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

by Jules Wake

  Unfortunately, Poppy was a much deeper well and harder to read. Her simple stoicism, the quick indifferent shrug as if that was that, worried me and I ached to comfort her but I didn’t know what to say; the truth had stalled my tongue and I hated lying to her.

  Hilda gave me an encouraging smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes and she came over and squeezed my hand. I’d been a terrible coward, accepting her offer when she’d suggested she come with me to pick the girls up from school.

  I’d told them as soon as we came in and since then, with false jollity, Hilda had been teaching us all how to make French toast which was a welcome diversion. There was now a mound of golden, eggy toast, a plate of crispy bacon and a bottle of maple syrup ready and waiting on the table. My mouth watered and I gave the plates a look of longing while at the same time checking the time on the kitchen clock. I’d have to eat later.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Ash, jangling his car keys.

  Not really. I wanted to stay and hold the girls. Make sure they were okay. It wouldn’t have occurred to me a few weeks ago.

  Hilda gave me a quick nod. I smiled my thanks to her.

  ‘Let me grab my folder.’ I ducked into my little study and snatched up the A4 wallet, which held all my notes and several copies of statistics I’d downloaded about the parkrun organisation, the numbers of people taking part, the numbers of events around the country, the number of countries now involved and some of the case studies I’d pinched from their blog about mental health and community involvement. I felt like a lawyer about to present my case.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Hilda. ‘Hope it goes well and I hope you get some support turning up.’

  ‘Thanks, and if you need anything, call.’

  ‘We’re all going to be fine. We’re going to watch Netflix.’

  Ash and I headed out to the car.

  ‘So how was your mysterious assignation?’ I asked, as soon as I’d buckled myself in.

  Ash gave a low laugh. ‘Good.’ And he left it at that.

  I wasn’t going to dignify his secrecy with any further questions; I wasn’t that interested in him.

  The Town Hall was quiet, not a person in sight in the lobby. My heart sank a little. It would have been nice to have some support, although we were ten minutes early. We followed the signs to the chamber and entered a near-empty room. There was a long table at the front with all its seats occupied – I suspected they were the town councillors. Seated on the wooden chairs in front of them were a few desultory people sprinkled like stray seeds in the rows. Ash and I slipped into two seats near the front, a respectable few rows back. There was a hushed atmosphere and the bunch of middle-aged, stern councillors didn’t suggest that there was going to be much light entertainment tonight. They were all studying papers in front of them as if cramming at the last minute for an exam.

  A couple of people sidled into the row behind us but it was hardly a crowd. One of the councillors shuffled his papers ostentatiously and squinted up at the clock on the wall. Still another five minutes until kick-off. A group of five sauntered in and snagged places on the front row – two women and three men. I studied them. Runners? But after seeing the Liquorice Allsort sizes of the Tring Park runners, I no longer assumed they might all be string beans.

  Behind us, three more people shuffled along the row. Then another four. Laughing and chattering as they came, six more people filed in, followed by seven more. Several of the councillors glanced up, their heads swivelling left and right like startled meerkats. I sat up a little straighter, realising that there was a definite buzz in the room, as if things were afoot. By six twenty-nine the chairs were filled to capacity and there were quite a few people standing up at the back. At the front there was now much paper shuffling, agitated glances towards each other, and muttered sotto-voce conversations amongst themselves. Clearly the swollen audience was unprecedented or certainly unusual. I grinned at Ash as he ducked his head to whisper to me. ‘Do you think they’re all here about the run?’

  ‘I guess so; there’s nothing particularly contentious on the agenda that I can see.’

  The man in the middle of the table rose to his feet and immediately the hush of voices died away.

  There was an awful lot of official guff about being quorate, terms of reference, and previous minutes being approved. The polite attention of the assembled audience was punctuated with a lot of restless fidgeting and quite a few people were surreptitiously checking their phones.

