Trust Me, I’m a Personal Trainer

by Sam Derbyshire

  “Don’t worry, she just thinks we’re being dickheads and, to be fair, she’s got a point. I think she’s phoning Maggie now, that’s why I’m calling you.”

  “Christ, that’s all I need,” said Callum, staring at the pile of old clothes on the floor. “Right, I’d better sort myself out, she’ll be home soon. Have you got stuff for tomorrow? Don’t be late or cancel – and don’t forget to fill in that sheet. Christ, Rex, what did you have to tell her for? You know what she’s like.”

  “Well Rachael’s no better, she’s turned into a fucking Rottweiler these days. Whatever I do is wrong, although to be fair, I suppose everything I’ve ever done has been wrong. She’s just got more arsey about it.”

  “It’s since she’s been going to this bloody personal trainer. See, I told you, he’s a bad influence. Right, I’m going. I’m trying to find something to wear and I don’t want Maggie to get involved. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I still think this is a big mistake,” replied Rex. “I just don’t see what the point of it all is. If they’re shagging the personal trainer, so what? It’s not like we’re all loved up, is it? You don’t love Maggie and Rachael hates the air I breathe; we might as well be pissing against the wind. I could be in the pub tomorrow night instead of being tortured by some fucking sadist super-jock.”

  “Look, we’re going, OK? You might be alright with being a laughing stock but I’m not and you’ll thank me when you have a few bargaining chips when she chucks you out again. Right, seriously, I’m going before she gets home.”

  Hanging up, Callum stared at the pile of clothes on the floor. He couldn’t see anything that resembled training gear, probably because he’d never needed it. He’d have to wear his golf stuff; he wouldn’t have time to shop tomorrow, he had meetings all day. Golf gear would be fine. Thor had just said to wear something comfortable; his golf shorts and a polo shirt would be OK, they were just being weighed tomorrow, he’d be fine. He just needed to find a pair of trainers, there had to be a pair in the boot room downstairs somewhere. Picking up the pile of clothes and forcing them untidily back into the drawer, Callum looked at his watch. She’d be back any minute and he was in no doubt that she’d be itching to give him a good grilling. Maggie liked to know what was going on, she’d already guessed he was having an affair and she’d be furious that he was now trying to lose weight after she’d been nagging him about it for the past couple of years. She wouldn’t like it, because she hadn’t organised it. She’d be jealous as hell, especially if she thought he was losing weight to impress another woman. Looking at himself in the mirror, he tried to pull in his stomach. He’d definitely put on more weight over the past few months and, if he was honest, he wondered what Emma saw in him sometimes. He wasn’t exactly a fine example of rippling manliness and his current lifestyle definitely wasn’t geared up to reversing the downward trend. He released his stomach. Maybe he was just kidding himself. If he wasn’t careful she’d probably lose interest. Losing a bit of weight might not be such a bad idea after all. Nervously he looked out of the window and once again at his watch; she’d definitely be home soon, no doubt smug from her bloody fitness class, hyped up and ready to do battle. Putting his phone in his pocket, Callum took a deep breath and, as he trudged slowly down the stairs to look for trainers, he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught.

  CHAPTER 32

  As Maggie walked through the back door, she noticed the light on in the boot room and she smiled to herself as she realised that he was probably looking for trainers. Standing at the boot room door, she looked at Callum, kneeling on the floor surrounded by a pile of discarded outdoor footwear. He was obviously struggling to find something suitable.

  “If you’re looking for trainers, my darling, I can assure you, you don’t possess any,” she said. “Rachael told me about the football. I’m not sure it’s a wise move, but you’ll no doubt ignore me.”

  Bitch, thought Callum. She was going to enjoy this. Rex was such a prat. He should just have gone by himself. He hadn’t been brave enough though.

  “You’ll just have to go shopping tomorrow,” continued Maggie as Callum remained silent. “I’m sure you can get a pair at lunch time.”

  “I haven’t got time,” mumbled Callum grumpily as he picked up a pair of battered trainers. “I’ve got meetings all day.”

  He looked at them, they looked about the right size. It didn’t bother him that they were pink, a lot of men wore pink these days. Maggie stared at him in disbelief as he sat on the small bench, took off his shoes and tried them on.

