by Jules Wake
I couldn’t help being impressed and remembered how brilliant he’d been at assembling the girls’ new furniture last weekend. ‘Have you always been good with your hands?’ As soon as I said it and he smiled slyly, I knew I’d made a tactical error. Talk about a Freudian slip; I’d walked right into that one.
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ He shot me that challenging stare I remembered so well from when we’d first met and a certain part of my anatomy flooded with heat. Oh, he was good with his hands all right and he bloody knew it. Despite the blush burning my cheeks, a small part of me couldn’t help thinking it was good to see that the old Ash was still in there.
Darren did something in computer programming, which was far too boring to talk about he said, when I politely asked what he did as we sat down in the pub with our first and only drinks of the night.
‘Like me then,’ I said, sipping at a very nice rhubarb and ginger gin and tonic. ‘I work for an accountancy firm.’
‘Do you earn pots of money, like moneybags Laghari here? Still driving the Porsche?’
‘Yes, and just as well with the parking around here. Managed to squeeze it in between a couple of Chelsea tractors.’
‘Yeah, it’s a nightmare but we’re within walking distance of the town and the run in the morning. Although, I’m tempted to move north. You get so much more for your money. Do you live in Churchstone as well?’ he asked me.
‘Yes.’
‘You ought to consider it, seriously,’ said Ash. ‘You could fit your place into Claire’s twice over. She’s got a lovely house. Double-fronted terrace. Old York stone, little front garden. It’s cute but not small. And it’s right on the edge of the park.’
I looked at him in surprise. It was the most complimentary thing he’d said in recent weeks.
‘The park where you want to do the run?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I replied, reeling from Ash saying a nice thing instead of being his usual cynical self.
‘So what do you want to know?’
And for the rest of the evening we picked his brains about how it all worked, my disquiet growing all the while. There was so much more to it than I’d ever imagined and also a huge amount about the technology involved. That bit had definitely passed me by .
‘Oh yes,’ said Darren with a gleeful smile. ‘You’re going to need a minimum of three thousand pounds to get started.’
Ash, mid-drink, spluttered and I put my drink down with a bump.
‘Three grand?’ he repeated.
‘Yeah. There are a lot of upfront costs to consider. And all the kit you’re going to need. Folding tables. Scanners. High-vis vests. Walkie-talkies. Cones. Signage. There’s quite a list. But I think the parkrun people help you a lot with what you need and they can point you in the direction of grants and stuff.’
There was so much more to think about than any of us had even considered and I was beginning to wonder if we hadn’t perhaps been a bit ambitious, chivvied along by Hilda.
‘Have either of you registered?’
‘No.’ We exchanged nonplussed expressions.
‘Do we need to?’
‘You don’t have to,’ explained Darren. ‘You’re just listed as an unknown on the results sheet. But if you do, you get a bar code, which you have scanned at the end of the run. Then, a couple of hours after the run, you receive an email which tells you what your time was, how many people ran, what your age-graded score was. Look that one up. And a whole load of other stuff including what your PB was.’
‘PB?’
‘Personal best. I can print them off for you back at the house, if you like.’
He’d brought his laptop along and logged in to his parkrun account to bring up the detailed page of all his results over the last two years and a whole load of stats and information about the event itself. I began to tune out; this stuff didn’t interest me, but at the same moment, Ash leaned in. It was the most animated I’d seen him and he began to ask lots of questions about how the technology worked and what information was recorded. I was more interested in the practicalities of what was required to make an event happen. Did Hilda have any idea at all about what we were about to attempt? Suddenly I realised that I felt a decided prickle of interest. Until now, I’d been going through the motions, without really believing that it would ever actually happen… but what if we did pull it off? What if we did make the Churchstone parkrun happen? How great an achievement would that be?
