Game, Set, Match

by Heidi Stephens

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Escape to the Spanish hills in this completely gorgeous and delicious romantic comedy that will have you snorting with laughter. If you love Catherine Walsh, Laura Jane Williams and Sophie Ranald, you won't want to miss this!

LOVE DOESN'T ALWAYS PLAY BY THE RULES

Hannah has been married to Graham since they were eighteen - a union of desperation to escape their strict families. He's the only man she's ever kissed and honestly, she's not sure he's any good at it. But fourteen years of washing his underwear is more than enough to kill the romance.

Well, that and the fact that he's got a work colleague pregnant.

Hannah's new-found freedom is an opportunity to finally put herself first, and a trip to Spain sounds like the perfect start. Yes, it might be with three near strangers, but it's also a chance to play tennis every day under the Spanish sun, before heading off on a solo road trip and starting the next phase of her life.

Then Hannah meets Rob, who has kissed ALL the women and is 100% not her type. And besides, she's really not looking for love right now. But if there's one thing Hannah knows about tennis, it's that sometimes taking a risk can pay off - and when you fault on your first serve, you get a second chance.

(P) 2023 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: June 22, 2023

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

‘We need to talk,’ said Hannah, pulling the pin out of each word and tossing it over the furniture like a tiny grenade. She hovered in the doorway between the lounge and the kitchen, wondering if any phrase in the English language was a bigger red flag for impending doom. Nothing good ever followed we need to talk.

Hannah waited for the explosion to go off, staring at the back of Graham’s head on the teal sofa. There was no indication that he’d felt the impact, or in fact that he’d heard her speak at all. His gaze remained firmly fixed on the rugby match playing on TV, and the only sign that he wasn’t dead was a brief lifting of his right arm in a half-hearted wave.

Her gaze shifted to his feet on the coffee table, and the big toe protruding through a hole in one of his socks. A wave of annoyance washed over her – he was thirty-two years old, for goodness’ sake. Why couldn’t he sew it up, or better yet, buy a new pair? Presumably he was waiting for her to do it, and after fourteen years of compensating for his abundant flaws, it felt like the sock that broke the camel’s back.

‘Hey, Han,’ he said airily, still not turning to look at her. ‘I saw you got some chicken out for dinner – was I supposed to do something with that?’

‘We talked about it yesterday,’ said Hannah through gritted teeth. ‘You were going to make a curry.’

‘Yeah, that’s not happening,’ said Graham. ‘Oh, come on, that was obviously a knock-on. This referee is either blind or stupid.’

‘So what are you making instead?’ Hannah didn’t actually want dinner with Graham; right now the thought of watching him eat made her feel sick. But that wasn’t the point.

‘We can still have a curry, I’ll just get it Deliverooed.’

‘We had takeaway pizza on Tuesday. You were supposed to cook then, too.’

Reluctantly, Graham dragged his eyes away from the TV and glanced round to offer a hard stare. ‘Han, don’t nag, OK? I want to watch this, and then I want to eat. If you want to cook, feel free. But if it’s my turn to do dinner you don’t get to decide where it comes from.’

Graham’s attention drifted back to the thirty men trampling through her collapsed scrum of a marriage. Hannah looked at the protruding toe again, pink and shiny like a newborn vole. His toenails needed cutting.

‘I don’t want to be married to you any more.’ She waited nervously, not entirely sure whether she’d said those words out loud, or just in her head.

‘Sure,’ Graham replied absently, raking at his neck with his fingernails. ‘Come on, are you BLIND? That was obviously a high tackle.’

‘Great, so let’s agree to get divorced as soon as possible.’ OK, that was definitely out loud. The grenades clearly hadn’t worked, so she imagined the words bobbing across the room like helium balloons, then bonking him repeatedly on the head.

Graham vented his frustration at the TV in a series of incoherent noises, then finally turned to face her. ‘This is the worst match I’ve ever watched. What did you say?’

Hannah held his gaze, still leaning against the doorframe. ‘I said I don’t want to be married to you any more, and we should get divorced as soon as possible.’

