An American Caddie in St. Andrews by Oliver Horovitz

Author:Oliver Horovitz [Horovitz, Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-03-14T05:00:00+00:00

• • •

“Good strike, Ollie.”

Greaves lights a cigarette, slots his Cleveland driver back in his bag. My drive’s heading slightly right, but it should be fine. The eighth hole opens up a lot down the right side. I pick up my tee, then my Guinness can, and stroll over to my blue University of St. Andrews bag. We’re on the New Course, and the setting sun is peeking out behind plush purple clouds. We’ve both done double rounds today. This is our reward.

“How’d your exams end up?” I ask as we start heading down the cart path.

“English and history went all right. Classics I nailed.”

“Nice.”

“Thank God they’re over.”

Greaves adjusts his backward cap, takes a drag on his cig. I can’t believe he’s about to be a senior. It feels like the last time I was in St. Andrews, we were barely freshmen. Time can move so fucking fast sometimes.

“It’s good to have you back, mate,” Greaves says. “Gonna be a great summer.”

I nod in agreement. “Until the Rotary tournament starts up again.”

As nice as this evening is, as much as I’ve waited for this over the winter, my mind keeps drifting to the caddie documentary. I haven’t told Greaves about it yet. Actually, I haven’t told anyone yet in the shack. If Rick thinks that I’m here for anything besides caddying, I’ll be in trouble. And by “in trouble,” I mean “fired.” So I’ve decided today to not bring up the subject of the film, at all, for my first week back. Instead, I’ll pound out the doubles and remind Rick that I’m here this summer—first and foremost—to caddie. It is, I think, the only way I can make the project work. But it’s not easy. I want to tell my friends, to recruit them for advice, especially Greaves. But for the moment, I’ll just have to continue keeping it a secret in the shack.

“I’m thinking about journalism after uni, by the way,” Greaves says. “Maybe try to work for Sky Sports, something like that.”

“Nice! That would be sweet.”

“Yeah. I think so. Any ideas on your end?”

I pause, then point to the rough. “Oh good, my ball’s sitting up. I might be able to reach the front from here . . .”

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