Sharing a bed with someone was no big deal. No big deal at all. Except when it came to it and that awkward shuffling about who would use the bathroom first, ergo who would get into bed first. Thankfully, I’d brought sensible PJs, although the cami top revealed a bit more cleavage of my very average-sized boobs than I’d normally display in public.
I took first dibs on the bathroom, changing in there and cleaning my teeth. When I got back to the bedroom, clutching my toilet bag and towel to my chest, Ash departed without a word. I heaved a silent sigh, switched the lamp on and the main light off and hopped into bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin. For good measure, I tugged the pillow as far to my side of the bed as possible without it falling off and lay there waiting for Ash to return. There was absolutely no reason for the apprehension that danced on the very edge of my nerves – no Claire, of course not – as I strained to hear the noises in the bathroom and the signal that he was coming back.
The door squeaked and the floorboards creaked and I heard the door to our room close. I opened my eyes and gulped – a proper cartoon almost-swallow-my-tongue gulp at the sight of a half-naked Ashwin Laghari. My memories had not let me down. He stood there in his boxers, calmly arranging his clothes on the chair tucked in next to the wardrobe on the opposite wall, the muscles of his back rippling as he moved.
As he started to turn, I blinked my eyes shut quickly but temptation proved too much; as soon as I felt the bed dip at the bottom, I opened them again. He knelt on the end of the bed and I got a perfect view of his golden-skinned chest and the dark hair dusting his pecs. Our eyes met and he paused and stared at me. The silence of the room buzzed between us and all my hormones surged up in a tsunami of desire which must have been written all over my face but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his. His movements had pulled down the duvet and I was aware of my exposed skin and my tingling nipples that hardened into come-get-me points.
‘If you keep looking at me like that, beard or no beard, I will kiss you.’
And for the life of me, I couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t.
‘Claire,’ he warned, in a low voice that sent a tremor of excitement coursing through me.
I swallowed. What the hell was I thinking?
He moved another pace forward and I stared at him, at those eyes that looked back at me with dark intent. I sucked in a breath, which sounded loud in the quiet, semi-lit room, which was filled with shadows. Unable to tear my gaze away I studied his lips. My pulse flickered and danced with the anticipation of what the much-maligned beard would feel like.
Another pace. A pause. His hands drew level with my waist, one on either side. I swallowed again. Another pace. His knees were placed on either side of mine. His eyes bored into mine. The silence between us was fierce and powerful, almost throbbing in the night air. Another pace and his face was inches away, his body straddling mine. I swallowed. There was a whisper of a smile as his lips curved in response. But he didn’t make the final move, just stayed there hovering above me. I knew I had to breach that final space; it was part of the challenge. There would always be a challenge with Ash and that was why I’d liked him so much the first time we’d met.
I let a smile play across my lips and tilted my head back slightly. The challenge was what had been missing between both of us. The spark in each of us had been extinguished, in him just as much as me. And now I felt it roar back into life and I smiled again as I lifted my head and kissed his mouth. With a whisper of a sigh, his body sank onto mine, simultaneously soft and hard, adju
sting to my shape as one hand scooped around my waist and the other around my shoulder, his lips moulding to mine as if they were coming home.
It was a leisurely, all-the-time-in-the-world kiss, as our mouths explored, tasted, touched, and tested. My body sang with delight and desire, boneless and weightless. Ash’s mouth was soft and hard, teasing and tentative, the bristles gentler than I’d expected, and inside I felt everything soften and melt out of focus.
The soft rap on the door had us scrambling apart and Ash scooting under the bedclothes to lie on his side in order to hide the erection tenting the sheets.
‘Yes,’ I said in strained voice.
Darren’s head popped around the door.
‘Sorry guys, just found out, I’m going to need to leave earlier than you; I’ve had a text asking me to help set up in the morning.’ He proceeded to give us detailed directions, with an additional lengthy explanation as to why we might see people going a different way, as there were a couple of routes to access Tring Park where the run was held. By the time he’d finished, my body had cooled and common sense had set in.
