Girl on the Run

by Jane Costello

  ‘And?

  ‘We got horrendously, disgracefully drunk, as silly young men do when they haven’t seen each other for a while.’

  ‘But you don’t drink,’ I say.

  ‘Not now. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since this happened.’ He pauses. ‘We bumped into Aunt Steph and one of her friends; I think she was called Cheryl. Thommo fancied her anyway – and insisted we stuck like glue to them for the rest of the night. He ended up getting together with Steph’s friend and, well, we were left trailing round after them. The rest of the night’s a blur.’

  I don’t know whether this is true or if he’s saying it to spare me the details. He looks at me, sensing my scepticism. ‘What I will say is that we ended up at Steph’s house, steaming drunk and unable to think straight. It was then that, well . . . don’t make me go on, Abby.’

  I swallow, feeling quite ill. ‘Was it only a kiss or . . . more?’

  He looks at his hands in shame. ‘More.’

  Tears spill down my cheek. ‘But why? How could both of you be involved in such a betrayal?’

  ‘I’ve thought a lot about that over the years,’ Dad says sorrowfully. ‘In Steph’s case it was never a secret that she’d spent years in your mother’s shadow. She was less clever, less beautiful, less charismatic. She and Gill were never rivals, but with hindsight, Steph’s feelings of resentment must have always been there, bubbling under the surface.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  Dad sighs, misery etched on his features. ‘That’s a very good question, love. One there’s no answers to except the crudest kind: alcohol, excitement and sex. Such fleeting and weak reasons – ones I’ve forfeited a life of stability and happiness for.’ He frowns again. ‘I made a terrible, terrible mistake. I’d never been unfaithful before – I’d never even thought of it. But that became an irrelevance. And I’ve paid the price for it every day of my life since.’

  ‘How did Mum find out?’

  ‘Steph told her, two weeks afterwards. She said she was tormented with guilt and couldn’t live with the secret. I don’t know what she expected Gill to do: shrug her shoulders and say, “Never mind, sis”? I mean, some women may be able to live with their husbands doing the dirty on them – but with their own sister? I can understand how Gill couldn’t stomach it, can’t you?’

  I nod. ‘Absolutely. It must be, well . . . unforgivable.’

  There are so many emotions spinning in my mind I don’t know where to begin unravelling them. I look at my dad, torment scribbled on his face, and feel fury at him – and pity – in equal measure. Then I think of Mum. My brilliant, batty mum who could have told me years ago that it wasn’t her fault, but chose to spare me the details and put up with the blame I heaped on her.

  ‘Steph had been talking about emigrating shortly before all this, but she was never really the adventurous type, so nothing ever happened. But in the aftermath, I think she’d have done anything to escape. Your mum and I separated as soon as she found out, though it was years until we got round to the official divorce.’

  ‘Why was that?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps a tiny part of us held on to some hope. I know I did. And I think even your mother would have liked to be able to pretend it had never happened. But who could?’

  I run a hand through my hair, feeling numb. ‘I couldn’t have got it more wrong, could I?’

  ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me, Abby.’ Fat tears slip down his cheeks and my stomach contracts. ‘I’ve never even forgiven myself. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry.’

  I feel a surge of anger, disgust and hatred – feelings that are stronger and more bitter than anything I’d ever imagined myself capable of, especially towards my father. Then I look at him sitting on the sofa, weeping the tears of a man who has paid the ultimate price for his mistake – and who’ll never recover.

  I scramble to him on the sofa and put my arms around him, squeezing him as hot tears sting my skin.

  ‘There’s one thing I was right about though, isn’t there?’ I whisper, pulling away from him and looking into his bloodshot eyes. ‘You’re still in love with Mum, aren’t you?’

  He inhales deeply and slowly. ‘More than she’ll ever know.’

  Chapter 66

  There are only two months to go before the half-marathon, yet the last place I want to be is at the running club. It’s too traumatic in the light of the events on holiday.

