her name. "She's very good," one had said, "one to watch out for."

However, Belinda had not counted on any of her games being watched by over a dozen pre-teen boys. It looked like a Boy Scout outing. At first she wondered if they were unused ball boys, but then she became aware of the real reason for their presence:

"Chaaaaan-ta-al!" one of them yelled as Belinda's opponent walked onto the court.

Aha. So presumably they were friends of the young girl. Belinda remembered that Chantal lived nearby.

Or perhaps they weren't friends. A horrified expression on her face, Chantal rushed over to the edge of the court opposite to where the boys were sitting. "Mummy! Daddy!" she said to a posh-looking couple. They weren't that old, but there was something elderly about them. "Who invited THEM?"

"Who, dear?" her mother asked.

"Those boys! They're in my class at school."

"We certainly didn't, darling," her father replied.

"Make them leave! They'll put me off!"

"I'll have a talk to someone," her father agreed, standing up.

But by the start of the match, the boys hadn't gone, and throughout Chantal's warming up, they had been yelling comments. Not exactly nasty ones - they weren't mocking her tennis playing, only her background. "Jolly good serve, darling!" "Oh, it was out. Poor dear!"

Chantal's parents were getting more and more angry.

"I've a good mind to go over and give them all a good clip round the ear," Mr Chambers said.

"Yes, you do that, darling," his wife agreed.

Chantal was simply getting frustrated. "Would you all just buzz off?" she asked them all, to their amusement. Naturally, they made no move.

Belinda wondered if Chantal would have used more vulgar language had her parents not been around. She felt sorry for the young girl - she had a particularly lucid memory of her own classmates watching her play tennis against Rick at school, when she was twelve. "Woo, get in there Belinda" - "Go on, impress him!" - "You've got to let him win, though, or he won't go out with you."

Belinda wished she could be twelve again. Chantal might be suffering, but really, everything was mindlessly simple then.


Chapter Twelve

In the meantime, she just hoped Chantal didn't have too many temper tantrums. They might help Belinda's chances, but it was embarrassing to everyone present.

Chantal won the toss and chose to serve first. Belinda liked serving first, but not doing so helped her get a better idea of how her opponent played.

Wow! Chantal's first serve was fast! Just because the girl was small and skinny, it didn't mean she wasn't strong. Belinda managed to return the ball, but not particularly well. Chantal dashed up to the net, and pounded it into the far corner of Belinda's court. Belinda didn't have time to react, never mind attempt to return it. Eek! The girl had energy as well!

"Chaaaaan-ta-al!" the boys yelled in unison.

The next serve wasn't quite as fast, and Belinda managed to win the point. Chantal's next serve was out, but the speed on the second attempt took Belinda by surprise, and again Chantal emerged victorious.

The fourth serve was more gentle. Belinda wondered if Chantal's fast serve only worked from the left hand side of the court.

She brought the score to 30-30, but Chantal's next serve was an ace. Wow, Belinda thought again. She was in trouble: she would have to hold on to her service games for dear life.

> Surprisingly, Chantal's sixth serve was fast. Perhaps she simply hadn't obtained any consistency with speed, Belinda reasoned. However, it was also out. "Never mind, darling," one of the boys called out. "You've still got another try."

There was a universal law in the world of tennis, one that everyone knew, even if they had never played the game in their life, only watched. Even those who had never seen a game could have worked it out, knowing the rules. On your first serve, you hit the ball hard, aiming for a corner of the service box: an attempt to hit an ace. If that didn't work, your only aim on your second shot was to get the ball into the box. The last thing you wanted was a double fault, so you hit it more carefully.

But either Chantal wasn't aware of this, or she wanted to show the boys that she could do a jolly good serve. Because the second ball moved like lightning, straight past Belinda's out-stretched racquet.

"Out!" the umpire yelled.

Chantal threw down her racquet, John MacEnroe style. "It jolly well was not out!" The boys oooohed.

Some official person spoke up. "It was out. Besides, the umpire's decision is-"

"Ask HER!" Chantal cried, pointing at Belinda.

"I didn't see," Belinda protested.

"The score is deuce," the umpire said, firmly.

"Daddy!" Chantal wailed. "Tell him I won the game!"

Mr Chambers, Belinda guessed, had already had to put up with this in earlier matches. "I'm afraid I can't, sweetie," he said.

"It's not FAIR!" Chantal yelled, stamping her foot. "That game was MINE."

"Miss Chambers, if you don't pick up your racquet and stop protesting this instant, you will be disqualified from the tournament," the umpire said. He had probably been warned about Chantal's behaviour.

Chantal had no option but to obey his instructions and sulk. She went on to lose the game.

Her behaviour continued throughout the match. The boys would wind her up, and she would disagree with the umpire's decisions as to whether the ball was in or out. Belinda found herself not playing sneaky shots when she had the opportunity, simply to avoid further outbursts.

Chantal played the whole match angrily. Sometimes the force she put on the ball paid off - on numerous occasions, Belinda was unable to return it - but on most of them, it had gone out of the court anyway. Belinda emerged victorious - 6-3, 6-2, and Chantal refused to shake hands. She was too busy trying to get her Mummy and Daddy to get the result changed. Belinda felt sorry for them.

As she left the court, a group of boys besieged her. "Can I have your autograph?" one of them asked.

"Yeah, me too," another said.

"Um, sure," Belinda said, "if you've got something to write with and on."

None of them did, but they weren't going to miss the opportunity. "Hang on a minute," one of them said, jumping into the mass of spectators and yelling, "Has anyone got a pen?"

Belinda waited patiently. "I see you've got a fan club," Simon observed. "I won't try and take you away from it, I'll meet you back in the youth hostel. Well done, though."

For a second Belinda thought he was going to kiss her on the cheek. It would have felt natural. But he didn't, just hesitated for a second, then walked away.

The boy reappeared, clutching a pencil and notebook. Belinda signed fifteen autographs: "To Boy's_Name, Best wishes, Belinda Milton." Not very original, but she couldn't think what else to write. She considered including "Don't hassle Chantal too much" but she was also tempted to write "Please hassle Chantal a lot", so she decided it was best not to write anything.

She headed for the changing room, wondering if they wanted her autograph 1) because they fancied her, 2) because she'd beaten their nemesis, or 3) because she was the most famous person they'd ever met. Probably a combination of all three.

She also wondered momentarily who had invited them to watch the game. And who'd brought them here, for that matter.

But it was probably no one she knew. Never mind, she had more important things to think about. She was through to the quarter finals now - only eight people remained in the tournament and she was one of them. She'd dreamed of getting this far, but never fully expected to. But, wow!

It was only as she walked back to the youth hostel that she realised that she hadn't seen Rick all morning. Perhaps they were finally going to stop running into each other all the time.


While Belinda was waiting in the line in the cafeteria, Mrs Snyder approached her with information about the girl she'd face tomorrow. "Her name is Geraldine Green," Mrs Snyder said, the alliteration not surprising Belinda, "and she's Solid. Totally unimaginative - she never leaves the base line and employs the same technique over and over again, trying to get the ball into one corner of your court or the other - but she's dangerous in her own way. Not very fast, but deadly accurate. The girl she was playing today kept leaving balls that looked like they were going out but didn't. You've got to run after everything. Other than that, the best advice I can give is to try and force her to move up to the net, because she's not happy there in the slightest."

"Right," Belinda said. This was sounding difficult - but hey, Geraldine was now one of the top eight young female players in the country. It was supposed to be hard. But Belinda had to succeed - wanted to, needed to, had to get through to the final and win that.

"I think you should do a bit of practising this afternoon," her coach told her.

"Yeah," Belinda agreed. "But I was going to watch Donald play, and maybe-" She was about to mention homework, when she remembered that she'd assured Mrs Snyder that she didn't have that much to do.

"I think your own game tomorrow is lightly more important than cheering Donald on," Mrs Snyder said, "but I'll tell you what. You can watch the first two sets, then get some practice."

"Ok," Belinda said. That sounded reasonable. "But who am I going to play against? I'd ask Fay and Rosemary, but-" No, the fact that both girls would rather spend time with their new-found soulmates wouldn't mean a lot to Mrs Snyder. "But I'd rather play someone better than me, if that doesn't sound totally conceited. Like, a bloke."

"Don't worry, I'll find someone," her coach said. "I think I know just the person."

Belinda ate with only Simon. Donald was with his newfound friend; ditto for Rosemary. Fay and Edward were nowhere to be seen, and AJ sitting a few tables away talking loudly about his Porsche. But that didn't bother Belinda: she and Simon had a good time making fun of Chantal and her parents.

They watched the first two sets of Donald's match, with Mrs Snyder and Mr Johns. No one could predict the outcome: Donald and his opponent were fairly evenly matched, and won a set each. However, Belinda didn't mind leaving early. It was a strangely uninspiring match: both players were technically good, but there were no stunning rallies, everything was over in five strokes or less.

Mrs Snyder led Belinda to an unused court where her opponent was waiting.

Rick.

She might have guessed.

She was afraid she wouldn't be able to concentrate. She had played against him so many times: it was one thing to have him watching her, another to have him in the opposite half of the court.

But he didn't play like he usually did. After a while, Belinda realised what was going on: he was playing in the way that Geraldine would the following day. He served slowly but accurately, and only left the baseline when forced to. Quickly, Belinda got the hang of dashing around the court to return every ball - at Mrs Snyder's instructions, she even went after those that were definitely going out - and forced him to do the same.

Although no one really kept a score, as the afternoon wore on, Belinda felt like she was thrashing him comfortably. An unusual sensation, but this was only a simulation, and it felt like one too. Eventually, Mrs Snyder said, "Ok, that's enough. Play like that tomorrow, Belinda, and you'll be fine."

Belinda wondered if Rick would say something to her, but he didn't. He just walked away to get changed.

He hadn't said a word to her during the entire session. Even when Mrs Snyder had left them to get a cup of coffee, they had just continued playing in silence.

Oh well, it was probably for the best. Whenever he said anything to her, she just felt confused. But she still felt confused. Why were they acting like strangers? Maybe they weren't exactly friends anymore, maybe they weren't exactly enemies, but they were something. They should have something to say to one another.

She didn't know what he was playing at. But then, she wasn't really sure what she was playing at either. For the most part, her goal seemed to be to avoid him as much as possible, but when they didn't have any sort of communication, she felt strangely let down.

The whole thing was paradoxical. She just wished... he would go away. No, she didn't want that. She just wished... things could return to how they used to be. No, she didn't want that either.

She just wished... she knew where they stood with each other.


Chapter Thirteen

"Ice skating?" Simon asked sceptically when Belinda informed him of the official plan for this evening, as they eat their evening meal. "That's one thing I can't say I've ever attempted."

"Well, why not start now?" Belinda suggested. "Try everything once, there's a first time for everything, all that sort of stuff."

"Now in most circumstances I'd agree with you. But I get the feeling that if I try this, I'll spend the entire evening sitting on the ice, while everyone else does triple flips and quadruple toe loops."

"Nonsense," Belinda said. "Donald, are you going ice skating tonight?"

Donald and Nicky (who insisted wasn't his girlfriend but was) were eating at the same table as them, but for the most part the two couples - not that she and Simon were a couple as such - were ignoring each other. Donald had won his match that afternoon, but only just. It had taken five sets, and the score of the final one had ended up at 10-8. Both players had been thoroughly exhausted.

"Probably," he said.

"Have you ever been ice skating before?"

"Nope."

"There you have it," Belinda said to Simon triumphantly. "You won't be alone."

"Oh, all right then, I'll go," he agreed, attempting to sound exasperated. Realistically, she guessed he had every intention of going to the ice rink, all along.

She knew should really get on with some homework, but she really enjoyed ice-skating and the opportunity was too good to miss. When she was eleven or twelve, she and Fay had hung out at the ice rink in Pegford a lot, hoping to get chatted up by cute guys. They never did, naturally, but Belinda became almost addicted to skating itself. In the last five years, however, she'd hardly been. It was one of those activities where you really needed someone to go with - and Rick, her only real friend then, hadn't been keen. Probably because she was better at it than he was, but he'd never admit that: he just made excuses not to go every time she suggested it.

When she got home, perhaps she could ask Fay to go with her again sometime. Or Jeff. Jeff... she made a mental note to phone him later. In the meantime, this was an opportunity not to be missed. She would get her English essay and History notes done tomorrow afternoon... or, if she had to practice then, in the evening. The plan for Friday night, as far as she was aware, was to watch Wimbledon highlights from over the years - quite relaxing, but missing it wouldn't be the end of the world.

So after the meal, she and Simon, Donald and Nicky and Rosemary and Steph got into the Pegford minibus with Mr Johns driving. AJ probably wasn't interested in ice-skating; Fay and Edward were presumably taking advantage of having Fay's room to themselves all evening. Mr Johns was waited a while for some more people to get into the minibus, though.

No one else seemed to be emerging, so he started the engine, but then two figures emerged from the youth hostel and started jogging towards the vehicle. It didn't take Belinda long to work out who they were.

"Got any space for us?" Rick asked Mr Johns.

"Plenty. Hop in."

"Can't we go in your car?" Kim whined.

"We could," Rick said, "but I might as well save petrol. Besides, Mr Johns knows where the ice rink is, I don't."

And, Belinda thought, if they didn't travel in this minibus, Rick was denied of the opportunity to get on her nerves or whatever he was trying to do.

Reluctantly, Kim embarked, and Rick followed, slamming the sliding door shut behind him. For the duration of the journey, they talked to each other and no one else. Belinda did her best to forget about them, but it was difficult in this confined space, with the whole group split so definitively into couples. Belinda and Simon, the only unofficial couple in the group, were one by default.

Not that she minded, but... Jeff would, if he was here. If she was honest with herself, she didn't miss him at all.


At the ice rink, Belinda attempted to teach Simon how to skate. However, he seemed completely unable to balance on a pair of blades, and the numerous competent skaters around daunted him. Besides, Belinda was itching to zoom away from the rail herself.

"Oh, forget it," Simon said. "You go and show off; me and the rail will work this out between us."

"Ok then," Belinda said, taking off into the middle of the ice. Wow, she hadn't done this in ages - ayp, how did she stop? Quickly, though, the technique came back to her. She skated forwards and backwards, performed some cautious figures of eight, made a small jump, then made a brief spin. She thought for a moment she was going to fall over, but she regained her balance.

"Hey, you're good!" an admiring voice told her.

She looked to see a bloke of about her age who she didn't recognise. She was about to thank him, when her attention was caught be someone across the rink. The figure was a blur, leaping in a way that Belinda had only ever seen professional ice-dancers in the winter Olympics do so, and concluded in a spin that seemed to last ages. When it came to an end, people across the rink breathed, "Wow" and applauded.

"Thanks," Belinda told the boy, "but I'm nothing compared to her."

It was only then that she realised the identity of the figure: Kim.

She would have to be absolutely stunning at ice-skating as well as tennis, wouldn't she?

"Yes, well, she's something else again," the boy said. "I overheard her saying before that she would have gotten into ice-dancing big style if it hadn't been for her parents telling her that it was a silly, romantic notion and that she had to focus on tennis."

Silly, romantic notion. Belinda felt a sudden sense of deja vu at the mention of those words - but it was probably just what her own parents had said when she had professed her dream - every preteen girl's dream - of being the next Jayne Torvill. Still, that was a long time ago to evoke such a serious jar in her memory.

"If that's what her ice skating's like," the boy continued, "I can't even begin to imagine what she's like at tennis."