When he pulled the door closed behind him, coward that I was, I leaned over and switched off the light.
‘Saved by the bell,’ drawled Ash in the dark.
‘Probably for the best,’ I whispered.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said and turned over so his back was to me. I did the same, although my heart thudded unnecessarily. The kiss had caught me off guard. That sexual chemistry between us still fizzed bright and fierce but I didn’t want to get burned. Once Ash got a job again, he’d be his old cocky self and he’d leave me for dust, especially now he realised I wasn’t the super-high-flier he’d once thought. I was damaged goods whereas I was sure just as soon as he got another job he’d bounce back and wouldn’t want to know me. We were both in the wrong place at the moment.
Sleeping with him, no matter how much I wanted to, wasn’t the answer.
Chapter Seventeen
We followed the other runners along the street, up a skinny path sandwiched between a wall and a fence, and up the steps to a bridge which crossed a dual carriageway that left me breathless before we hit the park. It had belonged to the mansion house in the town and had been landscaped in eighteenth-century style with an avenue of trees leading off to the right but the runners all peeled off to the left and as we came to the crest of the hill below us we could see quite a crowd.
‘Wow, I wasn’t expecting this many people,’ I said. They were the first proper words apart from monosyllables that I’d spoken since last night. This morning, when I woke up, I had been thankful to find the bed empty. Darren had printed off our bar codes and they were downstairs next to mugs with tea and coffee laid out on the breakfast bar for us.
‘I think Darren said about two to three hundred do it.’
I turned to him. ‘Where are we going to get three grand for the set-up costs from?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘I think this is a bigger undertaking than Hilda realises.’
‘You’re not kidding. But I guess that’s why we came. To find out more.’
I stared down at the circus in the dip of the two hills where lots of people were already milling about. There was a gazebo. Tables. A finishing funnel staked out with poles and white tape. A big tarpaulin spread out where people were leaving coats, jackets, and bags. And a few official-looking people in fluorescent vests. ‘This is much more than I’d imagined. It’s so much bigger.’
‘Yup. I think Hilda envisions a dozen people trotting around the park. She doesn’t know what’s really involved.’
‘We can break it to her gently when we get back.’
As we approached, we spotted a sign: First Timers and Visitors. This made me slightly nervous. Now, faced with the prospect of running 5k with a lot of very professional runners who were all limbering up and doing proper stretching, I wondered if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. Someone had to come last, I guessed.
Ash tossed his sweatshirt on the tarpaulin and I added mine, stepping back onto the toes of another woman.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. The woman was shorter than me and didn’t have what you would call a runner’s physique. She looked as if she was in her fifties.
‘No worries, love. Gorgeous morning isn’t it, although the wind is going to catch us right when we come out on the home straight.’
‘Erm… yes. I’ve not done it before.’
‘Have you not? Well, you’re in for a treat.’ She laughed. ‘Once you’ve got up the hill.’
I nodded. ‘I’ve not actually done a parkrun before.’
‘Well, welcome. I hope it won’t be your last. I started a year ago and I’ve never looked back. Sets you up for the day and everyone’s so friendly.’
‘I’m a bit worried about coming last,’ I confided.
‘If I can do it, anyone can,’ she said. ‘Seriously, I’ve never run before in my life but a friend dragged me. Said I could walk it. Which I did, and then I thought I’d have a go at running a bit and walking a bit. And then I decided by my fifty-fifth birthday I’d run the whole course. And I did it and now it’s part of my weekend routine. I come most Saturdays with a couple of friends that I met here and we go for coffee afterwards. Everyone meets up at the Akeman in town.’
‘Right,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’
When I turned round, Ash was in conversation with a couple of men – well, one teenager and his dad. I wandered over.
‘Claire, this is Dave and his son, Patrick. They do the run every week.’
‘When Pat’s not had a skinful down the pub the night before,’ laughed Dave.
