“Well, I really don’t want to go on a date, and my career is rock bottom, so it’ll have to be some sort of an activity.” Rebecca fervently hoped the selection would be ‘Making Maracas’ or ‘An Afternoon Kite Flying’, which she and Max had discovered, but somehow she doubted Deb would let her off so easily.
“Right, now me and Nathan will confer. It’ll be a great way of meeting new guys, anyway.” She giggled. As she was in love, she expected the whole world to want to be, too. “Mmm, what do you think, Nath?” They huddled together in her cubicle, her blonde mane meeting his dark spikes. “Where will there be lots of hot, single men? Oh, and let’s find something she can do with Max, too, this being the first challenge.
“What about ‘Taking a Dance Class’? Must be on everyone’s wish list that, surely? It suggests the waltz or the tango. Here, did you know the tango is said to have been born in the brothels of Argentina, the dancers connecting chest-to-chest or hip-to-thigh displaying strong and determined passion? What could be better? Only two stars, Becky, must be an easy challenge, right?”
“You’re joking. I’m not taking Max to a tango class! Anyway, look what it says at the end. A dance class such as the tango or the jive is not for the faint-hearted when wishing to meet new people. No, Deb.”
“Well, okay, but I might persuade Fergus to take some lessons with me. We could perform a passionate tango as our first dance at the wedding reception—spice up the night and shock the grannies!”
Her infectious giggle rang around the office, causing Georgina to lift her eyes and throw them a puzzled look. Shaking her short, black curls, she returned to her phone call. It was their lunch break after all.
“Right, ‘Exercising Section,’ then. What sport have you always had a hankering to try? Yoga? Crossbow shooting? Oh, what about Morris dancing? Is that really a sport?”
“Be serious. I’ve not done any real exercise since giving birth to Max. Anything too energetic would be the first and last challenge to be attempted from the book and I’d end up in the A&E.”
“I suppose that also means ‘Climbing Mount Everest’ is not going to make Rebecca’s wonderful wish list, then?” Deb smirked.
Rebecca’s glare said, “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Right, got it.” She held the book up in front of her and Nathan’s faces. He glanced at the page and then peered around the cover at Rebecca.
“Sure,” Nathan agreed. “As good as any. And Max can join in with that, too, which is what the book is suggesting, I think. There’s a great club near us which runs a junior academy and welcomes kids from the age of three.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Rebecca’s heart hammered against her ribcage, particularly at Nathan’s suggestion that Max join her. She had not agreed to involving him in this crazy folly. But her new friends ignored her protestations.
“Yes, I’ve been to that club with Fergus’ nephew. It’s great fun. Right, decided.” Deb turned the chosen page toward Rebecca. “There you are, Becky, ‘Learning to Play Golf’. You can take Max along and have some fun just hitting the balls from the driving range, or there’s an American mini golf course to try out. You can enquire about the junior academy whilst you’re there for Max. It’s an activity you can do together and there’ll be lots of men wandering around in that delightful golf gear. You could kill two birds with one golf ball!”
She handed the book to Rebecca, who grabbed it and read out loud, “Learning to play golf is fun. Hitting a golf ball is easy, but hitting the ball in the direction you want it to go takes an enormous amount of practice. Mmm. Look at the warning at the end. Be sure never to stand in close proximity to a golfer’s swinging club. I foresee disaster.”
Rebecca shot a glance from Nathan to Deb, disappointed to see not a smidgeon of concession to her dire prediction. And these people were supposed to be her new friends. She grasped her courage ’round the scruff of its neck and drew in a breath.
“Okay, it’s as good a start as any. Dad took the game up when he retired. He loved the fresh air, the peace, and tranquility on the course on a crisp spring morning and he’d love to hear me and Max are giving it a go together. We can share golf anecdotes. I accept the challenge, the first ‘lucky dip’ on Rebecca’s Wonderful Wishes Decathlon, but it’ll be a couple of weeks before we can go.”
She noticed Deb’s blue eyes cloud over, and glanced up just in time to slam the book into her desk drawer and affix a smile as Lucinda approached.
