by Lucy Diamond
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s the Birmingham half-marathon in October, you know.’
I’d laughed in his face. ‘Mike, I’m never going to be an athlete. Five k is my limit, and I’m happy with that.’
‘Ah, but think back to the first time you came to the gym, Maddie. You’d never have believed you could be running half a kilometre, let alone five. Just you remember that.’
I smiled now as I pounded along, Jess and Lauren either side of me. He was an optimist, Mike, you had to give him that.
‘One kilometre down!’ Jess cheered as we passed the marker. ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’ She looked elated. She’d come running a few times with Nicole and I, but she’d been worrying beforehand that she wouldn’t be able to go the whole course.
‘You’re looking good there, Jess,’ I told her. I was feeling pretty good myself, completely at ease with the pace. I could really see how people became addicted to the running high – there was something very pleasing about how strong it made you feel, how powerful. And today, being here and running with all these other women to raise money for cancer research … it felt amazing.
All the messages on people’s backs were something else. I’d seen countless other women who were running for their mums, as well as beloved sisters, grandparents, dads, uncles, friends … The sheer volume of names, the mass of sadness there must have been behind every single one of those names took my breath away. It ought to have made me feel like crying for them all, but instead I felt uplifted. I felt inspired. I felt lucky, too, that I could run, breathe, smile, laugh, be here in blazing sunshine with two good friends. I was lucky. I was bloody lucky.
‘Two kilometres!’ Lauren whooped a few minutes later.
I felt astonished. We were almost halfway through the race already; time seemed to be whizzing by.
Lauren seemed unstoppable – and not just today. She’d been on a few dates recently with a Spanish guy called Alessandro she’d met salsa dancing and had been fizzing with energy and excitement ever since. Jess and Francesca had taken great delight in setting the pair of them up – ‘You’re not the only one who can match-make, you know,’ Jess had said with glee – and although Lauren wanted to take things slowly, she had a twinkle in her eye every time she mentioned his name. He was the first guy she’d dated since the Joe disaster, so I was really crossing my fingers for her.
She too was a different person from that first FatBusters meeting. Gone was the hardness I’d seen in her then, replaced these days by a genuine warmth, a booming laugh and a spring in her step. Her dating agency was as busy as ever, and she’d even been nominated for the Birmingham Post Business Awards. It was all good.
Jess’s business star was ascending, as well. She was so much in demand that she’d employed her friend and ex-colleague Phoebe to take on clients, and between them they were going great guns. Jess had been particularly thrilled to hear the news that Louisa, her horrid old boss, had been sacked from the salon following a charge of fraud. ‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person,’ she’d said, looking very much as if she wanted to punch the air with joy.
‘Three kilometres!’ Jess shouted now, jerking me out of my thoughts. ‘God, I’ve got a wicked stitch.’
‘Keep going, hon,’ I told her. ‘Just run it off, you’ll be fine.’
I wondered where Paul and the kids were, if they’d got a good spot along the finishing stretch. They’d made such a fuss of me beforehand, kissing me and hugging me and wishing me luck. Ben had given me his lucky rubber frog to tuck in my shorts pocket, and Emma had given me a card she’d made in art club at school, where she’d Photo-shopped my head onto Paula Radcliffe’s body. ‘Look at my legs!’ I’d laughed in delight. ‘Do you think anyone would notice if I put this on my diet blog?’
Paul had gathered me in his arms and held me tight before I went to meet the others. ‘Good luck,’ he’d said. ‘Oh, and dinner’s on me tonight, all right? I’ve got something very special lined up.’
Paul cooking dinner? Actually, yes. That had been the big mystery, you see. All those nights when he’d disappeared out of the house were because he’d enrolled himself in a Healthy Cooking evening class, so that next time I asked him to get dinner he wouldn’t have to resort to fish and chips. He revealed what he’d been up to on Valentine’s Day, when he cooked for me for the first time: a warm winter salad of chicken, walnut and goat’s cheese, and roasted pecan salmon to follow. He’d really made an effort, lighting candles, laying the table with our best white tablecloth, and scattering rose petals across the top of it.
I’d had a lump in my throat as I’d walked in. How had I ever doubted him?
‘Madam? Do take a seat,’ he’d said, making a sweeping bow, this ridiculous smirk on his face. ‘Dinner is about to be served.’
It had been such a romantic evening, I’d fallen in love with him all over again. Everything – Mum, Dad, dieting, work – had got in the way of us, and I’d forgotten what a good thing we had going.
‘That was delicious,’ I’d said as I finished the last bit of my dessert (strawberries dipped in dark chocolate). ‘I’d have paid good money for that in a restaurant.’
‘Well, you’re welcome to leave me a tip, you know …’ he’d said, smiling through the candlelight.
I’d taken his hand, feeling full of love as well as full of good food. ‘Do you take payment in kind?’ I asked, like a shameless hussy. I was really glad, then, that I’d dusted off my sexy undies and put them on again. Second time lucky?
