Naked Hero - The Journey Away

about it this time. Perhaps his latest encounter with the tabloids had given him a bit of a shake up, and some good would come out of it after all. “Okay. I’ll help. We’ll get the plans sorted one way or the other.”
    “Fine.”
    As Lewis turned to wards his bedroom, he paused and looked back at his coach, seeing him properly for the first time in a while. It was a sobering image - mortality sat there in front of him, flaunting the years which had managed to catch up with Jim Murdoch all too quickly of late. His hair was thinning at an alarming rate, and what was left had now turned to grey. Too many worries sat on his face, clinging on to the bags under his eyes. That was Father Time for you - there could be no escape. Lewis absorbed it for a while before speaking, attempting to blank out the inevitability of it all. “Thanks, Jim… for sticking by me. I appreciate it, mate. I really do. I know I’ve been a pain in the arse lately.”
    Jim gave a cursory nod of acknowledgement then followed it up with words that might have been best left unsaid, but he’d never been soft when it came to his charge – he refused to allow sentiment to interfere with the job. “That’s what you pay me for, Lewis, now on you go. You need some sleep if you’re going to hit the court in the morning.”
    Lewis looked at him again, and wished that Jim could find it in himself to show that he actually cared, that it wasn’t just a job. For the umpteenth time he wondered what Jim Murdoch really thought of him. He knew once, but things had changed so much since the premature success and the spoiler that Lewis had thrown in at the end. There was a distance now between them that hadn’t existed before that day.
    “It’s not been easy for me of late, Jim . And I know it’ll be a bumpy ride ahead. I need you more than ever as a coach… but I need a friend as well… I hope you’ll still be there for me… like you always have been. We both know that I’d have been dead in the water twice over if it hadn’t been for you. Good night, Jim.”
    He waited a moment before taking his leave, but there were no words of reassurance, only another cut.
    “Oh Lewis... your management agency called. Apparently the clothing sponsor is none too happy about the image you’re projecting. Any more bad publicity and they’re threatening to terminate the contract. It would appear they have grounds. Good night, Lewis.” Then he turned his attention back to the book without reading another word. ‘Softly softly’ wasn’t Jim’s way – even when it was desperately needed.

Chapter 8
    Lewis was lying on an airbed, floating in the pool having decided that he’d done more than enough for one day. He had told Mike Crawford to work him hard, and his physical trainer had taken to the task with sadistic enthusiasm. The massage afterwards wasn’t exactly a pampering either, so Lewis felt that he deserved an hour of lazing about and soaking up a few rays through a liberal layer of Factor 30 which Mike had insisted on coating him with. He was now luxuriating in the tepid water which lapped around him, and the caresses of the warm early evening sun. He relished the peace and relative tranquillity of the house they now occupied, only a few miles away from Melbourne Park where the Australian Open would start in five days time.
    Lewis reflected on what a smart decision it was to come here, instead of the Langham Hotel where they had stayed the year before. Lewis wasn’t too sure about the idea at first, and had needed a bit of convincing. He liked staying in hotels - especially now that he could afford the best. And the novelty of their luxury hadn’t quite worn off. He also knew that the underlying reason behind renting the house was that Jim could keep a closer eye on him during the tournament, which made him even more resistant. But he had let his coach have his way, and was now truly thankful.
    Ten minutes later, Lewis left the pool and went into the house. He showered then threw on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt before going into the open plan living area in search of his dinner. Jim Murdoch was sitting at the table pouring over his laptop, whilst Fiona was in the kitchen area preparing the meal. Lewis smiled to himself as he looked at her from behind. She was almost fifty now, with no care to hide it: hide the stoutness that had crept up on her, and the grey that was slowly replacing the brown in her hair. Fiona Murdoch was a woman who had