  “Are you seriously planning on wearing those? They’re one of the girls. I know you’ve got small feet but I think you’re pushing it.”

  Callum ignored her and, pushing his feet into the battered trainers, did up the laces and stood up. They were a little on the tight side, but they would do for tomorrow. Maggie tried not to smile as he walked around in their daughter Ophelia’s shoes. He looked ridiculous in his suit and trainers that were so obviously too small.

  “Callum, you cannot be serious, they must be too small. You can’t possibly play football in those, you’ll need to get new ones.”

  “They’re fine,” replied Callum, taking them off and putting them in a plastic bag he’d found under the bench. He wasn’t convinced, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of being right again.

  “Well on your head be it,” said Maggie as she walked away into the kitchen, “you’re just so stubborn sometimes and if you want to make your footballing debut even more insufferable, you’re going the right way about. There’s a casserole in the Aga, you can help yourself or wait half an hour. I’m going for a quick shower.”

  And as Callum pulled faces at her disappearing back, he knew that she was right. He was overweight, seriously unfit and totally unprepared for a session with an ex-military personal trainer. The only saving grace was that she had no idea just exactly what he’d signed himself up for. If she was having an affair with Thor bloody Thorogood, he was going to prove it, then at least they’d be even. He was looking forward to meeting the man in question now and if he was having an affair with his wife, he would have no qualms about making him suffer. He just hoped he wouldn’t expire before he had chance to find out.

  Clutching a carrier bag containing the tatty pink trainers, Callum turned off the light, closed the door and sighed as he realised that he still had dinner to get through. There was absolutely no chance that she’d finished with him yet. She’d be up there in her den, planning the next phase of his interrogation. Walking across the hall to the sitting room, he listened for any movement upstairs and, concluding that she must still be in the shower, he took the opportunity to text Emma. He usually tried to message at this time of day. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be his last.

  * * *

  Maggie closed her bathroom door and turned on the shower. Callum was really pissing her off. She just wished he would just own up to having an affair and then they could talk about things sensibly and start to make plans for the future. He obviously wanted to make sure that she wasn’t innocent either and she could understand that. After all, she was playing a very similar game. It was very draining though and she was beginning to feel the strain of the constant tension. Locking the door, Maggie jumped as her phone vibrated. It was Myles. What are you up to? X

  Not bothering with a text, Maggie called him back.

  “Melanie,” said Maggie sweetly, “how nice to hear from you.”

  “I still can’t believe you’ve put me in as Melanie,” replied Cavendish, “I would have said I’m more of a Madeleine. Anyway, what are you up to? Are you at home? Is the old man not there?”

  “I’m in the bathroom,” whispered Maggie. “I’m just about to get in the shower, Callum’s downstairs, probably waiting for me to serve him his dinner while he’s texting his mistress.”

  “Are you naked?”

  “Myles, you are a very naughty man,” replied Maggie, looking at herself in the mirror. “I have my
robe on, but yes, I suppose I am.”

  “Send me a photo, I want to see your breasts. I love your breasts, Mrs Dunbar.”

  Maggie loosened her robe and, wiping the steam from the mirror, she looked at her breasts. They actually weren’t bad for a woman of her age but she didn’t plan on taking a photo of them; she’d heard plenty of horror stories of sending photos of body parts through the atmosphere, Lucy’s photo to Steve being a prime example. The golf boys now knew Lucy more intimately than Lucy knew herself.

  “Thank you, but I am not sending a photo, Myles, you’ll just have to use your imagination.”

  “Oh please, Mags, come on, just for me. Have you got your jodhpurs on? Please send me a photo. Come on, jodhpurs and naked breasts. Jesus, I’m getting seriously turned on again.”

  Maggie tried not to laugh. “Do you seriously think I go for a shower in my jodhpurs? I wish I’d never told you about them, you’re completely obsessed.”

  “Of course I’m obsessed. Any man would be obsessed by the thought of removing your jodhpurs, you have no idea what you’ve been doing to me lately. I seriously think I’m going to fly up. I can’t wait two weeks. I want to have sex with you in those bloody stables.”

