by Suzy K Quinn
At the start line there was an awesome atmosphere. Just awesome.
Huge holly wreathes hung over the twisty tinsel start line.
Loads of people were in costumes – mainly Christmas themed. There were thousands of Father Christmases (which is really going to confuse the kids) and various elves, snowmen etc.
Everyone was smiling and shivering. And sort of secretly pushing forward and trying to get in the best position.
You could tell half the runners were hyped up on glucose. One guy dressed as a giant snowman was so twitchy he started accusing people of ‘invading his area’ and bumping them with his big padded stomach.
I kept thinking about Alex.
Stupid. In a crowd of thousands. And anyway, I knew he’d be right near the front with the decent runners.
When the race started, everyone was all smiley.
Then after a mile or so, everyone stopped smiling.
After five miles, everyone had on their marathon faces: pain, misery and anguish.
And on we ran. And on. And on.
I felt so sorry for the people in costumes. You could tell they were really suffering – especially the ones with Father Christmas beards and padding.
It was so much harder than in training.
And SO cold. My lungs were absolutely burning and my fingers were bright red.
The crowd do cheer you on and cheer you up. But marathons are still horrible and gruelling and only professional athletes or maniacs should attempt them, let alone in winter.
By the time we crossed Tower Bridge, every step was agony.
All I could think was, ‘I want to stop, I want to stop!’
I wasn’t thinking about pacing myself or anything, just running and running.
At the halfway mark, I saw Mum, Dad, Laura, Brandi and Althea.
Dad was waving a Union Jack flag.
Mum was eating a mince pie. She went mental when she saw me.
‘WOOOOOOOOOOO JULES! WOOOOOOOOO JULIETTE! COME ON GIRL! SHOW THEM WHAT YOU’RE MADE OF, DO YOU WANT A PORK PIE?’
My eyes welled up when I saw Daisy.
Mum had put pink leg warmers and baby trainers over her snow suit.
Dad was all manic-eyed. ‘Are you enjoying it? It’s amazing isn’t it? What the human body can do.’
He was still in his shorts and vest, jogging on the spot and blowing on his fingers.
I told him it was the worst thing I’d ever done in my life. I said my body wasn’t made for running, but gentle walking and massages. I said I would never, ever run another marathon as long as I lived and made him promise not to let me do it again.
Mum said, ‘Only thirteen miles to go.’
Dad said. ‘Thirteen and a half!’
Laura told me to think of Daisy and how proud she’d be.
‘She doesn’t care,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t have the slightest clue what’s going on.’
‘Then do it for you,’ said Laura.
‘I don’t care about me either!’ I said. ‘I just want to stop. This is awful. AWFUL! There is no way I can finish. No way.’
Laura put a calming sisterly hand on my shoulder and said, ‘You can do it.’
I said, ‘I think I might sit down and have a bit of pork pie …’
Laura said, ‘No. You have to keep going.’
I started crying and said I couldn’t do it. I said my chest hurt. And my ears hurt. And my boobs hurt. And I kept seeing people on stretchers who’d slipped on the ice.
Laura said, ‘Juliette Duffy you can do this. Come on.’
She hopped under the safety barrier, grabbed my hand and off we went.
The next five miles were bad.
I felt every step and my lungs burned.
But Laura was with me. And she gave me strength somehow.
Then some stupid jumped-up usher noticed Laura wasn’t wearing an official name bib. He blew a whistle at her and shouted, ‘PEDESTRIAN! REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THE RUNNERS AREA IMMEDIATELY!’
So Laura had to go.
God, the marathon is so emotional!
We both had tears in our eyes.
I said, ‘I can’t do this, Laura. I can’t do this on my own.’
She said, ‘Juliette Duffy, you are going to finish. I will see you at the finish line.’
All I had left then was pain and hopelessness. No Laura. No strength left. And no more jelly babies.
It was horrible. Awful.
