Trust Me, I’m a Personal Trainer

by Sam Derbyshire

  “Hey, Kyle, my man,” said Thor as Kyle walked into reception. “Good to see you. Come on, let’s go and get the weigh-in done and see where we are.”

  “I’m knackered,” replied Kyle. “I’ve trained my arse off this week.”

  “It’s been noted,” said Thor, holding open the door for Kyle. “Top marks for effort, seriously, I’m very impressed.”

  Kyle sat down and Thor opened his file. “Right, on the scale, let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Kyle stepped onto the scale and breathed out. He wondered if fresh air weighed anything.

  “Don’t look down, look forward,” said Thor. Kyle tried not to twitch but Thor seemed to be taking an absolute age to read the scales. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult.

  “Well done, mate,” he said finally, “just over two kilograms, nearly five pounds, that’s awesome for a first week. See, all the hard work pays off. Right, we’ll just check your BMI and body fat and then we’ll get a quick chat to make a plan.”

  Kyle stepped off the scales. He was proud of himself; if he could keep it up, he’d get back to a normal weight in no time. Thor handed him the monitor.

  “So, you must have been sticking to the diet as well,” said Thor, “because you won’t lose weight just by exercising, it’s eighty percent diet, remember.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been pretty good, no junk food and I’ve made lots of smoothies. I even have them at work.”

  Kyle handed back the monitor; it was all good news in the stats department and Thor patted him on the back.

  “Well, whatever you’re doing it’s working, mate, and even your love life’s picking up, isn’t it?”

  “Not yet. She bought me a Mr Good mug the other day at work but I don’t think it was a romantic thing. I’m still just a mate who makes her smoothies and listens to her rabbiting on about her lack of a bloody love life and Fraser, the hot guy in the office next door. Luckily, he’s not interested.”

  “Well, she came to the circuits class, she must think something of you to put herself through that,” replied Thor, writing down the results. “Poor girl looked awful, I was just relieved she didn’t throw up.”

  “Oh that’s not Kelsey,” replied Kyle, “that’s Gemma. I work with Kelsey and Kelsey looks like a model. I met Gemma in the supermarket, she was on the till and she started quizzing me when I was buying healthy stuff. She’s trying to lose weight so I told her to come to the classes, but now I think she’s stalking me.”

  Thor laughed. “Well, pal, that’s quite a result. One week of training and you’ve hooked your first date.”

  “I’m not going out with her,” replied Kyle. “She’s nice, but I don’t fancy her.”

  “Last week you said you’d be grateful for a green heart on Tinder then, this week, some poor girl nearly kills herself for you and you don’t give her a chance.”

  “Because she’s not Kelsey,” sighed Kyle, sitting down. “It wouldn’t be fair on her, would it? She’s a nice girl, but until I’m sure that I’ve definitely not got a chance with Kelsey, I don’t want to lead her on, that would be cruel.”

  Thor looked at him. He was such a nice bloke and the fact that Kelsey had obviously bought him a Mr Good mug meant that she saw it too. Maybe he did have a chance with the mysterious Kelsey after all. And, to be honest, he knew how he felt. He’d offered the girl with the dark hair a free training session, but he wasn’t too excited about it. Gemma wasn’t Kelsey and she wasn’t Jess. He still couldn’t let Jess go. Maybe he had to take a leaf out of Kyle’s book and fight to the bitter end.

  “Do you think I should give up on Kelsey then?” asked Kyle, as Thor, lost in his own thoughts, put the iPad away. “You must have some good tips on women, you don’t seem to have much of a problem.”

  Thor looked at him. “Kyle, mate, thanks for the vote of confidence, but honestly you have no idea. I can get you into shape, I can motivate you to lose weight and kick your arse when you go off course, but if you’re looking for relationship advice, trust me, I’m the last person you should ask. Go with your heart, pal. If Kelsey’s the one, then give it all you’ve got.”

  “And if she isn’t?”

