The Saturday Morning Park Run: A gloriously uplifting and page-turning book that will make you feel happy!

by Jules Wake

I wrinkled my nose, crestfallen at the information. It gave me the chance to inspect him more closely. His hair had lost its glossy lustre and the long curls were lank and unwashed. Most of his face was hidden behind the scruffy, overgrown beard, a far cry from the neat, well-groomed, designer stubble he had sported before.

  Catching me studying him, his dull eyes held mine as a cynical twist touched his mouth. The mouth I’d once kissed. My heart stuttered in my chest. What had happened to flatten him like this? To extinguish that vital spark that had burned so brightly in those fascinating eyes? Where had Ashwin Laghari gone? Where was the gorgeous man who’d kissed me senseless.

  The last time I’d seen him there’d been admiration in his eyes. Now, all I could see was bitterness and resignation. And it hurt. More than I could have imagined. Despite trying to forget him after the lack of response to my text, Ashwin Laghari had never really left my thoughts.

  Hilda jumped up. ‘Well, I expect to see you both here tomorrow. It’ll be good for you. Especially you.’

  I held my breath as she actually poked him in the stomach. I expected him to respond with something like, ‘And if I wanted your opinion, rude old lady, I’d ask for it,’ but he just sank into himself a little more, if that were possible.

  The defeated gesture hit hard. He seemed so lost. I wanted to reach out and give him a hug and tell Hilda to leave him alone but she took a step back, a little frown deepening the wrinkles on her forehead, for once actually cowed. ‘Well, I can’t hang about here. I’ve got things to do and places to run.’ And in a flash of white, she jogged away her Day-glo trainers, flickering like little rainbows across the path.

  I waited a little while until her figure disappeared from view.

  I should have been furious with him but there was something about his dejected slump that tugged at me and also a strange feeling of solidarity. He looked a little like I felt inside. Stripped of my job, I’d become a sort of non-person. My job was a part of – most of – who I was. It gave me self-esteem, prestige, and a sense of superiority. Yeah, shoot me for that, but I was good at what I did. Better than most and I liked being the best and I liked being admired. I’d always been someone at work.

  Ash looked like he’d been stripped of being someone too.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked, putting out a tentative hand towards him.

  He flinched and it made me wonder how long it was since he’d been touched. Although he appeared unkempt, he didn’t smell of booze or anything. I withdrew my hand but kept my eyes on him, willing him to respond. Eventually he looked up and I saw a touch of wild confusion in those magnificent eyes. I held his gaze. ‘Ashwin?’

  He blinked a couple of times, his eyes sharpening for a second as if I’d just come into focus.

  ‘No,’ he said in a faraway voice, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead. ‘No, I’m not.’

  A hand squeezed at my heart. ‘Can I do anything to help?’ I asked, reaching out to touch him again. He stared down at my hand, my fingertips just grazing his wrist, the touch barely there, and then he lifted his head. His mouth flattened and he rose to his feet in one quick, fluid movement, dislodging my hand. ‘Not you, no.’ He took a step and then turned around.

  Well, stuff you.

  All my sympathy evaporated but as he walked away, his shoulders slumped and his gait heavy, I sighed.

  He looked like he could use a friend. God only knew, I did too. Hilda had spread more sunshine in my life in the last few mornings than I’d felt for a long time. I pulled out my phone and tapped out a quick text.

  Here, if you need a friend. Claire.

  Chapter Nine

  God, the first sip of coffee… Caffeine. Heaven.

  I slumped on the park bench. What a morning. Thursday, my fourth school run, and the worst yet; I’d left both my nieces in tears at school and had the added humiliation of having to sign the late book. Who’d invented that for goodness’ sake? Apparently it wasn’t enough to admit that children were late. You also had to write a short essay – okay, slight exaggeration there – explaining why they were late and this essay was left out in public for all the world – and the bitchy school-gate mums – to see. I rather admired the woman at the top of the page who’d written in the Reason for Lateness column:

  Because their bastard father, who left us for a younger trollop, let them stay up until silly o’clock playing on the Xbox all weekend and now they’re knackered and I’m the patsy who has to play the bad guy to get them out of sodding bed.