‘What the . . .?’ The colour drained from Graham’s face. ‘Where did that come from?’ He reached out for the remote and finally silenced the TV, almost falling over in his haste to stand up. He hurried around the end of the sofa and made a move towards her, then changed his mind, like she might have lethal objects hidden about her person. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes,’ said Hannah, swallowing hard to stop her voice from wavering. ‘You’re cheating on me, for starters, so clearly you don’t love me. But aside from that, I don’t love you either. So yes, Graham, I’m entirely serious.’

His face turned from ghostly white to bright red, like he’d pulsed it in a blender. ‘What . . .? How . . .? I don’t . . .’

‘You’ve been sleeping with Lucy from your office for six months,’ said Hannah, her jaw clenched. ‘She called me earlier to tell me she’s now four months pregnant and apparently you’re being awful about it.’

‘I . . .’ spluttered Graham, who was now visibly sweating. ‘Lucy’s not very stable, she’s . . .’

Hannah held up a hand to silence him. ‘She gave me dates and times and forwarded me text messages.’ She furiously blinked away the tears as she thought about the texts Lucy had sent her; some featuring endearments Graham had once used for her, and others that were considerably more . . . colourful. The kind of words that she couldn’t even say in her head without fear of being struck by lightning.

Graham retreated behind the sofa, rubbing his hands across his face. ‘Look, Han,’ he said, panic bubbling in his voice. ‘I know it looks bad, but it’s not what you think.’

Hannah gave a hollow laugh, tucking her hands under her armpits to hide the shaking. She needed to get out of here. ‘I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what I think. So I’m going to Sainsbury’s to get myself something for dinner, and I’d like you to be packed and gone by the time I get back.’

‘But—’ Hannah turned to leave, her heart pounding in her ears and bile rising in her throat. ‘Hannah!’ he called one last time, but he didn’t follow.

‘Are you OK?’ said a man’s voice, his hand reaching out to gently touch Hannah’s arm. She jumped and looked up. He was only in his early twenties, not much older than her brother Luke. Wearing a Sainsbury’s maroon and orange jacket with a badge that said ‘Mo’.

‘Sorry?’ Hannah looked around, momentarily blinded by the supermarket lighting.

‘You’ve been staring at that broccoli for ages,’ said Mo. ‘And you’re squashing that avocado into guacamole.’

‘Really?’ Hannah’s laugh sounded a little manic, her curls bobbing into her eyes as she frantically shook her head to dislodge the buzzing in her ears.

‘Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were OK.’

Hannah forced a smile. ‘Sorry. I was miles away. I’m fine.’

Mo nodded, looking a bit disappointed. Hannah wondered if he’d just got his Mental Health First Aid certificate and was primed to deal with his first woman having a nervous breakdown in Aisle Two.

Throwing the broccoli and the mashed avocado into her basket, she hurried off, suddenly conscious that her tennis skirt barely covered her backside. She’d been ready for her 6 p.m. tennis lesson when Lucy had called, but she hadn’t gone, obviously. Instead she’d sat in her car for an hour, taking deep breaths and planning how to deal with Graham.

Hannah chucked some prawns in too, the cold from the supermarket fridges giving her goosebumps. She’d grown up in a household where modesty was paramount, and every inch of exposed skin was noted and discussed at length. Her parents had both been members of a fringe church, one of the more ardently evangelical ones, and for a long time church people were the extent of her friends and family.

Graham’s family had been members of the church too, and the two of them had grown up catching each other’s eye at prayer meetings and interminable sermons, more out of a mutual desperation than any real attraction. They’d married when they were eighteen, an unspoken pact to save each other from a suffocating lifestyle that neither of them had the disposition for. Hannah had too much passion and spirit for a life of fervent worship, and Graham not nearly enough. It was a terrible reason to get married, and fourteen years later Hannah could only marvel that they’d dragged it out for so long.

Right now she felt surprisingly calm, like she’d disconnected herself from everything and was floating above the chaos in a world where her only priority was selecting the first meal of the rest of her life. She looked at the basket – sugar snap peas, mushrooms, broccoli, avocado, baby sweetcorn, prawns. Not the most celebratory of meals, maybe, but also everything that Graham either hated or was allergic to. But that was fine, because this was a dinner that she definitely wasn’t going to be sharing.