"She's very good," Belinda admitted. "Chances are she'll get through to the final."

"Final?" the boy asked.

A few seconds elapsed before Belinda realised that he wasn't from the tennis thing. That was strange - were there really seventeen year old boys out there who spent their Thursday nights at ice rinks chatting up random girls. "There's this huge nationwide under 18s tennis competition going on a few miles away," she explained. "That's where a lot of these people have come from."

"I take it that includes you?" the bloke said, and she nodded. "Are you any good?"

"I'm through to the quarter finals."

"You must be good then. Tell you what, I'll give you my number, and if you get through to the final, give me a call, and I'll come and watch you. I know where'll it'll be at, but when is it?"

"Sunday morning. Starts at 9.30."

"Arg. I may well be in a hungover state at that hour, but I'll be sure to make it." He took a biro out of his trouser pocket. "Can I write my number on your hand?"

She let him, and asked, "Is this your usual chat-up method?" hoping he wouldn't be too embarrassed.

He wasn't. "Absolutely. I live for nights like this. Usually the clientele has a average actual age of eleven, and mental age of three."

"You work here?” she interpreted. He nodded. “What does that work consist of?"

"Renting out skates, looking after shoes and rescuing people who have fallen over and can't get up again. If they're cute."

"Well, I think I'd better let you go and rescue some damsel in distress," she said. She liked him well enough - he wasn't especially good looking, but he seemed nice - but starting an impromptu relationship with a stranger who lived a hundred miles away who she probably wouldn't see again didn't seem like a particularly wise idea. Especially not when Simon was a matter of metres away.

Not that Simon had any sort of claim on her, of course. But Jeff did.

"I take it you have a boyfriend then?" the guy interpreted.

"Yup," Belinda said. At least one, she added silently. One actual boyfriend, one guy who was crazy about her who she was liking more and more each day, and one guy who she had been going out with forever and still couldn't get over. "Still, I'll ring you, if I survive the next two matches."

"Good good," he said. "Now, two questions. One, do you think world class skater-woman over there need rescuing? and two, does she have a boyfriend?"

Belinda looked around the rink to observe that Rick was nowhere to be seen. He probably couldn't handle having Kim so much better than him at skating.

She made a decision. If Rick was going to go out with other girls behind Kim's back, then Kim entitled to her opportunity too. "One, yes, I'm sure she'd like you to rescue her, if you can make your way through the crowds of fans. Two, no she doesn't. And by the way, her name's Kim Kershaw and she's just gotten through to the quarter finals of this tennis thing. So you can tell her that and pretend to be psychic."

The boy grinned. "Sounds good to me. See you on Sunday, then." He skated away.

Belinda returned to the rail. "Getting anywhere?" she asked Simon.

"Not really." He seemed happy enough, though.

"Well, you can't really learn just by clinging onto the rail. You need to leave it, come into the middle of the rink."

"No thanks, I'm not suicidal."

"I'll hold your hand."

"I think I'd feel better if someone held my other hand as well. And someone skated behind me. And someone in front."

"I'm sure I can find some willing helpers," Belinda said.

"I'm sure you can... but how about I treat you to a coffee first?"

"You're just trying to delay the inevitable," Belinda accused. "But go on, then." It was about the naffest line ever invented - can I get you a coffee? - but she didn't care right now. They left the rink and headed for the cafe area.

"So, who's Andy?" Simon asked when they were seated at a table, coffees in front of them.

"Andy?" Then she realised that the guy she'd been talking to had written his name as well as his number on her hand. A good thing too, because she wouldn't have known who to ask for otherwise when she called. "Oh, just some bloke who works here who was trying to chat me up. He insisted on giving me his number."

"I hope you told him where to go," Simon said.

Belinda couldn't determine whether he was saying this on his own behalf or on Jeff's, but it didn't really matter. "Oh yes. I told him to go and chat up Kim, since there was no sign of Rick."

"Nice one!" Simon exclaimed. "Well, he deserves it - Rick, that is - after going out with those two..." He trailed off and pointed to a table that Belinda had her back to.

She turned around and saw Rick and a girl she'd never seen before having a coffee.

"Yup, he definitely deserves it," Belinda agreed, although she felt a small pain within her. Was this what they called heartache? In the course of less than six days, she'd seen Rick with four different girls now.

Why was he doing this to her?


Chapter Fourteen

Belinda eventually convinced Simon to leave the rail, with the assistance of Rosemary and Steph. The two of them had a great time laughing at his cautiousness, almost paranoia. Belinda, however, was too distracted by what Kim and Rick were doing to enjoy herself much. Kim spent quite a while chatting to Andy, but when Rick arrived back on the rink, she cut short their conversation. The two of them had a brief discussion at the edge of the ice, then Kim skated off again, while Rick disappeared. Were they having some sort of argument? Belinda wondered. She hoped so... but on the bus back, they were together once again. Rick probably just couldn't stand to be seen with someone so obviously superior to him in even one regard.

Consequently, Belinda was rather sulky for the duration of the journey, and when she arrived back at the hotel, she said a hurried goodnight to her friends, then told rather than asked Fay and Edward to get out of her room, she wanted to sleep. They emerged, wearing identical guilty grins, but Belinda didn’t say a word to them, never mind tease them about it. When she was finally alone, she hated herself for acting like such a moody cow towards her friends for no good reason. Only because Rick was such an egotistical bastard. She tried to work out where the anger came from: did she actually hate him, or hate herself for seeing past his multiple flaws for so long, or hate herself for still caring about what he did? Either way, there was too much hate in her heart. She needed to learn to ignore him... but it wasn't easy. Suddenly, she wanted to go home, where she wouldn't have to face any of these people on a day-to-day basis, with the exception of Fay... well, without Edward around they'd probably get along ok again... and there'd be Jeff.

Jeff. She'd forgotten to phone him. She should do it now... but it was a bit late. Or did it just feel that way? It probably wasn’t even eleven o'clock yet, chances were he'd still be up and around. She was making excuses, even to herself, for neglecting her boyfriend. This wasn't good at all.

I just don't want to inflict this foul mood on him, she thought. She remembered, then, that she wasn't his favourite person right now either. Oh great, I can forget about such a major argument that quickly, she thought. I don't deserve him. Maybe we should break up after all... I would be able to see Simon if I tried-

Yeah, as if Simon would want to see her after tonight. He was way too good for her as well. She'd be better suited to someone like Rick - the bastard and the bitch, maybe that was why they had got along for so long. Maybe that was why she hated him now - because they were so alike, and the anger she felt towards him was just her internal feelings turned outwards.

Now she was sounding like some amateur psychology student. Sleep, she told herself. Stop thinking. But while she was physically tired - exhausted even by the day's athletic strain - there was way too much pent-up emotional energy within her. What could she do to get rid of it? She noticed the laptop, and its usual connotations of guilt swilled through her, but then inspiration struck. If there was no one to tell about her feelings, she could at least write them down.

So she switched the light on and sat down on her bed, cross legged, the machine in front of her. And starting in mid-sentence, she typed. She typed about Rick and Jeff and Simon, her friends, her family, her tennis playing, her goals, her life. Her back started to ache from the seating position after a while, but she typed on. Her eyes strained from looking at the small glowing screen, but she didn't care. On and on she typed, until Rosemary came into the room about an hour later.

"Hey, Belinda, what are you doing?" she asked, her voiced laced with concern.

Belinda closed the screen down over the keyboard, protectively. "Nothing," she replied. "Just - um, writing an e-mail to someone. My parents.” There was no phone line to plug the laptop into, but with a bit of luck, Rosemary wasn’t techno-savvy enough to think of that. “I'm almost finished though, and I'm about to go to bed."

"Ok," Rosemary said. "Well, I'm just going brush my teeth, that sort of thing."

"Right," Belinda said, watching as she picked up her sponge bag and opened the door. From the corridor, there was the sound of people talking and walking up and down. The average bedtime had gotten later as people had fallen out of the tournament.

Rosemary left the room, and Belinda lifted the screen once more. She looked at the last sentence she wrote. Writing hadn't exactly given her any amazing relevations. Her feelings had just churned in circles, resulting in as much confusion as they had started as. However, she suddenly felt a lot better.

"Well, whatever the future may hold," she typed, "at this point in time I feel fairly good. Hopefully I won't have too much trouble sleeping and my game tomorrow will be ok. And now I'm going to erase this entire document, and with it all this negativity I've felt. Over and out."

She hit the final full stop, stared for a moment at her full screen, then turned the computer off without closing down, hence losing the document. Hopefully the laptop wouldn't object too much to her obvious neglect for its spiritual well being. She placed it on the floor, then stretched out on her bed.

Presently, Rosemary returned and switched the light off. And almost instantaneously, Belinda fell into a deep and dreamless and energising sleep, the best rest she'd had since arriving here.


The following morning dawned grey and moist but fresh, and it did nothing to dampen Belinda's high spirits. "You're sickeningly perky this morning," Simon remarked at the breakfast table, last night's bad attitude presumably forgotten or at least forgiven.

"Yup," Belinda said. "I guess I got a good night's sleep and I'm ready to take on this Geraldine girl." Oddly, she felt slightly jittery - more nervous than she had done before any other match - but the apprehension added to her alertness. She wasn't quaking in her trainers either, simply a little wound up.

Up until the match Belinda chattered away about everything and anything and nothing to anyone who was listening. Some of her friends appeared quite bemused - "Are you on speed?" Rosemary asked - but she didn't care. Today, she rocked, and she could and would do anything. Anything except think about her problems. For now, nothing existed outside the moment, and the moment was a tennis match between her and Geraldine Green.

Mrs Snyder had pointed out Geraldine to her at dinnertime the previous day. Belinda had not taken an instant liking to her. The girl was fairly tall and there was something stocky about her build although she was by no means fat. Her plain face had borne a sour expression the previous day; now it was not only sour, but she looked tired to death. She probably hadn't had a good night's sleep, and Belinda pitied her... until the game began.

She played just as Mrs Snyder had described, except with more lethargy. She placed the ball well but with no power, and she moved about the court as little as possible. Belinda exploited this as much as she could, placing balls first in one corner, then in the other, then moving up to the net, and making merciless drop shots, all of which her opponent failed to return.

By the end of the match, Belinda was still feeling hyperactive. She had thrashed her opponent 6-0, 6-0. The sizeable crowd was loving her. She shook hands with a miserable, tired and slightly baffled Geraldine, then turned to her supporters. There was no sign of Rick - presumably he was still watching Kim - so he missed the spectacle of Belinda and Simon in a crushing embrace that lasted several seconds, but he was the last person on her mind then. It just felt natural - a pure symbol of celebration - and she proved this fact by doing the same with Rosemary. (Cut only slightly short when she realised Steph might get a bit jealous.)

However, when the high spirited young people - several of them total strangers - had left her alone, she was approached by a couple of men and a woman all wearing suits.

"I'm fully aware that you'll find this insulting," one of the men said, "but there's no way to ask this nicely. You played an excellent game today, but it was almost too excellent, and we'd like to ask you to take a drugs test."

Belinda's soaring heart suddenly plummetted a number of miles.

Because she wasn't, as far as she knew, on anything. She had never taken drugs and the prospect of using them to enhance her athletic performance had never occurred to her. But she had been feeling too good out there, all things considered. What if... what if someone had slipped some sort of drug into her breakfast or something?

But, she told herself quickly, she had to act completely innocent whatever the result was. Because she was. "Um, no problem," she said. "What do I have to do?"

On her way to the changing room, it struck her that she'd been feeling like this before eating anything. So unless someone had made her swallow something in her sleep... or they'd given her something with delayed action the night before... she really didn't have a clue about illegal substances. She just hoped her positive attitude would save her even if her drugs test turned up positive too.

It didn't, though. Luckily. However, she was going to be extra vigilant from now on. Because someone could put something in her food, ruining her chances. The stakes were high - she wasn't quite sure how high - but on a personal level, this thing mattered to her a lot. And even if five hundred people here didn't know that, one person did. And that one person she didn't trust in the slightest.


If that experience had shocked her though, what happened at lunch time almost killed her with the electrical power it sent through her veins.

She sought out Mrs Snyder, wanting the scoop on the girl she'd face tomorrow. But her coach was engaged in a conversation with a bloke in a suit. She was about to walk away, when Mrs Snyder said, "Ah, there you are Belinda. I'd like you to meet Mr Lawton."

He held out his hand and Belinda shook it. "How do you do?" she asked, manners springing into her head from nowhere.

"Hello," he said, eager to skip further formalities. "I'm an agent and I've been watching you since your third round match. After seeing today's performance, I thought I'd make my presence known. I am very interested in you."

Belinda didn't know what to say. What was an agent in terms of tennis, anyway? What did he mean by "interested in her"?

"Naturally, whether I offer you a contract or not depends on your performance in the next two matches. And signing it would be a big decision - at any rate, it would involve your parents' consent - will they be here on Sunday?"

Belinda had never considered the possibility of her parents coming here to watch her in the final, and it didn't seem to have crossed their minds either. But she didn't see why not - this was a pretty major competition and it wasn't that far to travel. "Um, probably," she said. "If I get through to the final, that is."

"However things turn out, I'll be in touch with them," Mr Lawton smiled. There was something sinister about his expression. "And as far as you're concerned, I hope you bear my offer in mind."

"Ok," she said. "Um, thanks."

"Now," he said, "if you'll excuse me, I have a few other people to talk to." And with that, he disappeared in a flash into the throng filling the dining room.

The other semi-finalists, Belinda thought.

"Um, what does all that mean?" Belinda asked her coach.

"It's a great opportunity," her coach began. "He's very successful. Basically, it would mean you turning professional. You'd have a coach, all the tennis opportunities you want, all the transport you need to get around the tournaments and first class accomodation, sponsorship deals..."

"Oh, God," Belinda breathed. This was like a dream. It was her dream! When Fay had suggested she played for the county, she had been curious, pleasantly surprised to succeed, and glad that she had the chance to take part in this tournament. But she hadn't expected to get this far... she'd wanted to, but she had tried not to expect anything. Furthermore, she hadn't thought that it would mean anything, no matter how far she got.

"Of course, this would mean you finishing your education. I don't know when - maybe as early as Christmas, maybe after your A Levels... but staying on that long would in all likelihood damage your chances of going to Wimbledon this coming year..."

Wimbledon? Oh, God, this was really happening. She could be famous within months. She could fulfil the prophecy that mysterious voice had spoken. She could...

Do as well as Rick. Do better than Rick. Prove that no matter what he believed, they were equals.

Yes.


Chapter Fifteen

"But let's not get ahead of ourselves," the coach said, putting a premature end to her reverie. "First you've got to beat Anna Arnold in the semi-finals, and then either Kim Kershaw or Rachel Greening in the final."

The final, at any rate, sounded like a daunting affair. Kim was scary enough - she was just too perfect, she played like a professional, her game was flawless. But even if Rachel Greening somehow succeeded, that would be bad enough. She had walked past a court where Rachel had been playing a few days ago, and had been struck by the girl's size and power. She was well over six foot tall and played like a tank, flattening her terrified opponent into the dust. "Who's that?" Belinda had asked one of the spectators, who'd told her. Belinda had managed to put the formidable player out of her mind since then, but now she was a real danger.

In the meantime, though, "Who's Anna Arnold?" she asked.

"Anna Arnold Is Good," Mrs Snyder said solemnly. "Anna Arnold is tall. Anna Arnold is graceful. Anna Arnold is fast. Anna Arnold hits the ball so hard you think it's going to move into another dimension. Anna Arnold moves up to the net and delivers killer smashes and evil drop shots. Anna Arnold is a lot like you, to be perfectly honest."

