Tennis Shoes

  Pinny looked horrified. She could not bear the children not to be well turned out.

  ‘Oh, Mrs. Heath——!’ she pleaded.

  But Mrs. Heath was firm.

  ‘I trust you not to touch the scissors, Pinny. You can give advice if you like, but the cutting Nicky is to do by herself.’

  It was difficult to know who had the worst afternoon. For all Pinny’s advice, what Nicky cut looked like nothing on earth. Nobody could have worn it. After two and a half hours, Nicky was almost in tears.

  ‘This is over the fortieth I’ve cut, and I can see it’s no good.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Pinny sighed, almost in tears herself. ‘Do try, dear. Remember, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’

  Nicky held up a dreadfully shaped piece of newspaper.

  ‘Do you honestly and truly believe I’ll cut a good pattern if I go on trying, Pinny? Do you?’

  Pinny struggled between a strict regard for the truth and a wish not to discourage Nicky.

  ‘There’s no such word as can’t,’ she said feebly.

  Nicky dug the scissors into another piece of paper.

  ‘If there isn’t, I expect there will be when I’ve finished.’

  At that moment Mrs. Heath came in. She looked at the floor, at Nicky, then at Pinny. Then she burst out laughing.

  ‘I see you’ve cut plenty of patterns.’

  The laughter was too much for both Nicky and Pinny. They began to cry.

  ‘They’re all awful,’ Nicky sobbed. ‘Nobody could ever get them on.’

  Mrs. Heath picked up a pattern. She looked at it, trying to keep her mouth from turning up at the corners.

  ‘No more they could.’ She turned to Pinny. ‘What pattern had you meant to use, Pinny?’

  Pinny dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

  ‘A nice little McCall.’

  Mrs. Heath sat down by Nicky.

  ‘To-morrow morning we’ll ask Pinny to put the McCall over a paper and you shall cut a pattern from it.’

  Nicky looked up.

  ‘Oh, thank you, mummy.’

  ‘But don’t forget,’ Mrs. Heath added, ‘it’s you that cut it. If it hangs down anywhere, it’ll be your fault.’

  The tennis dresses Pinny made might have been made by a tailor. Nicky looked very nice in them. It was as well she did, for she got a lot of notice that summer. She was small for her age, and with her flaming head she caught the eye. She did nothing very spectacular, but somehow that summer she came definitely on to the junior tennis map. She won no event, although she was a semi-finalist at Folkestone and at Eastbourne. But she was news in the way some people suddenly are. No critic described any of the tournaments in which she played without mentioning her. None of the attention given her made her swollen-headed.

  ‘I suppose she couldn’t get more proud,’ Susan said to Jim. ‘She’s always been the proudest person I know.’

  At Folkestone a sister of grandfather’s was living. Her name was Great-aunt Selina. She lived in a little house overlooking The Leas. She had an old servant, a very aggravating parrot, and a very, very old dog called Pom-Pom, who wheezed a great deal. Great-aunt Selina agreed to put Nicky up for the tournament, provided, as she wrote, ‘the dear child brings her governess and a brother or sister. One child by herself in a house makes trouble.’

  It was decided that David should go and, of course, Pinny. Just before they were starting David got a bilious attack from eating too much unripe fruit, so Susan had to go. She was very annoyed, because if she had known she was going she would have entered for the tournament. In any case she hated being away in the middle of Jim’s holidays.

  They got to Folkestone, hot and cross, after a tiresome journey with a lot of changes.

  ‘Lovely, dears,’ Pinny said as brightly as she could, ‘to smell the beautiful sea.’

  ‘I’d rather smell grandfather’s garden,’ Nicky argued.

  ‘I like that,’ said Susan. ‘We’d none of us be here at all if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘Now come along, dears,’ Pinny said briskly. ‘Dogs delight to bark and bite, but not two little girls. We must get a porter.’

  They moved up to the luggage-van. It was then the awful thing was discovered. The suit-case was missing.

  It was not a good introduction to Great-aunt Selina to arrive with no clothes at all. Pinny bought tooth-brushes. They all used Great-aunt Selina’s sponge to wash with. They had to sleep in Great-aunt Selina’s night-dresses. They were made of linen and were enormous. They had long sleeves and were right up to the neck.