Graham’s Audi was still in the driveway when she got back, which was no great surprise to Hannah. He might specialise in wills and mortgage conveyancing rather than having his day in court, but he was still a lawyer and could talk a good game when the occasion demanded it. Presumably he’d spent the last forty minutes polishing his defence.

‘You’re still here,’ she observed, dumping her bag for life on the kitchen counter.

‘I know, but we need to talk about this,’ said Graham, filling the doorway with his big frame. He’d played rugby at university, spurning offers of beer-fuelled sessions with the team in favour of returning home to dinner cooked by his teenage wife. Hannah noticed that he’d changed out of his joggers into jeans, a clean shirt and a pair of socks that were hole-free. He was handsome in a scruffy, bear-like way, and as a teenager she’d convinced herself that escape was the primary objective, and love and physical attraction would come later. It had never happened, but she’d tried her best to make it work anyway.

‘Lucy doesn’t mean anything to me,’ he said beseechingly, launching into his pre-prepared speech. ‘It was just a stupid fling, the stress of work. I’m not even sure it’s my baby. We can work it out.’

Hannah set her face to implacable. ‘No, we can’t. The thing is, Graham, I’m not really asking for a divorce because you got Lucy pregnant. I’m asking for a divorce because when I heard you’d got Lucy pregnant, I realised I didn’t care.’

Graham said nothing for a moment, his mouth hanging open and his eyes boggling as he searched for loopholes in this damning response. ‘OK, wow,’ he gasped, holding up the palms of his hands and backing away. ‘That’s an awful thing to say.’

‘I know, but it’s the truth.’

Graham took a deep breath, then regrouped and changed tack. ‘Look, Lucy was just a moment of madness. It only happened because you . . .’

Hannah held up her hand. ‘Don’t, Graham. Please don’t try to find a way to make this my fault. I’ve tried, OK? I’ve really, really tried. But you won’t grow up.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that despite my best efforts, this marriage is dead. You don’t respect me, you won’t cook unless you’re trying to impress people, you don’t clean, you have no concept of laundry.’

Graham rolled his eyes. ‘Really? This again? You want a divorce because I don’t remember to turn on the washing machine?’

‘No,’ said Hannah calmly. ‘Let’s be clear about one thing. I want a divorce because another woman is now carrying your child.’

‘Then why are we talking about laundry?’

‘Because you’re still a teenager, Graham. And you’re never going to change. Even without the whole Lucy thing, we’ve both been miserable for years. I’m not your mother, so I’m done. Go and live with Lucy, have your baby. She can wash your pants.’ She kept her voice strong and reminded herself to breathe, determined not to show Graham any cracks in her armour. Right now she had the upper hand, but the minute she crumpled he’d seize the advantage.

‘But I don’t want to live with Lucy; I want to live with you.’ His voice took on a wheedling tone, like this was in some way endearing.

‘Well, that option is no longer available.’ She swallowed her natural inclination to add I’m sorry, because it was the one thing she definitely wasn’t right now.

‘We’ve been married for fourteen years. You can’t just leave.’

‘You’re right. I’m not leaving,’ said Hannah, shaking her head. ‘You are, because this is MY house.’

Graham pursed his lips and folded his arms. ‘I’m not going. Not until you give me a chance to explain.’

Hannah smiled thinly and put her hands on her hips. ‘Graham, please don’t make me call your mother and tell her she’s finally got a grandchild on the way.’

His eyes bulged. ‘You wouldn’t.’

Hannah tilted her head and held his gaze, wondering how she’d stood in front of a fire-and-brimstone pastor and promised to love, honour and obey this man for ever. ‘Believe me, I definitely would.’

‘She’ll lose her mind,’ he said desperately. ‘Nobody gets divorced in our family.’

‘Well, think of yourself as a trailblazer. And don’t lie to her about what you’ve done; you’ll only make it worse when she finds out.’

‘I can’t tell her,’ he croaked, clearly on the verge of tears. ‘She’ll be devastated.’