“There’s a training course scheduled for Saturday, fourth May. I’m asking you all to put the date in your diaries. All excuses denied—three-line whip. It’s imperative we stay abreast of the recent developments in family and matrimonial litigation. There’ve been a number of important Supreme Court decisions in the financial relief field and we need to be fully conversant with the implications of each judgment. The details are on the e-mail Amanda has sent you.”
Amanda, Lucinda’s secretary, had the highest level of sympathy and respect of the employees of Baringer & Co. She had achieved fifteen years as personal assistant, commencing her servitude before Lucinda had been made partner at the age of twenty nine. She wore the metaphorical skin of a rhino.
Lucinda glanced at the three paralegals staring silently at her, her astute blue eyes resting on the exact spot where they had clustered around the little green book. With a soupcon of malice dancing in her eyes, she turned on her spindly heels and swept from the room in a cloud of cloyingly heavy perfume.
“That’s the bank holiday weekend, the witch. I wanted to go up to Edinburgh to see my mam. I’ll have to postpone until the Saturday night train which’ll be full of inebriated Scots.” Still mumbling under his breath, Nathan scooted back to his work station, seized his pen, which he set flicking, and replaced his headset.
“I hate her. It was probably her idea for us to do the training on the bank holiday weekend. She’s got no friends or family to spend time with, so why should she let us enjoy the break with ours? Me and Fergus had planned on mooching down to his sister’s in Brighton for a long weekend. She’s getting married next spring, so I’m going to regale her with the benefit of all my research and a bundle of glossy wedding magazines. Fiancées’ porn, Fergus calls it! What are you going to do, Becky? Will someone look after Max for you?”
“I’m not sure. I could ask my neighbour, Brian, but as it’s a bank holiday he may have plans himself. Oh, what if he can’t? I can’t miss the training. I need this job and I’ve got to keep on the right side of Lucinda. She’s done so much for me, I don’t want to let her down. I’ll have to come up with something.”
And why did I agree to join a golf session? Max hadn’t shown the slightest interest in any sport. Well, I suppose now he could.
CHAPTER TEN
Rebecca steered into Parklands Golf Club’s car park. She had booked them a place on the adult and child Try Golf course. Thankfully, the early June weather chose to grace them with the warm caress of a sunny Saturday morning. Driving rain and golf didn’t mix, as far as Rebecca was concerned.
As they sauntered to the clubhouse, Rebecca marveled at the blanket of calm and tranquility surrounding the golf course, despite its location in the middle of the city. Even the regularly descending aircraft flights failed to spoil the idyll. The only sounds to reach her ears were the wrens and chaffinches chirping their song—a treat she hadn’t paused to notice for years—and the strumming purr of the greenkeeper’s industrial-sized grass mower.
She and Max had carefully studied the advice outlined in the little emerald book instead of the required bedtime reading about the exploits of a blue fictional steam locomotive. Giggling, they had pressed the old wooden rolling pin into service to try out their golf club grip. The book had advised that the game could become an obsession, that it’d take years for addicts to lower their handicaps.
Rebecca knew that golf was one obsession she’d never fall into the clutches of and she would certainly not need to be acquainted with the compl
icated formula for calculating one’s golf handicap, realising a degree in mathematics was advisable.
On arrival, Rebecca and Max were directed to the lobby of the driving range to meet the golf pro, and then waited nervously with four other parents and their children who ranged from Max’s age to around eight. Most people who play golf were ancient, Rebecca thought. Would the pro be a humourless, middle-aged golf professional who loathed children who couldn’t stand still for the full hour’s lesson?
“Hi there, everyone. I’m Nikki.” A lithe, tanned, mid-twenties girl with a glossy chestnut ponytail tucked into a golf cap sprang forward to greet the anxious group. “Thanks for coming along today to try your hand at golf. It’s a fabulous sport, especially as the game lends itself so well to playing as a family. I hope you are all going to have fun as well as learn the basics. We’ll start on the mini golf course, just so you can get the feel of the clubs, learn the correct grip and stance. But mainly, to enjoy the game! Okay?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Max bounced, oblivious to the other members of the group, but raising smiles all around.
