by Jules Wake
‘Hey there, she’ll be home soon. On Friday. Why don’t we try to Facetime her after tea?’
Ava’s face crumpled and her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
‘Four more sleeps,’ said Poppy patting her sister on the shoulder. ‘That’s all.’
I gave her a grateful smile, realising that Ava’s concept and understanding of time had yet to develop.
‘Yes, four more sleeps. Now where shall I put this picture? I don’t have any fridge magnets.’
Ava, her attention thankfully diverted, looked around the room wrinkling her nose.
‘You need to get some more pictures. It’s not very pretty in here.’
‘Ava,’ hissed Poppy. ‘You’re being rude. Remember, Mum says sometimes you’re not supposed to tell people the truth.’
That sounded so typical of Alice. Why tell the truth when you could get away with the lie? Like telling Dad she’d used his money to pay for a gardener the other day.
Ava gave a disgruntled huff and put her pudgy, little hands on her hips in a housewifely fashion that had me hiding a smile. ‘Honestly, how am I supposed to know when to tell the truth and when to tell a lie?’
Poppy shrugged.
‘Why don’t I put it here?’ I said loudly, drawing both girls’ attention back to the picture and propping the gaudily splashed painting on the windowsill next to the lone, newly purchased basil plant.
Ava gave a regal nod of acknowledgement and Poppy shot me a brief smile, grateful to be spared further embarrassment from her sister. I poured them both a glass of juice and unearthed the mini-Crunchie bars from my secret hiding place. They looked so good I had to have one too.
While they were busy chomping their chocolate, I scooped up all the folded bits of paper, which turned out to be letters from the school about missing library books, overdue dinner money, a second request for money for a school trip to Harewood Bird Garden and a reminder about parent-teacher consultation appointments.
‘Have you got letters too, Poppy?’ I asked as the three of us sat at the kitchen table.
She nodded, shamefaced, and handed over a sheaf of more of the same. I quickly sorted them into piles of things I could do something about and things that could wait until Alice got back next week, and ones that were very overdue demands for money. I then sat and wrote a bunch of cheques while the girls drank juice and ate their Crunchies. Then I went through Ava’s book bag, which was full of rubbish and one letter dated three weeks earlier asking Alice to make an appointment to discuss Ava’s progress. I put that on the pile for Alice, making a mental note to bring it to her attention as soon as she got back.
What I needed was a to-do list. Once I’d started, everything seemed a lot clearer. I could do this.
Read with Ava
Spellings with Ava
‘Have you got any homework, Poppy?’ I asked, prompted by my list.
‘Yes, Maths.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s hard.’
‘Do you want some help with it?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Mummy always says it’s my homework and I have to do it.’
‘Yes, but a little help will make it less hard,’ I suggested.
Her sudden beam warmed me. ‘That would be awesome, if you could.’
I added it to my list. ‘What other things do you need this week? PE kits? Library books? Anything else.’
‘PE is on Monday and Friday for me,’ said Poppy.
Predictably, Ava didn’t have a clue but luckily it was written in her planner.
I added everything to my growing list.
‘And it’s Stationery Club day on Friday, so I need fifty pence to buy a new ruler.’
‘An’ me. I need a new pencil sharpener and a pencil and a pen,’ added Ava.
By the time it was teatime, I’d put together a comprehensive list and timetable for the rest of the week. When I looked at it, I immediately felt calmer. See, I could do this. I just needed to be organised.
Over the next four days, I would work through the list and everything would run like clockwork. We would eat nutritious, homemade meals, the girls would have everything they needed for school, and I would get them there on time every morning. If I could just manage all this, I could show myself that I was getting back on track. Getting back to the smart, efficient, super-employee I once was.
Now, if only Alice would phone.
Chapter Eight
Day three of the school run and… well, I couldn’t say I’d completely nailed things on the domestic front but I was getting there. Having dropped the girls off at school, I was heading into Leeds to go the gym and hit the treadmill for some running practice.
