by Carol Thomas
Inside the gym Abby had expected dim, hopefully flattering lighting enabling her to hide and skulk in the shadows. What she discovered however was very different. The room was bright, not just ordinary sixty-watt bright but glaring, operating theatre bright. There was clearly nowhere to hide. To add to the intensity MTV blared out on four large televisions strategically placed so with the help of mirrors you could watch from any angle. Abby conceded that seeing Beyoncé Knowles shake her booty did seem to be having an inspiring effect on the sweat-ridden onlookers who pushed, pulled and pounded with an impressive verve on the range of machines sprawled before her. She swallowed hard and noticed goosebumps prickling at her skin. Rubbing at her chilly arms and about to put it down to nerves she realised she was standing under an air vent blasting cold air at her. So much for the gym being the warm indoors option!
Looking round she was pleased to see that she actually didn’t look out of place. There was a range of people sporting an assortment of outfits from hardcore types wearing Lycra as if it were a second skin to those, like her, who had fashioned an outfit together aiming for optimum body coverage at minimum cost. She loved the fact there were middle-aged women, Heat magazine spread across the output display on their exercise bikes, juxtaposed with fit young people in their twenties powering through the burn. Do people still say that?
She was also pleased that she wasn’t the biggest person in the room. She knew it was a shallow way to make herself feel better but sadly it worked as a morale boost. Besides, she blamed Kennedy for the thought. The game was her invention when they were in their teens. Basically, as you entered a room the idea was to mentally calculate where you would come if you lined everybody up from skinniest to chubbiest. For Kennedy, who was eternally skinny, it was a bit of fun. For Abby, who didn’t share the same naturally skinny genes (or jeans), it generally wasn’t. Lately, however, she had allowed the realisation that she was no longer pushing depressingly towards the top end of the scale in most of the rooms she entered to boost her deflated self-esteem. She knew she should know better – judging others by size alone was cruel, even if the results did inflate her ego more than it should!
“Age, weight, height and fitness goals popped on there please, ladies.” George, as his nametag denoted, was dressed in the obligatory canary yellow leisure centre t-shirt and a pair of navy shorts, revealing sporty and possibly shaved legs. Abby grimaced at having to reveal her offending credentials to him. As for fitness goals, she had no idea – survive the induction? She peeked at Melissa’s. She’d convincingly gone for Toning, improved cardio fitness and maintaining weight loss.
Ooh, good answer. Abby copied it, minus the maintaining part, lied slightly about her weight and passed the form back. George sorted them a key each and passed them over, along with the cheesy and well-practised line, “These, ladies, will be the key to your fitness!”
About to ask if the machines would be motorised, Abby realised it wasn’t really the time for unleashing her bad sense of humour, especially as it always deteriorated further with nerves.
“Right, my colleagues’ll be up shortly to get you started.”
What? That wasn’t it? Oh lord, here comes the exercise!
In actual fact the induction wasn’t as bad as Abby feared. She felt lucky that her instructor was Ted – sweet, verging on retirement, ex-security guard Ted. He led her round the gym, introducing her to each of the machines. The cross trainer you had to step onto from the side, the wave machine you approached from the back, the rowing machine you had to sit on without letting the seat slide away from you – there was a lot to take in. Each time Ted encouraged her to play with the buttons and alter the settings as she had a go and got a feel for the exercise. Once her muscles got moving Abby warmed up nicely and appreciated why they kept the air conditioning on cold. She even considered that next time she would scoop her hair up. At the end of each trial run Ted declared that “ten minutes at low impact” was the maximum to program onto her key as a starter, and that she would “soon be achieving that and beyond!” He said it with such conviction and repeated it so many times as they went round that even Abby was starting to believe it.