  Pinny sent a telegram to Dr. Heath about the luggage. As it happened Dr. Heath was out when the telegram arrived at grandfather’s. In any case, telegraphing him was not the right thing to have done. Pinny should have gone to the station-master and the luggage would have been found at once. It would have come either that night, or at least the first thing next morning. As she did not see the station-master they woke up in the morning with still no suit-case. At ten o’clock they went round to the Pleasure Gardens. Nicky signed her name on the attendance-sheet at the referee’s office. She looked at the draw and saw that she was playing against a girl called Coral Dean. She had never heard of her. Then she went to where the list of matches was posted. She had to play Coral at twelve. Luckily she had carried her rackets on the journey, so these at least were with her.

  ‘I must go home for my rackets,’ she said.

  ‘But, Nicky,’ Susan exclaimed, ‘you can’t play in those clothes!’

  Nicky looked down at the flannel skirt and cotton shirt in which she had travelled.

  ‘Well, what else then?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t any luggage.’

  ‘But, Nicky, your shirt’s terribly dirty. Anyway it would pull out of your skirt. Then, your pants don’t match. You must go and see the secretary. Ask if you could change your time over with somebody else.’

  ‘I shan’t,’ Nicky objected. ‘I shall just take off my skirt and play in my shirt and pants.’

  Pinny grew pink to her ears.

  ‘Oh, no, my dear! You’ll do nothing of the sort. Play in your pants, indeed, with everybody watching!’

  Nicky looked at her despairingly.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I play in pants?’

  ‘Because you can’t,’ said Susan decidedly. ‘You’ll bring shame on all the family. Pinny, tell her she mustn’t.’

  Pinny looked like a flustered hen.

  ‘Certainly you mustn’t, Nicky. I forbid it.’

  Nicky looked at them scornfully.

  ‘I’ll start in my skirt, but when I get hot and it gets in my way, I’ll take it off. You see if I don’t.’

  Susan looked at Pinny.

  ‘Pinny, we must do something. If the luggage hasn’t come we must buy her something to wear.’

  ‘Buy, dear!’ Pinny was horrified. ‘Your father gave me a pound for incidental expenses. That has to include the tip to the maid, and teas, and all sorts of things like that. Really, dear, I couldn’t break into it. Besides, what could I buy?’

  Susan was determined.

  ‘We must ask Great-aunt Selina for money.’

  Nicky giggled.

  ‘She doesn’t seem the least the kind of person who would think it mattered what you wore for a game. As a matter of fact, I don’t either.’

  ‘If you don’t ask her, I shall. Come on, Pinny.’ Susan strode off down the drive of the Pleasure Gardens.

  Great-aunt Selina was standing by the window talking to the parrot. Susan came in. She stood in the doorway.

  ‘Pretty Poll,’ said Great-aunt Selina. ‘Pretty Poll.’

  ‘Pretty Poll,’ the parrot agreed. Then he gave an ugly shriek.

  ‘Fire, fire, turn her out!’

  Great-aunt Selina looked round reproachfully at Susan.

  ‘I thought you were out, dear. You must be more careful how you come into a room. Polly is easily upset.’

  Susan clasped her hands and hoped she would think of the rig
ht thing to say.

  ‘You see, Great-aunt Selina, our luggage is lost and——’

  ‘What, dear?’ Great-aunt Selina held her hand to her ear. ‘Speak up. I’m a little deaf.’

  ‘You see’—Susan raised her voice—‘Nicky has got to play in her tournament at twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Really, dear?’ Aunt Selina turned back to her parrot. ‘Well, I hope it doesn’t make you all late for luncheon.’

  ‘Yes, but—I mean, I’m sure it won’t. But you see she hasn’t got her clothes.’

  ‘What’s the matter with her nose?’ Great-aunt Selina looked worried. Then she turned back to the parrot. ‘Pretty Poll. Pretty Poll.’

  The parrot fixed an angry eye on Susan.

  ‘You’re a thief!’ it screamed nastily.