‘Only for certain customers,’ he replied. ‘Only one particular customer, actually …’
Since then, we’d been better than ever. We’d persuaded his parents to have the kids for a weekend and treated ourselves to a romantic mini-break in London. We’d made space in our diaries for proper time together again, evenings at the cinema or dinner dates, just the two of us. We’d finally managed to clear and sell Mum’s house to a lovely family with three children, and with the money from it, I splashed out on a new car and a big summer holiday for all of us.
Life was pretty damn good, though I said so myself.
‘You okay, Maddie?’ Lauren asked me now, panting as she spoke. ‘You look away with the fairies.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, coming back to the real world again. ‘Just … concentrating on the running.’ And counting my blessings, I added in my head.
‘Are you going to talk about this on the show tomorrow?’ Jess asked, one hand pressed to her side as she ran.
I nodded. ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘There’s going to be a photographer at the end of the race here today as well – they want to get a photo of me for the website, worst luck. Won’t that be flattering – me all puffed-out and knackered-looking. Dead attractive!’
I caught my breath – it was hard work, running and talking at the same time – then went on.
‘They’ve got an interviewer here as well. They want me to record a piece about my feelings straight afterwards, but – ’ again, I needed to get my breath back – ‘at this rate, I’ll barely be able to get a word out.’
‘You will,’ Lauren said. ‘A seasoned pro like you – no worries. Hey!’ She gave a shout. ‘Four kilometres! We’re into the home straight, girls!’
We all cheered as did the other women around us.
‘Maddie, is that you?’ a runner said, overtaking us. ‘I love your show – keep up the good work!’
‘Thank you!’ I puffed, smiling back at her.
I still found it disconcerting to be recognized in public, but that seemed to be part of the job. Colette had always hated people coming up to her in Marks & Spencer or wherever, asking for autographs and photos, but … well, she didn’t have to worry about that any more, did she? Not her problem these days.
She’d been dumped by her boyfriend – on Valentine’s Day itself, ironically. She’d gone on a complete bender and come into work the next morning still stinking of booze and absolutely all over the place. She’d bungled her l
inks, she’d dismissed the track list entirely and played ‘End of the Road’, ‘Heartbreaker’, ‘Why Do Fools Fall in Love?’ and every other just-been-chucked song going instead. That was bad enough, but then she slid a step too far by forgetting to turn off her microphone when she handed over to Nita for the travel news.
While Nita was doing her thing, telling the listeners about trouble on the M42 and queues backing up from the M6 junction, Collette could be heard loud and clear on the phone to her mate. ‘Yeah, well, he was a stupid Brummie bastard anyway,’ she said. ‘Bloody Brummies, I’m pig-sick of the lot of them …’
Well, you can imagine the reaction that got. There was an avalanche of furious calls and emails – Who does she think she is? Why the hell is she working for Brum FM if she feels like that about Brummies? – and they were just the polite ones. The Post ran an article attacking her, and the whole episode was even featured on Central News that evening.
Andy had no choice but to sack her, and then, just to sweeten the moment even more, he’d given me her job.
‘The listeners already know you and love you, you’ve got a great voice and personality, and frankly there’s no one I’d rather see in that studio,’ he had said when he’d called me into his office. ‘The job’s yours if you want it.’
‘I want it,’ I said, without missing a beat. Oh boy, did I want it. The job I’d always dreamed about – and now it was mine.
So yeah. ‘The Lunchtime Show with Maddie Lawson’ – it was my baby now, and I’d never felt so happy.
‘Oh my goodness, is that really the end I see ahead?’ Jess cried. ‘We’re nearly there, girls!’
She was right. I could see the huge inflatable arch that marked the finish line just a few hundred metres down the track.
‘Woo-hoo!’ I cheered. ‘Fatbustin’ girls rocking the Race for Life!’
Then I saw them. Three beaming faces in the crowd to my left. ‘Mum! Mummy! We’re here!’ cried Emma and Ben, both waving frantically.
‘Go, Maddie, go!’ yelled Paul, looking as proud as punch.
‘Hello!’ I yelled to them, grinning broadly as we raced past. My legs felt heavy, I was hot, I was tired, but my heart was so, so light with happiness and triumph that I felt as if I was floating. I could hear Mum’s voice in my head again: I’m with you, my darling, I’m here, I’m watching, and tears sprang to my eyes.
We were almost at the end now, Jess, Lauren and I. I had a surge of love for them, my fatbusting friends who’d been there for me through everything, and who had also faced demons of their own and come out on top.
‘Come on, girls, let’s hold hands for the finish,’ I said, grabbing hold of them.
And then we ran across the line, all cheering, tears of pride and joy running down my face. We’d done it – and we’d done it together. Now that was something to smile about.
Lucy Diamond lives in Bath with her husband and their three children. Sweet Temptation is her fourth novel.
By the same author
Any Way You Want Me
Over You
Hens Reunited
For my parents
First published 2010 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2010 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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ISBN 978-0-330-52546-6 PDF
ISBN 978-0-330-52544-2 EPUB
Copyright © Lucy Diamond 2010
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
