Naked Hero - The Journey Away

going to happen. It’s one of the most unbelievable things I’ve ever seen, by an artist called Clifford Possum Tjapaltjarri. It inspired me, and I’m sure it will inspire other people... so it shouldn’t be tucked away in someone’s house. It belongs in Melbourne, and that’s why I’m going to donate it to the National Gallery of Victoria. It’s just round the corner from here, so when I come back next year, I can go in there before my matches and hopefully find the inspiration again to get to the final. It’s titled, ‘Man’s Love Story’, which is a good name for it. When I see it, it will remind me of my own love story with this tournament, and with this country.”
    It took some time for the cheering to subside after that one – the boy Macleod was going down a treat, unconsciously raising his profile even higher in the public’s, and the marketing men’s minds. Eventually there was a hush, allowing the interviewer to ask the final, inevitable questions. “Lewis, you mentioned Scott Taylor. There’s been a lot of speculation in the press that he’s being groomed to take over from Jim Murdoch as your new coach. Any comment?”
    “The press! God bless them. I’ll let them speculate a bit more I think. It’s what they’re good at.”
    “And what about all the other speculation, Lewis - was it the perfect day?”
    He beamed another smile – the lad happiness personified. “No, not quite - I’ll have to keep trying for that one. But in six months time, when hopefully I’m facing Tommy again in the final at Wimbledon... if he’s still there in the box watching me - then I think that will be as close as I’ll ever get… Thank you.”

Chapter 60
    Lewis finally got back to the house after midnight, in the company of Jim who had stayed with him th roughout all the media frenzy. Once they had battled their way past the photographers who had assembled outside the driveway, they made the safety of the door and found everyone inside, the champagne already flowing.
    “A toast then!” Jim said, once a flute for him and Lewis had been poured. “To the new Australian Open Champion! Well done, Lewis.”
    “To Lewis!” echoed the group.
    “Thanks. And thanks again for helping me do it. I meant what I said. This wouldn’t have happened without you all. Cheers!”
    He took his first sip, relishing the explosion of gas in his mouth and the familiar relaxation that hit his body as the alcohol entered his blood and was rushed to a demanding brain. The prodigal friend had returned, and was welcomed in silence. No words were needed to convey the joy of that reunion. Lewis was sorely tempted to down the lot - the first of many before oblivion took over. Surely tonight was a night to wallow in cups and forsake the chalice, just for one day. Tempted indeed, but one sip was all he took.
    Fiona played hostess and brought out some food. She had optimistically stocked the fridge in the hope that it would be needed. They all settled down to glory in the match and pay tribute to the victor. Jim recounted it, shot by shot, whilst in the periphery, allies whispered on other subjects. The champagne flowed, but not too freely, and no one fretted as Lewis slowly drained his glass and asked for a second. The lad was in control – and he deserved a few. Another thirty minutes passed before that was finished.
    As he placed the empty flute in front of him, Lewis looked over to Jim and rhetorically quizzed, as he knew fine well the answer, “Is there such a thing as a dram in the house, Jim? Don’t worry! I’ll only be having the one.”
    “Aye, Lewis. I can get you a dram. I’ll bring the bottle through.”
    Jim went into his room where the whisky was hidden, returning apprehensively a few moments later. The bottle was offered around, but only Jim along with Lewis was up for it. A double was poured out for each of them, and one handed to Lewis.
    “Two glasses for me, Jim, if you don’t mind.”
    The room hushed as Jim looked at the lad nervously, predictions of a ruined night abounding. Only Fiona could guess immediately what was happening.
    “It’s fine, Jim!” she assured her husband. “Just give Lewis the second glass. It’s a whisky that’s needed now, not champagne.”
    Jim handed Lewis the glass that he had poured for himself, he no longer had any taste for it. It was accepted with thanks then Lewis stood up and walked over to the patio doors. He turned round to the silent group before making his