Unfortunately for Melissa, she seemed to be faring slightly less well under the fierce instruction of Marcia – middle-aged, jaw of steel, muscles of a man Marcia, who was putting her through her paces and setting her times and levels for each machine that were clearly as yet beyond her limits; insisting that the body needed to be “challenged for change”. As Abby watched, gently spinning her legs on the exercise bike and chatting to Ted about his grandchildren, she felt for Melissa, dripping in sweat and coughing in that special way you do when you don’t want anybody to know your lungs are on fire and you can’t actually take a proper breath. She could see her limbs, swaying back and forth on the cross-trainer, glowing bright red from across the room. Her high ponytail no longer bounced but clung limply to her sodden neck. As much as she felt for her friend Abby had to stop herself laughing out loud when she heard Marcia announce, “There’s a reason why fitness comes after exercise in the dictionary!” She was just waiting for the ‘no pain, no gain’ mantra to follow. Poor Melissa! Thank God that’s not me!
Abby showered, feeling refreshed and looking forward to her next session. The gym, despite its initial operating theatre-meets-Top of the Pops appearance, seemed OK. She liked it. It felt self-indulgent in a good way and, she decided, if she threw herself into it enough it might just give her an opportunity to vent some of her built-up frustrations and anger. Abby was sure that with Simon having the girls occasionally and the help of her mum she could keep it up. She didn’t want to be one of those people who started keenly only to give up within a few weeks, leaving their bank account to be the only thing being exercised as the monthly direct debit payments continued to roll out.
Melissa on the other hand griped about her stinging muscles, mad Marcia and her thoroughly mental mantras, and the fact that the way the water dribbled out of the shower it was sure to leave her with shampoo build-up. Abby listened to her rant while she got dressed, deciding that nodding sympathetically and remaining silent was probably best. Once finished, having maligned everything she could possibly think of about her induction to the gym, Melissa looked at Abby and grinned. “Up for it next week then?”
“What? You mean you didn’t discover the reason why fitness comes after exercise in the dictionary, tonight?” she teased in response.
“Don’t get me started again. I was this close” – Melissa presented her thumb and forefinger, parting them so you could barely see light between them – “to telling her another F word that comes after exercise in the dictionary!”
They both laughed. By the time they left the changing room they were sniggering about the vein that bulged out of Marcia’s neck every time she got excited, and the blood vessel in her eye that looked near to popping as she exuded encouragement with every ounce of her overly toned body.
“At least that’s over; next time you’ll get to exercise in peace at your own pace,” Abby reassured, thinking that actually, chatting to Ted had made the time pass quite pleasantly.
As they walked towards the door Abby was taken aback to see Bradley Hunter standing ahead of them looking at the notice board. She turned to Melissa, sincerely hoping it wasn’t a setup.
“I didn’t say when we were coming,” Melissa responded, reading Abby’s expression.
Brad turned at their voices. The smile (Hmm, that smile) and look of surprise on his face confirmed he hadn’t been expecting them. “Hello. You started then?” He spoke with an air of sincere excitement; ever the PE co-ordinator encouraging people to exercise.
“Well, Abby fancied pole fit but—”
Brad’s eyebrows went up. Halted by the sharp dig of Abby’s elbow in her ribs Melissa corrected herself.
“I mean yes, just had our inductions. You?”
“Just been for a swim, I find it relaxing. The water, me, going through my paces.”
Oh!
Abby felt her cheeks redden as she let her imagination get a little carried away with the thought of Brad in his swim shorts, the water, and him going through his paces. She shook her head, attempting to clear the vision, and hurriedly added, “And now I have to get back.”
“Oh really—”
“I thought you said your mum had the girls covered!” Melissa exclaimed.
“We could have gone for a drink or something.” Brad continued, his disappointment clear.
“Sorry, I text just now and said I’d be back,” Abby lied. She actually wasn’t expected back at any particular time. As she hadn’t known how long the induction would take Eleanor was giving the girls tea and had even offered to put them to bed if necessary.
“Next time then.” Melissa smiled at Brad and rolled her eyes at Abby.
