I did know. Oh, how I knew.
‘I’m working on it. I have a plan, and it’s working.’
‘But when it means this much, why wouldn’t you accept help, when someone who just genuinely cares is offering it?’
I was too overwrought right then to consider whether he meant he genuinely cared about Joey, helping me or possibly, perhaps just… me. ‘I don’t need dietary advice or training techniques. Being able to run is great, but it’s not really the issue.’
‘Amy, about ten per cent of my job is about diet and exercise. Every single woman I work with knows that if she wants to get fitter she needs to eat less cake and move more. It didn’t take many clients for me to realise that what they really need is to get some confidence in who they are. To learn to love themselves better, and not let other people’s expectations or judgemental asides or passive-aggressive Instagram comments hold them back.’
‘Okay. I’m listening. But I need to continue this conversation inside.’ I scurried for the door, a sort of power walk, while at the same time being so far from powerful it was a joke.
Nathan followed me into the kitchen, and I distracted myself with filling up the kettle, even though I’d had a massive pot of tea less than twenty minutes earlier.
‘My problem isn’t confidence. I wish it was that simple.’
‘I get that. But I think I could help anyway. Research shows that everyone does better when they work with someone else. It’s why people pay for piano lessons, even though you can find videos online to teach you how to play, or go to language classes instead of just using an app.’
I finished making the drinks and brought them over to the table. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘We pick different targets, and I’ll help you do it. Maybe start with getting out in the day. Being able to come to a gala, go on a bus. I don’t know, we can figure it out as we go.’
I thought about this. Imagining facing those challenges with Nathan was dangerously appealing, and agonising at the same time. I didn’t know where the line lay between being dependent on someone else and being helped by them. I didn’t know if I’d been working things out on my own long enough to trust myself with that. But then I heard Joey’s footsteps thumping about above me.
‘I can’t pay you.’
Nathan frowned. ‘I wouldn’t accept it if you could. I love Joey. And, in a weird way, I actually kind of think of you as a mate…’ He attempted a sheepish grin. I resisted the urge to lean forwards and topple into his lap.
‘So, how about this?’ I asked. ‘We do some challenge days together. But you have to complete a challenge too.’
The frown returned. Phew, much safer territory.
‘Look,mate, I’m not the only one with issues.’ I looked pointedly at his drink. ‘You would consider it actual torture to drink caffeinated tea, with cow’s milk.’
He picked up the mug, prepared to take a sip, then sighed and put it down again.
‘Don’t worry. It’s Redbush. But on challenge day, maybe it’ll be a chocca-mocha freak-shake with marshmallows and caramel sprinkles and full-fat ice cream.’
Nathan squared his shoulders. ‘If you can accompany me to a café, in the hours of daylight, I will drink that shake.’ He held out his mug, waiting for me to tap it with mine in a toast.
‘Challenge accepted.’
‘This was supposed to be an offer of help. How come with you everything ends up a competition?’ Nathan asked as he was leaving, a few minutes later.
Maybe one day I would even tell him about that.
* * *
The whole new head-spinning addition to the Programme had left me in what Mel would call a right tizz. So, when I saw the black car parked a pathetically non-inconspicuous four doors down from my house (yes, I’d been peeking out the windows), I waited until it was near enough twilight, grabbed a torch for temporary-blinding purposes, tucked the hood up on my jacket and went to give Moira Vanderbeek a world exclusive.
As I approached the car, to my surprise, it pulled off. With just enough brain in gear to switch the torch on, I caught the glimpse of a baseball cap as it accelerated past. I stood and watched it disappear up the road, then stood for a whole lot longer, until I could trust my legs to wobble me back inside.
If that had been a journalist staking out my house, he or she was an astonishingly crap one. I had googled Moira Vanderbeek. She might be moreGossipmagazine than BBC, but she wouldn’t have driven away when the one person she was trying to interview approached.
And if she had been secretly watching me, she surely had enough wits about her to park further away, on the opposite side of the road so she could drive off without having to pass me.
So, if it wasn’t the honourable Ms Vanderbeek who was hanging around my son’s school, lurking outside the leisure centre, now blatantly staking out my house, who the fish-and-chips was it?
29