  “Go on then,” said Maggie, surprising herself.

  “Go on, what?” replied Myles.

  “Fly up. I want to have sex in the stables too,” whispered Maggie breathlessly. “Fly up tomorrow. I am seriously so horny, Myles, just get the early flight and I’ll collect you.”

  “Are you serious?” said Myles. “What about Callum?”

  “Well he won’t be around, he’s at work all day and he won’t be back till late as he’s starting football.”

  “Football? Callum’s going to football?”

  “I know,” replied Maggie, “don’t ask. He’s definitely on another suicide mission but I suppose he’s trying to get fit to make sure he can satisfy Mrs Balfour. He’s just copying me; he thinks I’m getting fit because I’m having an affair so he’s probably realised that if he wants to keep his new woman, he might need to up his game. She’s probably younger than him.”

  “And are you trying to get fit for me?”

  “Well I suppose I am,” replied Maggie. She was still amazed that Myles wanted a relationship with her at all. He could probably have any woman he wanted.

  “Well I’m flattered, but I thought you were pretty fit after you shagged me in that hotel room.”

  “So, will you fly up tomorrow?”

  “Send me a photo of your beautiful tits and I’ll book one this evening.”

  “Hang up then and I’ll send one over.”

  And as Maggie took a photo of her naked breasts and pressed send, she felt both liberated and excited. Callum would never have had sex in the stables although, to be fair, she’d never asked him. She wondered if he was being more adventurous with the new woman. Not wanting to think about it, Maggie instead pictured Myles removing his clothes as she lay spread-eagled over a hay bale. He had a gorgeous body, she hoped he would keep his word. Maggie stepped into the shower and as the water washed over her, her thoughts turned to more pressing matters. She still had her weigh-in to get through on Wednesday morning and she’d need to find a clean pair of jodhpurs in case Myles did decide to appear. She would also have to polish her riding boots. She might be about to get herself laid in a barn, but she still had standards.

  * * *

  As Rachael came down the stairs, Rex came out of the toilet. Catching her eye, he looked sheepish as he tried unsuccessfully to hide his phone behind his back. He’d obviously been phoning Callum.

  “So is your little team mate organised?” she grinned as she walked past him into the kitchen. “Has he got new trainers too? Bless, it’s so cute, two little laddies off to after-school football.”

  “Oh that’s rich coming from you, you and Maggie bloody Thatcher, prancing round the gym in your skin tight lycra, I bet that’s good viewing.”?”

  “Will you two just behave,” intervened Amy. “Come on, I’ve made a nice dinner and I’ve even made pudding, so let’s just be nice, OK?”

  Rex and Rachael looked at each other as they sat back down at the kitchen table and, out of respect for Amy, both of them managed to hold their tongues. Rachael poured Rex another glass of water but resisted winding him up further. Not that he deserved any courtesy, but he was strangely subdued. Triumphantly, Amy placed her pudding in the middle of the table and waited for compliments as her parents stared at the extravagant arrangement of fruit, meringue and what appeared to be cream. Rachael was horrified, she really didn’t think she could take any more calories today. Thank God she’d already had her weigh-in this week. Rex, more concerned about what it was made of rather than the calorie content, smiled cautiously.

  “Wow, that looks fabulous, pet, I love meringues.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” said Amy, spooning a large portion into a bowl. “Is that enough?”

  Rex took the bowl and scrutinised the contents. It all looked pretty normal.

  “Yes, that’s loads thanks. You shouldn’t have made a pudding for just me and your mum, we never eat puddings, do we, Rach?”

  “That’s because we never eat together,” replied Rachael, smiling at Amy as she took another plateful of calories.

  “Oh I didn’t make it just for you guys, it is vegan.”

  “But meringues are made from eggs,” said Rachael.

  “Are they?” said Rex. “Well, I never knew that. How come they’re not yellow?”

  “There’s lots of things you don’t know,” replied Rachael, “but meringues are made from egg whites and sugar.”

  “Well these aren’t,” interrupted Amy, “this is made from chickpea water.”

  “Chickpea water” replied Rachael, astonished. “How on earth do you get chickpea water?”