Hannah looked away, determined not to feel sorry for him. ‘Maybe you should have thought about that before you had an affair with your assistant.’

Graham covered his face with his huge hands and started to sob, the last remaining defence of the cornered and desperate. ‘I’m so sorry, Hannah.’ He rubbed his eyes like a little boy. ‘Please don’t do this.’

Hannah walked towards him, then gently rested her hand on his arm, suddenly aware that this was probably the last time she would ever touch him. ‘Come on. Be honest with yourself, and with me. This marriage isn’t working, and it hasn’t been for a long time. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like this?’

Graham looked up, his eyes filled with tears and confusion. He gave Hannah a long, searching look, and it felt like the most powerful moment of mutual understanding they’d shared in years. He closed his eyes briefly as he shook his head, then opened his arms to invite Hannah in for a hug. She paused for a second, then moved into them. She could give him this one final moment, but then they were both on their own.

‘This isn’t working.’ Rob let go of the suitcase lid, prompting it to spring open like a jack-in-the-box. The stack of shorts and polo shirts inside slumped sideways and fell onto the bed, ruining all his careful folding.

‘You’re trying to squash too much stuff in,’ said Nina with an eye roll, scrambling onto the pillow so she could shove the T-shirts back in, push the lid down and hold it in place with her pert backside. ‘Why don’t you just take another bag?’

‘Because it’s an extra seventy quid,’ Rob said grumpily.

‘You could take me,’ she added sweetly, bouncing up and down on the lid while Rob wrestled with the zip. She opened her legs to spread the weight and jiggled her boobs in his face, and he momentarily wondered if she was doing it on purpose. ‘Then I could bring some of your stuff in my bag. I’d only need a bikini. And my hair straighteners.’

‘Not great timing for that suggestion,’ laughed Rob. ‘My plane leaves in three and a half hours.’

Nina pouted prettily, still sitting on the hard shell of Rob’s suitcase, her knees now together with her feet splayed like she was about to kick into a Charleston swivel.

‘I could come over to Spain when I’m done with uni in May, though. Maybe you could teach me to play tennis.’

Rob smiled, realising this was a joke. Nina hated tennis; in fact, she hated anything that made her sweaty in public. In private was a whole other matter, however. ‘I don’t think that would work,’ he said.

‘I just can’t believe you’re not going to miss me.’ She was trying to play it cool, but Rob could hear the neediness in her voice.

‘Of course I’m going to miss you. But we always knew this was coming.’

‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘But I thought you might change your mind. You know, because of me. Well, us.’

Rob looked at her carefully, trying to gauge if she was still joking. Her lip gave a tell-tale wobble and he realised she was about to cry. Oh, shit.

‘Nina, I . . .’ He was suddenly aware that he was way out of his depth. They’d been casually dating for less than two months; a slippery Valentine’s Day encounter on some ice outside Bath Abbey that had moved from a coffee to an exchange of numbers, then drinks, then mini golf, then a great deal of intense and mutually satisfying sex, all in the space of forty-eight hours. He’d thought they were on the same page – just a fling, no pressure, no commitment, feel free to see other people. Apparently not.

‘It’s fine,’ she said, clambering off the suitcase and pulling the cuffs of her jumper down over her fists. It was a reminder of how young she was; only twenty-one, inclined to retreat to childhood in moments of stress. Losing herself inside her clothes, curling her hair round her finger, chewing the knuckle of her thumb until it bled.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Rob gently, looking her firmly in the eye. ‘I’ve had a great time, but I thought you were cool with this.’

Nina gazed up at him with her big green eyes, pressing her fists together under her chin like she was auditioning for the part of adorable, picture-perfect girlfriend. ‘I was,’ she said breathily. ‘But now you’re actually going I’ve realised that I really love you.’

Oh Jesus, thought Rob, realising that this whole situation was rapidly spiralling out of his control. He needed to be kind, obviously, but also very clear on where they stood. ‘I can’t . . .’ he said. ‘That isn’t what we talked about.’

‘I know.’ Nina reached out to take his big hand in her tiny one. ‘I just need you to know how I feel, before you leave.’

