by Beth Thomas
‘Well good afternoon, Miss Senior Ladder and Wheelbarrow Inspectorate Officer Lady. How are you on this glorious, God-given, sun drenched day in May? Wretched and irritable?’
I roll my eyes. ‘Ha ha.’
He grins. ‘Excellent. You’ve perked up to sarcastic. What a relief.’
‘Look, Felix, I’m not really in the mood to be made fun of today – well, any day, actually – I am here simply because Abby wants me to train with you for some reason. I love Abby, and I need to train, so here we are. Do you mind if we make a start straight away?’ I flash a brief smile, then turn away from him and start walking briskly towards the gap in the fence. Felix strides quickly to catch up to me.
‘Certainly, my queen. But can I just say–’
‘Um, I’d prefer to walk in silence, if you don’t mind.’
‘Oh. Right. I see. You like the silence. Well, I have to say, that doesn’t surprise me. In fact I would go so far as to say that of all the sullen, morose and generally gloomy people I walk with, you’re the one that I would have put money on liking the silence.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Oh yeah. It’s a shame, actually, because I still think you’d be quite interesting to talk to.’
‘You think so?’
‘Definitely. There’s an air about you. Kind of mysterious. Like you’re harbouring some terrible secret or something.’ He turns completely to face me and walks sideways for a few moments. ‘I know!’ He sticks an index finger in the air. ‘Your great grandmother was a Russian spy. That’s it, isn’t it? I knew it the moment I saw you wandering aimlessly around Lichfield estate that day. She was a spy, and was somehow responsible for the capture of dozens of innocent soldiers.’ He wrinkles his nose. ‘Actually, no, that doesn’t really do it for me. Why would you still be worrying about that now, after all these years? The old lady isn’t a threat to anyone any more, she’s now virtually motionless in a nursing home somewhere and no one there knows about it. Your mum accepted the truth years ago and got used to living with it, so it wouldn’t …’ His voice tails off and in my periphery I see him jerk his head down a little. ‘Are you OK?’
I must have flinched a bit when he started talking about my mum. But I’m not going to explain that to him. I nod. ‘Mm-hmm, fine, thanks.’
‘Really? Because I could have sworn I saw something then. Like something bit you. Did something bite you? You can tell me, I won’t laugh.’
I close my eyes briefly. ‘No, nothing bit me.’
‘Oh. Well that’s very odd. Perhaps I imagined it. So. Back to the evil spy.’
‘Felix,’ I say, stopping and turning to face him. He performs an elaborate screeching to a halt manoeuvre, windmilling his arms and throwing his head back.
‘Yes?’
‘Do you remember that time we were walking once, and I said I preferred to walk in silence?’
He snorts once with laughter. ‘Yes, hah, because you only just said it a minute ago, so of course I remember. I get it. Very funny.’ Then he rearranges his features into a serious expression and dips his chin. ‘OK, point taken. I will forever more hold my peace.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And yours.’
‘My what?’
‘Your peace. If I don’t talk, I’m holding both our peaces, aren’t I? Because presumably you had planned never to talk anyway, which means it’s all down to me.’
‘I see. Well, I appreciate it.’
He nods. ‘You can count on me, then.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
We look at each other a moment longer, then turn and resume walking. Through the gap in the fence and onto the canal bank is the spot where Danny and I always stop to warm up a bit. We run on the spot for a few minutes, or do some star jumps, then touch our toes and stretch out all our leg muscles. ‘It’s absolutely vital to warm up properly every time before you exercise,’ he’s told me, ‘to help prevent muscle stiffness. It also allows for greater economy of movement, because the viscous resistance in warmed muscles is much lower. And it prepares your body for the activity ahead as all your muscles are much more efficient when they’re warm. Did you know that the haemoglobin in your blood releases its oxygen much more readily at higher temperatures?’
Of course I didn’t know that. That’s specialised knowledge, and absolutely fascinating to hear. I glance sideways at Felix as he blithely strolls along, not bothering with any kind of stretching or warm up. I bet he doesn’t know a thing about haemoglobin or the relative viscous resistance in warmed muscles.