As they headed out into the warm evening air of the car park Melissa elbowed Abby. “Back to you!” she laughed. “You know he’s just offering a drink. It won’t hurt to have a little fun,”
Abby knew she was right. She was supposed to be trying to move forward; having fun was meant to be a part of that. Besides, she had told Brad she would go for a drink with him – as friends. Once she got to her car she sent him a text: How about next week for that drink?
After pressing send she stared at it for so long it imprinted on her eyes. Yikes! She was actually going to do it! As her phone buzzed a reply she almost leapt out of her seat.
Looking forward to it.
23
Booking our trip to Venice. Making all the arrangements…
Abby tore the page out and then remembered she wasn’t supposed to be doing that. She unfolded it to tuck back in her book but it looked messy; she would have to try ironing it. She tried to start again but it was no use – she couldn’t find the right words. Every time she tried to write the nice things, the ways Simon made her happy and the things she loved about him, her mind slapped her ideas down with derogatory afterthoughts. Booking the flights – like for Washington. Keeping it all a secret – he’s good at that. She was annoying herself.
Instead of trying to please Mallory she decided to write what she wanted to. It was her book, her place for her thoughts after all. She surprised herself by starting to write as if to Simon – a letter he would never see.
Sometimes, like in the restaurant when you mentioned Venice, I can see clearly and think happy things about our life together but other times my mind twists and contorts them, like it doesn’t want me to let go of how hurt I’ve been. It’s as if, when I try to think positively, my feelings, compelled by this sadness, want to overwhelm me. It leaves me feeling twisted and angered inside – but I don’t want to feel like that. It’s tiring. It wears me down.
It’s weird though; it’s not like it was. I don’t need brain-silencing loud music any more because some days my mind has clarity and that gives me hope that the peace will return. That has to be a step in the right direction, I guess.
Even though you answered some things, I still get the questions – why? Why did you do it? We were good together, you know that; it’s why you want us back together. So why did you risk it all? I really have to try not to focus on that, it’s too frustrating.
I think of us making love, I can see your face looking right at me and then you smile and I think of you looking at her – doing that face to her, so close, so intimate. Why didn’t you care that it wasn’t me? Why didn’t that matter? It makes me sad.
I think the thought of being happy, enjoying myself in the past or now, actually scares me. Committing to the thought of being happy, especially with you, makes me feel vulnerable. Like it might all be snatched away again.
Abby stopped herself; she didn’t want to spiral into sadness. Instead of getting frustrated she decided to focus on a positive thing to do next. She was pleased with her progress so far – going to the sexual health clinic was good to get out of the way, her lunch with Rachel and Simon, though odd at times, had been OK and going to the gym had been fun. So what next? It was like these mini-goals gave her something to focus on, a way to look forward rather than back. There was her drink with Bradley. Hmmm – the thought of that made her nervous. Things were complex enough; she didn’t need to add to the muddle in her mind. A drink after her next gym session seemed like the best option. If Melissa was there too it would feel more casual, like colleagues going for a drink, instead of… well, whatever just the two of them going for a drink was.
Searching for inspiration Abby noticed the bit of pink paper sticking out of her school bag; an invitation to Patty’s lingerie party. It was a bad idea. Abby knew it was a bad idea! Nevertheless the memory of her epic fail at buying lingerie on her shopping trip appeared in her head like a gauntlet being thrown in her path. She wanted to act while she felt brave enough and text an RSVP but she didn’t really want to go alone. It said to take a friend, but who? It was the kind of thing Simon’s sister Kerry would have been up for. But while they were speaking again things remained a little frosty, certainly too frosty to drag her along to a lingerie party.
She thought about Rachel. She could be a good laugh, especially with a few wines inside her, but she wasn’t sure she would get on with her school colleagues and she didn’t want the laugh to be on them. Besides, Abby thought, if she did descend into panic she really didn’t want Rachel there to witness it. Telling her she’d had trouble coping was one thing, letting her see her lose control felt like another. It was too personal. It would reveal too much about how she had changed. She was only just accepting the frailty of her own mind – sharing the extent of how out-of-control and low she could feel felt a step too far; strangely more so with Rachel who had known her as another person than it did with Melissa, who had become her friend through and probably because of her current issues.