  Various members of the council stood up to give updates on a proposed road closure due to gas works, replacement chains on swings in a park on the other side of town, the results of a tree survey that had been conducted on council property throughout the ward, and finally Neil Blenkinsop rose to put forward the proposal to allow a community group to organise an official parkrun in Victoria Park. He was a tall man in his late forties with a thatch of thick, dark hair, wearing a checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had a mild, slightly myopic manner as he addressed the council and the public.

  ‘We have been approached for permission to run a weekly event, a run in Victoria Park on Saturday mornings from nine o’clock to ten o’clock in the morning.’

  Almost immediately one of the other councillors jumped to his feet, a small squat man laced into a dark green three-piece suit which, along with bulbous eyes that roved over the assembled audience squinting with vague suspicion, emphasised his frog-like appearance

  ‘We couldn’t possibly allow that.’ His pompous voice rang with vehement authority. ‘Victoria Park is for everyone to use and enjoy. Every member of the public is entitled to use the park. To allow this group to take over the park once a week would be detrimental to the enjoyment of the park for other users. I think it’s a terrible idea.’

  A second councillor, a woman in a pale pink suit rose to her feet. ‘I’m afraid I’m in agreement. I don’t want to be out for a gentle stroll and be steamrollered by a horde of runners.’

  Neil Blenkinsop nodded. ‘I do understand your reservations; however, it would be for one hour once a week. I think we’re grown up enough to accept that this is a small percentage of the hours the park is available and that the runners would be mindful of other park users. I would like to remind the committee that the council does have a commitment to encouraging more people to exercise and Victoria Park is currently underutilised. In addition, this is a non-profit community event which would provide considerable health and mental wellbeing opportunities for local people. The parkrun is a global phenomenon that has encouraged thousands of ordinary people to start running. It is backed by Sport England and meets the nationwide aim of encouraging more people to do sport and to sustain participation levels. The parkrun has been proven to do both and, actually, encouraging and supporting a local parkrun initiative would enable the council to achieve one of its targets at very little, in fact, virtually no cost. Nor would it require any council resources, thus not drawing on our ever-pressed budgets.’

  Neil Blenkinsop had played a blinder and there was an outbreak of spontaneous applause from the audience.

  In the end, apart from objections from Mr Frog and Deep Pink Suit, the proposal was accepted to a burst of enthusiastic clapping. As the councillors dispersed, lots of groups in the audience began chatting to each other and there was a tap on my shoulder.

  ‘Hi, are you Claire Harrison?’

  I nodded. ‘Charles?’

  ‘Yes, lovely to meet you and thanks so much for getting this off the ground.’ Behind wire-framed glasses, pale blue eyes gleamed and he shook my hand with brisk efficiency. He had the compact, wiry frame of a runner and was appropriately dressed in tracksuit bottoms and an Under Armour running top. ‘Quite a turn out.’

  ‘Yes,’ I responded with wide-eyed pleasure, ‘Thank you so much for mobilising the troops. I was worried it would be me, Ash, three men, and a dog.’

  ‘There’s a lot of interest. At the moment, quite a few of us go over to Harrogate or Leeds but it would be great to
have our own. Not sure why no one thought of it before.’

  ‘Time, darling,’ responded a petit woman to his left. She beamed at me. ‘I for one am very grateful that you’re picking up the gauntlet. It’s no small undertaking but it will be wonderful if you can do it.’

  ‘Do you run as well?’ I asked, encouraged by her easy smile and friendly manner.

  Charles laughed and she rolled her eyes. ‘I am a reluctant runner. I do it because I know it’s good for me but… I find it bloody hard work and then when I’ve done it, I feel so much better. Charles, here, actually enjoys it.’ With mock bewilderment she shook her head and held out a small, neat hand. ‘I’m Penny. Long suffering wife and married as much to Charles as the Harriers. We’re off for a celebratory curry; fancy coming along?’

