by Beth Thomas
‘Four K,’ Martin said. ‘About two and a half miles an hour. Get your balance, then we’ll speed things up a bit.’
I panicked. I must have done. There’s no other explanation. One minute I was upright, walking confidently and calmly, even starting to enjoy it in some insane way, then Martin leaned over and pushed a button and everything went wrong. The ground whizzed away beneath me and my feet went sideways instead of forwards and hit the non-moving edge of the platform briefly. I lost my balance and had to grab the handrails to steady myself, but didn’t manage to get a proper grip in my panic. My shoes scuffed the walking surface repeatedly and I kept staggering forwards, my arms flailing in the air. Eventually I managed to grab the handrails again and lifted my entire body weight off the platform, but my elbow gave out and I collapsed suddenly back down onto the walking surface, and fell onto my knees.
‘YAAH! HELP ME!’ I yelled out as I was gently and smoothly transported to the end of the conveyor and deposited into the insoles display.
‘Christ alive!’ Martin yelped, and leaped into the air in a rare moment of abandon, as the entire rack of insoles teetered for a few seconds, then finally tilted forwards and showered me soundlessly with weightless packets of feet-shaped foam. ‘Jesus tonight, are you all right?’ He touched down lightly by my side and bent over to look at my humiliation more closely.
I nodded. ‘I’m fine. But I need to put my bruised ego in your accident book.’
He blinked, then frowned a little. ‘Oh, right.’ He straightened up and glanced quickly at Abs, who was by now folded in half with one hand over her mouth and the other wrapped round her belly. He looked back at me, then craned his neck anxiously towards a door marked ‘Staff Only’. ‘Well then, I’d better just go and get … the …’ It was obvious he was struggling to understand whether I was serious, so I let him off.
‘No, it’s fine, I’m fine, don’t worry.’ I stood up and picked boxes of feet out of my hair. ‘See? No harm done.’
Martin visibly brightened. The thought of paperwork was clearly bringing him down. Obviously one of those types who excelled at sport at school. ‘Oh, great! Well … I think we probably got enough footage there, so …’
I was frankly astounded by that statement. As far as I could work out, the only footage he’d have captured featured me upside down in the air, which wouldn’t have told him an awful lot about my walking technique. Oh, except for the fact that I wasn’t very good at it. But I had no intention of having another go, so I didn’t argue.
Abs – red-faced and still amazingly silent – and I followed Martin over to the wall of trainers and he talked us through which pair he thought would be most suitable.
‘Now Daisy,’ he began earnestly, ‘the interesting thing about the way that you walk is …’ But it wasn’t interesting at all. My attention immediately wandered over to some movement behind the demon treadmill. Two boys in hoodies, both around fourteen or fifteen, were glancing furtively around the room, then focusing back towards the in-store pharmacy. They were obviously about to start shoplifting things. I wondered vaguely whether to mention it to Martin, but it was far more interesting to see what happened. They moved closer together so their hoodies met up and formed a kind of hoodie tunnel for them to talk in. They conversed for a few seconds, re-emerged and looked around again, then edged nearer to the display. After one more quick scan of the room they were satisfied that no one was watching, so advanced finally to the display and, in a lightning-fast and clearly well-practised manoeuvre, seized a small, familiar-looking purple box each. The boxes flashed briefly in the air between them before being instantly concealed somewhere about their person and they moved off quickly. I turned back to Martin to alert him, but then noticed that the boys were slouching über-casually over to the tills. Of course. They weren’t shop-lifting; they were buying their first condoms. Romance isn’t dead.
Eventually I had to tear my eyes away and pay the million pounds Martin wanted for the space-age trainers he’d selected. Apparently they were made with some kind of new technology, involving a recently developed innovative substance probably derived from something that fell to earth from a galaxy far, far away, and would improve my balance, increase my fitness and tighten up the overall tone of my buttocks and thighs as I walked.
‘Wow,’ I nodded, exaggeratedly impressed. ‘Are they bringing an end to suffering and world poverty too?’ I handed over a thick wad of cash.
