I was now running every Wednesday and Sunday, and walking Joey home from training four weekday evenings. Each foray out was a new adventure. Although, like any real adventure, still scary and daunting and sheer hard work a lot of the time. I saw a fox, one evening. It stood and watched me from the opposite pavement, eyes glowing in the reflection of the street light.
As the nights grew longer, I started setting off a little earlier, walking different, longer routes. One evening, I made an extra detour to post a letter. Another day, I braved the local greengrocers, meeting Joey with a paper bag full of plums I had chosen myself, gently squeezing each fruit to check its ripeness, just because I could.
On a particularly bold Saturday evening, Joey and I walked to the square to get fish and chips for tea. We hadn’t talked about Sean again, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before Joey decided he’d been patient enough and a decision would have to be made. Until then, I was enjoying some uncomplicated mother and son time. This was a dream come true for me, heading out together to do something normal like actually taking away our takeaway, instead of having someone else deliver it. I squeezed my hands, stuffed deep inside my pockets, with glee.
‘He was, like, a giant, Mum,’ Joey marvelled as we crunched through the frost. ‘Taller than Nathan. Andbuilt.I was faster, but his turns were unbelievable.’
‘You don’t sound massively disappointed.’ A new competitor had pipped Joey in one of the races at a regional swim meet.
‘I have graciously conceded defeat to a superior athlete.’ He glanced at me. ‘This once. Next time he’ll be choking on my backsplash.’
‘That’s a solid attitude for someone who just lost for the first time all year.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s like that part in the film where the hero gets beaten by a stronger, fitter enemy. He might mooch about for a bit, but then he gets his head back in the game, decides he’s got to… Hang on, is that Cee-Cee?’
Up ahead, crossing the square, an old woman shuffled through the decaying remains of autumn leaves. Before I could react, Joey had sprinted over and skidded right in front of her.
‘Hey, Cee-Cee,’ he beamed.
‘Joey.’ She nodded, stiffly.
‘How’s it going?’
‘Fine.’ Woah. She did not look fine. Even in the dark, I could see the bitter lines etched across her face. ‘Raced today?’
‘Yeah,’ Joey was still smiling. ‘I came second in the backstroke.’
If possible, Cee-Cee’s frown sharpened even further.
‘But it’s cool, gives me more incentive to dig that bit deeper next time.’
Cee-Cee took a long moment to silently express what she thought about that lackadaisical attitude. The eyebrows said it all. ‘And your mother?’
Joey pointed me out, foiling my attempt at passing for a new Brooksby Square art installation. ‘Woman frozen in guilty horror’, it would have been called.
Cee-Cee’s face flinched, the equivalent of anyone else fainting with shock. ‘Right. Well. I won’t keep you. Nice to see you, Joey.’ She paused, managed a strangled, ‘Amelia,’ then shuffled off, considerably faster than before.
‘That was a bit weird.’ Joey bounded back up to me, where I was still imitating the frozen woman. ‘Did she seem different to you?’
I pressed one hand against my heart, as if that might get it back under control, and sucked in a slow, deep breath.
‘I mean, not old exactly. Like she’d sprung a puncture and the air was slowly leaking out. Do you think she’s okay?’ he asked.
Another long, slow breath. ‘I’m sure she will be.’
But I wasn’t at all sure. I also wasn’t sure that it was not my problem. Should I go after her? Call her up and invite her round for tea? Give it one more chance? The thought of letting Cee-Cee back into our lives still filled me with dread. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, still had too many difficult days to resist relinquishing control again and slipping straight back into our old pattern. But was it right to sacrifice the woman who had saved me, saved Joey, for my own freedom?
‘Let’s get food, Mum. I’m starving.’ Joey tugged on my arm, snapping me out of my thoughts and reminding me of one thing I did know: I had to get well, for Joey’s sake as much as my own, and in order to do that I had to put my needs first for now. At the moment, the Programme was working – I was here, after all, in the village square on a Saturday evening, and Cee-Cee would respect that I couldn’t risk messing that up.
I followed my son into the batter-filled warmth of the chip shop, sucking in a delicious lungful of salt and vinegar as the door jingled shut behind us.
‘All right?’ the woman behind the counter said. Kelly, her name was, or Kayleigh. Something like that. Her daughter had been in Joey’s class right through primary school. ‘Ain’t seen you in a good while. ’Ow you keepin’?’
‘Good, thanks. How are you? How’s Lucy getting on?’
A three-minute chat with Kelly (Kathy?). Handing over the money myself. Watching Joey blush when Lucy appeared.
I was keepin’ good.
