The Saturday Morning Park Run: A gloriously uplifting and page-turning book that will make you feel happy!

by Jules Wake

  ‘Do you like it?’ I asked.

  ‘I lova, lova, lova it.’ And she threw her arms around my waist. ‘Thank you, Auntie Claire.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’m glad you like it so much.’ I crouched down and gave her a squeeze; she smelled of cake and baking and I buried my nose in her fine curls, surprised by the sudden surge of protectiveness tightening my chest. I wanted to squidge her to me, hold her fast and not let go. For the second time that day, it occurred to me, I could get used to this.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Well, that was very nice.’ Hilda patted the roll of her tummy contained in the orange tracksuit like a neon sausage. ‘A rare treat. And this is very nice wine. I do like a Malbec.’

  I picked up my glass and toasted her and Ash, the girls having abandoned the table for Dr Who on the TV in the other room and insisted on taking Bill with them, who seemed to be lapping up the attention as well as Ava’s greasy fingers. ‘Thank you so much for all your help today. There’s no way I could have done any of it without you. I really appreciate it.’ I paused and gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘I’m not normally very good at asking for help.’

  Ash rolled his eyes. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Don’t fret, dear, it’s been our pleasure.’ She gave Ash a reproving stare. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. Those girls are a delight. I’d forgotten what it’s like to be in a family home.’

  ‘Noisy and chaotic,’ I said, although to be honest today had been a lot of fun. Even Ash had chanced his arm and risked a few smiles; he may well have used up his quota.

  ‘It’s wonderful. Makes me feel alive again.’ She rested her hand on her chin with a happy smile and with her other hand reached over and patted mine. There was a sharp contrast between my pale, smooth skin and hers, paper thin, stretched over a tracery of thick blue-green veins. It was difficult to tell how old Hilda was; you certainly wouldn’t guess from the green sparkly gel nails she sported, but looking at her hands I wondered if she might be a lot older than she appeared.

  I sneaked a peek at Ash; he wasn’t smiling, but then again he wasn’t frowning.

  ‘More wine?’

  ‘Yes, dear, that would be lovely and then when we’ve cleared these plates we can get down to business. Ash, would you mind stacking the dishwasher?’

  I refilled our glasses and by the time I sat back down at the table, Hilda had cleared the decks, wiped the surfaces and produced a foolscap lined pad and a handful of pencils.

  ‘I thought we could have a planning meeting.’

  Ash’s blank expression must have mirrored mine at first before we exchanged bemused frowns.

  ‘What, dear Hilda, are we planning?’ Ash’s regal tone of long suffering had me pinching my lips together.

  ‘Our parkrun, of course. Don’t say you’d forgotten.’

  Again, Ash and I exchanged a quick glance and he rolled his eyes.

  Hilda sighed. ‘And stop doing that, the pair of you.’ She leaned over and clipped Ash behind the ear. ‘I am neither dotty nor senile. It’s a perfectly good idea and it will do both of you the world of good to get involved and do something. And after today, I’m even more convinced we’re the people to do it.

  ‘Claire, you’re super organised; I can tell from the way you approached the shopping and how you lined up and arranged all the screws before you started building the furniture. Ash, you’re clearly a completer-finisher. Given a task, you keep going and you get the job done. And I’m the ideas person. Together we make a perfect team. Churchstone needs a parkrun. I thought someone could talk to Sascha in the coffee place; I’m sure she’ll think it’s a good idea as we’ll be encouraging more people to use the park.’

  ‘Well, she’ll certainly sell more coffee that way,’ observed Ash dryly.

  Hilda turned her head and lifted her chin, giving him a steely glare. He held his hands up in surrender.

  ‘Claire?’

  ‘I… well…’ But actually, the idea was starting to sink in. Why not? She was right. Decorating the house wasn’t going to take up all my time and I rather liked the idea of a brand-new challenge. Something I’d never done before. And it might be quite nice, when I was back at work, to have something outside the office to focus on. ‘Like I said before, it can’t hurt to find out what’s involved.’

  ‘Ash? You need something to occupy yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, Hilda. But I don’t need you interfering in my life.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ She folded her arms with implacable certainty and I had to hide my face.

  Ash rolled his eyes again. ‘I’ll help in the short term but as soon as…’ He shrugged and Hilda nodded.