Belinda wasn't sure whether to take this as a compliment or not. Either way, it was scary. "Does she have any weaknesses?"

"Backhand," her coach said. "Exploit that at all possible opportunities. It's your only chance. It's going to be a close match, by the looks of things, and I'd advise you practised again this afternoon."

"I will," Belinda said, instantly. Then she remembered who this would involve and her heart sank. "Against Rick?"

"Yes. I hear he's played against you often enough to know how you play, so I'll get him to simulate that."

She could hardly complain. He was the ideal choice, and Mrs Snyder would hardly hear of a shattered relationship getting in the way of tennis.

So that afternoon, she and Rick played again, in absolute silence.

It was distracting at first. Not only did he emulate her style of playing, but he seemed to be parodying it, hitting intentionally weak backhands and dashing all over the court, sometimes pointlessly. It was beginning to get on her nerves, but the fact that she was winning made up for it. That would teach him to mock her so mercilessly... unless, of course, he was letting her win. She could hardly complain though: she had never played anyone like herself before, so it was helping.

After three gruelling sets that all went in Belinda's favour, Mrs Snyder assured her that was enough. (She had insisted on three sets because chances were, the match tomorrow would take that many.) "Not many people can beat themselves at tennis so decisively," she remarked. "Keep that up, and you'll be fine." A compliment. Wow.

The three of them jogged towards the court where Donald was playing, without saying another word to each other. Donald was losing - he had won one set, but his opponent had won two, and the score of this one stood at 4-2.

Indeed, he lost - 6-3 - but it was still a victory for him to have got this far. "The thing is," Simon remarked, as he walked with Belinda to the changing room, "he's only fifteen, and he won't be sixteen until next year. So he's got three years left as an under eighteen. By the end of that, he could be formidable."

Belinda only wished she had started playing in tournaments and stuff earlier. Still, there was little she could do about it now.


That evening, as planned, she settled down to work on her English essay, after jogging around the building a few times. As soon as she had got the laptop ready and the necessary books and papers sorted out, Fay and Edward looked into the room.

"Oh, sorry," said Edward. "We'll go-"

"It's no problem," Belinda said. "I'll go to the lounge or somewhere." They had a pointless conversation, politely trying to dissuade her when they really didn't want to, and she insisted on leaving.

"There's a kind of study room downstairs," Fay told her. "It's got a table and desk chairs and stuff. It's just down the corridor from the lounge."

Belinda gathered her belongings and went downstairs. She passed the lounge, hearing the sound of the television and voices from within. Indeed, it probably wasn't the best place to work.

So she went into the study room.

There, sitting at the big desk, was Rick, a textbook and some file paper in front of him.

Their eyes met for a second. Then, they simultaneously looked in other directions.

Belinda fought the desire to turn and flee from the room. But she shouldn't have to. She had as much right to be here as he did and this was the most convenient place to do her homework. And he wasn't objecting to her being here.

It was just her that was objecting to his presence. But he was entitled to be here too. The main problem was, she doubted she'd be able to concentrate on her essay with him in the room.

I've got to prove that I can, though, she told herself. I have no option, and I am going to show myself, once and for all, that he does not have any influence on me whatsoever, that I can get on with my own life whatever he does.

So she sat down on the opposite side of the table to him and tried to immerse herself in her essay. It was difficult at first, trying to absorb the information presented to her on the pages of the book when Rick was so close she could smell his aftershave (who was he trying to impress anyway?) It was nearly impossible to focus her thoughts into an argument, when she could hear him writing, crossing things out, and pressing buttons on a calculator.

What was he doing here, anyway? Was he still involved in some sort of education? He had spent a year at Pegford University, studying accountancy, but had left to play tennis. He was apparently doing some sort of part-time course near to his new home, but he hadn't seemed to be paying much attention to that when they'd last met. Surely universities didn't have half terms - shouldn't he be there now, rather than hanging around here for no particular reason? Or was he entitled to take as much time off as he liked, as long as he got a sufficient amount of work done?

She wasn't exactly going to ask. At any rate, she couldn't care less, right? He could do whatever he wanted with his life. The textbook was probably "How To Annoy Your Ex" or "How To Seduce Ten Girls In One Week" or something, anyway.

For some reason, she found this thought entertaining, and wanted to giggle. But she stared into the harsh screen, telling herself to concentrate on the task at hand. She managed to write two fairly poor paragraphs and was wondering where to go next, when he spoke.

"Belinda?" He said her name hesitantly, and it rang strangely in the empty room.

"Yes?" she replied, in a similar voice that crackled like parchment. Her heart started pounding. What was he going to say? She steeled herself not to look at him, to keep looking down at the keys.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She considered saying, "You just did" then thought better of it. Bantering at a moment like this was not a good plan. "You can ask," she said, fighting with her eyes not to look up, "but I won't necessarily answer."

What? What? Would she go out with him? Who was Simon? Why wasn't she talking to him? Could they talk?

"And you promise you won't ask me why I'm asking you?"

"Um... all right." She was curious now.

"Ok. I know you don't know any more Physics than I do, but at least it's kind of fresher in your mind, so you might have some idea. How do you express power in terms of force and velocity?"

Belinda could hardly breathe. Of all the questions he could be asking her, he was asking her about... Physics? He needed help with his Physics homework? What on earth was going on?

"Why are you doing-" Then she stopped short. She'd promised not to ask him why he was asking her that question. "Well, I don't know," she said. "I was hopeless at science, I only got a C."

"Try to remember," he pleaded.

This was really strange. She screwed up her eyes, trying to recall some old boring formula a teacher had drummed into her head. "Well, I seem to remember power equals current times voltage. But that doesn't really help matters."

"It's also equal to energy over time," he told her. "I found that much out. Or work over time, if you prefer."

"Work," she said. A brainwave struck her. "Work equals force times distance!" That would introduce a force factor to the equation.

"So, let's see, in that case power must equals force times distance over time."

She hesitated for a moment, trying to visualise the equation. She wrote it down on a piece of paper. P = F x d / T. How to get velocity into this? Then she saw it. "And distance over time equals velocity! So power equals force times velocity."

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "Thanks!"

And that was all they said to each other.

Somehow or other, she managed to grind out the remainder of her essay, with him still sitting there. Just as she was writing the concluding sentence, he stood up, gathered his belongings and left.

They were acting like complete strangers, and she didn't like it at all.

She saved the essay, glad that another bit of homework was out of the way. But oh, she still had those history notes to do. She glanced at her watch - it was only ten pm, she still had time to get going on them. But she couldn't seem to digest the textbook, and after a few incomprehensible lines of notes, she pushed the homework aside, and started typing her thoughts on the laptop again, as she had the previous night.

"I've really got to get over him," she typed as the second hand of her watch approached eleven thirty. "It'll get easier when I get home, when I don't have to see him all the time, but sooner or later, he'll end up back in my life. I know it. I just can't figure out what I need to do to make the break."

It seemed like a good stopping place. She turned the computer off, letting her words slide down the drain, wishing that was enough to make the break. Now, could she get back to her history? She was tired now, it was late... no, she'd find an opportunity to get it done tomorrow. Hopefully.

She went back to her room, remembering a couple of lines she'd written. "Every day it feels like I'm getting better, then I see him and realise I haven't recovered at all." Would she manage to recover at all the following day? She hoped so. She'd need to concentrate on the task at hand - winning the match - and she couldn't allow flipping Rick Robinson to distract her in the slightest.


Chapter Sixteen

That night, Belinda dreamed Rick was asking her Physics question after Physics question. She was determined not to get any of them wrong, but they got harder and harder, and eventually she got totally stuck. He walked out of the room, and she tried to turn on her laptop. It wouldn't work, and she started crying and whacking herself repetitively on the head with a tennis racquet that belonged to Kim. She woke up a few minutes before her alarm clock was supposed to go off, screaming.

Fay and Rosemary were staring at her. Why had no one ever told her she talked in her sleep? "Bad dream?" Rosemary asked.

"You could say that," Belinda said, sitting up in bed. "My computer stopped working." It suddenly seemed quite funny and her roommates laughed.

"That is a nightmare," Fay agreed. "I wouldn't be able to live without the Internet." Belinda remembered that her best friend was a self-confessed 'Net-junkie: before leaving, Fay had moaned that she'd never be able to survive for eight days without her computer.

Evidently, she had found an alternative form of entertainment though. "Hey, does Edward have the 'Net?"

"Yup. We're planning to run up massive phone bills chatting on IRC."

Belinda wasn’t sure what IRC was, but she wondered why they couldn't just talk on the phone, which would be a lot quicker and cheaper, but Rosemary provided her with the answer. "Having cybersex, you mean."

"Oi!" Fay cried, throwing a pillow at Rosemary. Belinda hurled hers too in support. Rosemary resisted, and before long a fight had broken out. Belinda's bad dream was forgotten.


She was still a bit tired, though, and it was sunny. "At least you've got a nice day," Simon said over the breakfast table.

"I don't like sunny days!" Belinda wailed. "One, I get hot. Two, the sun gets in my eyes. Three, I am super-rainwoman!"

It wasn't that bad outside, though. The air was chilly and the sun was in the wrong position to be blinding to either player. Good, Belinda thought, this was going to be tough enough as it was, without the weather intervening.

In addition to all her tennis playing skills, Anna Arnold had the sort of name that people didn't separate. All her other opponents Belinda had come to think of as simply by a first name, after observing the alliterations. But people didn't separate the names of professional tennis players, either? You would never have a conversation and refer to "Andre", or "Steffi", or "Pete", or "Martina". Anna Arnold definitely sounded like a star.

She looked like one too. She was about six feet tall and slim, with short blonde hair. And, as Belinda was to learn, she played like a star too.

They were so evenly matched it was incredible. From the beginning, it was a fierce struggle for them both to get up to the net but more importantly, to keep the other away. At the net, they were both absolutely lethal, and so they were both forced to spend most of their time running from one end of the baseline to the other. Most rallies lasted between ten and twenty strokes, and Belinda felt herself panting in the end-changes, determined to serve as many aces as possible to reduce the running around.

But she felt good out there. Anna was an excellent player, but she was just as good. She enjoyed the game, revelling in the challenge. She hadn't had a match this tough since Rick had left - Fay and the other girls at the club had posed no real threats, and all her opponents so far had been - somewhat disappointingly - easy to beat. Flustering Katerina, Sarah who just wanted to get out of the rain and go home, hungover Felicity, Chantal driven insane by her classmates and languid Geraldine.

This was the real thing, what she had come here for, and it brought out the best in her playing. She was good, she was great. She was magic, she was invulnerable.

But then, so was Anna. They clung onto their services, and Belinda only won the first set by seven games to six. The tie-breaker seemed to last centuries. The sizeable crowd was silent and Belinda wouldn't have been surprised if the whole court had been surrounded by bitten off nails by the end of the game. Every serve that looked like an ace was returned - neither could let it beat them. And so rallies went on and on, and the points stacked up into double figures and then into twenties. Belinda wondered if it was possible that it would last forever - but the moment she thought that, Anna hit about the first slow ball in the match. Belinda dashed up to the net, and smacked it into a corner of the court, making return impossible, taking the set.

The second set was even more fiercely fought. The pair more tired now, but that made them even more determined. Every game went to deuce multiple times - service was only kept by double aces - and another tie break was needed. Come on, Belinda told herself. I want to win now - I can't possibly handle a third set, which I might lose. I'm so close, but...

But Anna served ace after ace. Belinda did her best to keep up with her score, but it was futile. With long rallies, either girl could win, no matter who had served. Belinda made one minor slip - the ball just failed to get over the net - and it was over. One set all.

The crowd started to cheer during the short interval, about equally for both sides. The umpire had to tell them to be quiet when the game began, Anna serving.

The score went to deuce again. Belinda had anticipated an eternal deuce, as they had already experienced. From one side of the court, Anna would serve well; from the other side badly. But Belinda got the first advantage, and proceeded to take the game.

Yes! she thought. She was in with a chance now, she could do this! But her renewed confidence reduced her concentration, and in the next game, her own service was broken. They were equal again, and no one in the crowd could predict the result.

When the score was 4-4, Belinda noticed the crowd enlarging - presumably the other game had finished - and her eyes instantly, automatically, against her will, flicked to Kim and Rick. She couldn't tell from Kim's expression whether she had won or not, but she would assume that was the case.

Belinda suddenly didn't want to play in the final. It was going to be too painful, both physically and emotionally. She wanted to go out in style, and this match was the one with which to end the tournament, her playing was spectacular today, and no doubt she'd had an off-day tomorrow.

No, she told herself firmly. She had vowed to win this thing, and she was going to do it. She wouldn't let Rick and Kim get to her. She'd win this match, and then the one tomorrow. Simple as that, there was nothing more to it. All that existed was the moment, and the moment was Anna throwing the ball high into the air, ready to make the first serve of the game.

A change seemed to come over Anna. At first Belinda thought the pressure, the length of the match and the midday heat were just getting to her. She probably wanted the match over as soon as possible and Belinda could understand that fully - but it wasn't just that. The match could have gone either way - they were dead equal - and yet Anna seemed to stop making an effort. She played competently and yet with none of the fire she had exhibited earlier in the game.

An apathetic rally that Belinda ended with a malicious drop short. Love-fifteen. A double fault, love-thirty. A three-stroke rally, terminating prematurely when Anna hit an easy ball into the net. Love forty. What was going on? The crowd sensed it too - a murmuring began.

Anna's next serve was an ace. That was more like it! And then they had a long and bloody rally... but Belinda emerged victorious.

Yes! 5-4 and Belinda to serve. She was in with a chance now! She really was!

An ace! A long rally, which Belinda won. Another ace!

Game, set and match point.

A fault. Gack. What to do - risk another fast serve or stick with a slow one? A slow one, she decided, she could still win with that although it would take a bit longer and wouldn't be so stylish. So she served slowly.

And Anna hit the ball, carelessly, out of the court.

The audience exploded, half with cheers, half with agony.

They shook hands over the net. Belinda was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. She was through to finals! But nothing was over yet - she still had to do this again. There were six matches down, but still one to go, and that one would be the hardest of them all. Had today's game taken it out of her? She certainly hoped not.

At lunch time, Mrs Snyder warned of the danger that lay ahead. "You'll play Kim Kershaw," she said, "and she is stunning. There's no two ways about it. You definitely need to practise this afternoon."

"Yup," Belinda agreed, although she was knackered. All she wanted to do was relax, watching the boys' semi-final. No chance of that though.

Once again, Belinda was pitted against Rick, and this time he played as he usually did. At least, he didn't seem to be intentionally giving himself any Achilles heels.

And yet she couldn't be sure whether he was giving her a chance or not. Because she managed to keep up with him. She hung onto nearly all her service games, and on the odd occasion when he got one off her, she managed to win one back. When the score reached 6-6, Mrs Snyder said, "Don't bother with a tie-breaker, just keep playing." So they kept playing, and the scores stayed even. Belinda couldn't believe herself. She never managed to remain equal with Rick - he had to be letting her win. Oh, if only she knew! And if he was pretending, if only he wouldn't. She wanted a real measurement of her ability.

When the score got to twenty-twenty, Mrs Snyder said they could call it a day. "Play like that tomorrow and you'll give Kim a good run for her money if nothing else," the woman said.

