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‘No.’ Hannah felt a bubble of excitement in the pit of her stomach. ‘If I can get the time off work, I’m going to play tennis.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Rob hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect from Club Colina, but he left the UK in heavy rain and gale force winds and arrived in Spain on a warm April evening, and that felt like a good start. It had been dark when he arrived at the resort, with just enough time to grab a sandwich from the café and unpack his bag before bed. His room was halfway down a quiet corridor on the first floor of the hotel, which he supposed was where all the staff slept. It was small but still had a double bed and a tiny en-suite bathroom, and he didn’t have to share it with anyone. An apartment would have been nicer, but he didn’t want to waste the money. He could definitely make this feel like home for six months.
When he woke up early on Saturday morning he could hear other people talking and lugging suitcases down the corridor over the hum of the air conditioning, but he didn’t go out to say hello. It felt a bit like the first day at uni, although on that occasion he’d propped open the door to his room in halls with a case of beer and invited his fellow first years to help themselves in exchange for some introductory chat. This seemed different, somehow – partly because he was ten years older, but also because he felt like the new boy at a school that everyone else had been going to for years.
He showered and dressed quickly, then grabbed a pastry and a coffee from the restaurant and headed out for a walk. It felt glorious to wander around with nothing more than joggers and a T-shirt and sunglasses on, wandering the streets of smart villas that formed terrace-like rings down from the Club hotel and tennis centre at the top of the hill. It was quiet at this time of day, just a few runners out pounding the pavements and workers emptying bins in Club Colina golf carts. He strolled around for a couple of hours, discovering small clusters of apartments, giant villas with private pools shaped like kidneys, little communities of shops and restaurants and bars tucked away down narrow alleyways that disappeared into the hillside. The whole place had an air of calm and exclusivity, like even the birds had been told to keep it down so as not to disturb the residents.
Rob saved the tennis centre for last, having only seen it in photos on the Club Colina website. Sixteen pristine courts laid out in four rows – eight umber-coloured clay courts, four blue hard courts and four green AstroTurf, all landscaped with flowering shrubs and palm trees. Overlooking it all was a smart clubhouse and café, with not a flake of paint or a pebble out of place. Rob had grown up dreaming of playing tennis in places like this – he couldn’t wait to get started.
He dug out his phone and took a selfie from the terrace above the courts, then added it to the family WhatsApp group. He didn’t write a message; hopefully his excited grin and the clear blue sky would tell them everything they needed to know.
‘There are rules,’ said Mark, the Head of Tennis at Club Colina. He was dressed in the Club coaching gear – a white polo shirt with a royal blue stripe across the chest and matching blue shorts, from which protruded the brownest legs Rob had ever seen on a white man. Surely that must be out of a bottle? ‘I’m only going to explain them to you once, and then I’m going to give you a piece of paper with them written down, so you’ve got no excuse.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ whispered Aaron to Rob. ‘Why is he talking to us like we’re five or something?’
‘Ssh,’ said Rob with a grin. ‘I’m actually listening.’
‘Rule number one,’ said Mark. ‘You wear your Club Colina kit all the time when you’re in the resort. Most of the people on this hill are staying outside the hotel in apartments and villas, so you handsome fuckers are the best advert we’ve got for private lessons.’
Rob glanced around the hotel breakfast area, which was currently serving as a meeting room. There were six coaches in total, plus Mark. Three of the coaches, Chris, Jonno and Olly, had done seasons here before and were standing together by the coffee machine, looking bored. Rob and the two others, Aaron and Nick, were all new. All men, no women. Rob wondered if that was just coincidence, or some kind of unspoken hiring policy. But he had to admit that they were, without exception, handsome fuckers.
‘Having said that,’ Mark continued, ‘if you’re getting hammered in Marbella on your day off, do NOT be wearing your Club Colina kit. Keep it clean, change it often. If you look like you’ve slept in a hedge or you stink, I will fire you. Is that clear?’
Everyone nodded and mumbled assent, so Mark carried on. ‘Rule number two,’ he said, holding up two fingers in a peace sign. ‘You are on court by eight thirty every day to prep for warm-up drills, which start at nine. Lunch is at twelve on the terrace, and coaching ends at three, unless you have private lessons. ALL of you are expected to accept bookings for private lessons, which are open to anyone, guest or not. You get to keep half the earnings plus any tips.’
‘I’ve heard that’s worth having,’ whispered Aaron. ‘Lessons are, like, sixty euros an hour. Couple of hours a day, six days a week, plus tips. You could bank an extra three or four hundred a week.’
‘Eight-thirty start,’ said Mark, glaring at Aaron. ‘If you are late, I will fire you. Rule number three: Saturdays are changeover day, and also your day off. Fuck off and do whatever you like, but do NOT be hungover on Sunday or I will fire you. Likewise, do not fuck off on Friday night, because we do an end-of-week party and prizegiving for the guests in the hotel bar and you are expected to be here, on your best behaviour.’
‘If we’re not, do you think he’ll fire us?’ muttered Nick, making Rob snort with laughter.
‘And finally, do not, under any circumstances, shag the hotel guests. Do not flirt with them, do not finger them, do not exchange any kind of body fluids. If you do, you’re on the first flight home. No exceptions.’
Chris leaned over behind Rob, Nick and Aaron. ‘He’s so full of shit,’ he whispered. ‘I know of at least three guests he’s shagged over the past couple of years.’
‘Really?’ said Rob.
‘Yeah,’ said Chris. ‘But he’s in charge, so he can do whatever he likes.’
‘Those are the rules,’ said Mark. ‘I’m going to give you a copy, so study them hard. First guests arrive this afternoon, so feel free to check out the courts and have a hit amongst yourselves, get acclimatised. Don’t get sunburned, I’m not your fucking mum. Nick doesn’t need to worry, obviously.’ He grinned at Nick, who was black, and was gifted with a stony glare in return. ‘Stay out of the way while the guests are checking in, and I’ll see you all at eight thirty on court tomorrow.’ Mark forced a smile as he handed out sheets of A4, then left the room like he’d just ordered an air strike on some insurgent nation and had to get to the situation room.
‘Right, who fancies a beer?’ asked Olly, screwing his sheet of paper into a ball and tossing it over his shoulder into a tray of coffee mugs. He had a braying, public school drawl and an elongated head with the squarest jaw Rob had ever seen, like a human coffin.
‘Me,’ said Aaron, thrusting his hand in the air and immediately outing himself as the kid who was most likely to have his head flushed down a toilet before lunch.
‘I might go and hit some balls,’ muttered Rob, who wanted a clear head for tomorrow.
‘Don’t be a twat on your first day,’ said Olly, cuffing him round the head. ‘You can start tomorrow.’
Rob glanced at Nick, who shrugged. ‘Fine,’ he said, trudging out after the others and wondering which one of these pricks was going to use the word ‘banter’ first.
Olly led the other coaches to a place a little further down the hill, where they wouldn’t be spotted by arriving guests doing a tour of the hotel. It was a sports bar with a chessboard-tiled floor and a Premiership football match on the TV, with seating outside on wipe-clean sofas and glass tables.
‘Estrellas all round,’ yelled Olly to the barman, draping his arm along the back of the sofa with one foot propped up on the opposite knee. It was an alpha male power stance that took up half the sofa. ‘So, new boys,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling about your first day at Club Colina?’
‘Fine,’ said Nick. ‘I’ve done coaching seasons before, just not here.’