  I consider giving up the club altogether and training by myself, but Jess is convinced that it’ll impact on my ability to compete – and everything I read on running websites concurs. So I turn up, but make strenuous efforts to avoid both Tom and Geraldine; something I achieve by getting to every session late and making an excuse to dart off immediately at the end.

  The only upside is that the gossip about Oliver and me spreads through the group like wildfire after the holiday, so if people notice my strange behaviour, they assume it’s because he’s eaten me alive and discarded me like yesterday’s pizza.

  Under normal circumstances, it’d be horribly humiliating. But these aren’t normal circumstances, so I’m happy to be a four-cheese deep-pan with extra topping. The ridiculous thing is that, after spending months targeting Oliver, he barely registers in my mind these days.

  Now I’m forced to accept something I’ve denied since day one: that it’s Tom I’ve fallen for. Hook, line and sinker.

  Despite saying little to either Tom or Geraldine since the holiday, I am terrified. I don’t know if I’m reading things into their body language that aren’t there, but I get a feeling that Geraldine suspects something. Even from afar, I detect a subtle shift in her mood when Tom and I are within twenty-five feet of each other.

  Despite or perhaps because of this, I spend a stupid amount of time thinking about him. I miss him as a friend and long for him as a lover. I wish circumstances were different, but they’re not. And if there’s one thing my dad’s revelation has underlined, it’s that I will not be responsible for breaking up someone else’s relationship.

  Just as I am starting to believe I might be able to make it to the half-marathon without ever having a complete conversation with Tom, I receive an email from him at work and open it with a thrashing heart.

  Abby

  I really want to talk to you. I hate it that we’re not friends any more. I’ve got a million things I want to say and no opportunity. Give me a break and let me say my piece. I’ll be in Keith’s Wine Bar after running tomorrow night if you’re willing to chat. Please.

  Tom

  xx

  There is no way I’m taking part in a clandestine meeting. All it would do is fuel the feelings I’m working so hard to suppress. Plus, imagine if Geraldine found out. Yet I don’t want to row with him; that’s the last thing I want. I phrase my response carefully.

  Tom

  I can’t meet you tomorrow – I promised Jess I’d go to the cinema with her. And I didn’t say I wasn’t your friend. Just that for everyone’s sake it’s best to keep a distance. Hope you understand.

  Abby.

  I spend ten minutes contemplating whether to follow his example and put kisses on the bottom. At first I think one might be acceptable, then remove it. Then I think anything less than two seems aloof, then I remove those. At one point I get to three, then tell myself I need a brain transplant, before taking off anything approaching a kiss, come-on or innuendo, and hit Send.

  His response arrives less than a minute later.

  Abby

  It’s Jess’s wedding anniversary tomorrow and she’s going out for dinner with Adam – she told me yesterday. So I’ll be at Keith’s. If you feel you can come, then great. If not, I’ll be disappointed, but will understand.

  Tom

  xxx

  I hit respond.

  Don’t go to Keith’s. I won’t be there.

  His response arrives in five seconds.

  I’ll be there, in case you change your mind
. Which I hope you do. Please.

  I hit respond again.

  I won’t change my mind. And I’m not opening up any more emails, just so you know.

  I check my emails all day after that, but there are no more. Then I spend all evening and all the following day wondering what would happen if I turned up. Even as the running club finishes and I studiously avoid the gaze Tom has permanently locked on me, it takes every bit of effort to get into the car and drive straight home.

  I’m thinking about him all night, as I make dinner, fill a bath, pull on my pyjamas and get into bed. When a text arrives at 10.30, my heart leaps in case it’s him and I scold myself.

  Jess’s name appears instead.

  OMG! Adam just gave me the necklace – amazing! And a load of other presents too. Thanx Abs for all your advice in the last few wks. Have been a fool. Will never even look at another man again, let alone do what I did. Speak tomorrow x

  I turn the phone onto vibrate and switch off my bedside light. At least someone’s happy.

