Carry You
Page 37
7! 6! 5!
‘What?!’
4! 3!
‘Why have you got …’
2!
‘… photos of the inside of my shed on your phone?’
1! And we’re off!
Air horns sound, whistles blow, a giant cheer goes up and we shuffle through the gate onto the street.
‘Let’s do this thing!’ I shout, and we slap our hands together in a high five.
MILE ONE
‘I feel OK. Are you OK? I’m OK!’
‘It’s one mile, Daisy.’
MILE FIVE
‘So you actually took photos of the inside of the shed to make sure you put the rake back in the right place?’
Pause. ‘Yes.’
‘You put an awful lot of time and effort into avoiding training, didn’t you?’
‘I know.’
MILE TEN
‘For the love of Lonsdale, will you please stop singing, Daisy?’
‘But I feel so fantastic, I want to sing, why would you make me stop, it’s not fair.’
‘Urrr, because it’s awful?’
‘Meh.’
MILE FIFTEEN
‘Wow, look at that. Orange walkers.’
‘What? Where?’
‘Right here. Yeah, you snotty lot, acting all superior, like being orange makes you a bit special. Well look who’s coming past you! Oh yeah! Eat our dust, ha ha ha ha ha!’
‘She doesn’t mean it. Sorry, so sorry. Daisy, for crying out loud.’
MILE TWENTY
‘What’s the matter with you, misery guts?’
‘God, I have no idea. Maybe the fact that it’s half seven in the morning, I’ve been walking all night and I’ve got sore toes has got something to do with it. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re a grumpy groo and need to spend more time smiling and enjoying yourself. Grumpy groo.’
‘Grumpy groo? Really?’
MILE TWENTY-TWO
‘Tired.’
‘Unh.’
MILE TWENTY-THREE
‘Second wind?’
‘Nope.’
‘Me neither.’
MILE TWENTY-FOUR
‘Wow, look at that sky! Look at it! It’s totally amazing, isn’t it? Don’t you think?’
‘Oh my God yes, yes, it’s beautiful, look at those colours, the clouds all pink and orange, reflecting off everything, amazing. Kind of makes you believe in a higher power a little bit, doesn’t it?’
MILE TWENTY-FIVE
‘You know all the yellow walkers will be at home by now.’
‘Shut up.’
MILE TWENTY-SIX
‘Woohoo! We made it! We fucking made it, Abby! We did it! Where’s Tom then, where is he, can’t believe he’s not here and we fucking made it, we did it everyone, we did it!’
‘Um, Daisy, don’t forget this is a full marathon.’
‘What?’
TWENTY-SIX POINT TWO
‘OK, now we’ve actually done it. Bit of an anti-climax this time, thanks for not telling me.’
‘Oh get over yourself. We’ve just walked twenty-six point two miles!’
‘Oh my God, we have haven’t we? How bloody incredible is that?!’
‘It’s amazing. I’m so proud of you, Daisy, you worked so hard, you trained every day (eventually), you stomped and trudged and meandered and nearly died and finally here we are and we’ve done it. Bloody hell what a feeling!’
‘I’m on top of the world!’
‘Shut up, Daisy.’
Someone puts medals over our heads and there’s a photographer to capture our grey, dusty, exhaustion for ever. He gives us a card with the website address on it so we can locate our picture and buy it later.
‘Oh God, Daze, we have to do that, that will be amazing, to have this euphoria, this amazing feeling captured forever in a photo, I gotta have it, don’t you think?’
‘Sure.’ That photo will never see the light of day.
The urge to flop down onto the grass and doze in the sun is almost overwhelming, but all the literature and information we’ve had over the weeks has stressed repeatedly that, because of the danger of dehydration in the sun, muscle spasm or cramp, and rapid cooling of our bodies, we absolutely must not do that. The grass is, naturally, littered with prone bodies, all falling asleep in the sun.
‘Don’t sit down, ladies,’ a voice calls out, approaching us, and I look up to see that two-timing Tom has appeared, silent and severe as usual … No, wait a minute. He’s grinning! Abby lights up – if that’s possible, she’s pretty much already glowing – and Tom jogs towards her, grabs her round the waist and picks her up, spinning her round in the air. ‘You did it, you did it, you did it!’ he chants happily, while she spreads out her arms and throws her head back, allowing herself complete relaxation in his arms. At exactly the same moment as I realise I’m staring at them, a deep voice says into my ear,
‘That’s verging on voyeurism, you know.’
I turn to find, to my absolute delight, Felix standing there, hands in pockets, grinning down at me. My exhausted heart makes a valiant effort to thud, in spite of having been hard at it all night, and a smile forms on my dry, cracked lips. ‘You came.’