‘Oh wow, look at that duck!’ he exclaims suddenly, confirming it. ‘Did you see that? Did you see the way it landed on the water? I love the way they do that.’
‘Beautiful.’
He stands and grins at the canal for a few moments, while I walk on past him.
‘Are you not a nature lover, Daisy?’ he asks me a moment later.
‘Of course I am. Just because I don’t exclaim in paroxysms of joy every time a duck lands on the water doesn’t mean I’m not a nature lover.’
He nods. ‘Mm-hmm.’ He walks annoyingly fast, for someone who’s turned up in a pair of jeans and an old Cult tee shirt. He’s even got his hands in his pockets and is giving the impression of someone out for a Sunday stroll, while I’m practically running to keep up with him. I’m getting a bit out of breath, actually.
‘What do you mean, mm-hmm?’
He glances over at me and shrugs, which reminds me briefly of his arms holding up that wheelbarrow full of bricks. ‘Mm-hmm doesn’t really mean anything, does it? It’s more an indication that the information given has been absorbed. Now if I’d have said “Ha”, that would have been totally different. That might have suggested that either I found what you had said very funny, or, depending on the tone of the ‘ha’, that I didn’t believe you.’
‘Are you annoying on purpose, or does it just come naturally?’
‘I think it comes naturally.’
I smile, in spite of my exasperation. ‘Well, for your information, I am a great lover of nature. I always have been.’ I glance to my right, at the canal water, and notice about five or six ducks floating around quite near me. As I walk, they swim alongside, as if they want to make friends. ‘Oh look, Daisy Duck,’ my mum’s voice comes into my head, ‘they’re following you. They know you’re their queen.’ My eyes grow hot suddenly and I look away. ‘I used to love feeding the ducks,’ I mumble, more to myself than anything.
‘Oh yes,’ he says confidently. ‘That’s a staple part of growing up, like falling off your bike, or toasting marshmallows. Everyone should feed stale bread to ducks at least once in their lives.’
‘You make it sound pathetic.’
‘Do I? I didn’t mean to. I actually mean it sincerely. Feeding the ducks is wonderful. Food for the soul. Like, you’re linking yourself to nature in some way. Stepping out of your closeted, suburban, civilised existence for half an hour and getting right down in there, interacting.’ He turns to look at me. ‘Kids grow up with a greater respect for nature, feeling like they’re actually part of it, instead of just observing. And it builds such strong bonds between mums and their children. A shared experience. We never forget it, do we, even decades later.’
‘And does it solve world poverty and cure all known diseases?’ I can’t help it. I actually agree with him, but for some reason feel the need to ridicule what he’s saying.
He snorts out a little laugh, and turns to face front again. ‘No, no, it doesn’t do that.’ Then, more quietly, ‘I don’t think anything can.’
I feel bad now. God, how annoying is that? He’s finally gone quiet for a few moments, which is a relief, but now I’m frantically searching for something to say to relieve the tension. ‘Well, I don’t know about feeling like part of nature and bonding and all that, but I know I certainly used to love it.’
He turns to me and smiles. ‘Exactly. If people carried on feeding the ducks when they grew up, even if it was o
nly once or twice a month, I think there would be a lot less stress in the world. It’s such a peaceful thing to do. So relaxing.’
‘Not for my mum. There was always a very high risk of me drowning in the lake or falling into nettles or wandering off or getting stuck in something.’
‘Wow. And you seem so normal. You’re obviously a hard-core thrill seeker using a cunning mask of indifference to hide a passionate love of danger and excitement. But every so often, the need for risk and peril bursts out of you and must be quenched. The question is, why would you hide it?’
‘I wouldn’t call getting stuck in ankle-deep mud a white knuckle ride exactly.’