Martin looked from side to side, a tiny frown confusing his face. ‘Er, well … no. I don’t think so. Not really. I’m not sure that’s … You know, because they’re not made in the …’
I sagged with disappointment. ‘Oh. What a shame.’ Then I brightened. ‘Well, never mind. It’s certainly a relief to hear that the scientists are all keeping themselves busy.’
Martin glanced at Abs, then back at me. ‘Erm, I’m not sure that I …’ He trailed off.
I smiled and nodded. ‘Yeah, you know, after that whole cure-for-cancer fiasco.’
‘Right, OK, well, thank you very much,’ Abby said suddenly, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the exit. ‘Bye!’
So I had the magic trainers. In a cardboard box, in a carrier bag, on the back seat of Abby’s car. As we drove, the bag jangled softly, and little gold and rainbow-coloured sparks erupted from it then evaporated in the air. Abby kept up an excited monologue all the way back to her place, about how great it all was, and how I could now finally start my proper training, and get out on the streets every day, starting tomorrow, even if it was just for twenty minutes to begin with, and then I could build up to an hour by increasing by ten minutes every day. And she would join me at weekends, and some evenings. And we would both get fit and toned and healthy and then complete the MoonWalk next month really easily and feel fantastic and a huge sense of achievement as well as raising a bucketful of cash for the cancer that killed my mum, which would in turn contribute towards improving research and treatment and could in the end help save someone else’s mum or daughter or sister or grandmother or auntie. I said nothing. I wasn’t feeling it. One step at a time, I thought. No need to get carried away.
OK. Julia Roberts has just told Hugh that she’s just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her. I adore this bit. Internationally worshipped multi-millionaire A-list movie star falls for witty and diffident but obscure small bookshop owner, and propositions him. It makes you believe that anything is possible. Like maybe one day I’ll be standing in Tesco by the hair removal cream and Matt Damon will happen to have popped in for cotton buds and a travel iron, and he’ll see me and tell me he’s actually just a simple man who’s fallen in love with a simple girl or something, and all he can offer me is his heart, no more, no less. And unlike Hugh I’ll snatch his bloody hand off and jet off with him straight to his Beverly Hills mansion for a life of parties and extravagance.
Hugh has turned her down though. Big mistake. Huge. But it all works out in the end. Of course it does, it’s a film. I’m a bit distracted this afternoon, actually. Can’t concentrate properly on the story. Well, I do know the story already, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get something new out of it each time I watch it. The problem now is that it’s already half past three, and Abs is likely to get in from work anywhere between four and five, without warning. Being her own boss, she can finish work as soon as she’s had enough. No, all right, probably not as soon as she’s had enough. Not that exact second. She probably has to finish the lesson she’s giving before packing up for the day. Be a bit much if she just leaned over on the bypass, opened the driver’s door and gave her current pupil a good shove to send them tumbling out, then drove home. But she’s a professional, I’m sure she doesn’t do that. She probably pulls over first. Anyway I have no way of knowing what time she’ll get in, which means I have to be ready. I wait for a good shot of Hugh’s face, then pause the film. I can come back to that. I need to shut my computer down, put my quilt back on my bed and get the magic trainers on before she
gets home. Then I can tell her I’ve just got back from a twenty-five-minute walk.
My messenger makes the popping noise just as I’m about to close the web page I’m on. I have to move quickly now. That message is bound to be Abby checking up on me.
Daisy Mack
Is alternating contact with the ground of the lowest appendages of my body for 30 sweeps of the long hand. It’s more difficult than it sounds, people.
OK, that’s that done. Hey, no one ever said that what goes on to Facebook has to be truthful.
I click on the message and find that it is from Abby and my body floods with relief. I’ve still got plenty of time to get sorted before she gets home. I relax down into the sofa again.
Abby Marcus What you doing?
Daisy Mack Hi Abs! Just got back from a walk. What are you doing?