  “From the can that the chickpeas were in. I put the chickpeas in the curry and whisked up the water with sugar, you’d never have known the difference if I hadn’t told you. The water looks like egg white, it’s just the same, really.”

  “And what about the cream? It’s obviously not real cream, is it?” asked Rex, not knowing whether or not he wanted to hear the answer.

  “Why don’t you just try it, Dad, see what you think first, then I’ll tell you,” Amy replied.

  “It’s going to be from a plant anyway,” added Rachael. “It’s not going to kill you. Just a small portion for me, pet, I’ve eaten far too much cake today and I don’t want to put all the weight back on, especially as Thor’s worked me hard this week.”

  Rex took a mouthful of pudding. It tasted alright; whatever it was made from, it was pretty edible. “So what sort of things do you do with this Thor guy, he still sounds dodgy to me,” he said, taking another spoonful.

  Rachael looked at him despairingly. “He’s not dodgy, Rex, he’s very professional. He’s set me up on a really good training programme and his classes are good fun once you’ve got over the initial shock.”

  “What sort of shock, what does he make you do? Christ, woman, it can’t be that bad.”

  “Well I’d love to see you try. You wouldn’t get through the first session; ten minutes on the treadmill would soon finish you off, especially when he speeds it up. I thought I was going to be sick and then he makes you skip and do sit-ups and squats and all that, just to get an idea of how fit you are and what sort of programme you need.”

  “It sounds really good, Mum, well done for giving it a go. And you’ve already lost weight! You shouldn’t mock, Dad, it’s really good Mum’s trying to get fit. I think you’re just jealous that she’s got a male personal trainer. Is he hot, Mum? How old is he?”

  Rachael blushed as she thought about Thor. “Yes I suppose he’s quite hot but he’s too young for me. I suppose he’s in his early thirties; I’m not sure, I haven’t asked.”

  “Is he married?” asked Rex.

  “I don’t know,” replied Rachael. “I haven’t asked.”

  “He’s probably not
. Why would he be married when he’s got all those women on tap?”

  “Dad!” exclaimed Amy. “You say some terrible things sometimes, no wonder Mum’s fed up with you. Women on tap? Just because a woman goes to a male personal trainer doesn’t mean she wants to have sex with him, she just wants to get fit. I also doubt he wants to have sex with Mum either as, to be honest, that’s a bit weird.”

  “Well thanks,” said Rachael, “I’d like to think I’m not that unattractive.”

  “It’s not weird,” replied Rex. “If I was him and women were throwing themselves at me, I’d be up for it.” Rex caught Rachael’s eye. “Unless I was married, then I wouldn’t be, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” replied Rachael, “and anyway, this is a pointless conversation because Thor is purely trying to get me fit. I have no idea if he’s having sex with anyone else, whether he’s married or whether he has a girlfriend; he could be gay, I’ve no idea. All I know is that he’s very professional and good at what he does. Maybe you should try it, Rex, get rid of that beer gut, better idea than going to bloody stupid football. I’d so love to see you on that treadmill.”

  “Maybe I’ll buy you a couple of sessions for Christmas, Dad” said Amy. “That would be a great present.”

  Spooning the last of the pudding into his mouth, Rex didn’t reply. He was dreading the training session tomorrow, he’d never survive one minute on a treadmill let alone ten, and if Rachael ever found out about it, she’d never let him live it down.

  CHAPTER 33

  Sadly, the mini heatwave had broken and, once again, grey skies had returned to Glasgow. It wasn’t raining yet but it was in the air and Kyle could tell that a downpour wasn’t far away. He wondered whether they would still be training outside. Sadly, the cooler air also meant that Kelsey would return her summer blouses to the wardrobe. As he drove into the car park, Thor was finishing with another client. Fair play to the guy and the woman he was training, thought Kyle, a five-thirty am start was very impressive. Turning off the engine, Kyle watched as Thor went through a series of cool-down stretches. He wanted to look like Thor and he knew it was possible. In his footballing days he’d have given Thor a run for his money in the looks department. He just had to get back to the real Kyle, hiding under a layer of self-induced flab. He hoped he had lost weight this week. It would be a bitter pill to swallow if he hadn’t.