Rob nodded slowly, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He reminded himself that Nina was studying for a BA in Acting at university and absolutely LIVED for this kind of Love Island drama. He suspected that this wasn’t an impromptu declaration; this was a scene she’d played out in her own head over many hours, an opportunity for Nina Taylor to star in her own Richard Curtis romcom. A Valentine’s Day meet-cute on an icy pavement, a whirlwind romance, tell the boy you love him just as he’s about to get on the plane, passionate kiss, camera zooms out as it takes off into the sunset without him. The End.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said helplessly. ‘The last couple of months have been really fun, but I’m going to Spain.’

‘What?’ said Nina, snapping from ‘tearful’ into ‘outraged’ like she’d just screwed on a different head. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

Rob turned his palms upwards in surrender. ‘Nina, this was always the plan. We’ve had a great time, but you and I were never a big thing. You said the same.’

‘I’ve just told you I love you,’ she shrieked.

‘I know,’ said Rob, determined to stay reasonable and not give her further ammunition. ‘But I don’t feel the same way. I’m really sorry.’

‘I can’t believe you would do this to me,’ she gasped, her hand clutching imaginary pearls.

‘Why have you waited until now to tell me this?’ he asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. ‘What did you expect me to do? Give up a job I’ve been lining up for the past year?’

Nina flicked her hair dramatically and shrugged on her silver padded jacket, then turned in the doorway to deliver her final line. ‘This isn’t what I wanted, but maybe it’s for the best.’ She looked him up and down like he’d just trodden on a kitten. ‘I know exactly who you are now and I hope you find someone who makes you happy.’ Her voice cracked on the final word, suggesting she hoped nothing of the sort. Rob didn’t move as he listened to her stomp down the stairs from his flat, then slam the heavy front door behind her.

What the fuck just happened? He’d imagined a final hug, then wishing each other all the best and promising to stay in touch but not really intending to. How did that suddenly turn into an episode of Hollyoaks?

He took deep breaths and tried to unscramble his brain, until a car beeped in the road outside; his mum and dad, who’d offered to take him to the airport. Rob dragged up the sash window and held up his fingers to indicate two minutes, then did a final check in each room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. His parents owned the flat, and they’d found a tenant for the next six months. A van was coming to shift all his boxes to his parents’ garage later, then cleaners would be arriving tomorrow to de-fumigate the place. A flutter of excitement bloomed in the pit of his stomach as he hauled the suitcase off the bed and grabbed his rucksack and tennis bag.

‘Got everything, son?’ Guy Baxter was very much a man’s man, prone to hale-and-hearty arm slapping from years of forging important connections on the golf course. Even though Rob was now twenty-eight, Guy still talked to his son like he was ten years old and had just led his prep school team to cricket glory for the first time.

‘He doesn’t need much, do you, darling?’ said Rob’s mum, in the indulgent style of a mother dealing with her youngest child and only son. Kate Baxter had lost none of the beauty that had led to some uncomfortable conversations at school between Rob and his classmates, who occasionally forgot that the English teacher they deployed as fantasy wank-fodder was Rob’s mum. He suspected she’d had some subtle work done – about five years ago she’d disappeared to a ‘literary retreat’ for the whole of the school summer holidays and come back looking like a poem by John Keats. She was now retired and from the neck upwards could pass for about forty on a bad day.

‘Just the one suitcase.’ Rob lifted it into the boot of his dad’s Lexus, throwing his tennis bag in with it. ‘The club provides all my coaching gear.’

‘You get in the front, darling,’ said Kate, opening the door to take the back seat behind Guy, as she had for forty years. They had met at university and married straight after graduation, after which Kate had taught English at an independent school in Bath and raised their three children with the help of an au pair while Guy built and grew a very successful haulage business. They were one of those families that everyone’s heard about but nobody’s ever met – big house, happy marriage, healthy retirement fund, not even a whiff of a child with a meth habit or a grandchild who shoplifts for attention.

‘It’s fine, I’ll sit in the back,’ said Rob, marvelling that marriages like his parents’ still existed. He couldn’t think of a single one of his friends whose parents were still together; most of them were either miserable divorcees or on third marriages to partners younger than their kids.