“Right, adult clubs are over there,” Nikki pointed to a white steel basket from which a plethora of golf clubs protruded like over-sized lollipops, “Kid’s clubs there. Grab one each and let’s go.”
As she selected an old dented putter with a pitted grip, Rebecca relaxed. She had not expected a female golf pro when the guy who’d booked her and Max in had said the lessons would be with Nikki Hunter. The young woman’s enthusiasm and broad smile decreased the twisting nerves in Rebecca’s stomach. Her exuberant personality drew the kids into her wake like the Pied Piper, their miniature golf clubs dragging along behind them, eager to give the sport a chance.
“How old’s your little boy?” enquired a tall, slender, nervous-looking parent sporting a candy pink and cream diamond-checkered golf sweater.
“Oh, Max is four.”
“I’m Samantha Russell, call me Sam, and this is my son, Ben. He’s five. I’m not so sure about playing golf myself, apart from the great jumpers, but Ben is enthusiastic, so we’re up for the challenge.” She laughed, her blonde, graduated bob falling around her attractive freckled face.
“Same here! I’m Rebecca Mathews, by the way. Call me Becky.”
They waited on the side lines surveying Max, Ben, and the three other children who stood obediently in a line in front of Nikki, putters stretched before them.
The group remained silent in concentration as Nikki demonstrated how to grip their clubs, then how to safely swing them like a pendulum as an extension of their arms, adjusting thumbs where required. She ran through the rules, slowly making sure they understood. No club higher than their knees and any child found hitting another with a club would be asked to leave. They nodded, wide-eyed.
“Right then, pick your favourite coloured ball and off you go to hole number one whilst I sort your mums and dads out.” And with obedience rarely encountered at home, they trotted off to the first hole.
“We’ll let them get on with a couple of holes whilst I demonstrate the grip and swing, then we’ll pair back up for a game with score cards.” Nikki smiled at the apprehensive expressions on the parents’ faces, her slight frame belying her powerful swing and teaching techniques.
Rebecca listened carefully, placing her hands on the putter as instructed, keeping her arms loose but straight, attempting the pendulum action with her shoulders. More nervous giggling and cursing erupted from the adult group than was uttered from the children’s, but everyone got the hang of it.
The American-designed, mini-golf course was great fun. Eighteen holes of twists and turns, bridges and mounds, tunnels and water hazards. Laughter regularly erupted, with whooping and cheering as one of the dads scored a hole-in-one. Rebecca’s technique was rubbish, her stance too rigid, but she thoroughly enjoyed the new activity. It would be good to share her learning experience with her dad next time they were in Northumberland.
“Same time next week, please.” Nikki said. “We’ll move on to the driving range, learning the full swing from a tee with a seven iron for those who’d prefer to bring their own clubs. Any questions from today? Well, thank you all for coming, I hope everyone had fun and see you next week.” She replaced her pink baseball cap, pulling her chestnut ponytail through the gap at the back, before topping up her glistening apricot lip gloss as she strode off to her next lesson.
“Wow. That was so much fun, Mum. Can we come next week? Nikki is great, isn’t she? And I liked Ben, too. He’s kind.”
“Yes, it was fun, Max, and yes, we’ll definitely come back next week.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” He skipped ahead to the car park.
“Enjoy that?” called one of the dads as he bundled his daughter into the back of his shiny new four-by-four.
“Yes, I did. I think we’ll be coming back next week, anyway.” She smiled.
“Okay, see you then.”
Rebecca fastened Max into his seat. It was the first day in a long time they had had such fun together and Max was buzzing. She’d concentrated so hard on the instructions Nikki was explaining that she’d had no brain space available to wallow in her sad, complicated life. Her spirits lifted, she felt lighter somehow, her forehead less creased, her shoulders less hunched despite her aching elbows.
