Wimbledon (Part 1)

We peer over the wall, my daddy bending so nobody will see him, and me on his back, wide eyed and giggling.
The smell of freshly cut grass hovers in the air all around us, delicious and summery.
I hold on tightly as daddy begins to creep around the wall, hushing my laughter, but I can see his smile is as big as the sun itself.
He stops, quite suddenly and he helps me to the ground.
Winking at me, he reaches into his pocket and produces a bright, yellow tennis ball.
I gasp. It is a beautiful ball, and I take it in my hands, feeling the funny fuzzy texture against my skin. He looks at me and tells me the caretaker is still on the court, and that we must not look suspicious. I nod in agreement, trying to change the expression on my face to a more solemn grown-up one and I try out a few different frowns.
Daddy starts laughing hard, his green eyes twinkling at me like magical stars you might find under the sea.
I make my face do peculiar things; I become a crazy old mad woman, one eye closed and my breaths rasping, I become the President of The United States, my posture composed and business-like, and he just keeps laughing and laughing.
It feels so good, being outside on this English summer's day, listening to the blackbirds calling softly in the hedges, the lethargic sound of a bumble bee, on his quest for pollen, and the creaking from the branches of the old oak tree nearby all merging with our own happy sounds.
Then we hear a car starting, and daddy catches my eye- which is at that moment, the eye of a tuna fish- and we both look over to see the caretaker driving off up the lane.
I start jumping around, crying, "Come on! Let's go!"
We roll down the grassy slope, getting covered in grass stains, and then we run to the small gap between the wall and the fence of the courts.
I squeeze through first, and am overwhelmed by a wonderful sense of freedom.
I run around the tennis court hollering and whooping for joy.
It is so intense, my head is spinning. I look up at the sky, tears dancing in my eyes and I blink them quickly away.
It seems like a wonderful moment, one I feel I will always remember, a moment of possibilities, and as I watch daddy, his black hair gleaming, his smile boyish and tender, I feel a rush of love so strong it just consumes me and all six years of me thanks everyone I know, silently, for letting me have this day.
Daddy takes out the two rackets we brought with us, and hands one to me and I grip it tightly.
I say, "And now, the final of Wimbledon! Mr Antonio and Miss Emily please begin."
We play for the rest of the afternoon, we stop when we must, to sit down and share biscuits and juice.
Every now and then daddy glances up at the empty College, and I am sure the windows are watching us, warmly I feel, like they approve of our game, our laughter.
The sun never seems to shift, the day seems constant, eternal. We play that match like we really are at Wimbledon, pretending we have an audience of hundreds.
Daddy's face and neck are beaded with sweat, his cheeks flushed. I think to myself how happy he looks. If he'd had the chance he would have taken up tennis professionally, but he didn't get that many chances. He doesn't complain. I like that about him. He just gets on with it. As I watch him, his joy radiates.
The simple pleasures in life are not lost on my daddy.

Time creeps up on us like it always does, and we take our belongings and ourselves out of the court, and begin to walk home.
The sky is golden, the lane empty. Daddy talks to me, and I listen.
He points at birds and tells me their names, and I repeat them, strange, new words like rook and sparrow. I like the way they sound.
We see wild rabbits for a brief moment before they turn and run, leaving us only with a glimpse of their white tails, that look like cotton wool.
We arrive home as the sky hints at twilight.
He hugs me at the door, smelling of warm body, oranges and grass. Mummy waves at us through the window.
"See you next week," he says. I watch him go.
I am still standing there long after he turns the corner and disappears.