Poison

Tennis.

Our stupid sport with stupid competition. I remembered her face as she raced to slam that ball back across the net at me. I remembered how she blew her loose straggle of hair back from her forehead and swayed on her feet for the next serve.

I couldn’t stop myself.

I’d love a game of whatever you fancy.

I cursed myself for dashing the fuck ahead, contemplated following up with something less provocative, but it didn’t matter. She texted back before I could manage it.

Let’s start with tennis.

I’d start with whatever she wanted, but today wasn’t the day for it. I had Play Planet and dog walking with Millie and teatime with my mother to follow. Hardly the freedom to schedule in an impromptu session of tennis with an ex-girlfriend.

I pinged back.

When did you have in mind? Today is a bit rammed…

Her reply was instant.

Next weekend? Work is a bit crazy this coming week. Want to have a clear head for it. Maybe I’ll fit in some practice to get me back in the zone.

My smirk was still there in the bathroom mirror, imagining hers as she planned on kicking my ass.

She’d never managed it yet, but she’d had a few decent tries. Maybe that’s what this was really all about – her making a spectacle of me on the tennis court. I’d take it gladly if it meant a conversation. I’d even fall down flat and play dead on the tarmac.

Next weekend is good. I don’t have Millie. Book in wherever you want and I’ll be there.

Now was the moment. Conversation starter or sign off.

She opted for conversation starter.

Ah yes. I heard you’d had a little one. How old now?

She’d sure heard more about me than I had about her.

Five. Shooting up daily. Quite the little princess.

I’d made it downstairs and let the dogs into the paddock by the time she replied to that one. This time the message cut off the stream short and sharp.

I’m sure she is. Next weekend then. We’ll work it out.

I sure hoped so. A game of tennis would be a sliver of relief in the disgrace of an existence I’d created these past few months. My thumbs-up was a positive sign off, and we were done.

I tried to file my Anna Blackwell thoughts into the for later box, but they wouldn’t go there. My mind was churning them up and over as I got myself showered and ready for the Maya crossover. I knew I shouldn’t dwell on any of it. There was no doubt she might come to her senses and bin off a random tennis game well before next weekend. Either that or her social group would manage to bark some common sense into her before she had chance to give me a single minute of her time in person.

They hated me.

I didn’t blame them.

Maya hated me too. Standard.

Even my own mother fucking hated me these days, even if she tried to smile through the scowls.

Luckily, Millicent Isabel Pierce didn’t hate me. Her arms flung wide as she raced down her mum’s garden path on my arrival, her Daddy scream at full volume.

She, out of everything – career and sport and general lifestyle bullshit all considered, even when relationships were a write-off – was by far my biggest success story. I did a pretty damn good job where my little princess was concerned.

Unfortunately, nobody else seemed to think so. Maya’s face was the usual condescending grimace as she stomped down the path to join us at the gate.

“Don’t let her trash her shoes again. Not like last time. These are new.”

I looked down at Millie’s feet. Glitter and bows. Typical.

“I’ll put her in wellies.”

“And keep her away from the dogs. Her dress was caked with muddy paw prints when she came home last.”

I’d heard this crap already, but nodded regardless.

“Yeah, yeah,” I met her eyes, and felt the ice there jab hard. “Anything else?”

Her folded arms formed a barrier between us on every level. I’d have formed one too quite happily. I absolutely despised the woman my wife had turned into these past few years.

“Just don’t cock up,” she hissed under her breath, then pasted on a goodbye smile for Millie. “See you later, sweetheart. Wrap up warm.”

My little girl was already sighing as she dropped herself into the passenger seat of my truck.

“I don’t want to keep away from the dogs, Daddy.”

I ruffled her hair and reached over for a kiss. “No chance of that, Mills. They love you too much.”

As usual Play Planet was a win of an afternoon and the wellies did well enough to guard Millie’s feet as she stomped through the mud puddles on the hillside. My mother gushed and story read, and I stared across with another churn of frustration, wondering again how the hell I was going to fix the bullshit shitstorm I was caught up in.