She just wished Rick would congratulate her, but he went to have a shower without a word. She thought about asking Mrs Snyder if Rick had let her stay equal, but changed her mind. After all, Belinda didn't really want to know how good she was. She wanted to know if she was as good as Rick. It was helplessly petty, and yet it meant everything to her. She really needed her priorities sorting out.


Chapter Seventeen

"So, were the semi-finals any good?" Belinda asked her friends as they all went back to the youth hostel en masse.

"Yup," Simon said. "Rose and Steph are in love with one of the blokes who got through to the final."

"Rosemary and Steph are what?" she couldn't help asking. It was one thing for a pair of best friends to fall for the same guy - it just Didn't Happen. But when that pair of best friends were bi and lesbian respectively, it was even more strange.

"We're in love," Rosemary confirmed.

"He's wonderful," Steph said. "And I don't mean at tennis, although he's that as well."

"He looks like a girl," Simon explained with a grin.

"He does not!" Steph exclaimed, elbowing him violently. "He's just... femmy."

"And lovely," Rosemary agreed.

"He wears lipstick," Donald qualified.

"And he wants to wear a tennis dress in the final tomorrow," Nicky added. "But they probably won't let him, since it's going to be on TV and all."

"TV?" Belinda asked.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Simon said. "Well, I guess not, we didn't find out until the afternoon. Both the finals are going to be live on TV tomorrow. Just on Sky Sports 3 or something, mind, but you'll be a star."

"Oh, God, cool!" Belinda said. It was cool - she'd never been on TV before. Her sister Helen had been on the local news for a couple of minutes for the work she did; her half brother Daniel had even been on briefly for passing his cycling proficiency; and her Tim had featured in some televised carol concert a couple of years back. But now Belinda would be on TV - across Europe not just locally! - for over an hour! And not just as a face in the crowd, but one of the two stars of the show! "I'll have to get my parents to video this."

Before the evening meal, she phoned her parents to tell her about this news. "Record it?" her father asked her. "We're coming to watch you! We'll get Tim or Danny to set the video too, though. Wow, this is hard to take in."

"There's something else as well," Belinda said, realising only then that she hadn't phoned her parents in days. "There's this agent here... and he's interested in me. He'll probably want to talk to you."

"I don't know what to say," her father said. "This is all happening too fast. One moment you're just whacking a ball against the wall, the next you're a TV star, and after that..."

She spoke to her mother for a while, then hung up. Now she had to phone Jeff too. She sighed. He slipped from her mind more and more these days - she hadn't spoken to him in three days, and they hadn't exactly parted on good terms.

He was surprisingly civil. Not exactly warm or even congratulatory, but he accepted her apology. "Will you come and watch me play tomorrow?" she asked, although in a way, she hoped he wouldn't. He hadn't really shared this tennis experience with her - she wanted to share her moment of victory or defeat with...

Simon. There was no point in denying it. "Mum and Dad are coming - they could probably give you a lift."

"I don't know," he said. "I've got loads of homework still to get done."

"I know how you feel," she said, hoping she'd have time to get the history notes done tomorrow afternoon along with the religion essay. There was no chance tonight: there was another big party-type thing in the hotel, and boring as the last one had been, she wanted one last opportunity to hang out with her friends one last time before leaving this place.

She probably wouldn't feel up to doing any schoolwork whatsoever tomorrow afternoon. What she really wanted to do was wind down and chill out, watching a bloke in a dress play tennis. But that wasn't an option - she wouldn't have time in the evening. Well, she might... but not for the notes as well. She could pray that the history teacher would forget about the notes - after all, they weren't that imminent - but she couldn't get too hopeful.

"Well, I'll watch you on TV, no problem about that. Record it too. But going all the way to Birmingham and back might kill my day a bit too much."

"Ok then," she said. "I understand."

They hung up shortly after that, saying "I love you" but automatically on both parts. Belinda really wondered what to do. Her relationship with Jeff didn't seem to be going anywhere, and her friendship with Simon seemed unstable: it had to be either concluded or increased, and she hated the thought of doing the former. But she didn't really want to get too attached to anyone, not after what had happened with Rick... and how she still felt about him. It was all so messy.

Oddly, she remembered at that moment to call Andy, the guy from the ice rink, and told come to watch the final. "It's me versus Kim," she warned him.

"I'll cheer for you," he promised. "As long as your boyfriend promises not to get too jealous."

"My boyfriend won't be there," she said. "He'll just be watching it on TV."

"It's going to be on TV?" Andy asked. "Cool! What channel?"

"Sky Sports 3, I think."

"Typical! We don't have Sky. Oh well, I'll get someone or other to record it."

They nattered about nothing much for a while; then Belinda went downstairs for dinner. Afterwards, she and her roommates got ready for the party ahead.

"What am I going to wear?" Fay wailed. "Edward's seen me in absolutely everything I own!"

"It doesn't matter," Rosemary said. "I doubt you'll be wearing anything for very long."

Fay went so red, that Belinda was seriously worried something had happened to her and that she'd pass out any second.

"Oh, God," Rosemary said. "Don't tell me... I thought you two had already done it."

"Noooo," Fay said, but the tone in her voice confirmed Rosemary's suspicions: it was definitely on the cards.

"Well!" Rosemary was gleeful. She turned on Belinda. "What about you and Mr Starrrrrrboi?"

"Certainly not," Belinda said. "Especially since we're not even going out. And I take it you and Ms Starrrrrrrrgrrrrrl have no such plans either?"

"Sadly, no. We live too far apart to carry anything on and my parents have banned me from the Internet under pain of death. We could phone, except they always listen to my phonecalls too... and as you know, I'm not allowed to go out with anyone in the first place."

Belinda briefly wondered if Rosemary's sexuality was genuine or yet another thing to annoy her parents with.

"Anyway," Rosemary continued, "back to the crisis at hand. Fay, why don't you borrow something off one of us?"


Half an hour later, they emerged from their room. "Are we dressed to kill or what?" Rosemary asked.

"Or what, methinks," Belinda said. "If we were dressed to kill, we'd be wearing, like, army uniform."

That was the beginning of a thoroughly silly evening, filled with merriment. Not in the less-literal sense of the word, perhaps: there was a drink available which Simon declared, "Might be alcoholic but couldn't get a two year old kid even slightly pissed" but that was it. Still, they had a good time. Fay and Edward disappeared fairly quickly; the rest of the group looked on with amusement as Rosemary and Steph threw themselves at their beloved femmy boy.

He took it all in good humour. He was wearing a dress now, to the disapproval of all adults and a lot of the kids present and looked completely ridiculous. Still, he was perfectly happy. He spoke with an unusual intelligence and passion, something Belinda had only experienced from people who had been drinking heavily. "Just because I play tennis, everyone excepts me to fit into this stereotype," he said. "They think I should be brain dead and masculine. Well, I don't want to be. I'll do whatever I feel like."

Rosemary and Steph, in the girls' toilets with Belinda, couldn't get over him.

"He's lovely!"

"He's lush!"

"He's my starrrrrrrboi!"

"No, he's mine, bitch!"

"Back off, I saw him first!" A fight broke out, but this quickly ended up with them hugging and kissing each other. Belinda focussed on her own reflection in the mirror as she redid her makeup. The spectacle was a little too much for her, open-minded as she claimed to be.

"But he's not gay," Steph pointed out, as the couple broke apart.

Rosemary hesitated for a moment. Then she declared, "I don't care!"

Belinda put her make up away, and left them to celebrate their finding.

On the way back to the rest of the group, she literally ran into Rick and Kim.

"Hey," Rick said. "Watch where you're going."

Suddenly, Belinda's high spirits evaporated. They might not be boyfriend and girlfriend anymore; they might not even be friends; but there was no need for him to be this hostile. "Watch it yourself," she retorted, flouncing past the couple.

"Fucking cheeky bitch," Rick muttered, loudly enough for her to hear.

That did it. Tears sprung to her eyes and she let them flow. She could handle them acting like strangers, but when he decided to mindlessly abuse her, she couldn't take it anymore.

She was stupid. Stupid. So horribly stupid. Stupid and horrible. Jealous and unappreciative. No better than Rick; worse than him in fact. The scum of the earth.

Everyone had someone. Rick had Kim, Fay had Edward. Donald had Nicky, Rosemary had Steph. Simon? Simon didn't need anyone, Simon had everyone. Belinda had no one. Oh yeah, there was Jeff. Jeff who she was forgetting about even now. She had blown that big style, but she didn't deserve him anyway. She didn't deserve anyone or anything, certainly not to win this tournament. She was determined to win for all the wrong reasons, all to exact some sort of revenge on Rick. Rick who she still cared about, which brought her back to stupidity. He was a stupid bastard and she hated him, but she hated herself more for not being able to ignore him and for hurting everyone else in the process.

She fled from the building, not knowing or caring where she was going.


Chapter Eighteen

"Belinda, wait!" a familiar voice behind her called.

She kept walking.

"What's wrong?"

"You don't care," she muttered, looking straight ahead. "You're just saying that because you know you should. That's the problem with this place: there's so few people here who actually mean anything they say. Like Fay and Edward when they tell me they don't really want to be in the bedroom. Like Rick when he used to say congratulations." Her voice was choked with tears, but she didn't care.

"I do care about you. Please, if you want to talk-"

"I don't."

"-I'm willing to listen."

"I don't want you to listen. I don't want to inflict my stupidity on anyone."

"Belinda, you're not stupid. You're intelligent and talented and beautiful and nice and I love you."

The final three words made her hesitate briefly, but sense made her carry on pacing away from the hotel, trying to get away from her pursuer. She'd run if her heels permitted it. "You're just saying that," she insisted again.

"Look, I know you've got problems... if you want to talk about them, I'm here. I can help."

"No you can't. No one can."

He changed tactics. The footfalls behind her stopped. "Ok then. If you say so."

Like an idiot, she stopped too, and turned round, just as he'd hoped. "I feel so idiotic," she said.

"You're not," Simon said, walking over and slipping an arm around her waist. "Really, you're not. Now tell me everything," he said, as they set off towards the youth hostel. "Trust me, Uncle Simon can solve all."

In spite of her misery, she felt a quick bolt of laughter surge through her body. But she managed to swallow it down. Putting her arm around him - suddenly it felt uncomfortable - she began to tell her tale.

"It all started when my parents got remarried. It's all really confusing. They split up just after I was born - I lived with Mum, my sister Helen lived with Dad. They had an amicable divorce, but lived about a hundred miles away, communicating little. But when Mum and Steve - my stepfather - separated when I was about ten, she and Dad started talking again, and they decided to get married again.

"By this stage, though, Helen - she's ten years older than me - was married to this bloke called Ray. However, they were still at university so they couldn't afford to get a place of their own. So they lived with the rest of us - me, Mum, Dad, my half-brothers. Our house is on the enormous side, so it didn't bother them.

"I'm rambling, aren't I? Is this making any sense?"

"No and yes."

"Ok. Anyway, Ray's parents didn't want to be so far away from their son, so they started looking for a house in Pegford. On failing to discover one, Mum and Dad invited them to live in the mansion. Even if we'd really hated them, they could have kept out of our way completely, given the size of the house. But Mum and Dad and Mr and Mrs Robinson got along great. And then there was the small matter of Ray's younger brother. Rick.

"I was twelve, and he was fourteen, making him cooler and more mature than all the boys I knew at school. Apart from him being good looking and intelligent - well, at least I thought so then - we had a lot in common - namely our tennis playing - and we got along brilliantly. Naturally, I fancied him like crazy, but I was convinced he just thought of me as a kid - at very most, a friend. In fact, thanks to him I drifted apart from Fay and the rest of my classmates, but I didn't care.

"But anything more than that seemed unlikely. After a few months, I was thinking, if he was going to ask me out, he'd have done it by now. He had a few girlfriends, you see, his own age. He went out with this girl called Cassie once, and this girl called Violet fancied him like crazy. She was always hanging around, and although he claimed to hate her, I was always insecure. That summer, he went out with this girl called Lindsay for a few weeks, and during that time, I tried my best to get over him.

"Even back then, before either of us were any good, we played tennis practically every day. We were actually fairly evenly matched for a while. He was about a foot taller than me and obviously stronger, but I was the one who'd grown up with a tennis court in her back garden. We played on our respective school teams, tried to get involved in county stuff without much success, and took part in this mixed doubles tennis competition at school, which we won. A Year 10 and a Year 8 - it was pretty amazing, no one could deny it.

"The next day, a Saturday, we played against each other once more, and he won. 'I don't enjoy beating you as much as I like winning with you,' he said as we shook hands over the net. And then, very quickly, he kissed me on the cheek.

"I was speechless. I couldn't believe it. The last thing I'd heard, he was still going out with Lindsay. And he got really flustered. Eventually he managed to say, 'Er, will you go out with me?' and naturally, I said yes.

"Things remained that way for over four years - and if anyone asks me, I'll say we went out for five years, since he later confessed to liking me since we met but being too afraid to make a move.

"Of course, I imagined things were going to stay that way forever. We hardly ever fought - we went through a few rough patches, I guess you could call them - but the whole thing was idyllic. And I believed he was absolutely perfect. That's what gets to me now - how blind I was, and how blind I still am to an extent.

"The following summer, his tennis career took off, while mine went absolutely nowhere. We tried out for the county again. He was snaffled up instantly; the best I could manage was playing doubles. For him, he was in the right place at the right time, in more ways than one. He wouldn't have been able to play for Pegford if he hadn't been born there, but, freakily enough, he was even though he spent his entire childhood in another county. Because of the shortage of talent in his age group, he had all the opportunities he wanted.

"I, on the other hand, stood little chance. There were a lot of formidable players around then, all of whom have since disappeared into the mists of time. Moved away, I suppose, and got too old. Not only were there a people better than me in my age group, like Kendra and Peggy and a few others, but there were plenty of others who were established. Like Fay and Rosemary, Sheila and Tracy, they'd been around a lot longer than I had.

"Despite my doubles involvement, no one was actually aware of any progress I made. None of the important people could care less about doubles matches, and even if they had watched me play, they wouldn't have appreciated my efforts. Doubles is a very restrictive game: you can't shine unless your partner shines too, and thirdly, you've got to get that bond shining as well. Because Peggy and Rick - my partners - were always playing singles matches I never got anywhere anyway. All my achievements were on a school-based level. Rick and I won the mixed doubles tournament in the four years he was there, and in the six years I played on school teams, I never lost a match. My efforts still went relatively unnoticed, though, since the rest of the team was basically pants.

"When Rick turned sixteen, his parents decided to get this bloke to come to the house to coach him on a one-to-one day-to-day basis. Naturally, he needed someone to play against. The coach found him opponents now and again, but for the most part, they took advantage of my eagerness to participate.

"The coach was a total and utter male chauvinist pig. He let me play really grudgingly. I was an adequate opponent, he supposed, but he made it clear that I wasn't really worthy. Furthermore, this attitude rubbed off on Rick. He was a little more appreciative of my efforts, but he failed to recognise any talent I was gaining. And - worst of all - I began to think similarly. My only purpose in life seemed to be to help Rick improve his game, and I was perfectly happy with that. As a kid, whacking the ball against the wall, I'd dreamed of going to Wimbledon; as a pre-teen, I'd envisaged both Rick and I winning Wimbledon; and I still sort-of hung onto that vision. Still, if one of us was going to get anywhere, it was Rick. There was nothing I could do. I considered asking my parents for coaching for myself, but it seemed ridiculous, since nobody believed I was any more than an accessory. A session musician - competent but never going anywhere.