It was weird being at the station at this time; I wasn’t used to travelling after nine. The emptiness of the platform made me feel slightly paranoid, as if people might be watching me and wondering why I was here at this time. Quickly, I boarded a waiting train which wasn’t due to leave for another ten minutes. As I sat there, my mind started ticking. What if someone from work saw me? What would I say to them? It didn’t look as if there was anything wrong with me. Would they think I was skiving? Would they pity me?
Just as the train was about to pull out, I grabbed my gym bag and jumped off, my heart beating so hard it felt like a jackhammer against my ribs. My vision went black for a second and I thought I might faint.
In the brisk spring morning, I watched the departing train, my heart racing and my body tense.
This was crazy. What was wrong with me? It was just a train. On Monday it had been the kitchen. Why was I overreacting to things so badly? Feeling self-conscious, I grabbed a coffee from the kiosk and scuttled out of the station. I would get the next train but I’d wait in the park.
As soon as I was through the gates, I picked up my pace and ducked off the main path into the little flower-filled garden with its two benches. Immediately I felt safe, tucked out of sight there, and when I sat down, I sank my head in my hands and concentrated on taking deep breaths, still a little scared by my ridiculous reaction on the train. It had frightened me. Surely, now I wasn’t at work I should be feeling better?
‘You’re here again. And ready to run.’
I opened one eye. Hilda.
I’d been trying mindfulness, the sort of thing that Alice lapped up.
‘No, not running but I’m… I’m on my way to… out.’ There was still time for me to go into Leeds. There was a spin class at eleven. I could, would, go to the gym, maybe after my coffee. Exercise would help. Endorphins. All that stuff. I just needed to get there.
I gave the old lady a weak smile. Today she wore an emerald-green tracksuit and was jogging on the spot with sitcom-style enthusiasm that at any other time might have had me biting my lips to stop a laugh escaping.
‘So if you’re not running, where are you off to in your black Lycra with your big bag? A cat-burgling mission? Is your bag full of tools? And a utility belt?’ Her face sharpened with interest. ‘Do you know how to pick a lock?’
‘No.’ I managed a laugh; she was outrageous. ‘But I sometimes think it would be handy.’
‘It is,’ said Hilda, her big blue eyes guileless. ‘Jolly handy. I’ll teach you some time. I used to break into my ex-husband’s house all the time. Move things round. Just to mess with him.’ She waggled her eyebrows naughtily.
I frowned, wondering if she was telling the truth or not. The woman was a little bit bonkers. ‘Unfortunately, much as I’d like to sound far more interesting than I am, I’m going to the gym.’ There, I’d said it out loud. It was like visualisation, wasn’t it? If I said it, I’d be more likely to get my brain in gear and go.
‘Why would you do something like that? How much do you pay for your gym membership?’ She tipped her head with bird-like interest, her wispy hair being pulled in all directions by the sharp spring breeze. Her direct approach prompted me to make a direct reply. Hilda’s straight talking was hugely refreshing.
‘It’s subsidised by the company so I only pay £75 per month.’
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br /> ‘If you ran in the park, you could save yourself £900,’ she said with lightning acuity. There was nothing wrong with her brain. ‘And you could afford to buy large cappuccinos, instead of these silly regular ones.’ Nothing wrong with her imagination either. With breath-taking audacity, she picked up my coffee and helped herself, murmuring, ‘Oh, that’s good.’
I shot her a quick frown and then said, ‘You said the other day you didn’t have anything catching. You didn’t ask whether I had.’
She grinned back at me with perfectly even-sized pearly whites, which I suspected were dentures.
‘Excellent. Please tell me you have one of those sexually transmitted diseases. I do hope so; that would shock the hell out of my doctor.’
An unexpected laugh exploded out of my mouth. ‘I almost wish I had.’ I held out my hand. ‘I need to get a move on if I’m going to make my spinning class.’
