Stella lowered her shades as she watched the blonde woman sneer at Manuel. Being on lifeguard duty meant that she could rest her legs for a couple of hours as well as keep an eye on the team from her chair raised six feet above the pool. Not that they needed much supervising. They were excellent at their jobs, but every so often, people were just not interested in their attempts to entertain them and that seemed to be the case right now. She made a mental note to ask Manuel about their exchange after the team meeting tomorrow and fixed her eyes back on the pool.
Even though this was an over eighteen resort, accidents happened regularly. Some guests got in the pool drunk, others fell asleep in the burning sun, then jumped in oblivious they had caught sunstroke. There had been heart attacks and strokes too, and she’d had to use the defibrillator twice since the resort had fully reopened again. Living an unhealthy lifestyle during lockdown, coupled with the endless supply of unlimited food and drinks in the resort, was a dangerous combination, but it wasn’t her job to educate them. As the poolside manager, she had to make sure everything ran smoothly, that her team performed to their highest standards and that their guests were happy. And occasionally save someone’s life when the on-site doctor couldn’t get there on time. That too.
As Stella followed the woman with her eyes, she noted that she looked irritated as she stomped towards the bar and sat down with a huff. Drunk guests were annoying and difficult to handle, but angry guests were worse. This woman looked way too high maintenance to be holidaying here, and Stella suspected she’d complain about her team before the week was over. Not because they hadn’t done a good job, but because some people couldn’t help themselves; they complained about everything. Fair enough; the rooms, the food and the service weren’t great at Paradise, but this wasn’t the Shangri-La. This was a cheap and cheerful all-inclusive resort where you got what you paid for and all in all, their guests had a really good time.
Just as she’d expected, the woman ordered a rum and Coke. She’d probably tried the wine already and decided it tasted more like vinegar—which truthfully, it did—and that the lukewarm beer wasn’t much better either. She could picture her at the buffet, grimacing at the colourless food that was tailored to the majority of their guests who had simple tastes; fish and chips, chicken nuggets, pie and mash, pizza and garlic bread. All beige and starchy.
Stella refocused on the pool. They couldn’t afford any trouble as times had been hard enough over the past year. They’d been closed for eleven months over the pandemic and now they needed to make up for their losses. Barely surviving on the ten hours a week the staff got paid during the periods the hotel had been closed, many had looked for jobs in factories, farms or in other sectors, and she’d had to train twenty-one new people within three weeks as the decision from management to reopen instead of closing had come last-minute. Now, miraculously, they were at full capacity and it looked like they might be one of the few lucky businesses to survive.
She reached for her walkie-talkie as it crackled. “What’s up?”
“It’s Florence. We have a situation here at tiki bar one. Drunk man throwing a tantrum.”
“Right.” Stella sighed. “Can you come here and take over from me? Tell Dave to keep him there; I’ll deal with him.” Her physical break was short-lived, and although she had no trouble with the intense ten-hour days, it took some time to get used to being on her feet for so long again. She climbed down from her lifeguard chair and handed Florence her fluorescent vest. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” Florence said, putting it on. “He’s angry because Dave refused to serve him more beer. Good luck.” She shot Stella a grin and chuckled. “By the way, it’s payday today and the day shift is meeting up at that new tapas place for happy hour. Are you coming?”
“Sure, I’ll join you.” Stella shot her a smile and made her way to the bar. She wasn’t a fan of the staff nights out, but they’d worked very hard and the least she could do was buy them a round. The woman was no longer sitting there with her rum and Coke; she’d probably left right after the drunk man had arrived. Curiously, Stella wondered why she was still thinking about her. Guests came and went, and although she was always friendly and pretended to recognise them, the reality was that she rarely did. This woman had only been here for a few days, and yet she’d noticed her every single day.
“Hi there. I’m Stella, the poolside manager. What’s going on?” she asked, looking from Dave to the man and back. “I hear there’s a problem?”
“Yes, we have a problem,” the man sneered. “I’ve paid a fortune to drink whatever the hell I want, and this man is refusing to serve me.” He held up his hand to show his all-inclusive wristband.
Stella crossed her arms in front of her chest and faced him, letting him know she wasn’t one bit intimidated. “What’s your name?”
“Pete.”