‘But it’s all relative, isn’t it? Being anchored indefinitely in ankle-deep sucking mud at five years old is terrifying. I mean, you don’t know how long you’re going to be there, if anyone knows where you are, whether a wolf might suddenly appear and try and eat you. It’s the toddler equivalent of a bungee jump from a helicopter for someone of …’ He hesitates and turns to face me. I meet his eyes and find him staring intently at me as he walks sideways again. It makes my face go hot and I look away quickly.
‘Someone of my age?’ I suggest.
‘Phew, yes, thanks. I was in the conversational equivalent of ankle-deep sucking mud for a moment there.’
‘Terrifying.’
‘God, it was. So you were a bit of an adrenaline junkie when you were five then?’
I smile. ‘Who said I was five?’
‘Christ alive! Your poor mum must be a nervous wreck. Where does she live? I’ll send her some stale bread so she can reclaim some tranquillity and …’ His voice trails off and even with my head down and my eyes blurring I can see him bending down to bring his head level with mine. ‘Hey. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. Can we just get on with the walking please?’
He jerks back suddenly, as if he’s been slapped. ‘Yeah, sure. Um, Daisy?’
‘What?’
‘Did something I said offend you somehow? Because I really didn’t mean to. And if I did, then I’m sorry.’
I blink a couple of times, then look up at him. His eyebrows are pulled together and he’s peering at me the way you might at someone who’s just coughed blood into a hanky. ‘My mum was always really cool actually. About everything.’
He nods seriously. ‘I bet she was.’
We walk on in blessed silence for a few minutes, and I start to relax again, but it’s short-lived. A moment later the bridge over the motorway appears in the distance and in my chest my heart falters, mis-beats, stops all together, then after a moment’s hiatus, bursts into renewed activity. Only now it’s faster. Ventricles and valves open wider; blood gushes through veins and arteries; oxygen saturates my muscles; and adrenalin surges through my body. My pupils dilate but my vision tunnels so all I can see is the danger ahead; and my palms sweat, my face pales and my stomach starts to churn, ready to expel any excess weight. I am now half-blind, shaking, sweating, panting, dizzy, nauseous and desperately need the toilet. Billions of years of evolution have concluded that this is the optimum state in which to face my foe.
‘You OK?’ a man’s voice says, apparently from inside a washing machine.
I don’t answer. I open my mouth but only to get more air into me. The entrance to the bridge is mere feet away. I have to walk across it without Danny. My hands are clenched and my knuckles are as white as my face. Darkness is encroaching as we draw nearer to the bridge. I can’t crawl across it in front of Felix, but I know if I try to walk on it, I will probably pass out. Or throw up. Or both. Hopefully one after the other. If they happen at the same time, I’ll choke to death. Oh God, how unbelievably embarrassing would that be? Heat presses on the back of my tongue and my eyes start to water. Oh Christ. This is it now. Humiliation and death by one means or another await.
‘Shall we cross that bridge another day?’ the voice says. ‘It’s lovely along here.’
Everything inside me stops. Looks at each other. Downs tools, nods, and disperses. I practically pass out anyway. Just for fun.
THIRTEEN
Georgia Ling
Mornin all! Hope you all hav a gr8 Day!!!!!! Xxx
Georgia Ling likes this.
Simon Stiles Thanks gorgeous girl. C U later xxxxx
Daisy Mack What are you so cheerful about?
Maria Jones Morning hunni! Xxx
Lucy Pitbull Whatcha!
Shazza Peterson Morning! Xx
Mick Hampton Aint it a luvly one? x
See all 34 comments
How come when I put something mildly entertaining on my status, like when I said I was hunting through the gear looking for something my act might like, I get three or four comments; but Georgia gets thirty-four comments just for saying good morning? Am I missing something? Maybe I’ll ask.
Daisy Mack
Am I missing something?
Suzanne Allen Loads, Daze. x
Georgia Ling Aw hun xx
Jenny Martin Every day, love. We all are.
Abby Marcus Where do you want me to start?