I’m pretty pleased with myself there. Straight away I’ve given her the impression that I’ve been out walking, no hesitation. Add that to my status when she reads it later and she’ll have to believe me. No, wait. Maybe I should have not answered her for ten minutes or so, then I could have said I’d just got back. Would have been much more believable. Never mind, never mind, it’s too late now. Anyway, I can save that one for tomorrow. Yes.
Abby Marcus You’ve been online a long time. Are you sure you’ve been out??
Shit shit shit. Of course. Facebook always tells you the other members known to you who are online at the same time as you, so you can instant message them if you want. Which is clearly what she’s just done. Why didn’t I realise that? I’ve been on here for hours.
Daisy Mack Yes, definitely. Twenty-five minutes, to the park and back, just like you said. Must be some kind of error on your computer. Have you refreshed the page recently?
Yeah, I know, pretty lame. But Abs is so trusting, bless her, she’s bound not to even question it. Or maybe she just assumes that no one would ever dare to do anything other than what she’s told them to do. That’s probably more likely.
Abby Marcus How odd. I just assumed you’d left your computer logged on when you went out for your walk.
Bugger it. Bugger bugger bugger. What the hell is the matter with me? God, if I’d thought it through properly and not panicked, I’d have realised that of course I would have left the laptop logged onto Facebook while I was out walking. Because I was only going to be out for twenty-five minutes max, so I could simply pick up where I left off when I got back.
Abby Marcus You didn’t really go out, did you? Be honest, Daze.
Shit.
Daisy Mack Course I did, Abs. Do you really think I would be lying about it? What would be the point of that??
Abby Marcus Yes I do. And the point would be to get me off your back.
Daisy Mack
Actually, I don’t really know what to say here. She’s completely and utterly, absolutely, one hundred percent right. And I am exactly the same amount in the wrong. She’s my best friend, she’s really been there for me since Mum died, kind and supportive, helping me out with all the hideous arrangements, checking up on me all the time; and now she’s taken me in and let me have her spare room while I pull myself together and sort myself out somewhere to live. And she’s only making me do this MoonWalk thing for my own good. Everything she’s doing right now is for my own good. I absolutely cannot lie to her any more.
Daisy Mack Well actually, Abby, to be totally honest, I’m pretty upset that you’re even questioning me about it. Of course I have been out walking. I said I would, didn’t I? And I didn’t want to tell you that I’d left the laptop on while I was out because I was a bit ashamed that I was wasting your electricity. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re recompensed for that.
Don’t look at me, OK? I’m only lying to her for her own good. I want to make her happy, that’s all.
Abby Marcus *pokes out bottom lip* I’m so sorry Daze. I do believe you, of course I do. Well done for getting out there, I’m proud of you. Hey, shall we get a take-away and watch Notting Hill tonight? I haven’t seen that one for ages!
Daisy Mack Brilliant idea. I love that film. What time are you getting home?
Abby Marcus Finishing in about half an hour. Will get food on the way home. Fire up the DVD player!! Xx
Daisy Mack I’m warming it up even as we speak!
Don’t look at me, I said. I’ve been through a tough time. I need empathy and understanding.
FOUR
Daisy Mack
is thinking that maybe the time has come to get her act into gear. Or at least, to have a browse through the gear and try and pick something her act might like.
Suzanne Allen Dare I say that it’s about time?
Daisy Mack Apparently you do.
Georgia Ling Luv ya hunni <3 X o X <3
Jenny Martin Your wierd.
Is there anything more gorgeous than the park on a warm spring morning, with daffs and crocuses clustered in colourful clumps around every shrub and tree, sun filtering in golden patches through the thick greenery, a gentle breeze with a delicious sea tang whispering through the leaves, and all the kids at school? Well, yes, possibly a walk by the actual beach would be just as nice. The rush and pull of waves lapping, shouts of children, gulls calling and the air sharp with that strong sea smell. The south-east coast is only four miles away from here, but that means to walk beside the seaside would add eight miles onto my journey. I’m finding that a walk in the park is much more pleasant anyway.