“Okay, Pete. It’s within our hotel’s policy to refuse alcohol to guests if they are causing disruption or discomfort to others. You’re being loud and obnoxious, so I think it’s safe to say you’ve had enough for now.”
“That’s not up to you to decide,” Pete yelled, leaning in.
“Keep your distance, please, Pete. You know the rules.” Stella took a step back. “And yes, it is up to me, actually, so I suggest you go to your room, drink some water and sleep it off. Come back down when you’ve sobered up, and Dave will be happy to serve you.”
“This is ridiculous!” Pete’s wife said as she joined them. She was unsteady on her feet, her eyes red-rimmed. “Come on, Pete, put your T-shirt on. We’ll go to Pit Stop; happy hour starts in twenty.” Narrowing her eyes at Stella and Dave, she waved a finger in front of them. “And you two… expect a formal complaint tomorrow.”
“Go ahead.” Stella kept her cool as she took the coffee Dave handed her before making one for himself. Thankfully, situations like this didn’t occur very often. “Complaints can be filed at reception.”
Pete and his wife waltzed towards their sunloungers to pick up their bags, and Stella chuckled when Pete tripped on his way to the exit. There was no point getting worked up about it; in a couple of days, they would be gone.
3
Dinner was most bearable between six and seven pm, and although that was a little early for Lisa, at least the food wasn’t completely stale by that point, and the dining area was still fairly quiet. On her first night, she’d made the mistake of going down at eight, and the place had been like a zoo. People throwing themselves onto the buffet, nowhere to sit, loud talking and shouting, and the cheesy nineties pop songs played in all communal areas had driven her to leave after ten minutes.
Now, it was mainly the cheesy music that tormented her ears, but she could deal with that. Scanning the food that was the same as every other day, her stomach was already protesting and screaming out for something fresh. Perhaps she should just go somewhere else tonight. After all, Spain wasn’t expensive, and dining out one day a week wouldn’t eat into her budget that much.
“What can I get you?” one of the chefs behind the long table asked her. “Today’s special is spaghetti carbonara. Or would you like a bit of everything?”
Lisa shook her head as she knew exactly what that meant. People who asked for ‘a bit of everything’ literally got that: chips piled onto pizza and pasta, topped with brown gravy that spilled onto the floor as they headed to their tables. “I think I’ll just have this,” she said, reaching for a piece of garlic bread with her gloved hand. “Thank you.”
“Hey, you can’t take food outside the dining area,” he called after her, but she was already gone.
Lisa was pretty sure the staff all had their own ideas about her, and she suddenly felt an urge to get off the premises as fast as she could. The animation team thought she was a miserable git, the chefs thought she was a food snob—which admittedly, she was—and the housekeeping team probably thought she was boring for spending too much time in her room.
The night air did Lisa good as she wandered over the Lavante Beachpromenade in search of somewhere to eat. It was warm and humid, but the sea breeze cooled her skin a little. At least out here she was anonymous, rather than ‘that woman’. Soon enough, the staff at Paradise Hotel would start to wonder why she was spending months in a place she didn’t even like, and why she wasn’t taking part in the hotel’s extensive social activities—she wasn’t looking forward to the questions they were sure to ask.
The sun was lowering into the ocean, and she stalled for a moment to take in the sunset. The last beachgoers were leaving, looking tired from hours in the sun, but apart from families dragging towels, cool bags and inflatables along, the main stretch was fairly quiet. Lisa had already worked out the daily Benidorm routine. Most holiday makers had gone to their rooms by now, to take a nap and freshen up for the night ahead. Later, they would come out here to ‘parade’ as they called it, before attacking the buffets and enjoying more drinks at their hotels. It was a funny and alien concept to her, holidaying without any culture whatsoever. Spain was beautiful—she’d visited the country many times before—but this town didn’t feel like Spain at all. To her left was the Mediterranean, to her right were numerous hotels, pubs—in the most English sense of the word—and supposedly Italian restaurants that served the same beige food she’d had all week. It wasn’t pretty, but anything outside Paradise Hotel was a bonus by now, and Lisa decided to venture into the side streets, hoping to find an authentic Spanish restaurant.
As she found herself wandering through the old town, restauranteurs left, right, and centre tried to catch her attention. “Best pizza in Benidorm!” one waiter shouted. “Best value for money”, another one said, then added: “Unlimited buffet!”