"Still, Rick didn't really get anywhere until he was eighteen. He spent a year at Pegford University, studying accountancy, but then this agent spotted him. It wasn't convenient for him to stay in Pegford, so he moved away. We kept in touch over the phone, but I missed him like crazy - it was only then that I realised he'd become my life. I'd grown apart from all my classmates; I'd never had any semblance of a social life; I had no hobbies besides tennis; and my schoolwork had suffered.

"In September, he took part in this tournament, and was doing well. I decided to take a long weekend off school to watch him play, so I went to it with a few friends of mine. Sort of friends, anyway. The only one I really knew was Vicki, who's actually one of my English teachers, but she's only four years older than me. Then there was her boyfriend Neil, and this guy called Jeff. I knew him vaguely - he was a year younger than me and lived just down the road. Quite why he went, I had no idea. Vicki and Neil weren't going to the tournament, but some of their friends who lived in the vicinity were getting married, and Jeff worked for the school newspaper and claimed to be doing a story on Rick's victory and the wedding - since all those involved were former pupils and stuff.

"Anyway, it was really weird between me and Rick that weekend. He seemed preoccupied. I could understand that - he had important tennis matches to play - but it wasn't just that. On the Saturday I discovered exactly what it was: he was involved with a girl. Not just any girl, but Lindsay. The same one he'd been out with in Year 10."

"Ouch," Simon said, speaking for the first time in minutes. They had reached the youth hostel, and had been wandering around the outside of it. They had got round to the back, where there was a bench. He guided her down onto it.

"Precisely. I saw them kissing, and that was it, I'd had it with him. During all the time we'd been out, he'd gotten incredibly possessive whenever I so much as looked at another bloke, even if that bloke was ten years old. Or thirty, for that matter. I hadn't felt powerful enough to be the Angry Girlfriend (tm) when he spent time with his other female friends, but this I couldn't forgive.

"Naturally, I was totally upset - like I am now - and Jeff ended up comforting me. He asked me out, and in my completely unbalanced state, I said yes. I wanted to show Rick I wasn't suffering - although, as far as I'm aware, Rick has no idea about Jeff. Well, he'd laugh. There's nothing wrong with Jeff, but he's three years younger than Rick is. And anyway, as far as Rick's concerned, no one's as good as he is.

"Anyway, Jeff and I got along ok. We didn't have that much in common, but he was nice. Too nice, in a way - I mean, he'll never make fun of me. I'm starting to think I can't like guys that are that nice. There was a distinct lack of magic and the whole relationship seemed somewhat temporary, just a stepping stone to getting used to Life Without Rick.

"Still, some things got better. I actually paid attention to my schoolwork and my friendship with Fay was renewed. One day, a few weeks ago, she asked if we could play tennis. It was the first time since we were about twelve years old. I beat her easily, and she was stunned. She suggested that I tried out for the county, so I did. And they invited me here... and the rest is history."

Simon didn't say anything for a while. "How do you feel about Rick now?" he asked.

"That's the strange thing... I mean, for the first few days, all I could do was think about how much he'd dominated my life and feel glad I'd escaped. Naturally, seeing him with Kim hurt - how casual it was, as much as anything. Because we'd never had the 'Belinda We're Only Young I'm Feeling Tied Down I Think We Need To See Other People For A While' talk. He'd just gotten involved with Lindsay, and evidently become uninvolved again. It just seemed so pointless. Why had we bothered with such a long, fulfilling relationship, in which nothing had gone wrong, if this was his attitude towards girls?

"And now, arg, I don't know. It puzzled me when he congratulated me when I won and when he talked to us that night on the stairs. But it got to me even more when he ignored me, treated me like a total stranger. I played tennis against him three times and he didn't say a word to me; we spent yesterday evening alone in the same room, and all he did was ask me a Physics question. No, don't ask, because I don't know either. I just don't know what he's playing at: whether he's going out of his way to hurt me, or just hates the sight of me, or what. But I just hate myself really, for caring what he thinks of me. I mean, it's finished. Am I expecting it to start again? I don't even want it to start again. I don't know... I'm just stupid."

"You're not stupid," Simon said, squeezing her tightly. "You've been hurt... you have a divine right to feel confused."

"But it's not just Rick, it's Jeff too. We've been kind of distant since I got here, which is only to be expected. I've told myself things'll go back to normal when I go home, but in some ways, I don't want to go home. I don't think we're going anywhere, that's the problem. We have different agendas: he wants all the normal stuff - good A Levels, good course at university, good job. I just want to win Wimbledon while Rick doesn't. Is that screwed up or what?"

"It's only to be expected," Simon assured her. "The wounds will take a while to heal. By Christmas, you'll be feeling better about the whole thing. Of course, you'll still want to win Wimbledon, but for your own sake only. As for Jeff... well, maybe you shouldn't have plunged into a relationship so quickly. Or maybe it just wasn't meant to be."

"I think that's it. But how do I tell him that? I've never had to dump someone before... and what's more, I keep wondering, was I meant to be with Rick? Are we a perfect match? I hate to admit it, but we have a lot in common. We're as egotistical as each other... maybe it's my destiny to get involved with someone who treats me like a second class citizen."

"You deserve better than that."

"No I don't. I don't deserve anything. I've been such a cow this week. There's a tension between Fay and me; I've been jealous of Rosemary because it's like she's got nothing to worry about; I haven't been watching Donald play because of this stupid desire to win; and I've been ignoring you, because all I can do is think about Rick-"

"Nonsense. I like you a lot, Belinda, but I know you're seeing Jeff, and I know there's a lot of history between you and-"

"Simon, I'm crazy about you. I've just been too preoccupied to do anything about it, and I guess it's too late now. I've told you everything, and you'll think I'm a total freak."

"But I don't."

They kissed.


Chapter Nineteen

"Er, will you go out with me?" Simon asked.

"Yes," Belinda told him. Oh dear, this was complicated. She couldn't even begin to sort out in her mind where everything stood now, never mind what was going to happen next. No amount of typing was going to sort this out.

Oh well, there was an alternative escape route. She kissed him again, and this time it went on and on. When they broke apart, she got up and then sat down again on his knee. They kissed again, and again, and again.

Then they just sat there, in the silence.

"We should go to bed," he said, at last. "I don't mean like that-"

"Aw, why not?"

He seemed slightly taken aback, but came up with an answer. "Because it's late and you've got a bit of an important tennis match tomorrow," he reminded her.

"Believe it or not, I'd completely forgotten about that," she told him. "I don't want to play it anymore. It's suddenly become so pointless. I don't care if I win or not. I was only ever doing it for... you know, that guy. And now, see, I can't even remember his name."

"I want you to win though," Simon said. "Win for me."

"Will you be disappointed if I don't?"

"Yes, but I'll still love you."

She kissed him again. Suddenly everything seemed too good to be true. All her problems, she couldn't even remember what they were.

"Come on," he said. "To bed."

Her bedroom was deserted when they got there. Rosemary, she discovered later, had walked a five miles into Birmingham, accompanied by Steph and Femmy Boy. They had gone to a nightclub where Femmy Boy made friends with a bloke wearing a crash helmet. When the nightclub closed the four of them hit an off license then spent the next few hours sitting in a park smoking spliffs, discussing life, the universe and everything. For the next few weeks, Rosemary would talk about it incessantly, calling it the most intense night of her life. The two girls and Femmy Boy - in no state to walk - had taken a taxi back to the youth hostel at 6am, only to arrive and "discover" they didn't have any money left between them. Fortunately, they managed to borrow some off a bloke who they encountered jogging round the building.

Rosemary and Steph decided against going to bed, since they'd miss the girls' final. Femmy Boy, however, desperately needed sleep. He woke up in a coma-like state at midday and needless to say, he did not win his final. However, he took it in good grace, even though he wasn't permitted to wear a dress. (He did wear a copious amount of make-up though, and immediately after the match he put a dress on and got himself on TV. Belinda's classmates who watched the match would ask her about him for the next few days.)

Belinda had no idea where Fay spent the night; Fay never discussed it. However, she was pretty sure she knew WHAT Fay did that night, and several months later, Fay and Edward were still an item.

In the meantime, Belinda and Simon had the room to themselves. Belinda pushed him gently onto one of the beds, and climbed on top of him. For the next few minutes, they remained there, kissing and talking and just being together. She didn't want this to end.

But he insisted. "You need your sleep," he said, getting up. "After tomorrow, we can spend as much time as we like together. Can I have your phone number, by the way - in case I don't get a chance to get it tomorrow."

She found a piece of paper and wrote it down. He gave her his, and they agreed to talk on Monday, at the latest. Then, after one final kiss, he left the room.

She felt happier than she had in ages. She couldn't sleep, her brain too excited by the knowledge that finally she'd done something right.


The next day, she awoke tired but happy. The mood was the similar throughout her group of friends. Donald and Nicky were serene; Fay and Edward were glowing; Rosemary and Steph were babbling away about what reality was; and Simon was effervescent as always. The appalling cafeteria staff actually made a decent job of breakfast; outside, it was cool and windy, but a pleasant, fresh enough day.

Only when Belinda stepped onto the tennis court - not just any old tennis court now, The Tennis Court, the number one court, the one surrounded by actual stands, not just wire mesh - did her happiness fade.

It was scary. The stands were filled with young people, official people, parent-types, ball people, and camera-wielding people. All these strangers - and all these strangers across Europe. She scanned the crowd for familiar faces - she spotted Andy and waved to him - and saw her teammates. There were her parents too, with her half brothers. And Helen and Ray and their kids too - wow!

But they all disappeared into a blur, and only one face came into focus.

Rick's.

No, she didn't care about him anymore. No She Did Not Care. But he cared about her, that was the only trouble. If she won, they were still equals. If she lost, what he'd always believed would be true: he was better than her.

She had to win. She didn't want to impress him; she certainly didn't want him back. She simply didn't want to give him the satisfaction of proving his superiority.

And there was Kim, looking perfect and professional, calm and confident, on the other side of the court. Not just a court - a stadium, an arena. Belinda had never been in an area like this before, never mind had to play in one. It was daunting - was Kim more experienced at this sort of thing? The court seemed enormous - how would she ever manage to run across it?

She warmed up. I can do this. I beat Anna Arnold yesterday and held Rick to a draw yesterday. Kim is not invincible; she can be destroyed.

Yet she didn't feel too confident. She felt shaky and unstable. She couldn't seem to hit the ball properly; she couldn't produce that perfect thwack that had sounded hundreds, thousands of times yesterday.

Was it the location or was it the stakes? Whichever, somehow she had to focus. Focus and put everything into this. The perfection she had achieved yesterday would come back to her - it had to. It was just a question of calming down and adjusting to the situation.

Easier thought than done.

The match began, yet it didn't seem real. Kim seemed to be a million miles away. The umpire's calls were distant, she barely heard them. She didn't know what was going on in her head; she felt like some giant vacuum was sucking everything out of it, turning into a tennis playing machine.

Yet she wasn't exactly a good tennis playing machine. Her limbs felt unstable. She couldn't run very fast, and every step she worried about hurting herself by landing too hard and uncomfortably on her foot. She threw the ball up and the racquet connected with it clumsily. The ball moved lethargically towards the net in slow motion, and seemed to take ages in deciding whether to land in the service box or not.

Gradually, the points amassed on the proper score board, like at Wimbledon. It seemed miles away. Miss Milton vs. Miss Kershaw, it read. Six games to five. Was she winning? She hadn't realised. Yes, that's what six games to five meant. And yet the fact didn't really register. That was the score, simply a fact, like power equals force times velocity.

A very true equation. If she could put force into her hits and velocity into her movements, she'd acquire power. The power to win this match. It was all mathematical.

Belinda couldn't focus on her opponent's game. Kim simply played, without quality. What am I thinking? I need to find her weak spots and exploit them! But there was a tiredness in her mind, and she simply couldn't. It refused to work; she was simply going through the motions, returning the balls she could return, missing those that she couldn't. There was nothing else she could do; that was all there was to this game. It was thoroughly mindless.

Had she won the first set? She squinted at the score board. Yes, she had, seven games to five. She must have broken Kim's service. Again, this fact simply registered without the meaning having any effect. It was like being in a dream. She'd always said this was her dream, to get to Wimbledon, and this was it, happening. She'd just never expected it to be like this.

Belinda only emerged from her trance when Kim collapsed on the court.

What the heck?

It wasn't an injury; Kim hadn't lost her footing and fallen over. She had just collapsed, fainted. Was she sleepy? She hadn't looked particularly tired. Was it the heat? Belinda wasn't hot in the slightest, but Kim might have had a temperature or something. But her opponent didn't look particularly flushed. But now Belinda thought of it, she had been looking somewhat nauseous during the game.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Kim made no movement, and loads of people swarmed onto the pitch. Belinda checked the score, she was winning one set to love, and four games to two. But that hardly mattered.

There had been something weird going on this entire week, and this was proof of it. People didn't just collapse like that.

Oddly, Belinda noticed, Rick was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't where he'd been sitting before, and he wasn't anywhere near Kim.

Kim was removed from the court, and the bemused reserve from her team was sent on. The reserve had plenty of energy, but had hardly played any tennis this week, and certainly hadn't been prepared to play in a final. At any rate, she was more concerned about what had happened to Kim than winning this thing.

So Belinda won automatically in two love-games.

The crowd went wild, but the hysteria that should have broken out was noticeably subdued by the bizarre occurrence earlier in the match. Belinda found herself being handed a trophy and bunch after bunch of flowers, but she barely looked at any of them. After as little posing for the flashing cameras as she could get away with, she handed the trophy to Simon and gave the flowers to her other friends to look after.

"Belinda!" Oh great, here were her parents and half-brothers. And Mr Lawton as well. Oh, this really wasn't what she needed right now. She couldn't think about tennis and her own future, not when there was such a great mystery about the entire week.

She managed to fend them off. "I need to be alone for a while," she said, and they seemed to understand. She fought through the crowds of exuberant fans, and jogged back to the youth hostel, thoughts of a shower totally slipping from her mind.

The only person she encountered at the youth hostel was Femmy Boy, who gave her a bear hug, then let her go to her room, where she could think.

All her opponents had been flawed in ways that had nothing to do with tennis. Katerina's handicap hadn't been obvious, but Belinda was pretty sure she could have played better. Sarah's wasn't just the rain, but the urgent wish to get home and back to her boyfriend. Neither of these, however, bothered Belinda that much. People had off-days, and Sarah wasn't accustomed to playing in rain. Nothing surprising about that.

But Felicity had had a hangover when there was no alcohol in a five mile radius; Chantal had been besieged by a load of twelve year old boys that no one would admit to inviting; Geraldine had seemed unnecessarily tired; Anna had seemed to give up; and Kim had collapsed. All those occurrences couldn't be coincidental.

But how could she find out what was going on?


Chapter Twenty

The main problem was where to begin? She paced around her room, automatically packing away her belongings. She noticed her schoolwork. Doesn't look like I'm going to be getting many essays written this afternoon, she reflected, but it hardly mattered. Not when so many things remained totally unresolved.

A good beginning would be to find out exactly what had happened to Kim. Someone would know by now what was wrong with her, but that wouldn't really get her anywhere. Knowing what had happened wasn't enough; what - or who - had caused it was more important.

Could that something have happened during the match? It was entirely possible; during an end change, Belinda had paid no attention whatsoever to what her opponent was doing. But then, she hadn't been paying attention to anything. It was almost spooky, that her mind had been blanked just when she needed it to observe.