  “Then let yourself go and have a bit of fun. Christ, if you can pull them in from the Co-op when you’re a fat bastard, think what’s going to happen when you flash your six-pack. Anyway, enough of this relationship stuff, we’ll go in the gym today and I’ll set you up with a programme that you can do in between classes and sessions.”

  And as Kyle followed Thor into the gym, he felt a little more confident. He’d make Kelsey a special smoothie today. He’d bought strawberries and raspberries last night. He’d call it The Little Miss Perfect smoothie. It would be pink. She’d like that.

  * * *

  As she stirred her porridge, Maggie looked at the clock, 7.30am. Myles would probably be at the airport in London. She was nervous now. It had seemed like a good idea last night as, still high from the circuits class and annoyed at Callum, she’d photographed her breasts and enticed Myles up with the promise of sex in the stables. The last time she’d slept with him on the girls’ weekend she’d been away from home and, if she was honest, a combination of gin and too many Jägerbombs had fuelled her with confidence. Agreeing to have sex in her own backyard was a completely different scenario. Things like this only happened in novels and films and the heroine never seemed to stress about bikini lines and shaved legs. The spur-of-the-moment invite had definitely been a bit rash. Maggie took the porridge off the hob and spooned it into a bowl. Annoyingly Callum was running late this morning; she could do with him out of the way. She’d agreed to pick up Myles at ten-fifteen and she needed to get herself ready. Needing everyone out of the way, she’d also had to give the stable-hand the day off as well as change her housekeeper Mrs Ogilvy’s morning. Mrs O hadn’t been happy, of course, and she wasn’t prepared to work on Wednesday. Mrs O couldn’t miss her line-dancing class, it was the highlight of her week. The result was two days without help, as well as having to pay for the privilege. Not that Callum would notice. Callum only had eyes for his phone these days.

  As Maggie sat down at the table, Callum came into the kitchen. He was carrying a rucksack and, as usual, he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

  “So, will you be wanting dinner this evening?” Maggie asked as Callum put two slices of bread in the toaster. Unusually he’d gone for brown bread; the fitness thing was obviously having an effect.

  “No thanks, I’ll probably go for a drink afterwards with the rest of the guys. I’ll get something out.”

  “Well that’s not very healthy, is it? I thought you were going to get fit.” Maggie looked at him. He’d definitely put on a lot of weight lately, but she’d only really noticed how much when he’d signed up to running around a football pitch. If he managed to come away unscathed this evening, she’d be very surprised. “There’s not much point in running around and then ruining all the hard work in the pub. You’ll probably put more calories back in than you’ve worked off. Thor says that….”

  “I really don’t give a shit what Thor says,” interrupted Callum suddenly. “I’m going for a game of football, OK, just for a laugh. I’ll get something to eat with Rex.”

  “So what time will you be back? Where are you playing?”

  “I’ve no idea. It starts at six. If I’m not eating, does it matter what time I’m back?”

  “You never said where you were playing,” continued Maggie. He was definitely being evasive.

  “Strath Uni, one of the gym halls I think. One of the guys from work knows where it is. I’ve never been there.”

  “Yes you have, I went there with the hospice badminton tournament, do you remember? You came to pick me up and we had to take Gillian Matheson to the hospital after she got hit in the eye with a shuttlecock. You got annoyed because you got a parking ticket.”

  Callum didn’t reply. He needed out of the conversation and, distracted by the toaster, he took the opportunity to change th
e subject.

  “Have you got any serviettes? I’ll take this with me. I’m running late.”

  Maggie got up and, opening a drawer, handed him a paper serviette as he spread the toast generously with butter. He really didn’t get the health thing but the brown bread was a start.

  “Shall I make you a coffee to take with you?” she asked, despite the fact that he didn’t deserve it.

  “No, I’m fine thanks, I need to get petrol, I’ll get one then. I’ll see you later.”