She’d been fortunate enough to spend her Saturday morning enjoying the fresh air, as the glow of the sunshine drew out her freckles, with her favourite person in the world, experiencing a new sport they both found they loved. She’d had fun. Real fun! And they’d clicked with Sam and her son, Ben. She’d never progress to being allowed onto the golf course, the holes seemed miles away, but she itched to report back to Deb, and Nathan in particular, that as far as the first challenge was concerned, she’d had fun, met new friends and, more importantly, so had Max.
Max’s little voice chirped from the back seat. “I’m glad you chose that activity out of your little green wish book, Mummy”
“Me, too, love. Actually, it was Deb from work who chose it for us to try.”
“Can we try another one, pleeeease?”
“How about ‘Designing, Modelling, and Launching Your Own Kite?’”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Told you she’d have fun, Nath. Oh, ye of little faith,” said Deb, as Rebecca relayed the details of the third session of the Adult and Child Golf Academy. That week’s session had centred on learning how to swing the largest of the golf clubs, the driver.
Deb particularly enjoyed the reluctant report of the embarrassing incident when Rebecca had gritted her teeth so hard as she swung the mammoth club, determined her little white ball of lead would fly at least as far as the fifty yard marker. She’d lost her balance on the upswing and stumbled face first into a pool of water collecting in the ditch at the edge of her bay, producing much hilarity, adult and child, and not enough sympathy from Nikki. But she was having the best time she’d had in years.
The weather had been perfect for June. The golf lessons were providing a welcome diversion from the constant daily struggle Rebecca endured delivering Max to nursery, the slog of the daily commute, maintaining the work rate at Baringer & Co, striving to remain in Lucinda’s good books, and leaving her desk in time to rescue Max from nursery before she was charged exorbitant late fees.
Max appeared more relaxed, too. His sleeve-sucking had minimised, so his keyworker had recorded, although not eradicated. He was less concerned about the snide comments made by Stanley, more about what he and his new best friend, Ben, would be learning during the golf activities on Saturday. He was pressing to join the junior academy when the Try Golf sessions finished at the end of July. Rebecca worried she wouldn’t be able to afford it, but wasn’t prepared to burst his golf ball-shaped bubble quite yet.
“Okay. Next challenge from our sparkling emerald book of wishes,” mused Deb.
“Oh, no. Technically, we haven’t finished this one yet!”
Ignoring
Rebecca’s protestations, Deb continued, “I’m afraid it’s the ‘Wishes with Partners’ section this time, my friend. Right, let’s start at the beginning. Number one is ‘Meeting’, which goes hand-in-hand with number two, ‘Kissing’.” Deb’s freckled nose crinkled mischievously in query, her cobalt eyes challenging Rebecca. “Need any help on that score, Becky?”
“Very funny.”
“And then number three, ‘Romancing’. We’ll work through those, and then, if you’re successful, we can move on to number four, ‘Marrying’.”
“I still think this is ridiculous, Deb,” Nathan interrupted. “You can’t just plan a relationship from suggestions in a wish book. Poor Becky, she’s cowering at the very thought, cringing right down to her toes.”
“Did she or did she not have a fabulous time at the Try Golf taster sessions? Did she or did she not meet new friends for herself and Max? A complete success, I’d say. Now, shut up or I’ll pick one out for you, Nathan. Mmmm, yes, from the ‘Partners’ section, there’s ‘Learning to Morris dance’. You can do this one, Nath.”
He scowled at her whilst Deb pretended to scan the little gems of wisdom, a flinty look in her determined eyes.
“In this section on procrastination, the book recommends you enlist the support of friends, start small, and set yourself small-scale deadlines. Right, Nath, get on with that application to court to see Millie. Rebecca’s offered to help you. She’s an expert. It’s what she did all the time at Harvey & Co and she was frequently successful, weren’t you, Becky? Small steps, the book advises. A solicitor’s letter initially, I think. Better check with Lucinda first, Becky, make sure she supports Nathan using the firm’s letter heading. You can promise to do it in your own time, if needs be.”
The Wish List Addiction Page 6