‘Bella’s Babes are about to hit the mud!’ Andrea sounded like a Viking warrior.
They all laughed.
They walked through to the starting area. There were pink banners and pink information tents, and coffee stands and food stalls had been set up nearby. There was a DJ commentating and setting the participants off. The runners went off in fifteen-minute slots, and there were the ‘ten-fifteeners’ off and on their way. Along the racetrack, no less, then up a hilly bank. The girls joined in the cheering to support them, all feeling a little bit anxious. Bella’s Babes just wanted to get going, get round and do themselves and everyone who had sponsored them proud.
‘Oh look, there’s Danny.’ Andrea spotted her boyfriend in the crowd.
‘Hi.’ They all waved across.
‘Good luck,’ he shouted back. ‘Go Andrea. Go girls. Good on ya.’
And then six little heads were shouting away by a barrier fronting the course. ‘Go, Miss Jones.’ Some of Lou’s primary class had come along and were lined up with their parents in support. ‘Good luck!’ How lovely.
‘Well done, ladies.’ Strangers were cheering them on now too, as they funnelled into the waiting zone ready for the next wave.
There was a buzz of anticipation within them, and from the crowd.
Mark and the boys then appeared. ‘Sorry, took a while parking,’ he explained to Sal.
‘Good luck, Mummy. Good luck, Auntie Claire.’
‘Thanks, boys.’
‘You’re going to get very dirty, Auntie Claire,’ Ollie added.
‘Yes, I think so, Ol. Oh well, it’ll be fun … I think.’
‘Yay. Get down and dirty, Sal,’ Mark beamed cheekily.
Sal cringed while the other girls laughed.
A few minutes later, ‘The Final Countdown’ started playing from the DJ station, and a few thanks and mentions were made. Many of the ladies who were taking part today were running in memory of someone special. That brought it home. Reminded them all why they were there. Claire felt a horrid knot in her throat as she thought about her biopsy due on Monday. She gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. Sal smiled, unaware of her sister’s fears, and squeezed it back.
‘Okay, ladies, are we ready? In five, four, three, two, one!’
A hooter blared out and they were off. They’d positioned themselves mid-pack, but people were soon spreading out, some in teams like themselves, some as singles. Some were struggling straight away, and they overtook them with an encouraging smile as they passed them on the hill. This was not your usual race – some of these women might still be undergoing treatment, determined to battle this out.
The first obstacles seemed fairly straightforward – jumping over big bouncy balls and through tyres that had mud at the bottom, only ankle deep. They were obviously leading them in gently. The running seemed okay; their training was standing them in good stead. They’d agreed beforehand that they were running as a team, and as a team they’d stay.
Suddenly they were faced with heavy nets on the ground, like some army assault course.
‘On your knees, girls,’ a marshal advised.
And down they went on knees and bellies, scrambling under the nets. Their knees and chests were plastered now. On the next running straight they passed a couple of ladies who seemed to be battling with the running part.
‘Well done, keep going,’ Claire encouraged them. There were probably still two miles to go.
A short burst of a run and then they were at the next obstacle. There were climbing frames, a balancing pole, tunnels of mud, a cat’s-cradle-type zone strung with rope barriers to try and work your way through.
‘Come on, girls, we’re doing great.’ Lou was in full teacher mode.
Andrea was lagging a little, and Claire was finding it hard to get her breath with the running. This was so much tougher than a normal three-mile run. Crawling, climbing, scrambling. But hey, this was also nothing compared to chemo, or surgery, a mastectomy.
‘Come on, we’re doing really well!’ Claire rallied her team.
After the next jog, they were faced with a massive ten-foot-high wooden wall with netting up the sides – to climb up and over, obviously. There was a male marshal at the top helping some that were struggling.
‘Let’s go, Bella’s Babes,’ Claire shouted. A battle cry. They tore up the sides of the wall, balancing precariously at the top. Thank Christ for the rubber crash mats each side, but you could still break an ankle in a fall, mused Claire as she wobbled at the top. Sal was up and over in a flash – Claire hadn’t realized what a little power pack she had for a sister. It was probably all those years keeping up with three males in the house – but Lou was clinging on warily near the top.
