Sporting Warehouse was on a new retail park just off the nearest motorway junction. I had hoped that on a Friday morning, the Larks might be the only people there, which turned out to be an underestimation of the draw of cut-price athleisure wear. As we prepared to squeeze our way into the fray, Selena popped out of it like some freakish newborn shopping baby, arms loaded with bags.
‘Is it finished?’ I managed to squeak, already preparing to make an about-turn and hightail it back to somewhere with an average population of less than three per square metre.
‘Hardly. These are personal items, nothing to do with the triathlon. Everyone’s manning the swimwear section, far right. You’d best get a move on!’
With Dani tugging my hand in front, and Mel shoving me from behind, we jostled and elbowed our way to where the rest of the Larks formed a human barrier, preventing anyone else from getting near to a rack of sky-blue clothing. Selena had already managed to deposit her bags and slink back through the crowd and currently stood inside the barrier, holding up four fragments of Lycra.
‘About time! I’ll take this one.’ She threw the tiniest scrap over her shoulder. ‘Mel. Amy.’
Mel took hold of one proffered swimming costume, for it appeared that’s what they were supposed to be. ‘Are you chuffin’ kiddin’ me?’ she retorted, attempting to stretch it over her solid midriff. ‘You goin’ ter tell us where the rest of it’s hiding?’
‘What do you want, Mel, a wet suit? Victoriana flannel bathers?’
‘I want a cossie that covers more than one bum cheek. Life for my seventeen-year-old is ’ard enough without his mates seeing ’is mum’s boob pop out mid-front crawl.’
‘Are you sure that’s the right size?’ Dani asked. ‘I mean, I’m all for being loud and proud of what God gave you, but that’s pushing the legal boundary of indecent exposure.’
‘Nah, it’s the right size. Just the wrong style,’ Mel huffed.
I took mine and checked it. ‘This is actually two sizes too big for me.’
‘Ouch,’ Bronwyn winced on my behalf.
‘Well, it’s all they had left. At least both bum cheeks will be covered,’ Selena snapped.
‘Why can’t I try that one?’ I pointed at the remaining costume in her hand.
‘This is Audrey’s!’
Bronwyn broke the human barrier to grab the label. ‘A size twelve? Are you joking?’
‘I’m a size twelve.’ By the triathlon I might be, anyway.
‘And Audrey is most definitely, a) not here, and b) not anywhere close to a size twelve.’
Bronwyn grabbed hold of one strap and started to pull. Selena dug in, leaning back like a waterskier, both hands gripping the plastic coat hanger.
‘Get lost, Bronwyn, you haven’t even got the balls to wear a costume, in case your overly controlling, borderline abusive, probable pimp plus drug dealer, scary boyfriend actually figures out how to tell the time and bothers to turn uuuuuuuuuAAAAAAAPPPP!’
‘How dare you insinuate he’s stupid!’ Bronwyn yelled, letting go of the strap so that Selena pinged back into a male mannequin holding a surfboard. The mannequin stiffly toppled over, his surfboard shooting into the end of a long queue of women waiting for the changing room and sending them tumbling. Those nearer the front of the queue, oblivious as to what was causing the crush, began to scream, sending panic rippling like a Mexican wave out across the store. Others began pushing and shoving to get to the entrance, knocking over displays and yanking armfuls of clothes off the racks as they went.
Alarms began to go off as frantic shoppers poured out through the double doors with their unpaid for purchases, unwilling to risk losing a twenty-quid Nike hoodie, even if it cost them their freedom.
Two men, hearing the hullabaloo, came sprinting out of the changing rooms in a pair of speedos and a ski suit respectively. Five seconds later, a woman hopped out after them, both legs jammed into one half of a pair of tracksuit bottoms.
The security guards and staff piled out to apprehend the looters, and within less than two minutes, the Larks were standing in their circle protecting the remaining sky-blue sportswear from an empty shop.
I might have been the only person there relieved to have caused a public stampede.
Bronwyn swore, even as she pulled a wide-eyed Selena to her feet. ‘Sorry, Selena. You all right?’
Selena straightened her jacket, shaking her hair off her forehead. ‘Are you kidding?’ She nodded her chin at the remains of the mannequin behind her. ‘He’s the most animated man to have his arms around me in ages!’
‘Well, ladies,’ Marjory lifted up a pair of blue cycling shorts. ‘Now we’ve made a bit of space, shall we get shopping before the police arrive?’
And so, somehow, in the jumble of Larks herding into the deserted changing rooms, I found Dani and Mel stuffing me into a two sizes too big swimming costume.
It was like slipping into my second skin, muscle memory pinging the straps up without me even thinking about it. But at the same time, the memories of another life, another me, reverberated through my head, sending it spinning. I tilted my head away from the mirror and focused on a clump off fluff on the floor while I went through my anti-freak-out exercises: Breathe, count, focus. I kept at it until the past receded, taking the panic with it.
