Hitting Back Read Online Free Page B

swingball, but I can't picture a
time or place. I have a memory of going to France with Mum
and Dad, but nothing specific comes back to me except I can
remember a babysitter giving me a little sip of her coffee and I
spat it out. I've never touched coffee since.
    *
    I was born Andrew Barron Murray on the 15th of May, 1987,
in Glasgow. Only two weeks before, the family had moved to
Dunblane, a little cathedral town not far from Stirling which at
the time seemed very relaxed, very friendly and very safe –
except at Halloween when Jamie and I and our friends would
go out with our pals and throw eggs at people's houses.
    I definitely cannot remember a time without Jamie, my elder
brother by fifteen and a half months. That's relevant because
growing up aged five, six, seven, eight, he was better than me
at stuff purely because he was older, stronger and cleverer. It
took me until I was ten to beat him at tennis and I've got a
funny fingernail to prove it.
    We were playing in a national tournament for the Under-10s
at Solihull when he was ten, and we both reached the final. I
don't remember the match with any clarity, but what I do
remember is coming back home with him on the minibus with
all the Scottish players – there must have been about fifteen of
us – and I was winding him up about beating him. Mum was
driving. It was difficult for him to get away from it because I
was sitting beside him at the time with my arm lying on the
armrest. After about fifteen minutes of this, he'd had enough of
my goading. He shouted at me and his fist came down on my
hand. I got this huge whack on my finger which went black and
blue and I had to go to the doctor's for a tetanus injection the
next day. It never did grow back properly. So that was the first
time I beat Jamie in competition and that was my return for it.
    I was obviously very competitive with him. That was why I
started to hate – I still hate – losing so much. My whole tennis
career happened purely because, when I was growing up, my
big brother was much better than me at most things. He was
better in school than me, he was better at tennis than me and
even when we pretended to be professional wrestlers, he only
ever let me win the Women's belts.
    My mum, my first tennis coach, will tell you that when I
started playing tennis she thought I was useless. I was only
about three or four and she used to spend hours throwing balls
for me to hit. She says I kept missing whereas Jamie could do
it right away. It wasn't really until I was about seven that I
started to become noticeably better. I had bad concentration,
bad coordination and a temper. It was not a good
combination.
    Gran tells me that regardless of whether we were playing
Snap, Monopoly or dominoes, I had to win at all costs. If
I didn't, I'd storm off in a terrible huff. I don't believe any
of this, but pretty much everyone in the family tells me the
same thing. They even tell me that Jamie used to let me win
things for a quiet life, but I don't believe that either. Maybe it
would have been just to shut me up but I don't remember
being that bad.
    I suppose I was what you might call 'vocal' on the tennis
court when I was young. I have heard stories about me playing
at a junior tournament in Edinburgh and the father of the guy
I was playing was standing right behind the court, applauding
my double faults and cheering when I hit the ball out. I was
getting angrier and angrier. Mum and Gran had even started to
edge away because they could see what was coming and
wanted to pretend it was nothing to do with them.
    I suddenly snapped, turned round and slammed a ball into
the netting where the man was standing. To all intents and
purposes, I was smashing the ball straight at him. Of course, I
got into trouble. The match was stopped, the referee was called
and Gran said she could hear me, even though she was hiding,
announce with some defiance: 'Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry.'
    Gran and Grandpa played a big part in my life