  ‘Fine. Now, I think the first job is to do a parkrun and ask some questions.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said Ash. ‘I mentioned the parkrun idea to my brother and it turns out I have a cousin – no surprise really; I have dozens – anyway, Darren is very involved. Apparently he’s a run director with the parkrun down in Tring. I spoke to him. We could go and do the run there.’

  ‘Run director?’ That sounded organised.

  ‘Yeah, they’re the person on the day who’s in charge of the set up and running the show. They have overall responsibility for setting up the course and briefing all the volunteers like the marshals and timekeepers. Basically, operations manager for the run on the ground.’

  Hilda clapped her hands and applauded him. ‘You have been doing your homework.’

  I’d envisioned an assortment of runners doing their own thing and trying to corral them into doing things properly. This sounded like proper organisation was involved. Suddenly I was much more interested. I missed the detailed planning and knowing exactly where I was at work. Being involved in the organisation of something was much more up my street.

  ‘This is perfect. You should go and see him. Do the run and ask lots of questions,’ said Hilda rubbing her hands. ‘Where is Tring?’

  ‘Hertfordshire. North of London. But the Porsche could do with a good run. Let me call him.’ Ash jumped to his feet and went out into the garden. We watched as he walked up and down, ducking under the clothes airer, with his phone clamped to his ear.

  ‘See. He already looks animated. Good-looking boy, too.’

  I could tell her bird-bright eyes were focused on me and I deliberately kept mine on Ash’s moving figure rather than meet them. While he might have improved physically, there was still that brittle veneer of bitterness that gave his words a bite every now and then, as well as the lost, distant air that made him retreat just when you thought the sun had broken through. What had happened to him to make him so different to how he had been before?

  ‘Right, that’s sorted.’ He came back in, bringing the chill of the evening with him. ‘My cousin has invited us to go down this Friday and do the parkrun on Saturday morning. A fact-finding trip.’

  ‘Excellent, Claire. You’ll have to go with him.’

  ‘Me! I can’t go!’ Not with Ash. Not on my own. Not in a car with him. ‘I’ve got the girls. My sister won’t be back until Sunday.’ And even that wasn’t certain.

  ‘I’ll stay here with them,’ said Hilda. ‘I can’t run 5k anyway. But it will be good training for both of you and it doesn’t need three of us.’

  ‘I can’t leave the girls with you.’

  ‘Why not? I’m perfectly compos mentis. They’ll be safe.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that, Hilda. I meant, it’s too much of an imposition.’ I might not have known her for very long but I knew that my nieces couldn’t be in safer hands.

  ‘Imposition. Supposition. I offered. Besides, it will be fun. We can have movie night and I can bake cookies. And it’ll be a night away from Drearyside. Freedom.’

  Ash and Hilda looked at me, Ash with that bloody irritating lift of his eyebrow. First chance I got, I’d shave the bugger off – the thought of which made my lips twitch. Ash’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but I just lifted my chin.

  �
��Thank you for my room, Auntie Claire.’ Tucked up in bed against the blue and white pillows with her thin arms and narrow face, holding her kindle like a prayer book, Poppy looked like a model for a saintly Victorian headstone.

  ‘That’s okay. I’m glad you like it. Both rooms have turned out really well.’

  ‘Now you have to do the rest of the house.’ There was a slight smile playing around her lips.

  ‘What’s wrong with my house?’ I asked with mock indignation, knowing that my own bedroom seemed quite barren in comparison. One pitiful set of fairy lights did not transform four walls, a bed, a wardrobe, and a mirror into a boudoir.

  ‘Nothing… except, it’s a bit lonely in places, as if no one really lives here.’

  Lonely was an interesting word, as if she’d ascribed the house a personality of its own. There was a lot going on in that young head.

  ‘I’m afraid I just never got around to doing much to it. I never… I guess I never had much time.’ Before the words had left my mouth, I knew they weren’t true. Time, I had in spades, I just hadn’t allocated it very well. Virtually all of it had been apportioned for my job and now I didn’t have that excuse.

  ‘Hilda will help you. She has lots of ideas.’

  ‘She also wears orange tracksuits,’ I pointed out with a pretend shudder. ‘And buys lime-green towels.’

  Poppy laughed. ‘But she is very kind and she’s really good at cooking. I never made a cake before. It was amazing. She let us do everything.’

  ‘Never made a cake before?’ I echoed. ‘Not even with Nanny?’

