‘Of course,’ said Mary. ‘Men, eh?’
‘Why not go upstairs and help yourselves to breakfast while I sort this out?’ Emily offered.
She plunged her hand into the tepid murky water and fiddled with the plug, wrinkling her face as the scum settled on her arm. It didn’t budge. Thinking it would be better if she moved Mary and Charles to a different bedroom, Emily withdrew her arm, wiped off the scum with a towel and went to find her friend. She stopped at the sliding door. She could hear her guests spitting angrily at each other. She cocked an ear and heard Mary hiss, ‘I don’t know why they’re living in such squalor, but please don’t say anything else.’
Emily’s hand shot up to her mouth.
Mary added, ‘You were downright rude last night, and Emily is my best friend.’ There was a pause. ‘This is obviously a bed and breakfast operation, and there were strangers with suitcases outside their London house last week. They’ve got money problems, but just shut up about it.’
Fifteen
June 5th
Ellis bank balance: (£5,976.89) Overdrawn.
90-Day Rule Tally: Emily: 21 Mark: 4
‘Stop swatting, Mark. It’s not a fly. You need to drive down harder on the ball, transfer all that energy from your leg muscles to your swing and thendownonto the ball. Watch.’
Tim was dressed in his usual sports kit, nylon shorts and T-shirt, a peaked cap, and dark shades for his eyes. Today, Tim’s clothes were light-grey and appeared dirty next to Mark’s crisp, sparkling-white cotton shorts and collared T-shirt. The coach stepped up to the baseline, tossed the ball high, corkscrewed down, bounced back up, and stretched overhead to slam the ball, which skimmed over the net, deep into the opposite service box, ricocheting off the back fence.
Mark scrunched up his lips, collected a few balls from the basket, and took his place beside the coach.
‘Line yourself up. Visualize where you want the ball to land,’ instructed Tim, standing back from his pupil.
Mark bounced the ball a few times at his feet, stood sideways to the net, and then threw the ball into the air. He felt a tug on his racket, stopping his swing, and then the racket was pulled downwards. Above Mark’s hand was Tim’s suntanned one.
‘Woah, that ball is way too far forward. It’s going straight intothe net.’
After an intense ten minutes on serving technique, Mark asked to rally.
‘Why pay me to play with you?’ Tim rearranged his hat further back on his head, and removed his sunglasses, resting them like a headband on the crown of his cap. ‘Why not join one of the doubles matches?’
‘I can’t remember when I last played doubles. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be, or when or why,’ said Mark.
Tim slipped his sunglasses back on. ‘I can teach you. And the other players won’t bite.’
Mark frowned. ‘I’m not good enough.’
‘Well, playing will improve that.’
‘No,’ said Mark firmly. ‘Practice first. Don’t you practice stuff you’re not good at?’
Tim shrugged. ‘I’m not afraid of making a fool of myself. People generally laughwithyou, notatyou.’
Tim scooped a few balls out of the basket and trotted to the other side of the net, then served. After just a few minutes, Mark was panting his way around the court, forced to sprint to return each shot. He dived for a ball, skidded, and banged into the fence face-first. His nose was throbbing. Tentatively, he wrinkled it then ran a thumb and finger gently down either side. Hearing a giggle, he turned to find a group of women standing by the gate.
Mark bounced over to his bag, drank some water and – taking deep breaths – wiped the handle of his racket with a towel. Back at the base line, Mark steadied himself, breathing normally. He dashed from side to side returning shots but lost the point to a spinning ball that clipped the line. There was a ripple of applause from the women.
‘Good shot!’ called out a tall woman.
‘Lovely spin on that one!’ chimed another.
Mark glanced up at the audience and moved further behindthe base line. Tim served. Mark saw a flash of yellow, then heard the fence behind him ringing. There was a roar of applause.
‘Let’s call it a day.’ Mark lowered his racket.
‘We’ve still got five minutes,’ said Tim, ‘but your lesson, your call.’