  Way to go, Claire. Late and tearful children. Last night had lulled me into a false sense of security. Tea had gone down well – homemade lemon chicken (thank you again, BBC Good Food Magazine) had turned me into a cooking hero and earned major brownie points. I’d helped Ava with her spelling and let Poppy watch Hollyoaks while Ava had a bath and then I’d put both to bed at a reasonable hour.

  But somehow, this morning, all hell had broken loose. I woke at eight instead of seven because my alarm hadn’t gone off. That would be because Poppy had unplugged it to charge her kindle because I wouldn’t let her have it in her room overnight after I’d caught her reading at midnight the previous night. Ava decided to have a meltdown because I wouldn’t let her have boiled eggs for breakfast and when I did make them she refused to eat them because they were hard boiled and the soldiers weren’t cut the right way. Then, just as we were leaving the house, Poppy reminded me that Thursday was packed-lunch day.

  I’d gone from favourite Auntie Claire to the devil incarnate in the space of twelve hours and I didn’t like myself a whole lot either. I’d shouted like a fishwife at both of them. Thank God Alice was coming home tomorrow. I think I’d demonstrated rather effectively why I was not cut out to be a mum. This was far more stressful than being at work.

  I miss working.

  This lack of purpose was doing my head in. I wanted to talk to adults. Have conversations with real people. Self-loathing made the tears prick at my eyes again.

  God, I hate myself. And I hate being so utterly adrift.

  My coffee cup was moved and two plump sunshine-yellow legs appeared next to mine. An arm slid around my shoulders and pulled me into a lavender-scented hug. ‘There, there, Claire. You cry it all out, dear.’

  Held fast in her tight embrace, I did just that until at last, a snotty, snivelling wreck, I lifted my head and peered into Hilda’s concerned eyes. She handed me my coffee and placed a pack of travel tissues, which looked like they’d been around the world a time or two, on my lap. Taking the cup, I sucked in a breath before sipping at the coffee, avoiding her worried expression by staring down at her Day-glo trainers.

  Offering the cup back to her, I fought my way into the dog-eared pack of tissues and blew my nose with an inelegant elephant-snort before wiping my sticky, tear-stained face.

  I sucked in another deep breath, trying to balance my world and pull myself together feeling horribly embarrassed. I never cried – and certainly not on other people – but I seemed to have been doing an awful lot of it recently.

  ‘So why the tears, dear? Do you want to talk about it?’

  Talk about it? Not really. No. I didn’t share my failures. I kept them to myself and made sure I was better next time. Today I was just having another weak moment.

  Hilda’s arm was still around me, her fingers rubbing soothing circles across the top of my shoulder. ‘Things are never as bad as they seem.’ She paused and tilted her head to one side. ‘Actually, that’s bollocks, isn’t it? I always swore after my husband died, the second one, that I would never indulge in platitudes. I think that could be counted as a whopper. In actual fact, things are often far worse than they seem. So, spit it out and let’s see if it is.’

  She said it in such a cheerful matter-of-fact way that for some reason I felt beholden to answer her, even though it went against my natural instincts.

  ‘I’m looking after my two nieces and… it would appear I’m not very good with children. I thought I was super organised. That I had th
is nailed. Nutritious meals, clean clothes, clean house.’ Compared to Alice, I was flying on all three fronts. But I held myself to higher standards.

  ‘In fact, I’m terrible at it and this morning I made them both cry and they’re missing their mother and I can’t get hold of her and now I feel like shit because it’s not their fault she’s gone away. And…’ Oh God, I was really going to say it out loud. ‘And I’ve been signed off work with stress. For four weeks. I’m never off work… and I was going for partner and now that might not happen. I mean stress… who gets that? Not partners. And if it weren’t for the children, I’m not sure I’d know what to do with myself.’ There I’d said it out loud.

  I don’t know what to do with myself without my job.

  Was that really all I had in life?

  ‘Well, the children are both still alive, so that’s a plus.’ Hilda’s cheerful shrug made me laugh in spite of myself.

