"It reminds me of Lewis... the island that is. There's a similar sort of bay there. I used to go down to it all the time, just to sit and think. You never had this sort of heat, though - different plants as well... But it's the rocks and the calmness of the water - the peacefulness - the way it's not overrun, just a few people getting on with the business of living."

"Is that where you got your name from?" asked Gavin.

"Aye! It was my dad's idea - he said it was because that's where the Macleods originally hailed from before the Mackenzies turfed us out, but I reckon there was another reason. You see, I have this horrible feeling that Posh and Becks weren't the first to name their son after his place of conception. My parents spent their honeymoon on Lewis, and I popped along nine month later, so it's a fair bet. Thank God they didn't have the money to go anywhere more exotic. That would have got changed by deed poll when I was eighteen, I can assure you."

Gavin smiled to himself at the notion - Goa Macleod had a ring to it, or perhaps even Gozo. After a few more ludicrous re-christenings, he asked, "Did you go there a lot?"

"Every year," replied Lewis. "My Aunt Maureen has a holiday home there. Just a wee Butt 'n' Ben, but I loved it. I haven't been back since... since I was twelve."

"Did your mum not take you back?" asked Gavin, knowing he was treading onto very thin ice. Marie had warned him of the sensitivity which lay there.

Lewis adamantly shook his head. "No. Maureen was my dad's sister - she and my mum never got on very well. I spent my time in England or abroad after that anyway - tennis academies, training camps, junior tournaments, that sort of thing. Holidays were non-existent."

Warily Gavin pressed him further. "That must have been difficult for you... after what happened to your dad."

The taboo subject had been directly mentioned but Lewis took it in his stride. "What, the camps and such like? No - they were the best place for me. I could forget there, and remember at the same time... remember why I was there." Lewis looked over to Gavin, who sat uneasy, sensing that he should have perhaps left the subject alone. "Don't worry, Gavin! I'm twenty-three now. I can talk about my dad without falling apart, though I couldn't for a long time. That's why most people avoid the subject..." Lewis paused for a moment as he looked back to the sea recalling again the times that he had looked on it with a different man. "It's funny - my dad never pushed me in any way. He had no great unfulfilled dreams that he wanted to live out through his son, or saw me as a ticket to the high life, like a lot of other tennis parents see their kids. He just encouraged me to do it if I wanted to. And of course, I did - I wanted to show off to him, so he would be proud of his wee boy. But he never pushed me, not in the way that was needed to become really good..." Lewis paused. He'd never opened up like this to anyone - not even to Lee. Yet somehow in this setting he felt comfortable enough, and after so many years, it needed to be said, even if he did so in a stuttering choked voice. "If he had lived, then you probably would never have heard of me... but he didn't... so you did. The whole world got to hear of me because he died... and because I still wanted to make him proud of me... There was no other tennis parent that pushed harder than he eventually did... even if it was from the grave. But he's done his job now..."

The solemnity was broken with a smile from Lewis, who turned round after a moment's reflection and raised his glass to draw a line under it all. "Cheers."

The calamari arrived a few minutes later, lightening the mood even further as they started to tuck in.

"What are your parents like?" asked Lewis, in an attempt to change the subject, but unconsciously staying close. Letting go had never come easy for young Mr. Macleod.

"Oh, my old man pushed me as well," replied Gavin. "Pushed me around the house when I was a boy, then pushed me out of it when I was fifteen. He wasn't too happy when he found out he had a poof in the family, so he gave me a kicking that saw me in hospital and social services taking me away."

"Sorry. Do you see him now?"

"No. He never said another word to me until I appeared on television. He was keen enough then to get in touch and try to tap me for a few quid. Cheeky sod! I told him where he could get off. It would have gone on drink and a brace of three legged horses, just like his dole money does. I'm well out of it all."

"What about your mum?" quizzed Lewis.

"Aye, I still see her from time to time, but..."

"But what?"

Gavin shook his head, as if annoyed with himself for the disloyalty. But he knew that Lewis had a similar situation with regards to Fiona, so he opened up as well. "It's terrible to say, but I don't really think of her as my mum anymore. She certainly never protected me like a mother should have. Margaret Wallace - Davy's mother who fostered me - she's more like a mum to me now."

"Okay. I think that's enough of happy families. By the sound of things, you win the game hands down," said Lewis. Then raising a forkful of calamari, he added, "These are delicious, by the way. I don't suppose you can rattle this off back at the house? I wouldn't say no to a plate of these every day."

With that Lewis left the past where it belonged and returned his attention to the present that went on around him, enjoying the tranquil scenery as he tucked away more than his fair share of the calamari. But Gavin's thoughts remained with the conversation as he watched Lewis pig out on the food and quaff back the wine at an alarming speed. It was hardly the behaviour he would have expected from a world class sportsman - not just world class, but the current best in his field. He wondered what Lewis had meant at the end by saying, "But he's done his job now..." Did Lewis feel that he had done enough to satisfy his father's ghost, or was he himself satisfied with all that he had achieved? Again Marie's words came back - her prediction about Lewis's reign at the top being brief due to his tempestuous relationship with the game. It was all down to motivation - easier to find when you're clawing your way up, but much harder to maintain once you've reached the top. And at that moment Gavin would have to concur with Ms. Clement - Lewis Macleod didn't strike him like the sort of man who wanted to put in the effort to stay at the top for very long.