‘This is what’s happening: you’re going to go upstairs and change into your running gear, then we’re heading out as if it’s 6 a.m., and after our 3K run we’ll stop at the Cup and Saucer and hang out for an hour or so. Have a drink, eat some fruit and oats or eggs or,’ he pulled a face, ‘pancakes. We’ll talk, the Larks will tell stories, make jokes and take the mickey out of me as much as possible. Then, once the post-exercise endorphins have worn off, I’ll walk you home. And you will be so damn proud of yourself for going, in the morning when your courage muscles are sore and tired along with your body, every twinge will make you smile.’
I blinked, sniffed, felt around in my dressing-gown pocket for a tissue. ‘That is not how the scenario in my head plays out. And I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. There are multiple options, like those choose-your-own adventure stories. None of them end with me proud, or smiling.’ I let out a watery laugh. ‘More like embarrassed and pathetic. Possibly covered in vomit or passed out in the back of an ambulance.’
‘I don’t like your scenarios. Let’s go with mine instead.’
‘Is this another one of my challenges?’
His eyes crinkled. ‘Do you want it to be?’
‘If that means I can pick a challenge for you.’
He shrugged. ‘Hit me with your worst. Nothing can beat “Livin’ on a Prayer”.’
‘I’ll have you know, Mel walked down the aisle to that song.’
‘Like I said, you can’t beat it.’ Nathan grinned, my heart liquified to molten mushiness, and that was all it took.
‘Give me five minutes.’
* * *
Ten minutes later, having changed, brushed my hair and teeth and darted randomly around my room for a bit, I found Nathan stretching his arms over his head in my kitchen. Whew, he was tall. A glimpse of flat stomach where his T-shirt had ridden up sent a rush of heat to my face and nearly made me forget the very important question which had occurred to me while fumbling to tie my running shoelaces.
Ah yes, that was it…
‘If we’re going straight to the party from our run, I’ll be sweaty and dishevelled and gross. And I don’t want to turn up wearing these when everyone else is all done up in their party gear. I’ll be self-conscious enough as it is.’So there!I didn’t mention the alternative plan jigging about inside my brain, that Nathan and I keep on running right past the café and come back here for a party for two. Honestly, I really had to get back out in the real world and remind myself that other male humans did exist.
‘We’ll take it easy, not get too sweaty. And by the time we get there, the party’ll be in full swing, everyone else will be just as bad and having too much fun to notice or care. And Dani’s bag is in my rucksack, you can change when we get there. Now, come on, warm-up.’
‘Thirty seconds.’ I sprinted back upstairs, coming down again with a handful of make-up and a hairbrush shoved into an old washbag. ‘Will these fit in?’
Nathan sighed, rolled his eyes and stretched round to stuff them in a side pocket.
‘Oh, and my phone. And I’ll need some money. Definitely tissues. And shoes! I can’t wear muddy trainers. House keys. Anything else?’
Nathan stood there fidgeting while I added the extra items as they occurred to me.
‘You know what? We’ll walk the first quarter-mile, make that the warm-up.’ And he bundled me out the door before I could protest about the importance of proper pre-run stretches…
* * *
An hour later, I staggered through the door of the Cup and Saucer, a pungent combination of icy numbness and steaming heat. For goodness’ sake, as if Amelia Piper could exercise alongside a man she found increasingly disturbingly, pointlessly and humiliatingly attractive andtake it easy.The only way for me to face what lay at the end of the run was to push so hard I didn’t have enough spare oxygen to think about it. It was the first time I’d run alone with Nathan, and it felt unexpectedly intimate, pushing up and down the wooded slopes through the darkness, the only sounds the twin squelch of our footsteps – and my laboured breathing (it is really quite distracting, trying to run as fast as you can while not wheezing and panting like an asthmatic warthog). I could have kept running right on through until sunrise. Possibly a little bit further than that. If I didn’t have a stitch by then.
Nathan, on the other hand, strolled in behind me as if a taxi had dropped him right outside. He handed me the rucksack, threw me a wink and promised to bag me a spot at my usual table. I tried to slink to the ladies’ room undetected, while at the same time aware that every pair of eyes in the room was on me, or my personal trainer. Probably swivelling in glee (or rage) between the two of us, jumping to all sorts of impossible and ridiculous conclusions. None of which (ALL OF WHICH!) I’d been imagining while pounding the footpaths, a million stars above our heads.
To no one’s surprise, least of all mine, my disappearance into the ladies’ room coincided with a mass urge to powder noses. When I came out of the cubicle, the tiny space in front of the sinks was jam-packed.
‘Can I wash my hands, please?’ I asked, attempting assertive and unbothered, succeeding at nervous and uncomfortable. My anxiety eyed all those women and smirked, giving me a nudge in the ribs sharp enough to make my lungs stutter.
Thankfully, not all those women were gawkers. Dani and Mel were crammed up against the door.
‘Oy!’ Mel yelled, probably loud enough that everyone in the café could hear above the blare of Michael Bublé. ‘If you ain’t here to use the facilities, show a bit of Larks’ solidarity and get on wi’ yer. You all know Nathan’s bin givin’ Ames some personal trainin’ – and no, not that type o’ personal, Miranda Jones, you ain’t fourteen, please stop actin’ like it – ain’t nothin’ remarkable about them turning up ’ere in running gear. If they’d waltzed in ’ere all done up and flushed from a cheeky pre-drink somewhere, then you’d ’ave cause to raise yer drawn-on eyebrows, Isobel Martin. But even then, it’d be none of yer business. Nathan can date oo ’e likes.’
‘Actually, that’s not true,’ Selena, rammed up against the other cubicle door, said. ‘He’s not allowed to date clients. And even if he was, he won’t, however tempted. So unless this is also Amy’s leaving-do, you can rest assured there’s no reason for you to be squashed in here like sardines scavenging for plankton.’
‘You’re in here!’ Bronwyn called from her perch on the edge of a sink.
‘I came to check if she was all right!’ Selena barked. ‘Not to scrump for gossip!’