  ‘Oh… that would be… thing is, I need to check in with the lady who’s looking after my… my children.’ It had been easier to say children rather than produce a convoluted explanation but as soon as I laid claim to them, a surge of parental love rose up in me and I imagined what they were up to with Hilda at that moment. Ava, fresh out of the bath, would be rosy-cheeked and her curls damp but wild while Poppy would be prim in her pyjamas, itching to shut herself away in her bedroom and read her book. Except that tonight they might not be okay. My heart ached for them. Bloody, bloody Alice.

  ‘I’m sure Hilda won’t mind but it’s best to check,’ said Ash, with his usual clear, incisive understanding. I pulled out my phone to call her

  ‘It will do you good to go out, dear. And Ash, of course. The pair of you are like a couple of hermits. You should be out dancing at your age.’

  ‘But what about the girls, Hilda?’ I ignored her comments.

  ‘A little subdued but they’re fine, darling.’ The rare endearment made me realise she was just as worried about me. ‘We’re just about to watch Toy Story 2. I must say I really enjoyed the first Toy Story. It’s a big step up from Thunderbirds. Go, have fun with Mr Handsome, there.’

  ‘Yes, Hilda and thank you,’ I said, touched by her concern while narrowing my eyes at Ash whose mouth quirked in amusement. He could hear every word.

  ‘Tell her I’ll run her home when we get back,’ interjected Ash.

  So it was agreed and Ash and I found ourselves swept along with the running club – not a phrase I’d ever have thought I’d have heard in relation to myself.

  Charles seemed to know quite a lot about the parkrun and he talked to me and to Ash, who sat between us at the curry house, asking us questions, most of which we didn’t have the answers to yet.

  ‘Any idea how you’re going to recruit volunteers?’ Charles asked as plates of poppadums and pickles were delivered to the tables. Nearly everyone had opted for tall glasses of lager.

  ‘That’s Claire’s department,’ said Ash, deferring to me. ‘I’m going to be managing the technology side once we’re tied in with parkrun.’

  The division of labour according to our respective talents and abilities had been agreed since we’d come back from Tring. We were both willing to play to each other’s strengths.

  ‘Sounds like the pair of you make a great team.’ Charles cast a fond look towards his wife, who was sitting opposite me.

  ‘We do,’ murmured Ash in a low voice which I only heard because he’d turned towards me and I saw his lips mouth the words. It was oddly intimate, as if the words were for me alone.

  It took me a second to force my eyes away from Ash’s golden stare and respond to Charles again; in my bid to sound normal, I came across as overly brusque. ‘The key thing was to get permission to use the park. Now we’ve got that we can really motor on other things. We’re going to organise a meeting in The Friendly Bean for people who are interested in helping set up the run and for volunteers. I thought I’d put up a poster in the café.’

  ‘Volunteers are going to be crucial,’ Charles agreed.

  ‘Yes, so I’m thinking of designing something that we could post on social media and encourage people to share.’

  ‘Great idea. If you send me something we can get it up on the Harriers page. And are you on the Everything Churchstone Facebook group? You definitely should post there.’

  ‘Not heard of that one,’ I said.

  Penny opposite me pulled a face. ‘Lucky you. A lot of it is about dodgy parking, lots of dog-poo complaints, and “can anyone recommend an electrician” requests, but there are also some useful community posts. Just be warned, people can be quite… shall we say, outspoken on there; be prepared for as many negative comments as positive ones.’

  ‘Ha, you mean absolute toss pots. I don’t know what it is about social media; some people shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a keyboard.’ A fair-haired woman on Penny’s left joined in. ‘Bonkers it is. The moral majority come out in their droves wound up more by the piss-takers who seem to delight in stoking up trouble. But, like Penny says, it’s a good way of spreading local information. My husband, Matt, is a freelance designer, I could ask him to knock you up a quick design, if you wanted.’

  ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’

  ‘Don’t get too carried away. I have a purely selfish motive. I’m already thinking of the bliss of a couple of child-free hours on a Saturday morning. Can’t think of anything better. I’m Janie, by the way, and Penny is lucky enough to live next door to me, where I bring light and sunshine into her life.’

