‘Don’t worry, I won’t mistake you for anyone else,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you when it’s time.’
She went over to talk to the umpire, who was looking rather harassed. An argument seemed to have broken out between the novice players on the court, who bore a strong resemblance to each other. I had a feeling they were probably sisters. The umpire decided in favour of the smaller one, and the game recommenced. Nora turned to Grace.
‘Are you sure you’re going to be able to play?’ she said. She indicated Grace’s frilly garments. ‘After all, you’re not exactly dressed for games.’
‘You don’t think they’ll stop me playing, do you?’ Grace actually looked worried. ‘That lady would have said if there was a problem with my clothes.’
‘Oh, they’ll let you play,’ said Nora. ‘I was just thinking you might get your things dirty. Or torn.’
‘Oh, that,’ said Grace. ‘I don’t care about that.’
And the thing was, I believed her. The frills had only been to impress grown-ups. But clearly Grace wanted to play tennis even more than she wanted to look sweet in front of Mrs. Cantwell. If left to her own devices with no adults to suck up to, I bet Grace would be a very different person.
For a while we stood at the side of the court and watched the game. It mostly involved the ball being hit straight into the net, followed by an argument. Then when the argument was over and play had continued once more, one of the players would hit the ball right out of the court. They never seemed to get it going back and forth between them for more than two shots.
‘Well, you can’t be any worse than those two,’ said Nora as the game came to a contentious close (the small one insisted the ball she’d just hit wildly over the net had landed inside the line and was not, in fact, out. But she was wrong).
‘Grace Molyneaux and Catherine O’Reilly!’ called the tall young woman.
Grace took a deep breath. ‘Wish me luck,’ she said, and strode out onto the court, where the tall young woman handed her the tennis racket that the loser of the previous match had flung on the grass in rage.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ muttered Nora.
Grace rolled up the sleeves of her lace-trimmed blouse, gave the tennis racket an appraising shake, and tossed it lightly in the air before grabbing it firmly by the handle.
‘Goodness,’ I said. ‘She looks fearfully professional.’
‘Especially in comparison to her opponent,’ said Nora. A rather vague-looking girl wearing spectacles and a pale blue dress was walking onto the other side of the court, holding a racquet as if she’d never seen one before. The tall young woman tossed a coin to see who would serve first, and Catherine O’Reilly won.
‘I bet this’ll be like the last game,’ muttered Nora. ‘The ball will probably end up three streets away from the club.’
But it wasn’t like that at all. Catherine O’Reilly tossed the ball into the air, and as it came down she raised her racquet with what looked like an effortless but extremely powerful gesture and slammed the ball across the court. That was surprising enough, but what was even more shocking was the fact that Grace dived across the court and managed to wallop the ball back to her opponent. But the other girl – who didn’t look at all vague now – immediately hit it straight back to Grace, who flung herself in its general direction and managed to get it back over the net. Catherine O’Reilly ran towards it but didn’t get there in time.
‘Fifteen love!’ called the willowy young lady.
‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Nora. ‘Grace isn’t bad.’
‘I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said anything nice about her,’ I said.
‘Well.’ Nora shrugged her shoulders. ‘She’s decent at tennis. I can’t deny it.’
Grace was crouched like a tiger on her side of the net, looking at her opponent with narrowed eyes. A lock of hair fell over her face and she pushed it back with an impatient gesture. You wouldn’t think it was the same girl who’d been prancing about tossing her curls the day before.
‘How on earth did she get so good?’ I said, as Grace returned the bespectacled Miss O’Reilly’s serve with a powerful stroke. The heat didn’t seem to be affecting her powers of play.
‘I dunno,’ said Nora. ‘Her grandmother on the other side – her father’s mother, you know – lives in the country and I think they have a tennis court in the garden. So she’s probably been practising in the holidays.’
‘And she never said a word at school,’ I marvelled. ‘I suppose she was concentrating on winning cups for lessons.’ The competition was genuinely rather gripping. Grace didn’t win the first game, but she did win the second. In fact, the two players seemed to be pretty evenly matched, and as the last of the three games began, they were both looking a bit red in the face from their exertions. And yet they played on with great enthusiasm in what turned out to be another close contest.