Melissa, of course! She wouldn’t need to take anybody else if she could persuade her to go too. She couldn’t imagine it was really her sort of thing and wondered if she had even bothered to pick up an invitation from the staffroom table. Abby tapped the invitation and considered just arranging another shopping trip, the goal being to actually make it inside the lingerie shop this time. But then she thought about skinny mannequins and young sales assistants and decided she couldn’t face it. For some reason choosing underwear in a light-hearted atmosphere, under the influence of alcohol at Patty’s, felt like the safer option. A grin crept across Abby’s face as she thought of a way to ask Melissa that might just mean she’d go.
She sent a text: Feeling up for Patty’s lingerie party? I’m sure it will be pretty awful but I fancy the challenge of actually buying underwear this time (you have to challenge for change – grrrr!). xx
She waited for a reply, and when it came it made her smile and feel genuinely grateful for Melissa’s friendship. Really? Hmmm, well when you apply the wisdom of Marcia how can I resist? Though if you are seriously making me spend an evening with Patty, lingerie and things that require batteries there will be strictly no running away Mrs Turner! Happy to help you face your demons. xx
Melissa’s second text made Abby laugh out loud and send a response she would never have imagined typing: Sorry. I can’t promise there won’t be chocolate willies! xx
The ring at the bell and Bramble’s bark sent Abby into a panic as she tried to hide first her book and then all evidence of texts about chocolate willies. By the time she opened the door her cheeks were warm and she wondered if she looked as flustered as she felt. Mallory – of course! With her busy week Abby had forgotten that Mallory had changed her appointment. Not even trying to do her homework had jogged her memory. Oh bugger, homework! Abby wasn’t even sure what she had written technically equated to having her homework done. Her heart rate rose a little.
Mallory, excelling herself in a turquoise jumpsuit, matching sandals and hair scooped into a low sideways ponytail, settled into the leather chair by the window. Anticipating that Abby would take her usual place on the sofa she angled herself in that direction. Abby chose not to sit straight aw
ay; instead she offered Mallory a cup of tea. It was a ploy to use up some time and give herself a moment to get her head into counselling mode.
“Shall I read what you put while you do it?” Mallory pointed at the corner of Abby’s book sticking out from the side of the sofa where Abby had just shoved it.
Realising that seemed a strange place to keep it, she bluffed. “Yes, I popped it there ready for you.” Aware that actually made no sense, Abby left the room. She filled the kettle more than was needed – that should make it a bit slower to boil – and set about slowly making the tea. She really didn’t want to watch Mallory’s expressions as she read, and she really wasn’t looking forward to being told off about her lack of homework.
Eventually returning with two mugs of steaming tea Abby sat on the sofa, bracing herself, staring at Mallory’s feet, not wanting to meet her eyes.
“Abby, it’s so honest.”
Abby looked up in surprise. Mallory gave a warm smile.
“But I didn’t do what you asked.”
“No, not really. But you wrote what you wanted to say, and that’s better. You considered your feelings, tried it my way. I can tell that from the piece you tore out… and… ironed.” Mallory paused to give her a gentle chastising tut. “But when you couldn’t move forward with that you found a way through. Something you could put. Something I am guessing felt more honest, more relevant for you right now.”
Abby was confused; this really wasn’t what she had been expecting, but she liked it. Mallory in praise mode was always more welcome than Mallory on a mission.
“Well, I didn’t think about it too hard really, that all just kind of came out.”
“But do you see? That’s better, Abby. It just came out. That’s you allowing your mind to speak. Owning your own feelings.”
“Only to me… and now you. I haven’t actually said those things to Simon.” Abby felt the praise was a bit misplaced and wanted to make sure she hadn’t given Mallory the wrong impression.
