Free Break Point by Kate Rigby

older than any of the men today, the
commentator calls them "the boys". No action replays either, no
calls from the crowd, and the umpire's got a dead old-fashioned
English voice. Even Gwen would approve, I reckon.
    *
    The
others arrive home. I could have gone with Gwen to the clinic after
all and brought our relationship back to deuce but you never know
with the tennis, you've got to keep watching in case of live play.
Karen's working downstairs, she'll be ironing or preparing tea
while Gwen's snoozing and Finbar's playing in the garden. To be
honest, I prefer to be alone in the house with Wimbledon. Other
people downstairs makes me feel a bit anti-social, especially after
what Gwen said before about me to Karen. Robina's only here to watch the tennis. She disappears upstairs with her meals and treats the house
like a hotel. But I'm not normally like
this, ask anyone. Wimbledon just brings this out in
me.
    Still, a bit
of noise downstairs won't hurt.
    But there it
doesn't stay. It climbs up the stairs, then down them again. Stairs
give a lot of pleasure to young kids and Finbar seems to be running
something along the bannister rails as he climbs up and down, up
and down. No one below seems that bothered, and it's not my place
to restrain his play. If I did he'd more than likely step it
up.
    I turn the
telly up.
    He's right
outside my door now. His stomping across the landing is annoying
enough but it's the sound of that laser gun.
    Quiet please,
ladies and gentlemen. Quiet please.
    He bursts into
my room, aiming the gun at me. "Hands up or your dead."
    Ignore him and
he'll go away.
    He starts to
go, even closes the door behind him, but then it's thrown open
again more dramatic than before. I stand up and goad him outside.
"Not in here. I'm trying to watch telly."
    Ladies and
gentlemen, play is suspended.
    I wish someone
would suspend him. From a rope on high.
    "What are you
watching?"
    "Tennis."
    He comes in,
gazes at my telly for a moment and then sighs dismissively. Such
dead straight hair and all, nothing like Karen's corkscrews. He's
not a horrid kid either, just a typical one, and normally I like to
play with children.
    We were
planning to have one once, me and June. We were going to put an ad
in The Pink Paper. Solvent healthy man
wanted for MBA . We knew all the initials
but we hadn't sorted out in our minds what would be a Mutually
Beneficial Arrangement. Then we flagged it up with Gordon and Colin
because we knew Gordon had sometimes dropped it into the
conversation about wanting to be a dad. June would have gone for
the natural way with Gordon, though it was me and Gordon that had
that snog, but June wanted to be the one to carry the baby, and I
was happy with that. But if she hadn't have wanted to, I'd have
done it, but I might have gone for the sperm and syringe method.
Anyway, we went over all the financial and practical things but
then Gordon backed down, and so it came to
nothing.
    Finbar's
outside the door again, with his noisy gun. I can hear a handle
turning, like the sound of a locked door being rattled. Finding the
key isn't too tricky for a bright four year old like Finbar and now
he's mounting the stairs up to the bolt-hole attic.
    Karen calls
from below. "Finbar? Finbar? Are you up there?"
    I go onto the
landing and lean over the bannister. "He's gone upstairs to the
attic."
    "Oh boy."
Karen hurries up the first flight of stairs and then on up to the
attic. "Gwen'll go spare. Finbar! Come down now, please." And when
at last he's persuaded down, Karen locks the door after him and
hands the key to me.
    When they’ve
gone downstairs I decide to check up on the bolt-hole. Make sure
Finbar's not trashed it or nothing.
    Up in the
attic I lie out on the stained mattress, resting me cheek on one of
the pillows with stripes on a sacky background, like liquorice. I
feel a slight prick on me face, the sharp edge of a feather poking
through, and I pull it out, like a whisker. Like the kind that grow
on Gwen's