  ‘Although, I guess there’s still plenty of time to kill them off, if you’re really not good with children.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ I said, but she had a point. Apart from this morning, they were usually quite happy so I must have been doing something right… and they both seemed to really like my cooking.

  ‘I said no platitudes. Caring for other people’s children is always a nightmare. Your own are bad enough.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Trying to get them to school this morning was a disaster. We were half an hour late.’

  She leaned back against the bench and crossed her legs. ‘Anyone die?’

  ‘No!’ I laughed again.

  ‘Well then, that’s a start. Was it really that bad?’

  As I began to relay the full domestic drama of the morning to her evident enjoyment, I realised I’d got myself into a state about absolutely nothing. Rather than sympathise, she chuckled every so often and when I finished she said, ‘Sorry, dear. But that’s the most entertaining thing I’ve heard for a while. Where I live, most people are nearly dead and if they’re not they’re dead bores. The most excitement we get is if the Siamese cat from the church next door comes into the lounge. Freda Erickson is highly allergic and you should hear her sneeze. Like a whooping donkey, she is. These two girls sound like a real pair of monkeys. Of course, you know they were playing you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You think your sister makes them a boiled egg and soldiers before school? I was a working mum once.’ She seemed sad for a moment before adding sharply, ‘Children always try it on for other people if they think they can get away it. Can I give you some advice?’

  ‘Feel free but I suspect you’re going to give it to me whether I like it or not,’ I observed shrewdly.

  ‘You know me so well. Routines. That’s what you need with children. Routines. Then they know where they are. And tell them in advance so there are no nasty surprises. We’re going to have a bath, then a story, and then it’s bedtime. Same in the mornings. Be consistent. None of this new-age fannying-around nonsense, letting children find their own rhythms and set their own timetables. And I don’t approve of smacking children, although in my day it was very much the thing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of smacking them,’ I said.

  ‘I should hope not, although I’m surprised you didn’t run one of the little devils through with the breadknife.’

  I laughed and gave her a startled glance as she patted my hand with her gnarled, veined fingers. ‘Show me a mother who has never lost her temper with her children and I show you a big fat fibber or Mother Theresa. But I do think you need to find something to do with your time. You’re like me. Work is all encompassing and when it isn’t there, it leaves rather a big hole.’ Her shrewd look told me she understood exactly how I felt. It was as comforting as her hand patting mine, if not more so. ‘I thought retirement would kill me at first; luckily I met George. I shall have a think for you. In the meantime, exercise is very good. Have you run yet?’

  ‘No, too busy feeling sorry for myself,’ I admitted with a rueful sigh.

  ‘I find it makes me feel much better, even though the old hips aren’t too keen and my bunions like to put in the odd complaint. But it releases an endorphin or two and a bout of gratitude that I’ve survived another one. To be honest, my little daily jog is the only way I can survive the dullness of each day at Drearyside.’ Despite the wicked twinkle in her eyes, there was a very slight droop to her mouth.

  With a moment of sudden insight, I realised that Hilda and I, despite the disparity in ages, had more in common than differences. She was as adrift in her own way as I was.

  ‘Would you like to come to lunch on Saturday?’ I asked impulsively.

  ‘That’s very kind of you. I’d love to,’ said Hilda, her mouth curving into a huge smile. ‘Do you serve decent coffee?’

  I laughed. ‘Would you like one this morning?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask. You go do your run. I’m going to stay here and do a spot of Tai Chi. You know, a few Snake Pounced On by an Eagle movements and a Kicked up the Arse by a Donkey pose.’ She grinned and I wasn’t sure if they were real things or not. Knowing her, as I was coming to, I suspected she might have made them up.

  ‘Thanks for the tissues.’

  ‘Anytime, dear,’ she said gazing off into the distance as she held her arms aloft, striking the most peculiar pose. I guessed she knew what she was doing.

  ‘I’ll do my circuit and bring you coffee.’ It was the least I could do when I’d just sobbed all over her for no real reason. Now I’d calmed down, I couldn’t quite understand why I’d got myself into such a state. Maybe I wasn’t fine… no matter how much I kept telling myself I was.