She calmly took another long sip of my coffee before handing it back. ‘Well, by all that is holy, that is stupid. Why don’t you get a bicycle? You can cycle here for free. In the fresh air. You can pick a bike up down the tip for nothing. I’ve never seen the point of spinning. Ridiculous. Same as running on a treadmill. How you can possibly feel a sense of achievement when you’ve not really moved anywhere? I don’t hold with it at all. You’ve got all this lovely park right on your doorstep. Where is this gym of yours?’
‘It’s across the road from where I work in the city centre. I sometimes go before work.’
‘You’d be better off running here. And the coffee in the park is far superior to this. I mean, thank God for caffeine, but where did you get it?’
‘The train station, and no one’s forcing you to drink it.’ She was right though; the coffee in The Friendly Bean was infinitely better than this.
‘Why don’t you go for a little jog now? I’ll stay here and keep an eye on your bag… and I’ll do you a favour and finish this for you. Then you can treat yourself to a decent one from Sascha at the café when you’ve earned it.’
While part of me really, really wanted to tell this twinkly-eyed woman to get off my case and leave me alone, there was a much bigger part that insisted it was a lot easier to give in. I was still feeling limp and pathetic, although she had brightened my day. She might be outrageous, but in the words of Douglas Adams, she was mostly harmless. Reluctantly, I got to my feet.
‘That’s the ticket, dear.’
I smiled at her and set off at a gentle jog.
The minute I was out of sight, I slowed to a walk. I wasn’t in a running mood.
Being outside did feel quite good. Far better than being in the gym at the mercy of the disparaging orange digital dashboard that inevitably told you that you were way off your target distance and your pace was pitiful. Above me, the pink and white blossom of horse chestnut trees bloomed and blousy green leaves bounced gently in the light breeze, creating dappled shadows on the path. It was certainly prettier. From the play area on the other side of the trees, I could hear the happy shrieks of toddlers lightly carried on the wind. This wasn’t so bad after all. The park had been a deciding factor in buying the house; I should make more of living on its doorstep. When I ambled around the bend out of the shadow of the trees into an open, grassy area filled with beds of bright-faced pansies in purples and yellows, their heads nodding in rippling unison, I spotted another runner in the not-so-far distance. My heart did an unhappy skip of recognition.
It was him. I was sure it was him, although the heavy beard made me take a second look. Yes, under all that hair, it was definitely him, jogging towards me on the path in baggy grey sweats and a grubby T-shirt, looking as hopelessly unfit and ploddy as I was. Oh God, we were going to pass each other. There was no avoiding it. He hadn’t spotted me yet.
A small, embarrassed, resentful flame of anger burst into life. I was going to ignore him. Not even acknowledge him.
How about we compromise… and do both xxx
His last text to me flashed up vividly in my mind. Yeah, right. Thanks a lot, Ashwin Laghari, for that one perfect date that had lulled me into thinking there might be something there. For those long exchanges where I thought we were on the same wavelength. For sleeping with me and having perfect, mind-blowing sex that made me think we had something special.
Pretending to be staring into the distance beyond him, I began to run properly, putting in some real effort. I would sail past him looking super fit and professional, as if I ran all the time, and pretend not to notice him.
Unfortunately, my body began to protest almost immediately. My breath screamed in my lungs and my heart thumped uncomfortably hard – although that had as much to do with that bungy-jumping feeling of sick anticipation. Did I want him to see me or not?
Of course I did. Look how smooth and fast my strides were. Look what you missed out on.
Despite my determination to impersonate Mo Farah near the winning post, I very nearly stuttered to a stop because of course I noticed him… but not in a good way. Unruly black hair, a wildman beard, dressed in baggy, unflattering sweats which made his body look a far cry from the slim, toned version with which I’d got up close and personal. As I got closer, I stared with dismay. Closer still and I could see that his skin had a sallow hue instead of the golden tone that had stuck so clearly in my mind.
What the—?
Ashwin Laghari didn’t look quite so hot now. We drew level.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
But I couldn’t help myself.
