Dark Moments and Desire That Drove a 13-year-old to Beijing

On a lazy afternoon during the school holidays the door opens to an ordinary house on a suburban street in Plymouth and William Daley, aged 11 and wearing his Chelsea kit, nods wryly at the arrival of another visitor. "Tom," he hollers at his busier older brother, "it's for you."

Tom Daley races down the stairs. He is small and smiley, with flashing braces on his teeth and an engaging way of setting you at ease within minutes of meeting him. He likes playing on the Wii far more than football and, one day, he wouldn't mind becoming a Blue Peter presenter. In the meantime Daley is the new European diving champion who takes his lucky monkey with him wherever he competes around the world.

He also has a nice line in nonchalant catchphrases like "blah-di-blah" that he uses whether dutifully answering questions about his growing fame or when revealing that William and eight-year-old Ben, the youngest of the three brothers, keep telling him that he's "rubbish" as he heads for the Olympic Games later this year. Five weeks before his 14th birthday Daley appears as unaffected in person as he is extraordinary on the diving board.

"It's weird," he says as he reflects on the fact that glossy double-page spreads of him are now appearing in magazines. "Normally I was the one pulling out pictures of athletes to put on my wall. Now younger kids will be seeing my picture. But I also think that after all the hard work I've put in, all the sacrifices I've made, I'm finally being rewarded."

If it needs a youthful concept of time to get away with that claim of "finally" gaining recognition as a 13-year-old, there is always something striking about a sportsman who has risen above either a bruising psychological challenge or some form of emotional trauma. Daley has done both - having twice buckled in the face of doubt during intense competition while also watching his father, Rob, battle against cancer. It is rare that a young boy should have been through such dark moments to emerge with the steely composure that defines great champions.

Earlier this year at the World Cup in Beijing, and needing to finish in the top eight to guarantee Olympic qualification, Daley's flawless last dive pushed him up to seventh place. And then last month in Eindhoven, after failing with his easiest dive, he produced two astonishing routines. He scored three perfect marks of 10 on his fourth dive, and managed five on the next, to take the lead in the European final and ultimately defeat the World Cup winner, Sascha Klein.

It would clearly be wrong to attribute such triumph to "the innocence of youth". Daley does not, after all, avoid the reminder that he has suffered from a diver's equivalent of the golfer's "yips". He withdrew from a high-profile German competition at the last minute while, just over a year ago in Madrid, he endured a psychological meltdown which divers call Lost Move Syndrome - when he literally forgot a specific dive.

"Two weeks before Germany I hit the board. I then landed flat. I was going through a really bad patch because I'd grown a lot. I didn't know where I was or what I was doing. I just scared myself and thought, 'Am I here too soon?' I got to that competition and froze. I couldn't do it. Now I've got experience on my side and that would never happen again.

"In Madrid I dived really well in the prelims and the semi-final. In the final my first four dives were great. But my fifth - well, I just don't know what happened. But in the same event in Madrid this year I finished third because I wasn't going to let that experience happen again."

That determination makes a mockery of the way Daley has been patronized by beaming television interviewers who have cooed and patted him on the head. It was more instructive to see some of the world's best divers lining up to shake the teenager's hand after he overcame his past fears to become European champion.

His story is made all the more remarkable by his family background. His parents, Rob and Debbie, highlight their own lack of sporting prowess and remember how they agreed to pay for his first five diving lessons only when, at the age of eight, Tom was inexplicably entranced by the sight of a diving board at their local pool in Plymouth. They can joke now that it was the best £25 they ever spent but two years ago their lives were blighted by near tragedy.

It is a measure of Tom's maturity that he can answer questions about his father's illness with a calm kind of intimacy. The day before their dad was due to have major surgery on a brain tumor, in May 2006, Tom and his brothers, oblivious to the real reason, were surprised to see him return home with a shaved head.

"He told us he went to the pub and the person who got their name picked out of a hat had to shave their head for Red Nose Day. That's the kind of thing my dad would do. And then he said he was going in for a check-up at the hospital. I went to visit him the next day and he had a big bandage round his head. I was like. . . hey? And he said: 'Yeah, I've had an operation. I've had a poorly head.' I found out afterwards that he had cancer.