But other people must have observed!

She could hardly question every single spectator though. She threw the crumpled top she had worn last night into an open suitcase. Last night had been good, she reflected, she wished she could just forget about all this and get back to what had started then. But it wasn't that easy.

Then she had a brain wave. Some people had not only observed the match, but had observed all the important details of it. A spectator in the crowd, could have been looking anywhere at any given time; someone who saw it on TV, however, would have no option but to look at the players!

Jeff.

She felt overcome by guilt. She had to break up with Jeff now, but he was the only person she knew who had watched the match on TV. He would help her, wouldn't he, just this once? She picked up the mobile phone, and dialled his number.

"Jeff," she told him, "did you notice anything strange going on when you watched the match?"

"I didn't watch it," he confessed. "I taped it, intending to watch it when my homework was done."

She couldn't believe that. Whether she was going to split up with him or not, he was still her boyfriend - surely he could spare a couple of hours to watch her in her moment of fame?

However, that hardly mattered now. "Something really strange is going on," she said. "If you watch the match, you'll get some idea of it, but it's not just restricted to today, it's been happening all week. I don't have time to explain now, really, but I need you to do me a favour. I need you to watch the match, looking out for anyone behaving strangely. Particularly Kim - the girl I was playing - and... Rick."

"Rick?" Jeff echoed.

"Yes, he's here. He's been here all week - but there's absolutely nothing going on between me and him. Well there is, but it's certainly not that sort of something. He's in the audience - about the middle of the stand, level with the net on the side of the court opposite to the score board."

"What is all this about?" Jeff asked.

"It's a really long story, and I'll explain it soon. Right now, though, I need time to think. Please will you watch it?"

He hesitated. "Ok, then," he said, with some reluctance.

Did he have to act oddly as well as everyone else? "Thanks," she said. "Bye for now."

"Bye," he echoed.

It didn't strike her that they hadn't ended the call with declarations of love - it struck her that he hadn't even asked whether she'd won the match or not.

Did he really not care about her at all?

The phone rang, shrilly. She wasn't used to it - whenever she used it, it was always her making the calls, not the other way round. She pressed the button to receive the call, imagining it was Jeff, remembering to ask whether she'd won. They had some serious talking to do.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi," said a voice. It sounded somewhat distant, as if the caller was holding the receiver away from his mouth. "It's Rick."

Rick? What was he doing phoning her? He hadn't gone out of his way to speak to her since September. Maybe he was apologising for last night...

"Did you win?"

"Yes," she said, "7-5, 6-2." She thought about telling him that something strange was going on - but why should share that with him?

Besides, she had a bizarre feeling that he was part of the something strange.

"Congratulations," he said.

Was he being sarcastic or genuine? It was so difficult to tell with him these days. "Um, thanks," she said.

"'Thanks' is right," he said, his voice suddenly a normal volume. "I'm not saying you couldn't have done this on your own, but I certainly made it easier for you."

"What do you mean?" she asked, a chill suddenly creeping up her back. He could just be referring to the three times he'd helped her practise - but she had a sneaking suspicion there was more to it than that.

"Well, since you ask, I did rather a lot of things. Firstly, I played with you those three times - and incidentally, you played very well then. But that was Mrs Snyder's idea. Or maybe yours, I don't know."

"Mrs Snyder's," Belinda assured him. "I wouldn't have chosen to play against you if the only alternative was a wheelchair bound cripple with no arms."

"Fair enough. I imagine you found me a more than worthy opponent, though."

"What else did you do for me?"

"Changing the subject, are we? Well, next I succeeding in pissing you off a lot by hanging around with Kim." So she had been right about that - he had been hanging around with Kim to get on her nerves. But she'd never have guessed that he'd been doing that to help her win! She didn't believe it - but it was the truth all right. "You play so much better when you're angry," he clarified. "But that wasn't enough to be certain. I made absolutely sure none of your opponents could possibly win."

Belinda's arm suddenly felt shaky, too weak to hold the phone to her ear. She sat down on the bed and steadied it with her other hand.

"I assume you'll want the specific. Let's see, who was first? Oh yes, Katerina Kirk. Well, that didn't take much. I talked to her at the party, and she had no confidence in her tennis playing whatsoever and had no idea what she was doing here. A few glasses of wine didn't help her game the following day, either. At first I was worried that she could still slaughter you - you were playing terribly at the beginning of that match - but I knew you wouldn't let my presence get the better of you.

"Then Sarah Stewart. A little talk revealed that she was massively insecure about her boyfriend getting together with some slut while she was down here. I got her roommate to find me his number, and I gave him a ring. He was more than happy to get in touch with Sarah and tell her he was going to hook up with this whore if she didn't come home soon. He had a good sense of humour that guy, and no intention of being unfaithful in the slightest. But Sarah believed him, and fled from the tournament as quickly as she could.

"Felicity Frank was next. She was bored here, wanted to go out and live a little bit, so her wish was my command. I took her out the night before the match, got her absolutely slaughtered, and you walked over her."

Belinda realised that the girl she had seen in the car with Rick must have been Felicity. Having only got a glimpse of the girl, she hadn't recognised her when they encountered in the tennis match the following day.

But who was the other girl? "So who was the girl Simon and I saw you with on the stairs the next day? The red head?" she asked.

"Ah. That was the girl Kim played against in the fourth round. She got the same treatment as Felicity."

So Rick had been making Kim's opponents easy to beat too. Why? This was getting curiouser and curiouser.

"Your own fourth round opponent was a little too young for me to chat up," Rick continued. "But I managed to find out all about her. I discovered that, unlike you, the angrier she got, the worse she got at tennis. So I simply had to make her angry."

"So you invited a bunch of pre-teen boys to the match?" Belinda exclaimed. She couldn't believe this. The lengths he had gone to, all to ensure that she won. She thought he'd want her to lose - and yet, he'd been helping her all the way. But why?

"Precisely," he said. "That was my favourite of the stunts I pulled off, I'll confess. Now, who was next? Ah yes, Geraldine Green. I talked to her over coffee at the ice rink. She wasn't stupid enough to go out drinking with me, she wasn't susceptible to bribery, and I couldn't find out any way to make her match hell on earth. So I just had to put something in her cup of coffee. Something that ensured she'd have a totally sleepless night. And the following morning, I slipped something into her breakfast that would ensure that she fell asleep on the court. She got through the ordeal with no idea what had happened to her. Katerina and Felicity could have blamed me, but it was them that had agreed to drink; Geraldine hadn't agreed to anything, but she had no clue what had happened to her.

"Not wanting to repeat the same trick more than once, so as not to arouse suspicion, I had to do Anna Arnold a little favour."

"Her Physics homework?" Belinda blurted out.

"No, that was Rachel Greening's, Kim's opponent. Poor Rach, her parents had told her they wouldn't let her play tennis anymore unless she got all her homework done this holiday, and she just couldn't settle down to her mountain of Physics questions. So I did them for her, on the grounds that she lost the match.

"As for Anna, I found out that she'd written off her car a few months ago. Her parents wouldn't give her the financial support to get another, so I did instead... on the grounds that she lost her match."

"But why did Rachel and Anna agree to that?" Belinda asked. "I mean, they'd got to the semi-finals, it was so late in the day. They both could have got through - surely winning this thing mattered more to them than some Physics homework and a car?"

"No," Rick said, and she could almost hear him smirking. "You see, Mr Lawton may well have given you the impression that there was only one contract available, and that contract would go to the girl who won this. Same with the other three. But I knew otherwise. You see, there wasn't just one agent around there, but several. And the agents have lots of contracts. You four are, arguably, the four top under 18s tennis players in the country. Being number three or four is still a desirable position to be in. And indeed, both Anna and Rachel have been made offers. And Anna can get a new car, and Rachel can hand in her Physics. Everyone benefits in more ways than one, you see?"

"You sound like a psychopath," Belinda stated. Psychopaths, Femmy Boy had told her last night, were the most logical people in the world. Rick's reasoning had just made a startling amount of sense - and yet his actions seemed so cruel. Scratch that, they were cruel.

He laughed. "I'm not a psychopath, just a go-between. And I trust you want to know what happened to Kim? I just put food poisoning in her breakfast this morning."

"That's horrible!" Belinda gasped. "She might be seriously ill!"

"Oh, she'll be all right," Rick assured her. "I wouldn't do anything dangerous."

"But you can't just do that. You can't just fix results like that, by playing on the weaknesses of a dozen people."

"And why not?"

"Because I'll tell someone."

She sensed Rick smirking again. "Will you now? Think about this carefully, Belinda. By telling someone what I've done, you're admitting that you didn't win this thing by honest means. You'll not only jeopardise your own position, but Kim's as well, because I helped her get to the finals. She wouldn't thank you for that. And look at you both - you're my ex-girlfriend; Kim, some might believe, is my current girlfriend. If people find out I was involved in getting you two to the final, they'll suspect you both had some part in this foul play as well."

"They won't be able to prove it," Belinda said. "Besides, I don't want a contract if I didn't get it honestly."

"But don't you want a contract that to the best of your knowledge you acquired honestly? Don't put yourself down; without my intervention, you could have quite easily won."

Belinda didn't know what to do now.

"Why?" she asked. "Why did you do all this?"

He paused. "Would you believe me if I told you it was because I loved you?"

"No," she replied, instantly.

"That's a shame," Rick said, "because it's the truth. But like I said, I'm not the psychopath, I'm the go-between. And the psychopath loves you even more."

"Who's the psychopath then?" Belinda demanded, but already knowing that she wasn't going to get an answer. "And what does Kim have to do with all of this?"

But Rick had hung up.


Chapter Twenty One

Who was the psychopath? Belinda was determined to find out.

Someone who loved her even more than Rick did. The first thought that came into her mind was Simon. It was a ridiculous notion - but Simon and Rick had been seen talking to each other, including an instance on the first day here, Simon had said so.

But why would Simon want Kim to get to the final? Did the two of them know each other from somewhere?

Belinda cast the theory aside : Simon seemed far too nice to have come up with any scheme like that. Of course, she couldn't trust anyone anymore, really. She had lost a lot of faith in Rick, but she hadn't believed he could resort to tricks that low for some bizarre reason.

Who else? Jeff? Would that explain the tension between them? Was he trying to annoy her as well? But again, the question that arose was how did Jeff know Kim?

Belinda bore other people in mind. Her parents? Helen? Mr and Mrs Robinson? Ray? Ray seemed the only person capable of being the psychopath - he was the one she knew the least about - but again, there was the niggling question of how he knew Kim, as with everyone. She came up with an elaborate theory in which Kim was actually Ray's long lost sister, but that was pure fantasy.

Had Kim simply been ushered to the finals for the purpose of extra tension, or something?

The only logical step to take seemed to be to get in touch with Kim.

Maybe Kim had seen Rick talking to someone at some point during the week. Maybe Rick had told her what he was up to : after all, when she found out about the food poisoning she would certainly suspect him and he'd want to let her know what the problems resulting from incriminating him were. There was a chance of learning something at any rate.

She left the room, taking the mobile with her in case anyone wanted to get in touch. Downstairs, there were people everywhere. She spotted someone official - he was wearing a suit at any rate - and asked, "Excuse me, but what happened to Kim?"

He stared at her for a moment, recognising her as the Incredible Disappearing Winner then said, "She was taken to hospital. She suffered from food poisoning, but she seems all right now. She'll probably be released sometime this afternoon."

"Thanks," Belinda said, diving into the crowd in search of her parents.

After what seemed like hours, she located them. "Mr Lawton's left," her father told her. "He'll be in touch, though, and he's given us the contract."

"Great," Belinda said. "Now, do you think you could do me a favour by taking me to the hospital in Birmingham?"

"What do you want to go to a hospital for?" Daniel asked.

"To try and solve a mystery," Belinda told him. "Seriously," she added to her parents. "I'll explain all this in due course, but it's important to me. Can you drop me off there and take Tim and Dan sight-seeing for a couple of hours? Isn't the motor show on at the NEC?"

Her parents exchanged a glance. "All right then," her mother said. "Have you got your stuff?"

"No," Belinda said. "But I may need to come back here later anyway." If Kim failed to throw any light on the matter, maybe one of the other girls she'd defeated could do. Someone was bound to be still around. "Sorry about this," she added. "But this matters a lot."

Her parents asked no further questions as they drove her to the hospital. She told them she'd phone them when she'd finished here.

She practically leapt out of the car and sprinted into the hospital. "Hello," she said the receptionist. "Would it be possible for me to see Kim Kershaw? Admitted today, as a result of food poisoning?"

"Are you family?" the receptionist asked suspiciously.

Belinda was about to say no, when she realised it might be more difficult to get in if that was the case. She couldn't bear to wait until Kim was discharged, especially considering she'd probably be surrounded by her friends, supporters, officials and press.

"Yes," she said. "I'm her sister. Step-sister," she added, on the grounds that the two girls looked nothing alike. The receptionist gave her directions to the room where Kim was.

Belinda followed them and walked in. Fortunately, the room was empty except for Kim. "Belinda!" Kim exclaimed. "Um, hello! Did you win?"

"Yup," Belinda said. "Um, I'm sorry about what happened, but there's something really strange going on and I thought you might be able help me determine what."

"I doubt it," Kim said. "I'm totally confused myself. This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a certain Rick Robinson, would it?"

"Got it in one," Belinda muttered.

"If you don't mind me asking, how do you know him, anyway?"

Rick hadn't told her? Oh well, she supposed that didn't make any difference. "He was my boyfriend," Belinda said. "For five years."

Kim clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," she exclaimed. "I had no idea. If I'd known, I wouldn't have-"

"It's no problem," Belinda said. "It was all over between us." A slight lie, but it was certainly the truth now. Belinda never wanted to see or speak to Rick Robinson again, having learnt what he'd done... although he appeared to be the only person who knew who was behind this, and she may have to prise it out of him somehow. "Anyway, did he tell you about this crazy scheme he employed to get us into the final?"

"He told me how he got me into the final," Kim said. "I didn't know he'd done the same with you."

"Oh yes," Belinda said grimly. "Anyway, what was your response to that?"

"I said it wasn't fair on all those other girls, and I was going to tell an official person what he'd done as soon as possible."

"And he managed to dissuade you?"

"Yup. I mean, I never expected to get that far, but I might have done it without his aid... I didn't see why I should suffer for that reason."

"My feelings precisely. And did you ask him why he'd done this?"

"Yup. But he never answered me."

"He told me, but his answer was cryptic. He said he loved me, but that wasn't the reason; he was just a go-between and the psychopath loved me more."

"The what?"

"I called him a psychopath earlier on in the conversation. Psychopaths are logical and he was so totally logical about the whole matter. All his arguments made sense, too much sense - the only thing unexplained was why he'd done all this. But he said he wasn't the psychopath, just the handyman of one. What I'm trying to work out is the psychopath's identity and wondered if you had any ideas?"

Kim considered. "None whatsoever. The thing is, apart from Rick, we don't know any of the same people."

"That's what I was thinking. I was going through all the people that I knew who loved me, but I couldn't think how any of them who would know you."

"Baffling," Kim agreed.

"I wondered though, did you see Rick talking to anyone during this week, who might be the person behind all this?"

"I saw him talking to lots of people," she said, slowly. "All sorts of people. Girls, boys, women, men."

"Can you describe some of them? Together we'll try and work this out."

"Well, he congratulated a few kids after they played matches," Kim began. "But he just explained to me they were people he knew. You were one of them-"

"And the others would be my team mates," Belinda concluded. "Since they don't know you, I eliminated all of them."