‘Deuce!’ said Nora, as Catherine O’Reilly missed one of Grace’s skillful shots. ‘Oh dear, she’ll be insufferable if she wins.’
The words were barely out of her mouth when the bespectacled girl served an immensely powerful stroke. Grace rushed towards it but it was too late – the ball had bounced out of the court.
‘Advantage, Miss O’Reilly!’ cried the willowy young woman. Miss O’Reilly pushed her spectacles up her nose and prepared for her final serve. If we’d been at school, I wouldn’t have put it past Grace to do something to put her off – as we know, she has no honour – but she just bounced for a moment on the balls of her feet and waved her wrists around to loosen her joints. Miss O’Reilly served, and Grace’s racket caught the ball and hit it straight back to her. A rally ensued, with each player darting around their sides of the court with what seemed to me, a girl who is not very good at tennis, miraculous speed. And then Grace hit the ball over the net with such force that it zoomed past Miss O’Reilly’s face – narrowly missing her spectacles – and landed just outside the court boundaries.
‘Out!’ cried the umpire.
‘Miss O’Reilly is the winner!’ cried the willowy young lady.
I thought Grace was going to chuck her tennis racquet on the ground like the loser of the last game. But she shook Catherine O’Reilly’s hand and handed her racquet back to the young lady, who smiled at her and said, ‘That was jolly good, by the way. And well done for losing with such good grace. I do like to see fair play on the court. You’re not a member here, are you?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I came to see my cousin,’ she said. ‘George Cantwell. He’s a member.’
‘Oh yes, I saw one of his matches earlier,’ said the young lady. ‘You really should think of joining. A lot of girls play during the summer.’
‘Really?’ said Grace.
The lady nodded.
‘The senior tournament is tomorrow so the courts will be in use all day, but if you’d like to join the club you could call in on Monday or Tuesday. Ask for me if you can’t find me. Miss Casey.’
Grace’s expression was thoughtful as she bid Miss Casey goodbye and walked over to me and Nora.
‘Hard luck,’ I said. Which is probably the nicest I’ve ever been to Grace. Of course Grace didn’t say thank you. Instead she turned to Nora.
‘Your family are members of the club, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘I mean, the whole lot of you, not just George.’
‘Officially,’ said Nora.
‘Well, surely I count as a member of the family?’ said Grace. ‘I want to go to that girls’ session. And if they say cousins aren’t allowed I could say I’m your sister or something.’
Nora didn’t look very happy at this idea of anyone thinking Grace was her sister. Grace being her actual cousin was bad enough.
‘You’ll have to ask Mother and Father,’ she said. ‘Or you could always ask your parents to let you join by yourself.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Grace. ‘It would be a waste of money just for a few weeks.’ Grace lives in Rathmines and gets the tram to school
every day, so the tennis club won’t be very convenient once the glorious day arrives when she returns to her own home. ‘Anyway, I don’t see why I should have to,’ Grace continued. ‘Not when my aunt and uncle are members already.’
I can’t believe I’d almost been feeling sorry for her just a few minutes earlier. I glanced over at the clock on the tennis-club pavilion. We’d been there for over two hours.
‘I really should go home,’ I said. But no sooner had the words left my lips than something small, fluffy and terrifyingly strong appeared as if from nowhere and jumped up on me, putting its filthy dusty paws all over my clean frock.
‘Barnaby!’ I shrieked, for of course it was the Menace.
Mrs. Sheffield hurried up, holding a broken leather lead. ‘Barnaby, you wicked little animal,’ she said, breathlessly. ‘I’m so sorry, Mollie. We got him a new lead and it simply wasn’t strong enough.’
As I am sure you remember, the Menace has such supercanine strength that as a rule he has to be taken out in a specially-made harness rather than a usual dog-collar and lead. But as Mrs. Sheffield now explained to us, the buckle on his harness had come loose and was being repaired.