  Penny laughed and put her arm around her friend. ‘Is that what they call it? Plenty of gin, I’d say.’

  ‘Where do you live, Claire?’

  ‘On Park Road, on the south side of the park.’

  ‘Please don’t say on that lovely terrace,’ begged Penny. ‘I adore those houses.’

  ‘The end one on the right.’ I winced in pretend apology but it was exactly the comment I had wanted ever since I first viewed the house.

  ‘Right, I’m coming round. I’ve always wanted to see what they’re like inside.’

  ‘Well, if she’s coming, I’ll have to supervise, and I have gin,’ Janie said.

  The two of them were completely irresistible and with a smiling shrug, I said, ‘Why not?’

  And it seemed in Churchstone it was just that simple to make new friends. We exchanged mobile numbers and there and then Janie set up a WhatsApp group titled ‘Bitch with Gorgeous House’.

  ‘You do know, Janie, that you could join the kids on the parkrun,’ Penny said.

  ‘Why the hell would I want to do that? One, I get to torture Matt and two, like I said, I get a couple of child free hours.’ Janie rolled her eyes and turned to Claire. ‘Sometimes there is a question mark over why we’re such good friends. She has some funny ideas.’

  ‘I also have very good taste in gin.’ The two of them began to laugh at each other again.

  It suddenly occurred to me that if Alice wasn’t home, I’d have to take Poppy and Ava with me.

  ‘Why the hell do you think I started running?’ asked Janie, patting a small firm tummy, laughing again. ‘Apart from to try and get rid of the baby fat… eight and five years on, it’s still not worked.’

  ‘How old are your children?’ asked Penny suddenly

  ‘Ten and six’ I said. ‘They’re not actually mine; they’re my nieces but my sister is away at the moment so I’m looking after them.’

  ‘Gosh, you’re a saint,’ said Janie. ‘I don’t suppose you want another two?’

  ‘No,’ I laughed, enjoying the company of these two women. It was refreshing to see that, despite their diametrically opposite approaches to their children, they seemed to adore each other. ‘That’s very generous of you but I’m still figuring out how these two work.’

  Janie threw herself back in her seat and cackled, pouring herself, me, and Penny another glass of wine from the bottle that she and Penny had ordered. ‘Feed ’em, love ’em and sink gratefully into a sofa and a glass of wine when they go to bed,’ she said.

  ‘I know that feeling,’ I said. ‘It’s keeping on top of all the paperwork tha
t’s a killer.’

  ‘What school are they at?’

  ‘Churchstone Primary.’

  ‘Same as ours,’ said Penny. ‘Ten and six did you say?’

  ‘Yes, Poppy’s in Year 6, Mrs Philips class and Ava’s in Year 1, Miss Parr’s class.’

  ‘Poppy and Ava.’ I could see Penny turning the names over in her head as well as the moment the information clicked.

  ‘Oh my God. You must be Alice’s sister.’ Then she frowned as if something didn’t add up and before she could put a stop on her tongue she blurted out, ‘You’re nothing like I expected.’ And then she clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘God, I’m sorry. That er… sounded a bit rude.’

  I laughed at her appalled expression. ‘Don’t worry. I know Alice isn’t my biggest fan.’

  Penny gave me a grateful smile. ‘I’m really putting my foot in it tonight. But… she’s left the children with you?’

  ‘I know. Shocker.’ Alice might drive me up the wall and I knew her every fault but blood, it appeared, was thicker and I couldn’t quite bring myself to say more, even if she did bloody deserve it. From Janie’s suddenly distant expression, I suspected she wasn’t a fan of Alice.

  Penny studied me as if I were a complex sum that needed working out. ‘Alice isn’t always…’ she winced.

  ‘Alice is a complete cow,’ said Janie. ‘Sorry, she might be your sister, but she’s not well liked.’

  ‘Janie!’

  ‘It’s true. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. She dumps those girls on other people whenever she can. Never reciprocates and…’ Janie’s face was quite purple but whatever she was going to say, she thought better of it.