"Then there was this girl I saw him having coffee with at the skating rink. She was average height I suppose, sort of well- built, with short light brown hair, a kinda plain face-"

"Geraldine Green," Belinda told her. "The girl I played in my fifth round match. Would you believe it, he put some sort of stimulant in her coffee so she couldn't sleep that night, and then sleeping pills in her breakfast so she was utterly exhausted on the court? It's almost as bad as what he did to you."

"So it was him who poisoned me," she said. "I couldn't be sure about it. I thought his work was done, getting me to the final, but clearly he wanted to make sure you won."

"Yup. I could sort of understand it if he just wanted to get us both into the finals, so we could fight each other. The new girlfriend versus the old. Weird, but believable. But, evidently, he had a different plan in mind. Anyway, who else did you see him talking to?"

"I first noticed him talking to a girl at that first party. She was kind of short and full-figured-"

"Katerina Kirk," Belinda guessed. "My first round opponent, who he got drunk."

"A favourite method, then," Kim observed. "Anyway, a couple of lunchtimes I saw him with this woman-"

"Mrs Snyder, my coach," Belinda said. "Just arranging a couple of practices with me."

"And I spotted him at... let's see, Friday dinner time, talking to a couple of guys in suits."

Now this was more like it! Belinda somehow found herself envisualising the psychopath as a man. And she wouldn't be able to explain this - she didn't have any connections to official people here, except those who'd made her do the drug test. And-

Oh, pants, there went that theory. "Agents," she said. "He implied that he'd spoken to a few agents here, to ensure that us two and the semi-finalists all got offered contracts. That would be them; that was the time when they made their presence known."

"And I can't think of anyone else," Kim said.

"Oh well," Belinda said. "Thanks for your help. I don't know quite what to do next - I'll probably just have to go home and end up never finding out. I guess I'll leave you in peace - my parents won't be ready to collect me for a while yet, but-"

"Wait here then," Kim urged. "Talk to me. I'm bored, and we might think of something."

"Are your parents not around?" Belinda asked.

"My mother is," Kim said. "She came to watch the match, and waited at the hospital until she knew I was ok. Now she's back at the youth hostel, collecting all my stuff and fighting off reporters. I don't feel like going back myself - I've never been good at taking mass sympathy and questions. My Dad - to the best of my knowledge - isn't around. He and Mum split up when I was ten, and I haven't seen much of him since."

"Oh," Belinda said, "I know how you feel. My Mum and stepdad separated when I was about the same age." Exactly the same age, in fact. "He was like a real Dad to me - Mum and my real Dad got divorced just after I was born, and I couldn't remember a time when my stepdad hadn't been around. Well, he went away a lot-"

She stopped short. She was rambling.

"Go on," Kim urged.

"But I'm babbling. My family is horrifically complicated, and I don't want to inflict it on you."

"No, carry on. I'll do my best to understand."

"Um, ok. Where was I? Yeah, my stepdad went away a lot, on business trips. I never knew exactly what sort of business - I hadn't a clue what he did for a living - but he was massively wealthy. To the extent that we still live in this enormous house, even though it belongs to him and my parents - Mum and Dad got back together again - are only gradually buying it off him."

"That's really strange," Kim said. "That sounds a lot like my Dad. He had an occupation I could never understand, and he went away a lot, down south-"

"Where do you live anyway?" Belinda interrupted.

"Near Liverpool. Anyway, whatever he did, it was terrifically well paying. He had this mansion custom built for us - well, it was about twenty times too big for us, but it had a swimming pool and tennis court and everything. And when he and Mum split up, he just left us with it. I think Mum's buying it of him, but he's in no hurry to get the money back."

"This sounds so much like Steve it's uncanny," Belinda remarked.

Kim's jaw dropped. "My Dad's called Steve as well," she said.

This really was bizarre. But there were plenty of men of that generation called Stephen. "What's his surname? Kershaw?" Belinda asked.

"No, that's Mum's maiden name," Kim said. "We got our surnames changed to that after he went. No, it's Winter."

"Oh, God," Belinda breathed.

"What?" But the expression on Kim's face could have been a mirror image of that on her own.

"Your Dad and my stepdad are the same person."


Chapter Twenty Two

"That's impossible," Kim said. "I don't believe it. It might be a totally freaky coincidence, but I'm sure it's a common enough name. What does your stepdad look like?"

Belinda described him. "That's what your Dad looks like too," she stated rather than asked. "And he's..." She calculated. "Forty five. Born on 27 April 1954."

"This is crazy!" Kim cried. "I mean, we're the same age. How the heck did he manage to be married to both our mothers at the same time?"

"With lots of business trips," Belinda said, the explanation occurring to her as she said it. She'd read about a man married to two women simultaneously in the papers once; that had to be what Steve Winter had done too.

Two unsolved mysteries of her life - ones she managed to forget about most of the time she was so familiar with them - were suddenly cleared up. One, that was where her stepfather had gone all those years... to visit his other family. Two, that was why Steve and her mother had broken up so suddenly. They'd had no problems, and then suddenly it was over. Belinda had been naive for a girl of ten; she'd never asked why.

"But this is so bizarre," Kim said. "I mean, what are the chances of the daughter and step-daughter of the same guy meeting in the final of a nationwide tournament?"

"Incredibly slim," Belinda said. "Unless he engineered it that way."

Kim caught her breath. "Hang on. You're saying he's the psychopath?"

"I'm saying it seems like a likely explanation," Belinda said. "Other than Rick, he's the only person who knows both of us, and what's more, he loves both of us. And he knows Rick. Confusing as this may sound, Rick's also the brother of my sister's husband, and he actually lived in the same house as me for five years.

"Furthermore, Steve always encouraged my tennis playing, to a greater extent than Mum and Dad ever did, and I swear I saw him at the tournament the first day I was there. I thought I was mistaken, but he's now - get this - involved with my boyfriend Jeff's single mother, and Jeff said he hadn't seen him in a few days."

"Oh, God," Kim said. "This is too much to take in at once. First I find out that all my victory was all due to Rick's schemes. Then I pass out on the tennis court. Then I find out that we're - what are we?"

"Stepsisters," Belinda said. "Your Dad and my mother might not be married anymore, but they've got kids."

"Oh, God," Kim said again. "Please, no more relevations. Kids. How many? Boys or girls? How old?"

"Two boys, Tim and Daniel. Twelve and nine respectively. Our half-brothers."

"So then I find out that we're stepsisters. Then I find out that my Dad was, in all likelihood, the man behind his whole operations. And now I hear I've got half-brothers."

"I don't think I've got any more alarming news to impart," Belinda said.

"Thank God for that," Kim said.

"You don't have any brothers or sisters, do you?"

"No."

The two girls just sat in silence for a moment, trying to digest all the things they'd found out in the last few minutes. It was difficult.

"Belinda?" Kim said. "There's this one other thing bothering me. This is going to sound absolutely mental, but one night, just before I left for the tournament, I was whacking a tennis ball against the wall of my house, and I could have sworn I heard two voices. Men's voices, talking about me and my tennis playing. One was saying I might win Wimbledon one day; the other was arguing with him. The first one said I'd get to the finals of this tournament at any rate, and they ended up betting a million pounds on it. I thought it was just my imagination, but..."

"That happened to me too," Belinda said. "The day before I left. Do you think one of those voices could have been Steve's?"

"Well, it seems possible," Kim admitted. "I mean, it's a lot of money to bet on something so unlikely, but if he was going to rig the tournament so we got to the final..."

"Easy money for him," Belinda observed. "I mean, it's a good choice of thing to bet on. Firstly, to whoever he made the bets with, the chances of us both getting to final seemed to be one in a million. One of us might make it, but that way, no money would have to change hands. Secondly, it's such an easy thing to rig. Betting a professional sport, no one would have access to any of the players involved, but with this, Rick could just walk among us and no one suspected a thing."

"But surely this is... illegal," Kim stammered. "I mean, none of the girls got harmed, and the semi-finalists actually benefitted. Still, it was potentially damaging to their careers as tennis players. Can we tell someone about this?"

"But he's your Dad," Belinda said. "And I think of him as a second father. Do we want to do this to him, when half of his plan was to help us on our way to fame?"

"Half his plan?" Kim asked sceptically. "How do you know that? It might just have been a coincidence, that we're his kids, and all he really wanted was money..."

"Who can tell?" Belinda said. "At any rate, we need to consider this really carefully. Another factor is our contracts - I'd put justice before tennis any day, but what about doing ourselves justice? If we don't speak, everyone's happy. If we do, no one is."

The door of the room opened, and a woman, presumably, Kim's mother, came in. "Hi," she said.

"Mum, this is Belinda, the other finalist. Belinda, this is my mother."

Belinda took a good look at the woman. So this was the woman her mother had unknowingly been competing with for nine years or something. Had they ever met? The woman was in her forties and had no particularly distinguishing features. Did she know who Belinda was?

Bizarre, Belinda reflected, that the two women had been competing for the same man for nine years, and for nine days, their daughters had been competing for the same trophy... and possibly, to a lesser extent, the same man as well.

"Oh, how nice of you to visit!" Mrs Kershaw gushed.

"Well, my parents wanted to explore Birmingham a bit," Belinda lied. "So I thought I'd drop by." There was evidentaly a silent agreement not to tell Kim's mother - or anyone - what they had found out that afternoon. "But my parents'll be back soon, so I'd best be off. Oh, Kim, can I have your phone number? I'll store it on my mobile."

"Ok," Kim said. Belinda fiddled with her phone until she was in a position to store a number, and Kim told her it. Then, on a piece of paper Kim's mother provided, Belinda gave her number. She wondered if Mrs Kershaw would recognise it, but if she did, she showed no signs of doing so.

"I'll get in touch sometime within the next week," Belinda said. "Right, must be off."

They said their goodbyes, and Belinda left the hospital. As she passed the receptionist she had spoken to earlier, it struck her that the lie she'd told before was actually the truth. How bizarre was it?

A thousand other thoughts were whizzing around her head, a completely different set that to that which had bothered her for the last week. Apart from all her discoveries, one question that kept surfacing was this : had Steve obtained all his fortune through schemes like this? And did her mother have any idea about any of this?

Outside the hospital, she pressed the button that made her father's mobile phone ring. He promised to come and collect her within the next half an hour.

Almost instantly, her phone rang for the second time that day. Rick, she thought, at once, and pressed the button to answer the call. Although, come to think of it, she didn't have much of a need to hear from him now. Still, it might be interesting, if nothing else. "Hello?" she said.

"Hi," said Jeff's voice. "I watched the video. Is that poor girl ok?"

"Yup, I've just been visiting her," Belinda said. "She'll be out of hospital within a couple of hours."

"Good," Jeff said. "Well, I didn't notice anything weird, I'm afraid. I saw Rick once, and that was it, and the girl looked a bit pale for most of the match, but that's about it."

"No problem," Belinda said. "I think I've solved the bulk of the mystery now anyway."

"Care to explain what mystery?" Jeff said.

"It's a very long story," Belinda said. "I've got about twenty minutes now, but it'll take longer than that; at any rate, I want to speak to you in person."

"Ok," he said. "Oh, by the way, congratulations on winning."

Finally, she thought. "Thanks," she said. There was a slight silence. "So, what have you been up to in the last few days?"

"Not a lot," he said. "Just playing computer games, mostly, to avoid doing homework. Oh, there was a slight development on the Mr Winter front. He turned up on Friday for an hour or two then buggered off again, if you're interested. And get this: my sister's come home from university for a long weekend... and apparently she'd got back with Brad again. You know, the guy I told you about? Who she went out with in Year 10, and whose father Mum almost ended up marrying?"

A lucid memory suddenly struck Belinda with such force and velocity that she almost dropped the phone. "I sincerely doubt Mum'll marry him," Jeff had said to Belinda with reference to Steve. "She's gone out with billions of men since Dad left. Most of them were creeps. Mr Winter's ok though." But there was stunning about this. What shocked her was the next sentence. "The other ok one was Mr Boot-" Brad's father, she would discover, and then, just the most casual detail, "This guy she defended once."

"Jeff," she said now. "I want you to think very carefully about the answer to the question I'm about to ask you."

"What?" he asked, sounding a little nervous. Perhaps he thought it was to do with them.

"How did your mother meet Mr Winter?" Belinda asked. "Was she defending him in a case?"


Chapter Twenty Three

"Gosh, Belinda, I don't know," Jeff said. "She meets so many blokes, I lose track of them. Sometimes they're her clients, sometimes they just meet in, well, whatever way single fortysometings meet other single fortysomethings. I can find out though, I guess."

"Can you find out in some way that doesn't involve asking her?" Belinda asked. "Like, does she have an appointment calendar?"

"Yup," Jeff said. "I'll check it. But Belinda, what does this have to do with Amy and Brad? Or you, for that matter?"

"Like I said, it's a long story," she said. "I'll tell you later."

Probably, anyway. Maybe. Could she tell him everything? She trusted him completely... but this did concern his mother's boyfriend. And his girlfriend's ex. And some things, surely, had to be kept between Belinda and Kim. And Belinda had to dump Jeff soon - could she trust him to keep a secret then?

"All right. Ah, here it is. The calendar." She paused as he started to flick through pages. "Aha. Appointment with Mr Winter. Sounds like he's a client."

"Any mention of 'Mr Winter's trial'?" she asked.

Jeff flipped some more pages. "Yup. Except it's 'Steve's trial' by that stage."

"Now," she said, "can you possibly do a bit more detective work for me? I need to know what the case was about, and if Steve's ever been to court before."

Jeff hesitated. "Can you please give me some clue at least to what's going on?"

"Kim's collapse," Belinda said. "That's linked to this. Explaining how would take forever, but trust me, there's a connection."

"Ok," Jeff said, with an exaggerated sigh. "I'll try and find out about Mr Winter."

"Thanks," she said, truly grateful. "Don't call me; I don't want to talk about this when I'm on my way home with my family. I'll phone you when I get home."

"Ok." Jeff seemed to be saying that a lot. "Bye."

"Bye," she echoed, for the first time truly regretful that this relationship was disintegrating by the second. Jeff was essential in her investigation, but he was more than that. In the last month, she might have failed to fall in love with him, but she did like him. A lot. Now it seemed that their friendship was dying as well as their relationship.

Her parents' car arrived within a few minutes. "Where next, madam?" her father asked.

"The youth hostel to get my stuff then home," Belinda said.

"Are we allowed to ask what you're up to?" her mother asked.

"You can ask, but I can't tell you," Belinda said. "Not yet." When would she be able to confide in her parents about everything? She had no real idea what they thought of Steve - they all seemed to be on relatively good terms, whether Steve had cheated on her mother or otherwise. In addition she had, she had no idea of where they stood on illegally obtained tennis playing tennis contracts - in fact, she had no idea what they thought of the idea of her playing professional tennis at all.

That, at least, she could find out. "What do you think of this contract, anyway?" Belinda asked.

"Well, we're proud of you," her father said, "but this is going to need some serious thinking about. We haven't even read it yet, and neither have you, and it sounds like a big decision."

It was, bigger than they knew. In their eyes, it was a question of choosing tennis or education, and they'd always seemed to be on the education side of things. But more than that, this was her big opportunity to get into the tennis world, what she'd always longed for. But what if it didn't work out? What if she'd only gained admission because of Rick's intervention in her chances in this tournament? Even if she hadn't, would she actually be able to live with herself when she hadn't been sure she'd earned the contract fairly?