  Cresting the rise of the hill, I tried to convince myself that today I was breathing more easily. I spotted Ash in the distance in the same shapeless grey tracksuit and if I’d had the puff to do it, I would have laughed out loud at the comedy-gold moment of him trying to run with a dog weaving in and out of his legs and wagging its tail as if this was the greatest game ever. It was the same dog I’d seen the other day in the park with the girls. Although, as I grew steadily closer, Ash made the mistake of stopping and addressing the dog in a serious way. I watched as the dog sat down and stared up at Ash as if paying careful attention to every word, occasionally tilting his head to one side. Clearly happy with the lecture he’d delivered, Ash gave the dog a nod goodbye, a ‘stay’ wag of the finger and jogged away, giving a last glance over his shoulder to check the dog remained seated.

  As I approached him, Ash gave me a brief nod of pride as if to say, champion dog whisperer right here, and then passed on by. He’d never responded to my text but then, I hadn’t really expected him to. It was a puzzle as to why he’d exhibited so much antipathy. I ran a few more steps and then began to laugh to myself because the dog leapt to his feet, trotted past me, and when I looked behind me he was trotting along, following Ash at a safe distance. So much for dog whispering skills. What would Ash say when he realised the dog was still on his tail?

  Today, I forced myself to add in an extra loop of one of the paths which circled past the pretty bell-topped bandstand which could have done with some TLC and a small neatly-pruned rose garden, before finally wending my way back to The Friendly Bean. Surely I must be up to 4k by now.

  ‘Back again,’ observed Sascha. ‘You’re a glutton for punishment. Just watching you makes me feel like I’m burning a few calories. You need one of our loyalty cards. You get a free coffee every time you buy six.’

  ‘Well at this rate, it’s probably worth doing. I’d like two today.’

  ‘Just moved here?’

  ‘I’ve been here about six months. On Park Road.’

  ‘Nice,’ she said, pouring frothing milk into mine and Hilda’s cappuccinos.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said noncommittally. The house was nice but could be so much nicer still. That would be my next project. I’d start this weekend as soon as the girls had gone.

  ‘Same time tomorrow?’ she asked, handing
over the coffees.

  ‘Probably,’ I nodded. Routine, Hilda had said. That was what I needed – not just the children, although I only had them for one more morning, but me too. Next week I wouldn’t need to do the school run but I would still set my alarm clock and do my circuit of the park. And then I’d start properly on doing up the house.

  I picked up the two coffees and headed for Hilda and her bench.

  I was greeted with a bark and a bundle of wiry fur jumping up at me, towards the coffees. I held them stiff-armed, up and out of reach, while Ash, with unexpected gallantry, leapt to his feet and put himself between me and the dog.

  ‘Down,’ he said firmly in an authoritative voice that gave me a spine-tingling reminder of the old Ash.

  ‘Ash has got a new friend,’ announced Hilda blithely, reaching for her coffee.

  ‘So I see.’

  Ash shot us both a lacklustre, weary glare, as the lurcher slunk over and sat at his feet, looking up at him with adoration. In that instant, I wanted to shake him, like a snow globe, to wake up his emotions and become that vibrant, exciting man I’d met before. But then maybe he thought the same when he saw me; I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders these days. But that was all about to change. I was going to make the most of this time before I went back to work. Get as fit and healthy as possible so that when I did go back, I’d be a super-improved version of me.

  ‘He was here the other day at the playground.’ I sat down next to Hilda and watched as the dog tilted one enquiring, lopsided ear at my voice.

  ‘Poor thing’s been abandoned. See, he’s starving… the way he’s sniffing the coffee.’ Hilda calmly pulled two pieces of toast wrapped in clingfilm from her pocket.

  ‘I was saving these for later but I think his need is greater, isn’t it sunshine?’

  The dog was immediately at her feet, one foot pawing the ground with a gentle whine.

  ‘Here you go boy. Only marmalade I’m afraid but better than nothing.’ She held out the piece of toast; the dog rose onto its hindlegs and snapped it out of her fingers, before backing away a safe distance. It dropped the toast onto the floor and chased it with desperate hunger around the paving stone before finally manging to hold it down with one paw to gain purchase.