The other eye joined it.
‘Wow, Marjory you are impressively strong, as well as fast. How are you so crazy-fit?’ I asked, as we approached the footpath leading into the woods.
‘Well.’ She bent down in one smooth motion to adjust her laces. ‘I did run for England once or twice. And don’t worry.’ She straightened up again, leaning in close. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
A wink, a knowing nod, and she left me standing there, stunned, in her dust.
* * *
Three miles, four buckets of sweat and an embarrassing fall on my backside later, I cradled a hot cup of tea with frozen fingers and tried to appear semi-normal, rather than a gibbering sack of flopping, floundering nerves.
To make matters worse, Mel had turned up, having left the kids with her care assistant Gordon. Of course, Mel being there in itself was fab, it was the flyer she’d brought along that was the problem.
And by problem, I mean,reason why I wanted to sprint home, pack a bag, jump on the next flight to the middle of nowhere and never return.
‘We totally have to do this,’ Mel said, voice loud enough to catch the attention of all three tables of Larks, the rest of the café patrons and probably Bronwyn, currently in New York with her new boyfriend.
‘What do you think, Nathan?’ Dani asked, waving the flyer in his direction. I’d deliberately sat as far away from him as possible, still feeling flustered about knowing he missed the match to help me, and more importantly how I was ever going to look at him again without blushing thanks to the feelings that accompanied this knowledge. Unfortunately, this meant sitting not only next to Audrey again, but Selena on the other side. Feeling trapped between a granite wall on one side and a pecking vulture on the other had not helped defrazzle my mood.
‘Sounds like a great idea,’ Nathan replied. ‘Having something to aim for can increase cardiovascular capacity and mental resilience.’
‘Hello, did you see the flyer? See that big word in orange letters across the top? That says FUN. Let me know if you need further explanation.’
Nathan shifted awkwardly. ‘Yes, but I’m just saying, it can also be a great tool to build self-discipline.’
‘Yeah? ’Ow about it can be a blummin’ good laugh, and summat to talk about next time that snooty cow at playgroup goes on about how awful it must be to have a child like that, and ’ow tired and crappy I look.’ Mel stopped and blew out a long breath. ‘Sorry. Bad day all round yesterday. And I really missed me run.’
‘Well, whatever the reason, I’m in,’ Dani said, enveloping Mel in a slender-armed squeeze. ‘There’s nothing I love more than winning.’
‘It’s not all about winning,’ Marjory said, winking at me.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Dani retorted. ‘If I’m on your team for once, instead of running against you, I might actually stand a chance.’
‘Winning? In atriathlon?’ Selena let out a caustic cackle. ‘You do realise that would mean us getting on a bike.’ She glanced around, but no one was sharing in the joke. ‘Allof us.’
‘No, actually,’ Mel said, speaking in a slow voice as if to one of her smaller children. ‘If you put your bifocals on and bother to read the flyer—’
‘Bifocals!’ Selena choked on her radish smoothie. ‘Hardly!’
‘Whatever. It clearly says you can enter as many in your team as you want, but different people get to do different bits. So, people who are good at ridin’ can do the cyclin’ part. Some of us can run, and if any of us are good at swimmin’, they can do the mile in the pool. It’s five months away, yet. We’ve loads o’ time to practise.’
‘When is it?’ Nathan asked.
‘It’s for the opening of that new fancy pool, in Greasby. Easter bank holiday Monday.’
‘What do you think, Amy?’ Dani, asked me.
Think?I couldn’t breathe, let alone think.
‘Mmm.’ I tried to contort my lips into something not too far off a smile. Tried and failed, judging by the disconcertion on my clubmates’ faces.
‘Don’t put yourself down, love,’ Mel said, coming over to my table and patting me on the shoulder while simultaneously stealing the remains of my cinnamon whirl. ‘You’ve come on great these past weeks. By Easter you’ll be smashing it.’
Well, that was the plan.
But how could Amelia Piper chop the ribbon, or however these things worked these days, give the big speech, present the trophy, while Amy Piper slogged her way through a 5K run, or a 10K bike ride or – possibly worse – swam a mile in broad daylight, with a massive crowd of people – including Nathan AND Moira Vanderbeek – while wearing, most probably, because she’d appear even stranger otherwise, a swimming costume.
My anxiety was positively rapturous.