‘That’s a nice thing to do together.’
Patrick grinned. ‘Yeah, especially as I beat the old man every time.’
‘Young legs,’ said Dave, nudging him, and his son nudged him back and a second later they were barging each other with laddish humour.
There were quite a few youngsters – some younger than Poppy. It hadn’t occurred to me that there would be children here – or dogs, for that matter. There were quite a few, all on leads, I was interested to see.
‘Have we got any first timers or visitors?’ yelled a woman on the slight incline behind me, ringing a bell.
Ash and I plodded over to the placard, and I was relieved to see there were at least fifteen other people.
‘Welcome to Tring. This is an out and back course, so you need to keep to the left.’ Holding up a map she explained the route, which I found impossible to visualise, but she added the reassuring information, ‘We go out and then at the top, you come back the same way. There are marshals along the course; you can’t get lost.’
She talked about a couple of other things which were common sense and then finished with, ‘And we all meet afterwards for coffee in the local bar. The start line is just over the hill there and the finish line is here, as you can see. Any questions?’
Everyone did that stare-down-at-their-feet thing, not wanting to appear stupid. I was impressed by the thoroughness of the little speech and that, like everyone else, this lady with the very loud voice was a volunteer. It looked from her clothes like she’d be running too.
Runners were still arriving – families, groups of friends, couples, and single people. There was a real mix of shapes and sizes and ages. It wasn’t what I was expecting at all.
Then we were called to the start. Here there was another talk as a tall, thin man, well padded-up for the brisk wind that whistled through the little valley we stood in, spoke through a loud-hailer to the crowd swelling before him.
‘Any first timers?’ A few of us put up our hands and the lady in front of me turned around and gave me a thumbs up mouthing, ‘good luck’.
‘Any visitors?’
A hand went up. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Delamere Forest.’
‘Anyone from further afield?’
I knew from Darre
n that people quite often ran other courses for fun and some even collected them like Munro baggers, the people who climbed the highest peaks in Scotland.
And then there were milestoners. A man in the crowd to my left had completed fifty parkruns and it was then I noticed a couple of red T-shirts with ‘50’ on the back. Another man had volunteered twenty-five times. For each announcement there was a round of applause.
And then, at last, with lots of people setting their Fitbits or smart watches, we were given the off. Everyone surged forward up the hill. My pulse leapt and I was running in the crowd. Ash had already been swallowed up – not that I’d planned on running with him. I think we’d both resolved to ditch each other as soon as we could after last night’s debacle.
I’d lain awake for ages beating myself up for being so stupid and letting my hormones do the thinking. They were about as fit to take charge as a toddler in a sweetshop. A man jostled my elbow and I slowed my pace. I needed to concentrate a little as it was quite busy.
We funnelled through a gate onto a tree-lined path that turned sharply right. The crowd had already thinned and up ahead of me I could see a moving sea of runners in a rainbow of coloured tops. And when I said up, it really was up; the route ahead on the soft, mulchy surface was straight up a hill and already my calves were burning.
Blimey, this is hard work.
I was relieved to see that quite a few people around me were already walking and when I glanced over my shoulder, it was even more reassuring to see that I was nowhere near last. Panting hard, with my thighs joining in the protest, I gave in and slowed to a walk. This was too much like hard work. I fell into step next to a small woman who was pumping her arms and walking quickly. She gave me a smile. ‘We’ll feel better at the end.’
I nodded. She was kidding, right?
And then I heard strains of Bruce Springsteen, which got louder as we approached the crest of the hill. At the top was a very smiley marshal standing beside an obelisk with a boom box perched on the white stone, making encouraging comments and directing us left up another hill. The brief burst of music seemed to recharge the batteries and quite a few of the walkers began to run again. It did seem a lot less steep, so I forced my aching legs into action. This was supposed to be fun. But they said when you got to the top you turned around and came back, so maybe we were near the halfway point.
