Wimbledon Page #4

the drugs, the sex, the milkshakes.

My parents live here|and I still keep a flat.

- So we can stay there tonight?|- Yeah, but what about your dad?

Ah, let him find his own place.

- Who's next?|- Coffees for table five.

- Parents are such a responsibility.|- Worse than children.

Definitely.

My parents got divorced when I was 13.

My mom was always on the road|trying to be a singer.

- What went wrong.|- She couldn't sing.

- So mainly my dad brought me up.|- Mine are still together.

Which proves that love's not just blind,|it's bloody stupid.

Sad. Everything they loved in each other|now seems to drive them crazy.

I can't imagine ever wanting|to get married.

No. No. I mean that's|why we love the tour, isn't it?

There's always another country,|another airport...

- Another girl.|- That's right, Lesley.

- Lizzie. I meant Lizzie.|- You said Lesley. Who's Lesley?

[gull cries]

As you can see, we've had to fire|builders due to creative differences.

And truthfully, Peter's had|a bit of a liquidity problem.

- Oh, my nan liked a drink. Sherry.|- Right.

- Piccy?|- Just a bitty.

- Carl, what are you doing?|- Ah, Pete, hi.

Wasn't expecting you.|Sh*t, that's Lizzie Bradbury.

- Can I take a picture?|- No, you can't.

- Digital.|- Look what I found. Oh, hello.

- Give me that!|- Oh, I only got four pizzas.

Oh, for God's sake... Right, get out.

- You too, sunshine.|- Bugger, I had it on landscape.

- It's not funny.|- I'm sorry.

[Carl] Change of venue, girls.|Your mum's or mine?

- Big fan.|- Go on, leave.

- I am so sorry.|- Might want to change the sheets.

[gulls cry]

- [voicemail beeps]|- Hi, Daddy, it's me.

I know you're probably going nuts|and wanna kill me,

but everything's cool, really.

Um... It's hard to explain.

I really needed to do this.

I gotta go, I'll see you at practice|in the morning.

- Everything all right?|- Everything's great.

- Wanna go and have a workout?|- Thought we just had one.

[Peter] Now are you sure about this?|I usually do ten miles.

- Why are you running behind me?|- Just enjoying the view.

Cozing it

Yeah

I'm takin'it step by step

Boy, here and now

We're caught in a moment

I won't let it go

It belongs to you and I...

Hey, look at that.

This is where my dad|taught me to play tennis.

[Lizzie] Look at it now. It's a shame.

Yeah. [sighs]

[grunts] Ace!

[giggles] Come on, make a little effort.

Ace!

What's the matter with you?|Are you scared of a girl?

There's something I haven't told you.

What?

This is my last tournament.

No matter what happens.

But you're doing so great.

Hey, you just have to...

- Keep winning.|- Right.

So keep winning.

[English accent] Finally, Colt returns|with a cross-court forehand.

[both grunt]

Ah! Colt makes a smashing return.

With unlady-like effort,|Bradbury strains to get to the ball.

[Lizzie]|Ooh, it's an extremely high lob.

Will he maintain|his gentlemanly composure or will he,

dare I say, win the point?

Hold on, what's happened to the ball?

Look.

Gotta go, bye.

- 100 on Cavendish in the quarters.|- Hold your horses.

So, still betting against your brother?

It's tactical. If he loses, I get rich,|if he wins, I get laid.

- Where did you get 100 anyway?|- [clicks] Photo journalism.

in a challenging battle of designs.

Look, Lyndsey, a green grasshopper.

[West Country accent] I trust you slept|well after your night of debauchery.

[Southern US accent]|I declare I surely did.

So did I.

God, no wonder the English|never win Wimbledon.

in the finals, but come on.

is the luckiest man in tennis.

Wanker.

[reporters all shout]

God, it's incredible how much|that actor looks like your dad.

- Oh, sh*t.|- Incredible how much that building...

[both] Sh*t!

- [TV] The Sun newspaper...|- [Peter] Hide!

-...published this photo of Colt...|- Carl, you bastard!

- [knock on door]|- [exhales]

- Oh, hello, Mr Bradbury.|- Where's my daughter?

Gone, sadly, and sadly, gone.

She had to work on that first serve.

- I expect she's at the practice...|- Bullshitting me?

Absolutely not. I wouldn't dream of it.

So how was your trip down? The traffic|can be murder getting out of London.

- We left early.|- The early bird does catch the...

Would you like a cup of, er, tea?

Maybe something stronger?|A shot of whisky?

A shot at me, perhaps?

- It's Peter, right?|- Yeah.

Look, Peter, I got nothing against you,|you seem like a nice guy.

Oh, good.

I'm not an idiot, I know that Lizzie|likes to have her fun,

and it keeps her relaxed,|and if you were just another easy...

You know, that would be one thing.|But you're not.

- Actually, I was incredibly easy.|- No.

This time it's different. She's...

- falling for you.|- Oh, I see.

- Which is a total disaster.|- Why? She's hardly lost a serve.

Her footwork is off,|her serve is a mess,

she's gotta get her head back in the|game, remember what it is she wants.

- What do you think that is?|- What we've worked towards for years.

What she's always wanted|more than anything.

- I still want it.|- Oh, hi.

I want to win Wimbledon.

- I'm sorry.|- That's all right, sweetheart.

We'd better get going,|we got a lot of work to do.

- You're gonna go?|- Mm-hm. He's right.

- Sorry.|- Wait a second.

[door closes]

[Peter] Lizzie! Lizzie!

This is ridiculous. You're a grown woman|and should make your own decisions.

This is my decision.|We can be together afterwards.

What does that mean? You can't switch me|on and off like a light bulb.

- I'll call at the hotel.|- She won't be there.

- What?|- I'm sorry, kid,

but if you're together, she can't play.

[shouting]

It's an all-British affair,

of the crowd and the match.

He's up a break in the first set,

of a nation upon him,

- [umpire] Quiet, please.

[shouting dies down]

[crowd members begin to cheer]

[grunts]

[umpire] Touch. 40-love.

That's set point for Tom Cavendish.

Candy, they're only knocking the wall|down from the window to the patio door.

- Talk to Sergei.|- She hits short, you come in.

- Stop bugging me.|- She'll never pass...

I'm focused. I know the game plan.

Yeah, right.

- [music on headphones]|- He's out of my head now. It's over.

Stop freaking out on me.

Yeah, it was definitely his ankle.

This is ugly.

- [yells in pain]|- [crowd] Cavendish!

a free pass to the semis.

Think you can go on?

[crowd chants] Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom!

[John McEnroe] Not so fast, Chrissie.

They worship the kid here.

take advantage of Cavendish?

much of a killer instinct.

[umpire] Quiet, please.

- [Chris Evert] There's your answer.

Watch out, Tom Cavendish.

Can we take another route?|Her match is at three.

I doubt it. It's chocker.

[radio] Three match points.

in these championships.

- What's the score, sweetheart?|- Match point.

- [umpire] Game, set...

[McEnroe] Colt has done it again.

another seeded player goes down,

Pierre Maroux in the semis on Friday.

- Congratulations, my friend.|- Thanks, but my countrymen hate me.

I just destroyed|their best hopes of winning.

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