  ‘Really,’ thought Susan, ‘if only it were a person I could tell it not to interrupt. It’s terribly rude, the things it says. I don’t think I really like parrots much.’ However, she supposed a civil word might keep the bird quiet.

  ‘Pretty Poll,’ she said soothingly.

  The parrot sidled up its perch towards Great-aunt Selina. Its eyes were still on Susan.

  ‘Lazy-bones! Lazy-bones!’ it squawked.

  Great-aunt Selina heard that all right. It seemed to put an idea into her head. She looked at her wheezy old dog, who was lying in the sunlight.

  ‘If you have nothing to do, dear, you might take Pom-Pom up The Leas. He does enjoy an outing.’

  ‘Perhaps after tea. You see, Nicky’s match is at twelve, and our luggage has not come.’

  ‘You liar!’ screamed the parrot.

  Susan looked at it with disgust. But she came over to the cage.

  ‘Do be quiet, dear,’ she said to it. Then she raised her voice to a scream: ‘What I mean to say, Great-aunt Selina, is, Nicky has not got any clothes to wear to play in, and——’

  Great-aunt Selina looked at Susan in surprise.

  ‘I expect she has now, dear. I saw the van from the station drive up while we’ve been talking.’

  When Susan came upstairs Nicky was changing.

  ‘I hope you had a nice time with Great-aunt Selina and the parrot,’ she said. ‘I nearly came down to tell you that the suit-case had come. But I thought it was a pity to disturb you, you were all being so noisy together.’

  Susan rummaged in the box for a clean cotton frock. She spoke through her teeth.

  ‘I shouldn’t think there’s a nastier child living than you, Nicky.’

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE END OF THE STORY

  In that next year Nicky became news. The newspapers called her ‘The Red-headed Pocket Star.’ Even if she umpired somebody else’s match there was nearly always a photograph of her doing it. She did not win anything very spectacular, but she nearly always had a gallery. People who knew anything about tennis were immensely interested in her playing.

  At home her family were unremitting in their efforts. Susan was always willing to go up and have a game with her. It was quite impossible for her to miss her wall practice. Even if Susan were not about there was Annie’s head coming round the kitchen door.

  ‘Now, then, what’s all this sittin’ about with a book? Think you’ve become so good you can miss your practice?’

  Or Pinny would come hurrying from her sewing-machine.

  ‘Nicky, dear, what are you doing, lolling about like that? Where’s your racket? Practice makes perfect, you know.’

  Nicky often grumbled. She said she wished she had never heard the word ‘tennis.’

  ‘Work, work, work! You wouldn’t think it was a game at all. I think one ought to be able to play without all this slavery.’

  As a matter of fact, they were all pretty busy with getting on in the world that year. Jim had joined a swimming club. He had taken up diving to add to his swimming. He was very thrilled by it. He had managed, too, to win a cup at the club, which was considered pretty good.

  Susan was top of her form. She was, as usual, working in a class with girls older than herself, so it was considered a bit of a feat. It gave her a definite standing at St. Clair’s. As far as tennis was concerned she got more fun out of it now than she ever had. She did not have to worry so much. It became more of a game. She played first string in the school six and would obviously be tennis captain when she was old enough.

  Nicky’s gradual eminence in the tennis world made very little difference to her position at St. Clair’s. She absolutely refused to play for the school, and really you could not blame her. With all the practising and coaching she had to get through outside it would be a bit too much to expect her to play school tennis. There had been rows at first. Alison Browne and the two tennis captains came and grumbled to Susan. They said that Nicky was unsporting. That for the honour of St. Clair’s she ought to play for the school. Alison Browne, of course, talked about the honour of the house. Susan naturally could not say that Nicky cared nothing for the honour of the school, or house, or anything else; that she had not the faintest ambition to see her name on a board; that she liked being a black sheep, who never brought a mark to her house. She said instead, as tactfully as she could, that Nicky really did have to put in a lot of practice; it would be too much for her to do any more.

  David came on at tennis that year. After his tenth birthday he showed signs of making a nice player. He considered it a very secondary affair, though. His determination to be a crooner filled his life. It had a most depressing effect on his singing. He rigged himself up something that looked like a microphone and whispered his songs into it. His family complained bitterly.

