‘Two Olympians on the team – he’ll be ecstatic,’ Bronwyn cooed.
‘One Olympian,’ I said, bracing myself.
‘One World Champion gold medallist, and an Olympian who came home empty-handed,’ Marjory said.
‘Fahitas, fajitas, you’re both bloody brilliant,’ Mel cried, banging her spoon on the table. ‘We’re all bloody brilliant!’ She yelled even louder. ‘HASHTAG POOLPALFOROURPIPER!’
‘Actually there’s no “our” in the hashtag. That wouldn’t make any sense.’
‘Give it a rest, Selena,’ Dani rolled her eyes.
‘If we want it to go viral, we need to ensure people hear the phrase correctly every single time, it’s crucial that the exact wording becomes second nature… Is anybody listening to me?’
48
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day One Hundred and Forty
I had, to put it bluntly, been killing it.
By telling the Larks who I was, especially since they had reacted so positively, I had broken off another huge chunk of fear. The shame that had been dragging like a lead weight behind me shrivelled to dust in the daylight. Not that I should need their approval to make me feel okay about who I was, but when alongside the enormity of my public disgrace, it certainly helped.
I’d spent nearly three weeks now furthering my forays into the big wide daylight world. Jase had dropped the car off, and I’d been back to the farm shop, and made a quick excursion round the supermarket. I had even driven into Nottingham and managed a couple of hours in the shopping centre. It was still exhausting, and stressful, and the stupidest things could trigger my pre-panic-attack warning signs (I handed a toddler back the stuffed monkey that she’d dropped, and her mother said thank you in a way that made me wonder for the rest of the day and most of the night if she’d recognised me, as if it even mattered). But I was getting stronger, and braver, and my resuscitated addiction to winning was driving me on.
On the evenings I could spare the time I watched Joey train. Cee-Cee came along a couple of times, and of course Sean was still here, waving off any questions about how long he was staying and how his company was surviving without him with some vague mumblings about expanding Mansfield Recruitment into the UK. For reasons I didn’t think about too hard, sitting with Sean offered a sort of protective back-up, someone to chat to if I felt anxious, or needed to pretend to ignore any unsettling looks or whispers (my burgeoning rational self knew there weren’t any of these, but the paranoid section of my brain had been ruling the roost too long and still struggled with her enforced abdication). I had asked – begged – the Larks to keep my secret for now, on the basis that if I got asked not to compete, it might create negative publicity for the campaign. Plus, they wanted me swimming because they now reckoned they actually had a chance of coming first, and it seemed as though I wasn’t the only one who could grow fixated with winning.
But as I perched poolside, looking so much more like my younger self (back straight, chin up, hair brushed), I knew it wouldn’t take much for someone to realise who Joey Piper’s mum was.
Still, I kept going. The worst that could happen was utter humiliation, a panic attack that felt akin to dying and a barrage of nastiness. I had faced all that before and it turned out I survived.
This evening, Joey had asked me to come to Chicken Thursday, and having come up with no decent excuse, here I was.
‘Hey, Champ!’ Sean greeted us from their ‘usual table’. How lovely, and not at all galling, that it was nowusualfor my son to spend time with his previously completely absent father. ‘Amy, you look lovely.’
‘No need to sound surprised.’ I was wearing the dress I’d bought for the wine and cheese evening, a decision which I’m sure had nothing to do with Nathan’s politeness with me since the last challenge, and how that contrasted with Sean’s eager openness. I probably looked overdressed, but after slouching around in slobwear for years, I had some catching up to do.
‘I’m not surprised you look lovely. I mean, I always think you look lovely. I just haven’t seen you in a dress before. It really suits you.’
‘Okay.’ I couldn’t deny the flush of pleasure that swept behind my initial prickle of irritation.
As the evening carried on, Sean continued to be nice and charming and nothing but positive. Occasionally managing to chat about school and my job in between all the swimming talk.
Sean continued to call Joey ‘Champ’, his whole face lighting up as he raved about the previous gala and the forthcoming trials, egging Joey on with improbable scenarios about where the Gladiators might lead him.
‘It’s probably too late for 2020, but 2024 in Paris? Why not? What an epic story. They’d probably make a blockbuster film about it one day: Amelia Piper’s son, the swimming lessons with her old coach, then the trials offer. Amelia relents and overcomes her phobia to watch her son compete. And even though he’s a couple of years behind, boy, does he have what it takes, he’s all his mother’s son, and this time, she makes sure he does it the right way. Boom. Redemption, glory and that circle of gold. And as a little side plot, the idiot long-lost father shows up, a changed man, willing to do everything to earn forgiveness. We’ll have to wait and see how that works out.’ He winked at me across the table.
I reminded myself that Joey was present, and for that reason and that reason only, I restrained from smashing my plate of chicken Caesar salad over his head. It would have made an interesting scene in the film but probably wasn’t worth upsetting Joey over. Besides, I was hungry.
I gritted my teeth throughout the rest of the meal and waited until Champ had got to training and was in the pool before asking Sean if we could talk upstairs in the viewing area. From the glow in his cheeks, I think he was expecting some demonstration of how the long-lost father subplot was going to conclude. But this wasn’t Hollywood. And things were about to get real.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’
‘Um, excuse me?’
‘To be honest, I’ve been amazed at how well things have been working out. How you’ve been reasonable, and considerate, and nice without pushing it.’
‘That sounds like a good thing, but your tone of voice and angry expression are suggesting it isn’t. I’m confused.’