‘So, we won’t see you for six months,’ said Guy, shaking his head. None of the Baxters had strayed too far – one of Rob’s sisters lived in Cheltenham, and the other in Chew Magna, only a few miles from Bristol Airport. His parents were stopping there for lunch after dropping him off.

‘Not unless you fancy a trip to Spain,’ said Rob mildly. ‘It’s a nice resort, not far from Marbella. Mum can lie by the pool while I teach you how to play tennis.’

Guy laughed heartily but didn’t argue. It had been many years since he’d been able to give his son a run for his money on the tennis court. ‘And you’ve got a job lined up for when you get back?’

‘Yeah,’ said Rob, trying not to roll his eyes. ‘Head Coach for the under eighteens at the Uni tennis academy, starting in October. An actual proper job, with salary and benefits and everything.’

‘We’re very proud of you,’ said Kate, glancing at her husband. ‘Aren’t we, Guy?’

‘Of course,’ said Guy, although he didn’t look it. The Baxters had a rich history of high achievement in proper, professional jobs – Rob’s eldest sister was a GP, and the younger was the VP of European Sales for a US software firm. As far as Guy was concerned, tennis coaches were in the same bracket as ski instructors and yoga teachers. Layabout jobs for itinerant wasters.

‘Maybe we’ll pop over for a few days,’ said Kate. ‘After we get back from Bermuda.’

Rob smiled, conscious that only a mother’s love would get his parents on a budget flight to Malaga after ten days in a private villa in Bermuda.

‘Did you say your farewells to the girl?’ Guy asked. ‘What was her name?’

‘Nina,’ said Rob. ‘She told me she loved me, then slammed the door on her way out when I didn’t return the favour.’

‘Oh, poor thing.’ Kate pressed her hand to her chest.

‘Still breaking hearts, then,’ chuckled Guy.

‘I actually considered it as a career.’ Rob gave a wry smile. ‘But I’ve decided tennis is more my thing.’

‘We just want you to be happy,’ said Kate. ‘Settled down, you know.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Guy, swerving to avoid a driver in the wrong lane on the roundabout. ‘He’s too young to settle down, he’s only twenty-eight.’

‘We had a mortgage and two daughters by the time we were twenty-eight,’ Kate retorted, mildly affronted.

‘Yeah, but he’s never met a woman like you,’ said Guy, turning to look at his wife. ‘He’s never been knocked sideways by love.’

‘You’ll be knocked sideways if you don’t keep your eyes on the road,’ laughed Kate. Rob watched his father reach over and take his mother’s hand, endlessly fascinated by the spark between them that had burned for nearly forty years. How was that even a thing? He’d had plenty of girlfriends, but they’d all been casual flings and none of them had even come close to knocking him sideways. Maybe he’d never met the right woman, or maybe he wasn’t a sideways-knocking kind of guy. Or maybe his parents were just one of a kind. Either way, they needed to get a room.

He looked out of the car window as Bath’s famous Georgian townhouses faded into Victorian terraces, excitement fizzing in his stomach. He’d been coaching tennis for years, but always as a side job alongside studying and bar work, not as a way to make a living. But for the next six months he’d be working full time at a luxury tennis resort in Spain, and then he’d be starting his dream job right here in his home city. Everything he’d worked towards was waiting for him at the end of a two-and-a-half-hour flight, and being knocked sideways by a woman was definitely not on the list. He made a silent vow as he glimpsed the first sign for Bristol Airport. No women, no stress, no drama. Just tennis.

The doorbell rang as Hannah was wrestling brown packing tape onto a cardboard box – Graham’s collection of vintage Star Wars books and figurines, bought from various car boot sales and toy fairs during one of his hobby crises. Every few years he would get in an insecure huff about how much time Hannah spent playing tennis and announce he was taking up indoor climbing, or fencing, or cultivating his collection of overpriced Han Solo tat. He’d been round to clear out most of his belongings while Hannah had been at work earlier, but this stuff had been tucked at the back of a wardrobe and he’d clearly forgotten about it. Hannah briefly considered taking it all to a charity shop, but maybe she needed to build up to that level of. . .