I looked around and saw nothing but misery – all the runners looked so unhappy.
I thought, ‘Why on earth am I putting myself through this? Why put myself in such pain? Why don’t I just stop?’
Then someone shouted out, ‘Come on, Juliette!’
And someone else yelled, ‘You can do it, Juliette!’
And the crowd started clapping for me.
It was such a beautiful thing. All these strangers willing me on.
And miraculously, I carried on running.
One step at a time.
Slowly, the miles went by.
And step by horrible step, I made the twenty-five-mile mark. Then the twenty-sixth. And suddenly I could see Buckingham Palace up ahead.
I knew I could do it then. No matter how much pain I was in, I could manage the last little bit.
But just as I was turning into Piccadilly, the man in the snowman suit came careering into me. There wasn’t even any ice or anything, but I lost my footing.
I fell down and felt my ankle twist under me.
God it hurt.
I tried to stand but I couldn’t. At least not without crying.
I had a crazy idea that I might crawl over the finish line.
While I was mulling it over, a crowd gathered around me – generally elderly or overweight people. People who were never going to make a good time.
Someone gave me a bottle of tropical Lucozade and a handful of Mentos.
And then, through the crowd, came Alex.
I thought I was seeing things at first. But no – it really was him.
He was in black running gear with barely a drop of sweat on him.
He pushed everyone out the way and said, ‘Juliette. Get up. Can you get up?’
I told him I’d hurt my leg and that I should probably just sit here until the marathon finished.
He told me not to be ridiculous.
I asked why he was here with all the slowcoaches.
The runners around me looked a bit annoyed then, and someone muttered, ‘Knowing your limits and setting a good pace is something to be celebrated …’
Alex said he’d been shadowing me to make sure I finished.
I said, ‘But you’ll get a shit finishing time.’
He said, ‘I’ve run plenty of marathons. Today it’s important you finish.’
I went all pink and said, ‘Thank you. For caring.’
Alex said, ‘I’ve always cared. That’s the problem.’
I said, ‘Listen. About Nick –’
Alex said, ‘Juliette. You have a family. Another man’s child. I’m not going to get in the way of that.’
‘You’re not in the way,’ I insisted.
But Alex just went all stony-faced.
He tried to help me up, but I really couldn’t walk. I mean, it was agony. I cried and told him I couldn’t do it.
He said, ‘Come on. You’re going to do this.’
Then he put my arm over his lovely, hard shoulder and half dragged, half carried me along.
Everyone was staring as we went down Piccadilly.
Alex looked so stoic and handsome and determined. When we crossed the finish line, everyone was cheering.
I was laughing and crying, ‘I did it! I did it!’
My family and Althea were waiting by the big Christmas Marathon lorries.
They looked pretty surprised to see Alex carrying me.
Mum said, ‘Have you run out of energy, love? Do you want a mini Scotch egg?’
Alex shouted at a steward to get me a chair.
I sat down and Mum put Daisy put on my lap. I burst into tears when I saw her.
I said, ‘I finished! I finished! I can’t believe it! Don’t ever let me do that again. Don’t EVER let me do that again.’
Alex started bossing people around – asking for paramedics and a stretcher.
Then he said, ‘Look, I’ll leave you with your family. The ambulance is on its way. If you need anything, call me.’
Then he gave me his business card and sprinted off into the crowd.
It was all a bit chaotic after that.
The paramedics came over and (irritatingly) told me it was ‘nothing serious’ and they’d ‘seen much worse’.
I said, ‘But it really hurts!’
They said it would be fine with a bit of ice on it.
Mum said, ‘Will a cold bottle of Coke do the job?’
They said yes, and offered to drive us home in the ambulance. Dad said they shouldn’t ‘waste resources’. So we ended up borrowing a wheelchair and going home on the train.
Quite nice being disabled. Everyone smiled at me and let me go first.
Sunday December 13th
My ankle is MASSIVE. It’s nearly as big as Mum’s.
