A GAME OF SQUASH

Henry kneels to settle his valuables in a front-wall corner of the squash court. There's a momentum to the everyday, a Saturday morning game of squash with his good friend and colleague, that he doesn't have the strength of will to interrupt.

He stands on the backhand side of the court and his opponent, Jay, sends a brisk, friendly ball down the centre, automatically Henry returns it. back along its path. And so they are launched into the familiar routines of a warm-up. The third ball Henry mishits, slapping it loudly into the tin. A couple of strokes later he stops to retie his laces. He can't settle. He feels slow and encumbered and his grip feels misaligned, too open, too closed, he doesn't know. He fiddles with his racket between strokes. Four minutes pass and they've yet to have a decent exchange. There's none of that easy rhythm that usually works them into their game. He notices that Jay is slowing his pace, offering easier angles to keep the ball in play. At last, Henry feels obliged to say he's ready. Since he lost last week's game he is to serve. This is the arrangement they always have.