"We'll talk about it later," Belinda's mother said. "Maybe tonight. Have you got all your homework done?"

"Yes," Belinda lied. She wondered if her Religion teacher would accept, "I went to a tennis tournament and found out my ex- stepfather is a philandering philanthropist criminal and that I have a step sister" as a valid excuse for not handing in her essay. She hoped so.

They arrived back at the youth hostel without any further words exchanged, except a brief account of how the rest of her family had spent their time in Birmingham.

The youth hostel was deserted: everyone was watching the boys' final. She gathered her belongings together, realising she wasn't going to get the chance to say goodbye to a lot of people she'd got to know here. She'd see some of them in due course: Fay at school tomorrow; Simon, Rosemary and Donald at tennis club next Saturday. She might even see Edward and his team in the not- too-distant future. But Steph, Nicky and Femmy Boy she'd probably never see again.

She was seriously tempted to head for the court and bid them all farewell - actually to watch the remainder of the match - but she didn't want to draw any attention to herself, if she could help it. She was going to seem like an ungrateful winner, disappearing like she had done, but it was all in a good cause. Probably...

So she left a note in her room, letting Fay and Rosemary know she'd gone home, then dumped her eight million possessions in the back of her parents' car.

"Can't we watch the boys' final?" Daniel asked.

"It's probably nearly over now," Belinda said. "Besides, someone'll have probably recorded it."

"Ok," he said, agreeably. And so she left the place, with no regard whatsoever for the trophy and flowers and prize money she was leaving there.

The journey home seemed endless. Belinda fell into a half daze, the thoughts swilling round in her head, but without really making any impacts. Oh, if only she could wake up and have everything as it was this morning... well, maybe not. She didn't want to have to play the final again, and everything was horrendously complicated then too - she was simply thinking about other things. Simon... she really wished she'd said goodbye to him. She hoped he was still interested in her, and last night hadn't been a spontaneous night of passion or something.

Eventually, the car pulled up outside the mansion. Home. She was finally back, and yet that thought just made her feel hideously depressed. School tomorrow - back to the daily grind - and in all likelihood, she'd still have all these secrets locked in her head, with absolutely no one to tell them to. Could she confide in Simon, she wondered? Probably... but would it really do any good?

The first thing she did was turn on the TV, hoping to see the conclusion of the boys' final, but it had long since finished. She wondered if any of this would make the news and what sort of story they'd come up with. Would the journalists try to find a mystery in Kim's collapse? She felt overcome by weariness, and realised she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast time. Breakfast... it seemed like another lifetime ago. She hoped the journalists would conclude that Kim had had an allergic reaction to bacon.

Belinda wanted to sink onto the sofa and fall into a grey oblivion of sleep. Then she remembered she was supposed to phone Jeff. She supposed she'd better... she wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

She went to her room, where she'd have guaranteed privacy, and dialled Jeff's number on her extension. "I'm back," she said. "Have you found anything?"

"Yup," Jeff said. "Apparently, this wasn't his first time to appear in court - it was his fifth - but he has yet to be found guilty of anything. All his cases have been connected with dodgy financial dealings."

"Do you think he's innocent?" Belinda asked.

"Well, of course. My mother wouldn't go out with him if he was guilty. I'll bet the only reason he went to court in the first place was because someone didn't think he could have acquired so much money legally."

"But if he got it legally, then how?" Belinda asked, mostly to herself. Was it legal to mess the results of kids' tennis matches? Put like that, it didn't sound terribly criminal. "MAN GETS TEN ADOLESCENTS TO ATTEND TENNIS MATCH," she envisaged a headline saying. "IMPRISONED FOR TWENTY YEARS." There was something funny about that.

"Look, Belinda, why are we arguing about Mr Winter?"

"I don't know," she said. "We need to talk about us."

"Us," Jeff repeated, in an expressionless voice.

"It's over," Belinda said.

Jeff hung up on her.


Belinda spent the next few hours curled up in the sitting room, feeling deeply disatisfied. Other than her ex-stepfather's exact motives, she knew everything now - but what could she do about it? It didn't seem safe to tell anyone - all the people she knew seemed too caught up in the midst of it. She went through their names in her head, and when she came to Fay's, a shockwave coursed through her head. Fay had been one of Kim's opponents - had Rick done something to her as well? More than anything, she felt curiosity about that. Rick and Fay knew each other relatively well - what had Rick done for her? The horrible idea that they’d slept together flashed through her mind, although there was no foundation for the theory, and anyway, Fay wouldn’t do that. Not only would she have more regard for Belinda’s feelings, but casual sex was totally un-Fay-like, especially now she had - Edward! Had Rick arranged their getting together? Whatever, she didn’t feel like asking her friend, and who knew when she’d next hear from Rick? He had her number, but there was no need for them to communicate as far as he was concerned.

Could she do anything about it? Tell the police - tell someone of importance in the tennis tournament? But the knock-on effects were unpredictable. Her contract mattered so little to her right now, but she was perfectly aware of its importance in the long term. It was what she'd wanted for - how many years? And now it was hers, and yet she hardly cared about it.

Should she be feeling grateful? Happy?

She tried to do her history notes: her essay was just too daunting. But she couldn't have concentrated on Bismarck's foreign policy if her life depended on it.

Would any of her friends be home by now? she wondered. Simon, or Fay perhaps, or... most importantly, Kim. Between them, they had to be able to come up with some sort of strategy, surely?

The phone rang, making Belinda jump. Chances were, it would be for her. Who could it be? Simon? Fay? Rosemary? Kim? Jeff? Rick? Maybe even Steve? He'd never phoned her before, but there was a first time for everything, and everything seemed to be happening today.

Or just some acquaintance from school who'd seen her on TV and wanting to say well done? Or some relative overcome with joy? Or some tennis official who'd discovered the truth who would nullify her contract and take back her cup?

She let someone else answer it. She heard the sound of her mother talking to someone, but her voice was distant. It was strangely reminiscent of the tennis match this morning, when nothing was seemed real, like a dream. Was this whole thing a bad dream? Would she ever wake up a normal seventeen year old school girl again, with a nice boyfriend, a supportive best friend and the world at her feet? Oh, she wished she could.

Her mother's voice ceased a couple of minutes later, and she heard footsteps. Approaching, but not coming all the way to the living room. The sound of her mother and father talking briefly and quietly, then her mother coming this way. What would this be about?

"Belinda," her mother said, solemnly. "I'm afraid there's some bad news. I'm quite aware that this has already been a rather traumatic day for you-" More traumatic than her mother realised too "-but there's not much I can do about it. What's happened has happened."

It had been the tennis people. They'd decided she didn't deserve the cup and contract.

"It's Steve," Mrs Winter said. "He's... dead. Car accident."


Epilogue

A month later, Belinda and Simon were sitting on the edge of the swimming pool outside Belinda's house. They were fully clothed, but had removed their socks and shoes and were dangling their legs into the cool water. It was a freezing day, but neither was cold. They'd just been playing tennis. Belinda had won easily.

"Have you done anything about the contract yet?" Simon asked. "Need I ask?"

"No," Belinda sighed. "I know I really have to get on with it... I've got about two weeks to my UCAS form in if I want to go to university, and about one week to submit my application for the indoor open. But I just can't decide. I mean, I've done over a year's work for my A Levels... and I'd quite like to go to university... and I can always play tennis after that... but I want to play now. I'm good now and I'll get impatient if I have to battle on with my schoolwork for another three and a half years. I'm not really passionate about my school subjects - I think tennis is where my future lies - but how can I be certain?"

"You can't be," Simon told her gently. "You'll just have to take the plunge." He shoved her into the swimming pool.

She screamed, but she was ecstatic all the same. Especially when he jumped in after her. That was one of those things that Jeff would never, ever do. That was his problem, he took everything too seriously. Simon, on the other hand, could be perfectly serious one moment, and then completely frivolous the next. But he always knew when to be serious and when not to be.

Yes, she'd definitely made the right choice as far as boyfriends were concerned. If only she could be so confident in deciding her future.

She climbed out of the pool, her clothes soaking, and he joined her. "The other thing is," she continued, as if the madness of a few seconds ago had never happened, "is that tennis had so many bad vibes attached to it." She'd told Simon and Simon alone about all her findings on that fateful day. "On a most basic level, I didn't like the person I turned into on that tennis court. I stopped feeling; I went totally numb; I have no memories of the majority of that match. I've watched it on video once since then, and I played well, but even on that you can tell the lights are on but no one's home. Is that always going to happen to me when I'm on a half decent tennis court?"

"Is there some way of putting off signing the contract?" Simon asked. "Can you go to the indoor tournament without making any sort of commitment?"

"It's commitment enough," she told him. "The mocks are in January; if I focus on tennis in the Christmas holidays, I'm basically knackered. I've got to get moving on my history personal study too."

"What do your parents think?"

"They think it's up to me, which is a lot of good. I mean, if they were honest, they'd tell me to go on with my studies, but they won't be. They keep telling me it's my future and I should follow my dreams... but I'm not sure what my dreams are anymore."

"You don't want to be a professional tennis player anymore?"

"Sort of... but my picture of what it'd be like has needed a lot of alterations of late. For so long, I just imagined fame, fortune, fans, all the good things. But now I've had to add drugs, gambling and horrendous amounts of pressure to that scene."

"Why does everything get tainted when you get older?" Simon mused.

"And my alternate vision..." she continued. "Well, the trouble is, I just don't have one. I can't see myself in a nine to five job."

"Well, you don't have to work," Simon reminded her. "You've probably got enough dough to never have to work in her life."

"Let's not talk about money," Belinda said.

The financial impact of Steve's death had been sticky to say the least. In his will, he had written that Belinda's parents got to keep their house; Kim's mother got to do the same with theirs. Helen had inherited the third mansion Steve owned, in which he was living at the time of his demise. His substantial savings had been split five ways: for Belinda, Tim, Daniel, Kim, and inexplicably, a twenty three year old bloke named Adam who lived in Cardiff. It transpired that Adam was Steve's first child, but neither Kim's mother nor Belinda's had any idea of his existence. Adam had attended his father's funeral, but had refused to talk to anyone; Adam's mother was also present, and ranted bitterly and at length about Steve's misgivings when the ceremony was over. Belinda's mother had been in tears. The whole thing had been uncomfortable.

To confuse matters further, a couple of hours before his death, Steve had taken the a large amount of money out of one of his bank accounts. This struck Belinda as strange - what had he intended to do with it?

The only real conclusion that Belinda had managed to reach was that Steve had certainly done well where keeping secrets was concerned.

Using the microfiche machine in the local library, Belinda had tried to find out more about her ex-stepfather's past. She read up on the times he'd been in trouble with the law. It wasn't obvious to her whether he was innocent or guilty in any of the crimes he was accused of. They were all a little hard to understand - enormous amounts of money seemed involved, but she had a hard time deciding on whether his actions appeared legal or not. Either way, he seemed to have gotten away with everything, despite a gut feeling that he was guilty.

She had spoken to Kim a couple of times over the phone - they hadn't said much to each other at the funeral. Belinda had felt tempted to ask Kim to play tennis with her, so they could find out once and for all who had the upper hand. However, the prospect seemed morbid, and in a way, the result wouldn't have mattered. They had both been offered contracts, hadn't they? One inconclusive victory didn't mean a lot.

Kim, however, had yet to sign her contract too. The two girls had come to no decision whether to ever speak the truth or not. There seemed little point in incriminating someone that was dead... and yet the knowledge they possessed bothered both of them. While Tim and Daniel's eyes had practically flashed with dollar sounds on learning of their inheritance, neither of their half sisters wanted to touch their cash - how could they tell that the money had been acquired honestly?

Kim hadn't heard from Rick at all. He had been present at Steve's funeral, but hadn't said much to anyone and had ignored Kim and Belinda totally. Belinda didn't feel anything for him anymore - she just wasn't particularly looking forward to Christmas when he'd probably be back in Pegford.

"Ok," Simon said, breaking her reverie. "What shall we talk about then?"

"How about not talking at all?" Belinda asked, kissing him.

A few minutes later, she heard the phone ringing inside the house. "I'd better get that," she said, standing up. "Everyone's out."

"Typical," Simon said, "everyone disappears when you actually need them." Belinda's parents liked Simon a lot; her half brothers liked him even more to the point of being thoroughly annoying. Simon didn't seem to mind though.

She crossed the patio and entered the house, aware of how much her soaking garments were dripping on the tiled floor. She lifted the receiver of the extension. "Hello?"

"Hi Belinda," a male voice said. It was familiar but sounded slightly distorted and she didn't recognise it. Her first thought was, Rick? But the voice informed her otherwise. "This is Steve."

She nearly dropped the receiver in shock. "I knew it!" she cried. "I knew you weren't dead!" Then a ghastly thought struck her: how could she be sure he wasn't dead? Could this voice be coming from beyond the grave? She didn't believe in ghosts, but... "You are alive, aren't you?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he assured her. "I'm alive and well, healthy and tanned, somewhere in the south-west Europe. Now, may I inquire how you knew I wasn't dead?"

"You just didn't feel dead," she answered, honestly. There had been something too convenient about Steve dying when he did. There was something even more convenient about the money going missing from his bank account just beforehand.

"I always knew you were smart," he told her. "Inquistive. I expect you want to know what happened. But I won't insult your intelligence - how much do you know?"

"I don't know anything," Belinda said. "However, I'm pretty certain that you got Rick to rig the tennis tournament so that Kim and I would meet in the finals and you'd get two million pounds."

"Correct," he said. "That secured, my work in England was done. It was time to disappear once and for all. But too many people knew my name; I wouldn't feel safe. So I staged my own death - made sure the car was full of petrol so it would explode and turn the dummy body to a pile of ashes - and buggered off over here. Simple as that."

"But why?" Belinda asked.

"Equally simple. I love you all. Your mother, Kim's mother, my four children and two step-children. But you all feel hatred or indifference towards me. So I gave you what you wanted most and got out of your lives, taking enough money with me to live comfortably. Logic."

The logic of a psychopath, Belinda reflected. But a generous psychopath if nothing else.

"But a million pounds?" Belinda asked. That was how much she and the other four had received. "I don't have a clue what to do with it - I'd feel bad spending it. I feel like I should give it to someone who really needs it, starving people in the third world or something."

"So give it to them," Steve said. "I knew you were too smart to be particularly interested in cash... it's only for fools like me. But I thought I'd give you the option to use it if nothing else. All I ask is that you make use of the other present I left you."

The victory in the tennis tournament, that was what he meant.

"I mean, it was always your favourite day dream, to succeed in tennis, wasn't it?" Steve continued. "Still is, right? I just wanted to make sure it came true - it was pure coincidence that it was exactly the same as Kim's dream."

"Yes," Belinda said. "It's what I always wanted."

"Good," Steve said. "Now, the time has come for me to say goodbye. I probably shouldn't have made this call: if you want to, you'll be able to trace my number. I won't try and stop you. I made a double fault, letting you and Kim know what I was up to, but I'll have to deal with that. But the match isn't over. No way."

A click as he replaced the receiver. Belinda listened for a second, then hung up too. Then she went back outside.

"Who was that?" Simon asked.

There were some things that she wasn't even going to tell Simon. "No one," she said.

"In that case, you had a pretty long conversation," Simon observed. "I always struggle to find things to talk to No one about."

"Well, I won't be talking to him much more in the future," Belinda said. "But I've reached a decision. I am going to sign the contract."