SERIES On Wings Of Song

Lizzie’s son, Adam, faces up to a bully.

ADAM MARTIN liked tennis, to the point where people thought he might well turn into a serious player. At nearly thirteen, he was possibly too young to think in terms of training for Wimbledon, but he could certainly give a good account of himself at the Kildartie Tennis Club.

There was a group of youngsters who met during the holidays, pairing up for doubles, or having a go at singles if no-one else was around.

For the most part, they got on well, though there was the occasional difficult personality, like Darren Spalding. Darren was large and noisy, both on the courts and off.

“Come on, Shorty,” he’d shout when someone smaller, like Adam, came on to the court.

Although Adam was at least as good a player as Darren, he would find himself feeling cowed, and would play well below par.

“I’m not going to play if Darren comes to the club,” he said once to his father. “He’s just a pain and he spoils everything.”

David looked at his son speculatively.

“Is he a good player?” “Unfortunately, yes.” “Someone has to beat him,” David said. “It might as well be you.” Adam sighed.

“My game goes to pieces when he’s around.”

“Don’t let him get to you, Adam. You can’t let bullies win. You can do it. You’re junior champion.”

“He was junior champion last year.”

“Just the same, go for it. Drill him into the ground.”

It was unfortunate that, two days after that conversation, Adam woke up with what sounded like a cold.

“Are you feeling all right?” Lizzie asked anxiously.

“I feel fine. My voice is just coming out all wrong.”

“Ah.” Lizzie smiled. “Do you think it’s breaking?” Adam blushed.

“I suppose it could be.” “Well, don’t sing on it. Wait till it’s properly changed.”

“I think I can promise not to sing on the tennis courts,” Adam said with some asperity.

He strode off into the kitchen, trying not to think about the upcoming game. He had agreed to play in a mixed four, with two girls from his class, and Darren Spalding. What they were going to make of his fractured voice, he dreaded to think.

The girls were fine. Neither Jenny nor Cara mentioned the inadvertent yodelling, and chatted to him perfectly normally.

Jenny was a plump girl, not given to great speed, but a good server and very reliable on the base line. She was also the butt of many of Darren’s jokes.

He stopped short of telling her she was fat, but his remarks bordered on unkind. Only Jenny’s sunny temperament stopped her from being hurt.

They were barely on the court when Darren noticed that Adam’s voice was shifting about a bit. Darren’s own voice had broken the year before, leaving him with the kind of rich bass tones that would have had Lizzie suggesting he audition for the Singers.

There was no way of knowing where Adam’s voice would end up, but in the meantime he was fair game to be teased.

“What was that?” Darren sneered as they knocked up before the game. “Couldn’t make it out. Has something nasty happened to your voice?”

Jenny, partnering Adam, sent one of her more powerful serves towards Darren’s feet, making him leap backwards.

“Sorry, Darren,” she said cheerfully.

Adam was too embarrassed to send her a grateful look.

It was halfway through the game, which Adam and Jenny were losing, that Darren made a comment about Jenny’s shape. Adam didn’t even look in her direction.

He just moved into the serving position, took a deep breath, and served the ball. It was an ace, and so was the next one he served to Darren.

From then on, Adam played as if ignited. Encouraging remarks from his partner hardened his resolve, and even Cara on the other side of the net was heard to shout, “Good shot!”

True to his father’s instructions, Adam drilled his tormentor into the ground.

As they left the court in triumph, Jenny grinned.

“Well done you. That’ll shut him up. Cara and I are going for a cold drink. Do you fancy coming?”

The three of them set off for the café, while Darren Spalding drifted homewards to an empty house.

More next week.