  Clutching his toast, Callum picked up his briefcase and headed for the back door. As the door closed behind him, Maggie noticed the rucksack. For a brief moment she thought about letting him go without it but, realising that he might come back for it during the day, she picked it up. It felt quite heavy. Quickly she opened the zip; he had the revolting trainers but he also had his checked golf shorts, a belt and a polo shirt. Surely he wasn’t playing football in these. He’d look ridiculous. Trying not to laugh and resisting the temptation to remove something, Maggie zipped up the rucksack and headed for the back door. What a bloody clown, she thought to herself as she waved to him to wait. As she handed it over, he just about managed to mumble a thanks and briefly she thought about throwing it in the water trough. He was such a grumpy bastard. Emma Balfour was welcome to him.

  * * *

  As usual, Rex wasn’t particularly racing to get into work. He had staff to open up, that was the whole point of running your own business, not having to be there all the time. Business was tricky at the moment though. He liked securing the big property deals but they seemed to be eluding him at the moment. He hated the small agency stuff, too much work for small returns, but unfortunately it was the small stuff keeping him afloat.

  With Rachael away to work, Rex opened the carrier bags and took out the shorts and t-shirt. Rachael was right; they were pretty bright and, in reality, they did look quite small. Rex removed his dressing gown and stepped into the shorts. Rachael was also right on the size front as, despite the elasticated waist, the shorts were far too tight. He’d managed to get them on but he could hardly move. Standing in front of the mirror, Rex tried to bend at the knees but the shorts, completely unforgiving around the thighs, refused to give. He just hoped that Thor wouldn’t make him do anything that involved knee bending. Rex stared at himself in the mirror, more critically this time, and as the man that he hardly recognised stared back at him, he realised that he had seriously let himself go. The ample spare tyre hanging over the strained waist of the shorts was testament to that. Too much drinking, too many business lunches and far too many takeaways in the evening had been the cause; he knew that now. Rex sighed. He’d been a good-looking guy once, well he still was, women still chatted him up but maybe not as frequently as they used to, even his face was starting to puff up. No wonder Rachael wasn’t interested any more, and if she was shagging Thor he couldn’t blame her. Rex took the t-shirt out of the bag and, as he put it on, he tried not to visualise Rachael in hysterics as it moulded itself beautifully to every bump and crevice it could find. It wasn’t the look he’d anticipated, and electric blue and orange didn’t exactly help him fade into the background. The only saving grace was that he knew Callum was fatter than him. He’d need to out-do him on the treadmill too. There was no way he was coming second to that miserable tosser.

  CHAPTER 34

  On her way to the airport, trying to get herself in the mood for her illicit encounter, Maggie had retuned the radio to Radio 1. Radio 4’s attempt at the analysis of the tedious and unfathomable Brexit negotiations wasn’t really working for her on the foreplay front. Maggie turned up the volume; she didn’t recognise any of the music, but the presenter’s chat was offering an interesting insight into the increasingly complex world of the younger generation. With a sudden pang of guilt, Maggie thought about her girls and wondered what the hell she was doing; a forty-something married mother, knickerless in jodhpurs, planning to have sex in the stables with one of her husband’s friends. If the girls found out, she wondered how it would affect them. Would they care or was this sort of behaviour to be expected of their parents in this crazy, increasingly unconventional world that they were all trying to negotiate. Having despatched her children to boarding school at an early age, Maggie was slowly beginning to realise that, as they approached their late teens, she hadn’t really had the chance to properly engage in their lives, other than on a scholarly achievement level, and she was beginning to wonder whether she had made the right decision. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t really know what went on their lives other than what they or the school chose to communicate. Yes, she knew their friends but did she really know what made them tick, what they wanted to achieve in their lives or whether they were actually happy? When they did come home, which was more and more infrequent these days with the pressures of exams, competitions and social events, the chat was often superficial, all three of them choosing to disappear into their cyber world, preferring to keep in touch with their friends and the other attractions of social media, than interact with their very uninteresting parents. When they were at home, she did what was expected of her and performed her motherly duties, washing clothes, feeding them and sometimes riding out with them, but she doubted whether they really connected on a deeper level. Did she really know her children? Probably not. Guiltily, Maggie wondered whether she was merely following in her parents’ footsteps. As a child, she too had spent most of her life in the confines of a private school, her mother battling with the gin bottle to escape the boredom of a loveless marriage and the rumours of her father’s numerous affairs. Luckily, she had been strong enough to resist the lure of the Devil’s left hand but here she was, embarking on an affair with a man who quite honestly had the track record of her father. But Myles was a kindred spirit, a man with a similar upbringing; an only child of a mother who choose to spend her life shamelessly in other men’s beds, eventually driving his humiliated father to take his own life. Maggie had been the first person he’d confided in and she loved him for it. Despite his bravado, she recognised his vulnerability and his desperate desire to be loved. Whether their relationship had a future, she had no idea, but during the few days they had had chance to spend together, Maggie – for the first time in her life – had felt truly content.

