Free Hurt by Tabitha Suzuma Page B

low-fat diet. ‘After the Olympics, I’m gonna eat at McDonald’s every day for a month, I swear.’
    ‘I’d kill for a Big Mac and fries,’ Mathéo agrees with a grin. ‘Chocolate milkshake, apple pie, blueberry muffins—’
    ‘Beer!’ Aaron adds. ‘And not just to celebrate winning a fucking medal! I tell you, I’m gonna get so wasted. Like that time after Worlds, when Zach snuck all that gin into the hotel room and we—’ He breaks off, perplexed, as Mathéo frantically mimes slitting his own throat.
    ‘So!’ Perez startles Aaron by approaching from behind him to join them at the canteen table. Short, lean and wiry, he is an overly familiar figure in his usual black tracksuit, an assortment of whistles, keys and ID badges hanging from his neck. ‘I hope you boys are discussing your dives. Just three days till Nationals. We want a clean sweep.’ He leans back against the plastic chair, folding his arms and pinning them each with a look, narrow eyes almost black in his perennially tanned, weather-beaten face.
    Mathéo nods along with the others, relieved that Perez appears to have just missed the tail end of their conversation. He wouldn’t have found it funny. Perez is a tough coach, doesn’t suffer fools gladly; he can be painfully blunt, and in the world of diving has a reputation for being extremely quick-tempered, which is true. Nonetheless, Mathéo respects him, likes him even. Perez has been his coach for almost six years now, has pushed, bullied, yelled and dragged him to where he is now – number one in the country, right up amongst the top ten in the whole world. Perez always reminds his divers that he only expects one thing of them – and that is to put in as much work and dedication as him. No mean feat, as Perez himself is a former three times Olympic gold medallist. Twice divorced and now married to his job as the UK’s top diving coach, he specializes in producing future Olympic medallists, and over the last twenty years has coached some of the biggest names in diving history.
    ‘I’m counting on you guys,’ he continues with furrowed brows, watching them eat. ‘I expect perfect sets from all of you on Sunday. Especially you.’ He is looking straight at Mathéo, who feels himself flush. ‘We’ll sort out that over-rotation once and for all on the dryland springboard after school.’
    ‘We’ve got dryland training this evening?’ Eli squawks in surprise.
    Perez barely looks at him. ‘No, just Matt.’ His phone bleeps and he gets up from the table. Pats Mathéo on the back as he passes. ‘See you in the gym at four sharp.’
    Lola is busy with the school musical all morning so it isn’t until lunch that he manages to catch up with her. She meets him at their usual table, setting her tray down across the table from him with a clatter.
    ‘So, last night was fun!’ She laughs and drops her jacket, bag and keys on the chair beside her, unwinding a multicoloured shawl from around her neck and gathering her windswept hair into a bunch behind her head, twisting it into a hastily made bun, her cheeks pink with exertion. ‘How’s the hangover?’
    Mathéo puts down his fork down with a clatter and gives her a sarky smile. ‘Not good. And not helped by the fact that someone shook me awake at the crack of dawn and then ruthlessly kicked me out of bed—’
    ‘Hey, I saved your arse,’ she reminds him. ‘Your dad would have gone nuts if you’d missed training! You’re not going to the pool this evening, are you?’
    ‘No, but I’ve got a one-to-one session in the gym with Perez straight after school. And then I’ve got to have dinner with Loïc and the new nanny.’
    ‘What? Why can’t you have dinner with us?’
    ‘Don’t worry. I’ll sort something out with Consuela after this weekend.’
    She frowns. ‘You’d better. Oh, Dad and I are rehearsing some new songs tonight. Will you come over and listen after dinner?’
    ‘Sure . . .’ He chews at his thumbnail, his