‘And I really thought this collar and lead would be enough to hold him until his harness came back,’ she said, slipping the broken lead under Barnaby’s collar and tying it in what I hoped was a good strong knot. ‘But he’s such a, well, such an enthusiastic dog.’
That’s one word for him, I thought. But I didn’t say anything. I just looked down at my nice fresh clothes, which were covered in dusty paw prints. At least, I hoped it was just dust. I looked at the Menace, who was now sitting peacefully beside Mrs. Sheffield, staring up at me with his button eyes as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. I stared back at him, but he didn’t blink. I don’t think he ever does, actually.
‘Well!’ said Mrs. Sheffield brightly. ‘Hello, Nora. Are you having a nice day?’
Of course Mrs. Sheffield has known Nora for years, not just because Nora is often in my house when Mrs. S visits Mother, but also because of the tennis club. Though she has clearly given up on Nora as a tennis-playing cause.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Nora.
‘And who’s your little friend?’ asked Mrs. Sheffield, smiling at Grace.
Any sensible girl of fifteen would have resented being called our ‘little friend’, but of course Grace smirked back at Mrs. Sheffield and tossed her curls, which were dustier and messier than they had been before the match but still impressively bouncy. She looked like a different girl to the one who’d been ferociously dominating the tennis court just a few minutes earlier. And despite the fact that I was covered in Barnaby’s paw prints, I did not forget my manners.
‘This is Nora’s cousin, Grace,’ I said. ‘Grace, this is Mrs. Sheffield. She’s on the tennis-club committee.’
Grace’s face lit up.
‘Oh how lovely to meet you,’ she said. ‘I just played my first match here. Well, not a match really, just a short game. They’re letting non-members have a go.’
‘So you’re not a member?’ said Mrs. Sheffield. She’s always on the lookout for new tennis players in the summer.
Grace shook her head. ‘I just came to see my cousin,’ she said. ‘George, you know.’
‘Ah yes, he’s one of our most promising players,’ said Mrs. Sheffield. ‘And did you enjoy it?’
Grace beamed. And for once, her smile actually looked genuine. ‘I loved it,’ she said.
‘She’s jolly good,’ said Nora, which was the second time I’d ever heard her say something nice about Grace. Twice in one day!
‘Is she now?’ Mrs. Sheffield turned back to Grace. ‘So are you thinking of joining the club?’
‘Well, I’m only staying here for a few weeks,’ said Grace. ‘I live over in Rathmines usually. But I do wish I could play while I’m staying with Nora. It’s such a nice club. And I really want to improve my game.’
Mrs. Sheffield looked thoughtful.
‘Well, the Cantwells are members, and you’re a Cantwell …’ she said.
Nora interrupted. ‘She’s a Molyneaux, actually.’
‘She’s still your cousin,’ said Mrs. Sheffield. ‘I think we can include you in their membership, can’t we? A nice little girl like you would be an asset to the club.’
She smiled at Grace in the sort of way most people would smile at a baby in short frocks. And Grace, being Grace, just beamed back. By the time Mrs. Sheffield went off to the pavilion, Barnaby trotting at her heels (He looked back at me as they walked off, and if those button eyes could speak, they’d have been saying, ‘you got off easily this time’), it had been agreed that Grace’s name would be added to the Cantwells’ membership and that she could come along to the schoolgirls’ sessions for as long as she liked.
‘An asset to the club,’ said Grace smugly, as we walked back along the dusty road.
None of us really cared who was on the outside of the pavement now. Grace was still hot and damp after her match, and I was filthy after the Menace’s attentions. Even Nora, who hadn’t played tennis or been jumped on by an annoying dog, was looking a bit scruffy. All of our stockings were sagging. There’s something about that sort of weather that makes everyone look a bit bedraggled after a while.
We were all too hot and tired to say much, but when Grace quoted those words of Mrs. Sheffield’s, Nora couldn’t stop herself saying, ‘She hasn’t seen you play yet.’ She didn’t sound like her heart was in the insult, though.