OK, forget that. Never going to get a sensible answer on there. I don’t have time for it anyway. I’ve got to get ready for a fun night out tonight. I’ve been given my instructions – be ready by six p.m. – and if I’m not I will probably be executed. Hung by the neck until I’m dead. Shot at dawn. Pulled apart by horses. Yuck. What a terrible way to go. I think I’m safe from that, though. Far as I know, Abs doesn’t have access to any horses. Not vicious, bloodthirsty ones anyway.
Today is Thursday, May 14th. I walked with Felix again this afternoon, but not yesterday. He wasn’t free then apparently. I have no idea why. It was quite sad yesterday trudging round the circuit on my own, remembering Danny at every point. Here’s where he caught his shorts on a bramble and made a tiny little bobble (‘Damn it,’ he said, very Rhett Butler, ‘these will have to be replaced now’); that’s where he told me about helping his father get through the marathon they did together a few years ago (‘If you are ever doubting the human spirit or questioning humanity, Daisy, go and watch the end of a marathon’); this is the tree he leaned against while the water he was drinking dripped onto his chest and made his shirt stick to him. I missed him at every step, and the prospect of walking with Felix the following day didn’t help.
Felix and I haven’t really got to the point of finding anything out about each other yet. I don’t know why I said ‘yet’. I’m not interested in ever finding anything out about him. Except maybe his mobile phone number. At the moment we are having to arrange our next walk at the end of the current one, which could be awkward if either of us has to change plans at the last minute for some reason. Not that I’m ever likely to have to. I have no job, virtually no family, no plans and no life. My social diary is unremittingly empty. The best I can hope for to cause a last minute change of plans is a medical emergency of some kind. Anaphylactic shock maybe. No, that’s not going to work – I’m not even allergic to grass cuttings. Appendicitis then. Or a road accident. A compound fracture or a concussion. That’s about it on my agenda for the foreseeable future, and none of them is even a definite. Ooh, except for tonight’s fun activity. Must get ready.
The strangest thing happened after my walk today. Strange but good. Wonderful, even. Felix walked me all the way back to the flat – apparently he wanted to talk to Abs about something, but she wasn’t here. I went desperately into every room looking for her, but no luck. I closed my eyes briefly while inside the coat cupboard, knowing that this meant I was going to have to spend more time alone with him. Obviously I had to offer him a coffee, seeing as he was already standing in the kitchen, and surprisingly he accepted. That wasn’t the strange, wonderful thing. Strange, yes. Wonderful, not so much. He started talking about nature again. Ooh, what a lovely houseplant that is, is it a spider plant? How long have you had it, has it grown much? I love plants, aren’t they marvellous, so green and planty. I just smiled and nodded, waiting for him to finish his coff
ee, until finally out of politeness, or boredom, or to make my eyes point in a different direction, I looked at the plant he was talking about. And that’s when it happened. The strange, wonderful thing. The plant he was talking about, the spider plant that’s been on the windowsill in Abby’s kitchen for millions of years, the one that I’ve seen every day but never really looked at before, is none other than the plant I gave Mum for Mothers’ Day all those years ago. The plant that disappeared. The plant that I thought had died, through my own neglect. The plant that Abby – my amazing, breathtaking, stupefying best friend and best person in the whole world – has saved.
I took in a sharp breath and moved a step nearer. My hand came up to my mouth and my eyes filled with tears yet again – second time today (first one was my usual when I woke up; nothing on the walk with Felix today, thank God) – as I first recognised it, then worked out exactly how it came to be here and what had happened to it in the intervening few weeks. Last time I saw it, it was brown and shrivelled, failing badly, dropping … Not leaves. What are they, on a spider plant? Spiders? Let’s just say leaves. It was dropping leaves and curling up and I had no drive, no impetus to do anything about it. I just sat and watched it happen, convincing myself that there was nothing I could do because I lacked the know-how. And it was clearly beyond saving anyway. But here it was now, thriving on Abby’s windowsill. All the brown leaves had gone and there was a whole lot of new growth springing out of the existing leaves. I reached out a hand and touched it, tears rolling freely down my cheeks now, and I shook my head in amazed delight.