Doctor Slaughter says it’ll be fine in a few days. Then he checked the fridge and shouted at Mum for having a shelf full of Frosty the Snowman chocolate rolls.
I miss Alex. Seeing him yesterday … he’s got into my head again.
Thought maybe I should message him and explain about Nick. But Brandi said no – explaining only makes you look guilty.
She said, ‘I should know. I’ve cheated on loads of my boyfriends.’
I said, ‘But I didn’t do anything with Nick. Nothing happened.’
Brandi said, ‘Wow. You’re really good. I totally believed you just then.’
Monday December 14th
I’m getting quite used to sitting around, especially since Mum has filled the house with mince pies.
She always buys a packet from every supermarket to ‘consumer test’, so there were 36 mince pies in the cupboard, plus various novelty Christmas items:
Turkey and cranberry flavour Pringles
Star-shaped cream crackers
White Mars Bars
Mince-pie ice cream
Alex still hasn’t messaged or anything. And I think Brandi’s right – trying to explain will just make me look bad. I mean, I’ve tried already. He doesn’t want to listen. Maybe this is just his way of letting me down gently.
Is it too early to send a happy Christmas text message?
I have his number now …
Tuesday December 15th
Trying very hard not to think about Alex.
Ankle much better.
Feeling very festive and Christmassy.
Brandi and I went to Starbucks and bought ourselves gingerbread lattes in red cups.
Then we went home and wrote out all our Christmas cards. Well – I did. Brandi got bored and persuaded Dad to do it for her.
Dad loves anything tedious, so he was more than happy.
We had a nice afternoon together, drinking tea, eating Christmas shortbread and envelope stuffing.
Decided to text Nick re: Daisy Christmas arrangements.
Nick texted back saying he might be going ‘somewhere sunny’ this Christmas, and couldn’t take Daisy on a long-haul flight. Apparently Sadie is being ‘mental’ and he needs to get away.
As if I’d let him take Daisy for more than an hour anyway! He can’t even do up the poppers straight on her baby gro.
Wednesday December 16th
Morning
I can’t believe it. I absolutely CANNOT believe it.
I’ve lost a stone.
I’ve spent all morning turning sideways in every mirror, lifting up my top and admiring my tummy region.
Brandi said, ‘Wow, I didn’t know your stretch marks were that bad.’
I considered celebrating with a white-chocolate Christmas Mars Bar, but NO! I am going to maintain.
Maintain, maintain, maintain.
I called Althea and she said, ‘Right. We’re going to get you some new skinny girl clothes.’
I told her I had other financial priorities.
She said, ‘Didn’t Nick say he’d buy you new clothes if you finished the marathon?’
I told her Nick never honoured his bets.
She asked if I still had Nick’s credit card.
I said, ‘Yes. But it doesn’t seem fair to use it.’
She said, ‘Maybe he’ll have to cancel his flight to “somewhere sunny”.’
I told her the credit card was for emergencies.
She said, ‘No offence, but your wardrobe is an emergency. If you wear that big grey woolly elephant dress again I’m going to throw up.’
I started talking about doing the right thing and being the better person, and she said, ‘Nick made a bet with you. So now he has to pay up. He cheated on you and left you alone to bring up a baby. What are a few clothes after everything he’s put you through? You’ve been totally humiliated.’
She is right, I suppose. I mean, I can’t even buy a Kit Kat in Great Oakley without the checkout lady saying, ‘Go ahead love. You deserve a little treat after everything you’ve been through.’
Finally, Althea persuaded me by saying, ‘Look, you’re going to need new clothes when you start working again. Think of it as an investment. No one is going to hire you in those stained old leggings of yours.’
Thursday December 17th
Have just spent all morning giggling.
Althea insisted we go to Sloane Square and hit all the designer stores.
London is still all magical and twinkling.
The Sloane Square trees were hung with huge, beautiful snowflake lights, and a 50ft Christmas fir towered over us tiny shoppers.