‘Hate heights,’ she shouted nervously.
‘Ah, here, take my hand. I’ll help.’ Claire reached out, reminding herself not to look down. She was feeling a little wobbly too. ‘Don’t look down, Lou. Just concentrate on this bit – hang on and swing a leg over the top.’
‘Okay, ladies.’ The very nice marshal man gripped Lou’s other hand as she mounted the top beam and guided her over. ‘Best to turn at this point,’ he suggested, ‘then go back down facing the wall step by step. You’ll be fine.’
Just like life – step by step, with a guiding hand along the way and a friend or two in tow.
Andrea had already made it over the top and was perched just below Lou, who was still on the net the other side. ‘Come on, let’s beat the fucker,’ Andrea shouted up at both Claire and Lou.
Three other ladies and the marshal stared down from the top looking slightly shocked.
‘Sorry, I’m talking about cancer! Not you lot.’
‘Ah. Right.’ Understanding softened their furrowed brows.
‘Yeah!’ Sal shouted up from the base. ‘Absolutely,’ joined in Claire from the top, and a little cheer rose up from around them.
‘Yay, we did it!’ A couple of minutes later, and they had all reached solid ground on the far side.
There was a click and flash of a camera as they assembled at the bottom. Steve, photographer from the Herald, had caught up with them. ‘Go Claire, go Andrea,’ he cheered. ‘Got a great shot then. Just remember to smile next time,’ he added cheekily.
Andrea grimaced at him.
The team began running once more, though every joint was aching now. They had to have done over two of the three miles now, for sure. They passed another group of four ladies who had decided on walking.
This was becoming hard work as there was yet another hill to run up. Claire was certain there’d been more ups than downs. How did that work?
‘My legs are killing me,’ groaned Andrea.
‘Well, don’t mess about now. Do you realize we’re the first ones in the group? Come on, we might just come in first.’ Lou was getting competitive.
‘Yeah, come on. We can do this this,’ Sal urged.
They pushed on, with plenty of moaning and groaning.
‘Don’t stop now, there’s another group gaining on us,’ Lou shouted, eager to keep the pace.
Not that there were really winners or losers in this. It wasn’t a race where people or teams were placed. It was a challenge against yourself only, and to help others. It was just a matter of Team Bella’s pride, and coming in first out of their section would be the icing on the cake.
They could see the racecourse buildings as they reached the brow of the hill, so they couldn’t be far away from the finish now. Claire looked at her team, already clarted in mud from chest to toes, feeling very proud of them. They turned a corner into a courtyard area, and here it was, the grand finale of obstacles. The mud-wrestling pit.
Wow – a huge tub of mud, probably knee-deep, and you had to lie down in it and crawl, and oh my God, there were Ollie, Mark and Jack sporting plastic shovels, as well as a couple of the marshals. Yes, people were ready to scoop mud all over them. So that was how the other charity runners had it in their hair, their eyes, their mouths. This was the apoc
alypse scene. And the cameras were flashing away.
‘All in a good cause!’ she shouted to the others as they plunged in. Oh Jeez, it was filling every nook and cranny. Oh good lord, it’d take weeks to clear it out of all the cracks. Her shower was going to have a hard time; she hoped the drains were good in her new flat.
‘Go Mum. Go Auntie Claire.’ Slop. She got a scoop right in the face.
‘I’ll remember this, Ollie,’ she managed to laugh, though the mud was now in her mouth, on her teeth, gritty and earthy to taste. This was so bloody crazy.
‘Thanks, Andrea,’ she shouted ironically across the tub as they were crawling to a stand. Mud glooped off them as they straddled the far end trying to get out.
‘Yes, thanks, Andrea,’ the others joined in.
Danny and a couple of his football mates were standing laughing on the sidelines, and then there was the line-up of schoolchildren seeing them back in. ‘Go, Miss Jones!!’
‘Is that really you Miss Jones?’ a little girl piped up.
‘Yep, sure is.’
‘Wow, you look like the Gruffalo,’ the same girl shouted out.