‘Well of course I did, you dozy Daisy. Not telling you whether or not I was coming would have been very cruel if the surprise turned out to be that I wasn’t.’
‘True.’
‘And it was very important to me to see what you look like when you look like crap.’
I frown a little. ‘What?’
He closes the gap between us and puts his hands on my waist. ‘And I’m very pleased but not surprised to see that even after pulling an all-nighter, when you’re sweaty, exhausted, dirty, dry and unkempt …’
‘All right!’
‘… that you’re still wearing that incredibly, breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful smile.’
‘Oh …’
He brings his face very close to mine and I can feel his warmth surrounding me as his hands move across my back. ‘You look happy. I love to see you looking happy.’
And as his arms close around me and he kisses me right there by the finish line, I know that finally, I am.
EPILOGUE
Local man Terence Wilson, 53, of Cleveland Avenue, Westfield, begins a two-year jail sentence today after being convicted of three counts of fraud at Westfield Crown Court.
Wilson, an unemployed father of two, admitted obtaining money by deception, after a two-year long campaign spanning two continents and involving twelve separate victims.
‘It’s possible there are more victims,’ said Inspector Dean of Westfield police outside the court yesterday. ‘This man’s activities could go back decades and involve quite small sums of money. But it’s only those who have lost substantial amounts that have come forward.’
Inspector Dean went on to say that Wilson’s profit from the scam, involving the exporting of non-existent cars to Eastern Bloc countries, totalled in the hundreds of thousands of pounds.
‘Some of his victims spent their life savings on this apparent “get-rich-quick” scheme,’ Inspector Dean said.
‘Like all good confidence tricksters, Wilson was very convincing,’ Dean went on. ‘He seemed to present a genuine idea, with genuine contacts. It wasn’t just trusting old ladies who fell for it.’
Russell and Naomi Mann, of Laurel Avenue, who invested an undisclosed sum six months ago, are among the con man’s younger victims. The couple first became suspicious when their contact in Belarus did not return any of their calls or emails. Mr Mann was reported as having invested sufficient funds to buy twenty old vehicles, which he was told by Wilson would make a profit of forty to fifty percent on his original investment.
‘It’s the classic “easy money” inducement,’ Inspector Dean commented yesterday. ‘All the contacts and details are done for you, all you have to do is put up the money and wait for your returns to come rolling in. It’s very tempting. But my
advice would be, if it looks too good to be true, it probably is.”
Mr and Mrs Mann declined to comment.
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Acknowledgements
There are so many people who deserve a mention here because of their courageous and moving battles with cancer. I won’t name anyone, but two incredible ladies in particular recently have filled me with awe and admiration. To have that much dignity and cheer whilst fighting for your life is a lesson to anyone who complains about traffic. You know who you are.
I need to say a huge thank you to the numerous people who walked with me during the writing of this book, in particular Sandie Hines, Lynne Sheridan and Richard Carbin, who covered the most miles.
Many many thanks also to Jason Danger Mckeen for the detailed information about sharks and marathons. Interesting hobbies …
Thank you to everyone who read this story and gave me feedback and encouragement as it came along, most notably my fab sister Annika Dann; and Suzanne Allen and Tracey Owen. You are truly the best sister and friends a woman who wrote a book about walking could ask for.
And finally thanks must go to the lovely Laura Morris and Lydia Newhouse, for sticking with me. I am so very grateful to both of you.
About the Author
Beth has always loved to write, a trait probably inherited from her uncle who is a very successful children’s author. Languages were her forte at school, but she decided not to go to university after her A levels as she had had enough of education by then. Also she had met her future husband and had started making plans. Her desire to be a writer was put on hold for a decade while she got married and had her two children, but when they were safely at school, or tucked up at night, she started again.
One day a friend suggested that they challenge themselves to do the MoonWalk, and it changed her life. The experience was not just the training and the event itself; it became a pivotal moment in her life that has inspired her over and over again to do more, to achieve more. She realised at the finish line that she could accomplish anything she set out to accomplish, and it gave her renewed belief in herself. She wrote Carry You partly in the midst of training (some of it dictated onto her phone while she was actually out walking) and partly a year after the event, by which time she had completed her second MoonWalk.
She now sets herself a new challenge every year. This year she has already faced her paralysing fear of heights and climbed Mount Snowdon. Working full time and writing every spare moment whilst giving her two teenagers the attention they deserve, and distance walking in between is a challenge in itself, but she needs something for next year. Ideas anyone?
About the Publisher
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