Railings were strung with pretty little lights, and the shop windows shone with Christmassy displays.
Whenever a sales assistant asked if we needed help, Althea said, ‘What costs the most in here?’
I really haven’t bought any clothes since I was pregnant with Daisy, so it was all a bit strange.
In Chloe, the sales assistant was a gushing, mumsy type who kept saying ‘lovely’.
‘Can I help you lovely ladies?’ ‘Have you seen the lovely things back here?’ ‘I think this would look lovely on you.’
Althea grabbed a load of clothes for me to try on, and the assistant said, ‘Oh you’ve made a lovely choice!’
I tried them on. And the assistant was right – they were a lovely choice.
I really am looking pretty thin, too. I mean, I don’t think my stomach will ever go back to how it was. But I’m looking fit and healthy.
When we got to the cash register, I freaked out.
I told Althea I couldn’t pay with Nick’s card.
Althea said. ‘If you can’t do it, give me the bloody credit card and I will.’
The sales assistant said, ‘Is everything okay?’
Althea explained that my ex-fiancé cheated on me with my bridesmaid. And that we would be using his credit card.
The sales assistant narrowed her eyes, snatched the card and said, ‘Paying by card? Lovely!’
I ended up buying a whole new wardrobe. And we also bought Daisy a pink cashmere twinset, baby pearls made of rubber, and tights with little pretend high heels onto the feet.
Then Althea forced me into a swanky hairdresser’s, and I got a beautiful new haircut. More layers cut that made my curls really bouncy, and some really lovely, subtle blonde highlights.
After that, we went to Fortnum and Mason for a Christmas afternoon tea – three silver tiers of turkey and cranberry sandwiches, star shortbread biscuits and filo pastry mince pies.
I told Althea that Nick would be furious when he got the credit card bill.
Althea said, ‘Yes. He will.’
Then we started giggling and couldn’t stop – until Daisy tried to blind herself with a silver fork.
&
nbsp; Friday December 18th
Morning
Christmas songs on the radio.
It’s the most wonderful TIME of the YEAR!
Even when shitty things are happening, you’ve got to love Christmas.
Nick rang this morning and asked to meet me in London tomorrow.
I thought he was going to moan about the credit card. But actually, he wanted to talk ‘about us’. Nick goes months without checking his statements.
I’m going to meet up with him.
He’s still Daisy’s dad.
And if I’m totally honest, I’m enjoying him chasing after me. I feel I should be allowed to milk it for a little bit.
Especially since Alex hasn’t called or messaged.
Afternoon
Just been to the Christmas cake sale at Callum’s school.
Nothing cost more than 20p, so I bought a chocolate sponge, six mince pies and a jar of iced shortbread biscuits all for £2. Result!
Callum won a prize for his ‘technical bake’ – a pile of biscuits and squirty cream made to look like a snowman.
Evening
Callum’s nativity play at the school.
Brandi is very proud, because Callum got the part of God.
Seeing him perform, it’s fair to say he can project his voice. Some of the old ladies were wincing and covering their ears when he shouted down from heaven.
Luckily Daisy slept soundly in the pram, even when Callum beat the drum so hard it had to be taken off him by the teacher.
Saturday December 19th
Very weird day.
Met Nick at ‘Vodka!’ this afternoon – a swanky bar full of men with neckerchiefs and women with shiny leather boots and tasselled handbags.
It was like the bar that Christmas forgot. There were no decorations, and everyone looked serious and miserable.
They didn’t do Diet Coke, so I had to have some perfumed lemon drink that tasted like bath water.
Nick was late of course.
So I spend half an hour trying to stop Daisy smashing the glass coasters.
While we were waiting, this drunk guy from Manchester started talking to me. He was so drunk, he could only manage one word in three.
‘You … lovely-looking girl … on Saturday? Nice … lager tops … and then the policeman said … not my broken glass, mate …’