I’m taking a breather on the grass – don’t see why not, I’m in no rush – and the only other people here are dogwalkers (inevitably with their dogs, unfortunately), a few mums with toddlers on leads, and elderly couples sitting silently together on the benches. They’ve been married so long, they don’t even need to speak to each other any more. They’re just staring straight ahead, enjoying the tranquillity and comfortable companionship of their golden age. Either that or each is wondering how much it will cost to put a plaque on the bench when the other one dies.
Ah but that doesn’t matter: it’s an idyllic scene. They could be plotting to kill each other with a faulty electrical connection for all I care. I stretch my legs out in front of me a bit more and tilt my face up to the sun, resting the weight of my body behind me on my hands. Abby said nothing about taking a breather when I got here, so this is definitely allowed. And this is all new for me; I need to be careful.
Sitting here on the grass in the park, surrounded by daisies and dogs, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. I have been propelled out of my bed, into my trainers and onto the road – pausing only long enough to put on the rest of my clothes – by my deep commitment to the challenge before me, and my passionate, altruistic desire to help anyone who might be suffering. Oh, plus Abby was on to me.
I say she was on to me, which makes it sound like she’d caught me out being deceitful; but all I was doing was pretending to be out walking when I was actually reclining on the sofa. And believing I was out walking every day was making her happy, so I went to a lot of effort to keep the illusion up. Well, Abs is my best friend in the world – I’d do anything for her.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ she said every day when she got in from work and saw all the effort that I’d gone to. She came over to me and rubbed my arm. ‘I know it’s not easy, Daze, but it will be worth it.’ She was absolutely right; it wasn’t easy at all. I had to rub my new trainers in the flower borders to get them dirty, and then rake over the earth afterwards to hide the shoe prints. Then I had to clean the rake. Putting it back in the shed was always a bit tricky. I had to make sure I put it back exactly where it came from, without disturbing any of the other tools. I started off trying to memorise how everything went, then after the third day I realised that was stupid and just took a photo of all the tools with my phone. But she was also right about the effort being worthwhile. She started to transform from pale and worried to glowing and happy. Which made me feel all warm inside.
I’ve taken my trainers and socks off now and am rolli
ng over onto my stomach. The sun on the backs of my legs is delicious. I rest my head on my arms and close my eyes. I love this park. My mum used to bring me here when I was little. Well, not here exactly. Not this actual park. But one similar. One park’s pretty much just like the next really, isn’t it? Especially when you’re five or something. I can’t really remember it, but there was definitely grass, and some trees. Probably dogs with Frisbees in their mouths. Old people: they’re everywhere. I was forever wandering off back then, foraging, exploring, discovering new territories or previously unknown species of things. I remember I once found an uncharted island in a park that was exactly like this one – except it had two very important things that this one lacks: a gigantic lake in the middle; and my mum. I spotted the landmass from the shore, and went straight into the water in my daisy-spotted wellies (needless to say, I adored all things daisy) so I could study its flora and fauna and make a detailed record in my log at home. By the time I got to the island in the middle of the lake, (OK, it was probably more of a pond than an actual lake, but I was only five or something), thick muddy water was sloshing over the top of my wellies and filling them up, forming a new habitat for several different types of algae and a couple of lizards. But I barely noticed. Why would I, when I was about to make a significant geological discovery? I climbed onto the landmass and turned back triumphantly, shielding my eyes and peering through the haze to view the distant shore.
‘Daisy Macintyre, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’ Mum said, four feet away from me. Maybe it was more of a large, deep puddle than an actual pond. But to me it was an ocean, with new terrain to be charted and an indigenous population to be encountered and studied. ‘Come back here, please.’
‘I found an island!’ I yelled, as if she were a speck on a far-away horizon. ‘Look at me – I’m the conker!’ I punched the air with a grubby fist.
‘Conqueror,’ Mum automatically corrected. ‘Daisy, look at the state of you. You’re absolutely filthy.’ She put her hands on her hips and pressed her lips together. ‘I am furious with you. You will come back here straight away, or there will be consequences.’ Slowly she moved her gaze down my mucky self. ‘Do you want me to march right over there and get you?’