Grace obviously thought this too, as she didn’t even respond to the jibe. When we reached the corner where I turn off to go to my house, Nora told Grace to go on ahead and she’d follow her on in a moment, and Grace just said, ‘All right,’ and headed down the road. But just to remind us that even the boiling heat can’t stop Grace being Grace, she paused, turned back and said, ‘You’d better try and clean yourself up before your mother sees you, Mollie. You look an absolute fright.’
‘Charming,’ I said, as Grace strolled off in the direction of Nora’s house. ‘Mother can’t be too angry with me, though. After all, it was because of her friend’s dog.’
‘I’m afraid grown-ups aren’t always fair about that sort of thing,’ said Nora (truthfully, as it turned out). ‘Though you never know. Miracles do happen. Look what just happened with Grace!’
‘You’re still stuck with her tonight,’ I said.
‘Yes, but will I be stuck with her the day after tomorrow?’ said Nora. ‘If she joins the tennis club and spends all her time there, they can’t expect me to hang around there with her. I’ll be free.’
‘You didn’t sound very enthusiastic about her joining the club when we were back there,’ I pointed out.
‘Well, you know what she’s like,’ said Nora. ‘If I’d encouraged her to join, she might have decided not to, just to spite me. I wouldn’t put anything past her.’
Somewhere nearby, a church bell started to ring.
‘I’d better go,’ said Nora. ‘Or Grace will eat all the cakes. Call over tomorrow after Mass, won’t you?’
I said I would and she ran off. I do hope she’s right and that Grace will devote herself to the tennis club during her stay. It would make things so much nicer for us. Though clearly Lady Fortune is not smiling on me at the moment because when I got home Mother took one look at my dirty clothes and went absolutely wild.
‘It was Barnaby’s fault!’ I protested. ‘He burst his bonds and jumped on me.’
But Mother didn’t seem to care.
‘You should have stopped him,’ she said, unreasonably.
‘No one can stop Barnaby!’ I wailed. ‘Even Mrs. Sheffield knows that. She apologized for him!’
But Mother was determined to be unfair.
‘I don’t suppose Nora and that cousin of hers came home looking like that,’ she said, and I couldn’t deny it, but that’s only because Barnaby doesn’t know them well and so was unlikely to pick them as his unfortunate victims. (I told Mother this an
d she said I was being ridiculous and that Barnaby was just a dog and didn’t choose victims, but she obviously doesn’t know him as well as I do.)
Anyway, I couldn’t argue with her anymore so I went up and changed and now I am lying on my bed in my old yellow frock with the little white flowers on it (the one that makes me look like I am coming down with some sort of wasting disease – yellow does not suit me) writing to you. I’m sure Mother’s going to make me mend some socks or help Maggie with the dinner or something like that in a minute so I must enjoy my freedom while I can.
And speaking of freedom, I am keeping my fingers firmly crossed about Grace being occupied by the tennis club. It would make things much easier if she’s out of the way. Nora and I haven’t even had a chance to discuss what we might do for Mr. Asquith’s visit yet, and there is just over a week to go! We must think of something soon.
By the way, I looked up a picture of an American possum in the nature book, and although they are small they have giant pointy teeth and look absolutely terrifying! They definitely look like they could eat a person; it just would take them longer to eat all of you than it would take a bear. So I think you should still watch out for them.
Best love and votes for women,
Mollie
P.S.
I am writing this bit very late because I stayed up finishing A Tale of Two Cities by candlelight (Julia was fast asleep), and the ending was so sad I feel too agitated to go back to sleep. The last time I cried so much at a book was when you-know-who died in Little Women. (I don’t want to mention the name of the dead person because I remember how much it upset you when you read it.) It was awfully good, but it might not be the best book to read on holiday because you might feel a bit embarrassed if you start crying on a train.
I am going to read a book that Mabel has given me next. Well, she gave it to Phyllis, who handed it to me along with a note from Mabel. It was a belated apology for selling our tickets to the big meeting, and in her note Mabel said she had read the book herself when she was on that trip to her cousins in America. Hopefully it will be a bit more cheerful than A Tale of Two Cities.