  Chapter 67

  I meet Jess at Jamie’s soccer club on Saturday morning and to say she’s still spinning from being given the necklace doesn’t quite cover it.

  ‘Abby, it’s gorgeous,’ she breathes.

  ‘I know,’ I grin. ‘I’m not even telling you how much Adam paid for it.’

  ‘I can imagine. But that’s not why I love it. He’s never done anything like this before. He said he wanted to remind me how much he loved me.’ She smiles, but her eyes are glassy. ‘Well, it worked.’

  ‘Good,’ I whisper.

  ‘I feel ashamed, though – that I needed something like this to remind me. I mean, it’s just a thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘A pretty damn fabulous thing.’

  ‘Yeah, but, that’s not the point. The point is my husband is amazing. I don’t ever want to be without him. I only wish I’d realised it before . . .’

  There’s a smattering of applause from further along the bench and when we look up, Jamie has scored a goal. Jess and I hastily jump up and begin cheering. When we sit again, she confides, ‘I’m eaten up about what I did, Abby. I can’t sleep. How could I have even thought about having sex with another man?’

  ‘Look, Jess – a silly fling destroyed my mum and dad’s marriage. But it’s not going to destroy yours. Just be thankful that you’ve seen the light before you did anything really stupid. Move on.’

  ‘Sorry, Abby,’ she says. ‘I’ve not even asked you about how you’re feeling about your parents since the other day. Are you okay?’

  I shrug. ‘Still reeling, to be honest. And I feel bad about Mum. I’ve held this grudge against her for half my life. If only I’d known what really happened, I’d have understood her decision to leave. I might not have liked it, but I’d have understood.’

  ‘Have you said anything to her?’

  ‘God, no. She wouldn’t appreciate Dad filling me in.’

  ‘Why, when he was the guilty party?’ Jess asks.

  ‘She’s always wanted me to be spared the unseemly details of their break-up, according to Dad. She thinks it’s better to keep their version of the story suitably vague. She’d kill him if she found out he’d told me.’

  ‘I can see why she didn’t want you to know the real reason,’ Jess concurs. ‘All parents want to shelter their kids from stuff like that. If Jamie ever found out what I’d done . . .’ She shudders.

  ‘Nobody will find out,’ I whisper. ‘It’s between you, me and John. Do you still see him much at work?’

  She swallows. ‘Yep.’

  ‘Do you still have feelings for him?’

  ‘Not any more. Aside from my realisation about Adam, I’ve seen what he’s really like. I feel so stupid. And to think I was seduced by a few stupid words. That three months ago, a guy managed to get me into bed by telling me I had “fairytale-moon eyes”. What an idiot I was!’ she laughs.

  My blood runs cold. I suddenly want to press the pause button on our conversation, rewind and hear it again.

  ‘What did you say, Jess?’ I ask quietly.

  ‘Hmmm? What?’ she asks, distractedly clapping another goal from Jamie.

  ‘What did you say?’ I repeat calmly. ‘The line he seduced you with?’

  She looks at me and registers my expression. And that’s all it takes to realise her blunder – the fact that, with one remark, her story has unravelled.

  I try to stay calm as I take in the implications of what she’s said. ‘There is no John, is there?’

  ‘Wh-what do you mean?’ She sounds frightened.

  ‘You know exactly what I mean, Jess.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she replies, but her neck is crimson.

  ‘Tell me: how likely do you think it is that two separate men would come up with a line as corny and as crap – but as bloody original – as “you’ve got fairytale-moon eyes”?’

  ‘Did . . . someone else say that?’ she asks tepidly. Before I have a chance to respond, Jamie runs towards us as his football training comes to an end.

  ‘Hi, sweetie. You were fantastic,’ she stammers. As she starts to put on his coat, she glances at me. Panic flashes across her face and, if there was any doubt before, my suspicion is confirmed.

  The man my best friend slept with is Oliver.

  Chapter 68

  How’s that for a tangled personal life? It’s almost laughable.