‘Or a poo monster,’ the lad next to her joined in, which caused a fit of giggles through the children and other spectators.
‘Come on, they’re gaining on us!’ Sal shouted, glancing over her shoulder.
They rounded the racecourse stands, were nearing the finish line, and put on a final flourish.
‘Well done, Claire. Go, Bella’s Babes.’ There was a shout from the crowd. Claire scanned the spectators, and – how lovely – there were Jo and Emma in support.
They gave her a big thumbs-up as she made a blast through the big pink finishing posts, hand in hand with her team-mates. It was such an amazing feeling – she forgot about the mud and the aches and the pains. She forgot about her imminent biopsy. All four of Bella’s Babes jumped up in the air like muddy warriors. We did it! Air-punch time.
Claire stood bent over for a few seconds, catching her breath. Her vison went a little fuzzy and she had a little wobble. Her sister steadied her. ‘You okay?’
‘Yes, think so. Just need … to breathe.’ She leant against Sal for a second or two. ‘Must have just pushed myself a bit hard there at the end. I’m fine.’
There were a couple of last shots taken of the team for the paper – once they’d caught their breath and could manage to stand up straight again. Steve lined them up professionally. ‘Well done, you lot. This’ll make great coverage. Bit different from your fashion shoots, Andrea.’ He gave a wink.
Then Ollie and Jack piled in to congratulate their mum with big hugs, not worried in the least about dirtying their clothes as Mark watched in amusement. It was probably the first time ever she hadn’t berated them for getting muddy. Claire walked across and caught up with Emma and Jo in the spectator section.
‘Aw, thanks for coming, guys.’
‘Had to cheer you on, of course,’ said Emma.
‘And see for ourselves you lot covered in mud,’ Jo added. ‘Great effort!’
Claire moved in to give them a kiss on the cheek. They jumped back out of the way. She looked down, realizing the state she was in. ‘Ah, yes of course – sorry. Totally forgot.’
The others from the team caught up with them.
‘Hi, thanks for coming,’ Andrea smiled beneath her mud pack.
‘This was definitely worth coming to watch, just for the entertainment value,’ said Jo. ‘But yeah, well done. You did amazingly.’ She and Emma chuckled.
‘Cheers.’ Andrea pretended to be disgruntled, but then grinned.
‘Right, I think it might be time get back to the car and peel off these muddy clothes, then we can get ourselves home to some hot showers and warm up – asap.’ Claire was definitely beginning to feel a chill now. Even with the silver-foil blankets around them they’d been given as they got through the finish line.
They were all in agreement.
‘Well done, everyone. And thank you.’ Claire was so proud of her team. ‘We did it. And we’ll have raised loads for charity. Our Just Giving page was at £720 yesterday. And it seems to be going up all the time. Brilliant. Thank you.’
‘Aw, that’s really great, Claire. We did good, ladies,’ Andrea added.
‘I actually enjoyed it, in a weird way,’ said Lou.
‘It’s the school-teacher thing,’ Andrea bantered back.
Sal went off home with her family, after muddy hugs all round. Then it was time to strip down to underwear in the field, aka the car park. There were plenty of other women doing exactly the same thing, so no one was bothered, and otherwise Claire knew she’d be cleaning mud off her car seats for evermore. She’d had the forethought to provide two bin bags per person, one for dirty clothes and one to sit on, and once they’d stuffed their tumble of filthy clothes into carrier bags, and the carrier bags into the car, they all got in themselves, now sporting tracksuits, comfy trousers and tees. Claire noted her mascara-streaked eyes and the mud splashes all over her face in the rear-view mirror, then turned to look at her mates. They all looked as bad as each other.
‘Can’t wait for the photos,’ Andrea said drily.