"If he had told me before the operation, then I would have been very scared and would have found diving very hard. But he told me afterwards, when the operation had gone successfully. I was relieved I'd been told after it had all happened. If he had told me before it would have been a different story. He's had 80% of the tumor removed and it's shrinking, apparently. He always says that he feels about 19."

"Do you let him get away with that?"

Daley laughs in delight. "No."

While his father continues to have regular scans, Daley explains that "my mum and dad don't normally tell us. He won't make a big fuss of it."

Later this week Rob will join Tom in Mexico for another competition. If Tom will have his ticket paid for, and accommodation provided, his father has to fund his own trip. "At every international competition my dad's always there. He's there to watch me do well and see that it's been worth it, blah-di-blah, but also when it doesn't go well and I need someone to talk to, dad can say his, 'Don't worry, you've got next time' kind of thing."

Rob Daley has given up work, in order to accompany Tom wherever he travels and the family now rely on Debbie's salary as a part-time administrator. Tom is acutely aware of the financial strain. "Earlier this year, at the World Cup in Beijing, my dad had to buy his ticket off a tout at four-times the face value. Money is definitely tight. We've been struggling for quite a while. The hotels in Beijing were £39 a night when we were at the World Cup. But during the Olympics they're going to be £450 a night."

While Tom expresses hope that a London company will sponsor his family to travel to Beijing his parents express more private concerns. They also point out that the British Olympic Association have indicated that the Daleys will have to buy tickets for themselves - and with diving being one of the most popular sports in China the touts will again wreak havoc with the family budget.

After so much has been invested in him, and with his dad enjoying a new lease of life in the wake of his success, wouldn't Tom find it difficult to quit if he suddenly tired of diving? It's a hard question to ask a boy but Daley's answer is convincing.

"I know I wouldn't want to give up," he stresses. "My dad's put in a lot of effort but he always says, 'I'll support you no matter what happens.'"

That last line bodes well for their future. William and Ben also provide him with a vital sense of normality. "They're just normal brothers. They tell me, 'Aw, you're rubbish.' They're constantly like that. We still fight because we're very competitive."

If he was merely embarrassed at being honored by a school reception after he became the BBC's Young Sports Personality of the Year last December, he has been more distressed by the reaction of some older students. "Since the European championships I've been getting a lot more mickey-taking. I can be minding my own business, walking through school, and they just take the mick. I've just got to cope with that, I guess."

Daley nods when asked if there is a mean edge to that mockery. "Well, yeah. It's mainly the Year 11s. They're a lot older than me and I just think, 'Why are you doing it? Why can't you just, like, be happy?' I'm just doing something that I love."

He will almost certainly have to endure more schoolyard jealousy in an Olympic year. But for now Daley can delight in the fact that "Sir Steve Redgrave and Tanni Grey-Thompson are my mentors and I can contact them for any advice whenever I want to. They're the best two Olympians you can get - and they're really nice, normal people. One time I went to see them and Dame Tanni said, 'Can I grab a taxi with you?' And I was like, 'Yeah.' But then to think you're sat in a cab with a dame. It was really weird."

Daley is sufficiently versed in media interviews to downplay his hopes of a medal in Beijing. "I'm going out there for the experience and to see what happens - mainly to have fun and get a good performance." He is more emphatic in predicting his pursuit of two or even three gold medals in London in 2012 and by suggesting that he could conceivably compete in five Olympics.

But, increasingly, Beijing occupies his thoughts. Having beaten the World Cup winner, Klein, he remarks that the two leading Chinese divers are also young and inconsistent. "You never know," he grins. "Anything could happen."

And what about his lucky monkey? "Yeah, he'll be going to Beijing. I know he probably isn't lucky but because I've been taking him with me for a long time I don't want to stop doing it."

Daley, suddenly looking like a 13-year-old, blushes when I ask him the name of his monkey. "He doesn't have a name," he says shyly. "He's just my lucky monkey."

To hear audio extracts from this interview, go to guardian.co.uk/sport