  First I sleep with Oliver – a man I’ve chased for four months.

  Then I almost kiss Tom – a man I started out hating, progressed to liking, and now am trying to stop myself being in love with, because he’s someone else’s boyfriend.

  Then I discover that, after years of thinking that Mum had just got fed up with Dad and buggered off for a change of scene, actually, he had slept with another woman. Who happened to be my aunt.

  Now I find out that I wasn’t the only one seduced by the deceptive charms of Doctor Dishy: so too was my best friend.

  My life hasn’t turned into a soap opera, it’s an epic bloody melodrama.

  All I want now is quiet. I crave nothingness. So in the twenty-four hours after the revelation about Jess and Oliver I do little, except watch Strictly twice on Sky Plus (even though it wasn’t that riveting the first time) and start sorting out my sock drawer. I’m now lying on the sofa, having abandoned both – the socks and Strictly – when the bell rings. I drag myself to the door and open it to find Jess on the doorstep, her forehead etched with distress.

  ‘Abby, can we talk?’

  I let her in. ‘How are things?’

  My friend has dark circles under her eyes that make her look fragile in a way that doesn’t suit her at all. ‘I’m really sorry, Abby,’ she says, perching on the sofa.

  ‘You keep saying that. What are you sorry for? Oliver was never mine.’

  ‘I know, but I knew what you felt for him,’ she sighs. ‘The only thing I can say is that I felt exactly the same. I tried not to – bloody hell I tried – but I failed, didn’t I? Just like I’ve failed at everything. Being a wife. Being a friend.’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ I object. ‘You really haven’t.’

  ‘Well, after I slept with Oliver, it felt like I’d done the dirty on you as well as Adam – and I hate myself for it, I really do. All I wanted was for these feelings about him to go away – but I just couldn’t make them. How weak does that make me? I’m horrible.’

  ‘Jess, please. You didn’t do the dirty on me.’

  ‘I wanted to warn you about what a womaniser he was, but didn’t know how to without confessing the whole thing,’ she babbles on. ‘I just felt so bloody helpless. I’d betrayed you as much as—’

  ‘Jess, stop!’ I interrupt. ‘Look, I need to tell you something anyway that might make you feel better.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ she says. ‘But go on.’

  ‘I feel nothing for Oliver any more,’ I tell her.

  She takes a deep breath. ‘Well, there’s a coincidence, because neither do I. If only we’
d seen the light sooner, eh?’

  ‘Yeah, well, it gets worse. I think I’ve fallen for Tom.’

  Her eyes widen. ‘Shit. Seriously? After what happened in Tenerife?’

  I shrug. ‘If I’m honest, it probably happened a long time before that.’

  Jess and I talk for the rest of the evening and it’s a blessed relief, for both of us. As she finally opens the door to leave and we hug each other goodnight, several facts crystallise in my mind.

  Fact one: no one’s perfect – as I prove to myself daily.

  Fact two: passion can do funny things to a woman – as I prove to myself hourly.

  And fact three: my best friend and I need each other – and always will.

  Chapter 69

  As the chill of winter descends on Liverpool, my resolve to complete the half-marathon is stronger than ever.

  It’s not just a mental thing. Despite the ups and downs, of which I admit there have been many, I’ve broadly followed the training schedule I set when I joined the running club in the summer. The result is that I am at a place physically that I never thought possible – not for someone like me. For the first time in months I believe – no, I know – that I am going to complete this half-marathon. I no longer have any doubts. Even if I crawl round, I am going to complete it.

  It’s a bitter Thursday night with sky the colour of treacle, and the sweat on my body turns to ice the second I finish my run. I take a moment to recover and am about to head straight to the car, when Mau starts gassing.

  ‘This half-marathon’ll be a breeze if you run like you did tonight,’ she grins. Despite the sub-zero temperatures, Mau’s got her cleavage out and is adorned with so much precious metal I’m surprised it hasn’t stuck to her.