28
The magic of being alive
Monday. Biopsy day. Another ‘dentist’s appointment’. She had the afternoon off work. She got herself to the Freeman Hospital on the bus, and after waiting ten minutes or so was greeted by a friendly nurse. A few questions, a quick change into a hospital gown, then an examination, and after a local anaesthetic they took a small sample with a needle from the lump. Thankfully, it was a fairly straightforward procedure. She was advised to sit quietly for a few minutes, then got dressed, her groin area a little tender with just a small dressing on. The nurse told her to wait a further fifteen minutes just to check she wasn’t dizzy or anything, and then she’d be allowed to go. She wished she’d brought a friend with her now, or Sal – someone to chat to at this moment would be nice – but she still didn’t want to worry anyone. She smiled across at another patient who was waiting too, and then read a leaflet on organ donation. She was already signed up to the register, but it passed the time.
Given the nod to go, she travelled back home on the bus and then curled up on the sofa, feeling so very tired and still aching from the Pretty Muddy race. She felt a little odd and emotional and had a little cry. Then she blew her nose and pulled herself together. It might all be fine yet. She’d go and make a nice honey-and-sunflower seed loaf, try the oven out at last, and when it was baked and still warm and doughy, she’d spread it thickly with fresh butter. She’d walk to the Co-op right now and get the ingredients she needed.
Wednesday. Her mobile buzzed at work. She recognized the hospital number and headed out of the goldfish-bowl of the open-plan office to the landing area of the stairwell to get some privacy.
‘Hello.’
‘Miss Maxwell?’
‘Yes?’ The tension was palpable in her body. So this was it.
‘It’s Mr Bartholomew’s secretary here. I’ll just put you through.’
‘Hello?’ She waited a second. A couple of reporters from the newspaper wandered past, chatting away between themselves. Life was going on all around, yet she felt frozen.
‘Miss Maxwell.’ The familiar voice of her oncologist came on the line. ‘I’m pleased to confirm that the biopsy was negative. There was no sign of any cancerous cells within the lump. And your CT scan and blood tests were all clear too.’
‘Oh, wow … thank you.’ She felt a little light-headed. ‘That’s so good to hear.’
‘It’s most likely you’ve had an infection and that your lymph gland in the groin area has swollen in response to that. It should naturally go down by itself in the next couple of weeks. But just keep an eye on it and how you’re feeling in general, and if you have any future concerns please refer back to your GP or myself directly.’
So she wouldn’t be back into hospital, back into chemo and that grinding routine of illness and treatment
she knew so well. She could let go of the fear that had hummed along in her mind for the last week, a fear you never dared voice aloud because this time it might actually get you. ‘Yes, I will, and thank you. Thank you.’
‘It’s nice to be giving out good news.’ She could hear the smile in his voice.
She pressed ‘End call’ and gave a mental air-punch. ‘Yes!’ And then the relief overwhelmed her and she suddenly found herself sobbing.
Just at that point the glass doors to the main office swung open. Dragon Julia appeared beside her, no doubt checking what she was up to, wasting time out here.
‘Are you okay, Claire?’ Her face turned from its usual scowl to concerned within a second. ‘Can I help?’ She placed a hand on her arm.
‘I’m more than okay,’ Claire smiled through the tears. ‘I’m all clear.’
‘Gr-eat …’ Julia was obviously still confused.
‘It was just a scare. I’ve had a scan, a biopsy … The cancer hasn’t come back.’
Her colleague’s arm moved to wrap her in a short and sweet hug, much to Claire’s surprise. The ice queen had thawed.
‘Well, that’s good news.’ Julia pulled back stiffly. ‘Now, let’s get back to work.’ Sympathy really wasn’t her thing.
But Claire didn’t mind at all. Getting back to work would be absolutely bloody wonderful!
Back at her flat that night, the relief still pulsed through her body, and for some reason she kept thinking about Bamburgh, imagining herself walking on that gorgeous beach. Enjoying the ever-changing view of the sea, the sound of the gulls, the soft hush of the waves on the shore. Tasting the salt of the sea air. She had this driving urge to get back to the coast. To her happy place. She still couldn’t afford the luxury hotels or cottages that were on offer in Bamburgh village, especially after all the expenses of the house move. Her half of the money after paying off the mortgage was safe in the bank till she bought again. There was only one thing for it. She had two days left of her annual leave. Life was too short to wait.
29
Catching up with an old friend
My Summer of Magic Moments Page 20