  ‘It was bad enough your yowling,’ Jim told him, ‘but now that you meow and hiss into that box it’s downright disgusting.’

  David was quite unmoved by criticism.

  ‘You won’t think it’s disgusting when I’m a star on the air.’

  He discussed his future with Pinny. To her he confided how difficult it was to get support for his wish for a crooner’s life.

  ‘Nobody but myself and Agag,’ he told her, ‘really appreciate the idea.’

  ‘Well,’ Pinny said, ‘I must say, dear, I do like your voice brought full out. I should have liked you to sing in one of the well-known choirs myself. One of those that wears a pretty dress. But, of course, I think your singing beautiful anyway.’

  When Nicky was thirteen and a half she had her first really big tennis success. She won her match in the semifinal round of the County Junior Championship. All the family came to see her play. It was obvious from the beginning that it was going to be a hard fight. It turned out to be even closer than any one expected. The match lasted for an hour and thirty-five minutes. As one of the papers said afterwards:

  ‘At the end of the match it was not so much a matter of which child had the most strokes, but which had the most will-power.’

  The family sat in a row. Their eyes were glued on Nicky. If will-power from outside could help she had it.

  Nicky won the first set 6—4. It was a terrific tussle. Every game was carried to advantage points. Her family were exhausted when it was over. Each one of them had played every stroke with her.

  ‘Funny,’ said David, ‘when Nicky is on the court she doesn’t seem to be ours any more. She seems to belong just as much to all these other people.’

  They looked down at her where she stood waiting for the next set to begin. It was true. She did seem a public possession. She was much the younger player. She had a strong personality. Something about her made most of the gallery fond of her. They were willing her to win.

  The next set was a real battle. Nicky won the first game. She lost the next. Then she won two in succession, giving her a lead of 3—1. Then her opponent had a spurt. Her service had been a bit faulty in the first set, but now she came on to it and smashed through to win a love game. This gave her confidence. Nicky fought like a tiger, but she lost the set.

  ‘Set all,’ Dr. Heath whispered to Mrs. Heath. ‘Now let’s see what her fighting spirit’s l
ike.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ David said, ‘I wish it was over. I’m damp with fuss.’

  The last set began. Nicky had the first service and won the game. Then her opponent won her service. So it went, ding-dong. 1—love. Game all. 2—1, 2 all. 3—2, 3 all, 4—3. Then Nicky made an extra effort.

  She won her opponent’s service. The score went 5—3. Nicky began her service. Her opponent, with her back to the wall, fought grandly, but Nicky was out-driving her. She pulled the score to 40—15. Two match points. She served. The ball was returned to her. She got it back, a shot which looked to the gallery untakable, but which by luck rather than anything else her opponent picked up with a backhand half-volley. 40—30. One chance lost, but she still had another. She went behind her base-line to serve. She threw the ball into the air. Then an infuriating thing happened. She served a double fault. Keyed up with excitement, mad at seeing her chance of victory slip, she lost her temper. She flung her racket on the ground. She stamped her foot.

  Dr. Heath looked at Mrs. Heath. Mrs. Heath looked at Susan. Susan looked at Jim. Jim looked at David. Nobody needed to say one word. As one person they got up and walked out.

  Nicky picked up her racket feeling an idiot. Deuce. She served again. There was no fault about this one. Over it went. Her opponent had a shot at it, but she drove it into the net. Nicky’s advantage. One more point and the match was hers. She served. Rather a feeble one, but still it was over the net. Her opponent sent back a drop shot. Nicky dived at it. It was a glorious finish. A low flat drive across the net. Game, set, and match to Miss Heath.

  It was then Nicky realized that her family had gone. She hardly believed it for a minute. How dared they be so mean? To walk out when a member of the family was nearly winning! Just because they were hungry or something. ‘They never thought, I suppose,’ she muttered, ‘that I might be tired after three sets like that. They take the car and leave me to go back by train. I couldn’t think anybody could be as unfair as that.’

  She changed. She managed to smile and thank the people who patted her on the back. Then she went off to the station. On the way home in the train she thought just what she would say to them all. The dirty dogs!