  Deep in thought, Maggie jumped as her phone rang. It was Myles.

  “Hello,” said Maggie, as seductively as she could manage. “Has my stallion landed?”

  “I have indeed,” replied Myles politely, aware that the very prim-looking woman sitting next to him was listening in, “just cantering in, where shall I meet you?”

  “There’s a pick-up point just outside Arrivals, just follow the signs. I should be there in ten minutes so I’ll meet you there. I think there’s a twenty-minute limit, so that should work quite nicely. I would have parked and met you but I’m not getting out of the car in my riding gear, especially as I haven’t got any knickers on.”

  Myles groaned. “Good god, you’re a bad woman. I seriously cannot wait, Mrs Dunbar. What car are you in?”

  As Myles glanced at the prim woman, she raised her eyebrows pursed her lips and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Cheekily, Myles smiled at her.

  “A green Range Rover,” replied Maggie.

  “I don’t know why I asked,” said Myles. “What else would you be driving? I’ll see you in ten.”

  And as Myles hung up, Maggie felt the first wave of anticipation. So what if she was having a mid-life crisis; a crisis could be a very powerful thing which, more often than not, brought about change for the better. According to Sebastian, her hippy friend Kate’s therapist, a mid-life crisis was often necessary to remove the accumulated negativity of an unfulfilled relationship. It was obvious to Maggie and the rest of the Kate’s friends that Sebastian had ulterior motives as far as Kate’s accumulated negativity was concerned, but he did have a point. Maggie had no doubt that a showdown with Callum was looming, but if it brought about change for the better, it ha
d to be the best thing for everyone involved.

  Indicating left for the airport, Maggie smiled to herself as, switching her focus, she turned up the volume and tried to visualise Myles unzipping her jodhpurs. Apparently, if she adopted the “cowgirl position” and did a lot of bouncing up and down, she could burn 172 calories, according to an article written by a personal trainer in a magazine she’d read in the hairdresser’s last week. He’d also written that squatting was also a very good workout for the thighs, although to burn 172 calories the session would have to last at least thirty minutes. Hopefully both Myles and her thighs were up to the task. If she couldn’t get to the gym today, she’d at least have a good workout. Allowing her mind to stray back to the article and the estimated calorific burn of other sexual positions, she wondered whether Thor would have any other suggestions. She was sure he would. He looked the type. She would try and remember to ask him tomorrow.

  * * *

  Sitting at his desk, grabbing a morning break, Thor opened the email from Callum Dunbar. He’d filled in the diet sheet and, to be fair to the guy, at least he’d been honest. In his case, it probably wasn’t the type of food, but the volume that was leading to weight gain; business lunches, too much beer and red wine and little exercise, apart from the occasional round of golf and a romp with his mistress. Thor pressed print. It wasn’t going to be easy taking these guys on, especially knowing the background from their wives, and he appreciated the fact that he only had one side of the story. Callum was having an affair and Rex was a pisshead, according to Maggie and Rachael but, somehow, he’d have to put that to the back of his mind and take them on with a clean sheet. It was certainly going to be interesting; he was looking forward to six o’clock.