He glanced my way, his eyes doing a quick, indifferent slide and then with a start they came back to my face with a flare of recognition. Those gorgeous amber eyes. Oh flip, they were just as mesmerising as I remembered and a stray butterfly fluttered inconveniently in my stomach with sudden interest. Then his face shut down with blank indifference. He looked down at the floor. Ouch. I got the message. He didn’t want to know me, which I kind of knew already given that he hadn’t bothered to text me even though I’d foolishly sent one completely-against-the-rules desperate text hoping for a response. He ran past. And bog off to you too, I thought, itching to turn my head over my shoulder.
Do not look back, Claire. Don’t you dare. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
Pleased with my self-control, I kept my eyes on the tree-lined horizon and kept running hard, refusing to give him any more headspace.
Instead, I focused on how I was feeling. Now that I’d got into a rhythm, my breathing was easier and my legs had found their own comfortable stride. I was aware of my body working in tandem, muscles, ligaments, bones, and an unfamiliar sense of… was it euphoria? In any case, it felt good. Were those fabled endorphins responsible? It did feel good. I put back my shoulders, feeling my breathing come more easily. Well done, Hilda! This was so much nicer than being shouted at in a class full of people on stationary bikes. I was enjoying the pleasant, relaxed feeling rather than jumping with adrenaline and fear of failure because I couldn’t keep up with the super-fit, bionic woman female spin-instructor… although I was starting to run out of steam. It was with some relief I spotted The Friendly Coffee Bean.
When I returned – slightly tired, sweaty, and a little triumphant – clutching two coffees, Hilda was waiting on one of the benches and on the other was a familiar figure.
Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.
‘Claire. Is that coffee for me?’ She reached for it with a big grin on her face. ‘How was it? You’re glowing. Well done.’
Damn, she had my bag. I could hardly back away now.
‘This is Ash,’ she said with a wave of her hand. ‘He doesn’t say much.’ If ever a man wanted to be left alone, it was him. Ash slumped further into the bench as if trying to make himself invisible and ducked his head. Ha! As if that sort of tactic was ever going to work with the indefatigable Hilda.
With Hilda patting the bench next to her, I had no choice but to go and sit down.
With a wry smile of resignation, I handed over the coffee cup and plonked myself on the benc
h, very aware of Ash over on my left but doing my best not to look at him.
‘I think we all need some proper introductions,’ Hilda announced. ‘I’m Hilda Fitzroy-Townsend and this young man has just helped me back here when I got a stitch. Poor chap, I think he thought I was having a heart attack or something.’
‘Claire Harrison.’ I gave Ash a challenging smirk as if to say, going to have to acknowledge me now, aren’t you?
‘Ashwin Laghari,’ came the grudging response, and he shot me a filthy glare.
Bloody cheek! What did he have to be so annoyed about? He was the one that didn’t call. He hadn’t even had the decency to reply to my text and fob me off with a lazy excuse.
‘What a splendid name.’ Hilda grinned, completely oblivious to the fizzing animosity virtually setting the air ablaze. ‘That sounds like some rich sultan or a wealthy businessman who trades illegal weapons on the black market and has one of those superyachts with all the satellites on them and gun towers. Do you have a yacht?’
Ash glared at her and didn’t deign to respond. It was tempting to laugh at his sulky silence but also a little heart breaking. What had happened to the gorgeous, full-of-himself man I’d sat opposite on the train?
‘So, Claire, how far did you run?’
I hauled my iPhone out from my trusty pocket to check the health app. I winced in disgust. ‘Only 3k. That’s rubbish.’
Hilda patted my knee. ‘A little bit more every day and you’ll be on fire. I run exactly one mile in old money. How about you, Mr Arms Dealer?’
Ash’s eyes narrowed but he did dig into his pocket and produced his phone. ‘2k.’ And then to my surprise he asked, ‘Which way did you go?’
When I, ultra-politely, talked him through my route – which I did out of courtesy and purely for Hilda’s benefit – he shook his head. ‘That’s probably only two. The phone apps can be unreliable. It often depends on your stride.’