  Although, come to think of it, my mum wasn’t much of a baker; she was a brilliant cook and presided over her kitchen, which was her pride and joy, like a dictatorial chef. She didn’t make cakes, but she was a great one for going to M&S to buy really nice treats even when you were thirty-three and quarter.

  ‘No, when we go to Nanny and Grandad’s we usually do stuff. She takes us shopping for clothes and things or Grandad takes us to the cinema.’ Poppy giggled. ‘He really likes Pixar films. Have you seen Onward? Grandad took me and Ava three times.’

  ‘Grandad always took me and your mum to the movies.’ I smiled at the memory. ‘I haven’t been for ages. Perhaps we’ll go tomorrow, if there’s anything on.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘Would you mind if Hilda babysits next week? Have I told you about her parkrun idea?’

  I explained what little I knew about the concept and that I was going on an investigative mission with Ash.

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

  ‘Ash? God no!’ I said. ‘I don’t even know him. Well, only through Hilda.’ I swallowed the lie painfully.

  ‘Why don’t you have a boyfriend? You’re quite pretty, even without make-up. Is it because you don’t want any children?’

  I stared at her, a cold fist enclosing my heart. ‘I never said that.’

  ‘Alice’—it wasn’t the first time she’d referred to her mother by name—‘said it’s because you’re married to your job, which I don’t understand because how can you marry something that isn’t a person? I don’t think you can even marry your dog, can you?’ Her nose scrunched up rather adorably and I leaned over and kissed it with a smile, even though inside it hurt.

  ‘It’s an expression.’ I scratched my chin. ‘It means that your job comes first all the time. But I would like children one day… I just haven’t met a nice man yet.’ That was the child-friendly version of the truth. ‘And no, you can’t marry your dog.’

  ‘Bill’s lovely. If he were mine I’d still call him Hairy Carpet Dog. Do you think he can come again?’

  ‘Hmm, Ash is only looking after him for the time being. A bit like I’m looking after you. It’s just temporary.’

  ‘Will he go back to his mummy then?’

  ‘He’ll have a new mum and dad, I think.’ Worry etched tiny frown lines between her fine eyebrows. ‘But the people at the rescue centre won’t let him go anywhere he isn’t loved.’

  She sighed. ‘That’s good. I’d like a dog. Ava wants a puppy but I wouldn’t mind a dog like Bill that needs a new home.’ With a sudden wriggle, her head shot up and there was a light bulb gleam in her eyes ‘Maybe we could have him… I mean, you. But me and Ava could come at weekends to see him. Then you wouldn’t be on your own when we go home.’

  I laughed. ‘That would be lovely, except when I go back to work Bill would be on his own all day and then he would be lonely.’

  When her face fell, a touch of guilt nagged at me for dousing her hopes. ‘Sorry, sweetie. Maybe Bill can come for a sleepover when Ash and I go next Friday?’

  ‘Awesome,’ she breathed.

  ‘And now it really is bedtime. Don’t read for too long.’ I ruffled the top of her head and dropped a quick kiss. ‘Night, Poppy.’

  ‘Night, Auntie Claire. And thank you for an ace day.’

  I could kill Alice for being so careless with her daughters’ love. She hadn’t spoken to them for over a week now. Why hadn’t she called this evening?

  Poppy was such a good kid. In some ways, a lot easier than her sister, whose mercurial moods careered between high and low and needed careful management. Ava was the spoiled baby of the family – a little too much like Alice in many ways. I carried the warmth of Poppy’s brilliant smile all the way down the stairs with me and when I got to the bottom, I suddenly found myself looking forward to the week ahead.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Will you stop fussing?’ Hilda rolled her eyes at me as she nursed a cup of coffee from the brand-new Nespresso coffee machine where she sat at my kitchen table which was now covered in a cheerful oil-cloth decorated with chirpy chickens. I was tapping my pencil against my pad.

  ‘Sorry. It just feels like I’m abdicating my responsibilities by leaving the girls when I’m supposed to be in charge of them.’ Especially as I still couldn’t get hold of Alice. It was now Tuesday and I hadn’t heard a peep out of her. I’d even sent a long email to my parents in desperation, asking them to call her and tell her to ring her daughters.

  The planned trip to Tring was just one of the things to arrange on my lengthy list. I was sceptical we’d make it happen or that there would be any real interest but when I’d researched the parkrun website, I’d been staggered by just how big and successful the whole thing was. The more I read, the more impressed I was. There were over one thousand events in twenty-two countries and six million registered runners. My first job was to get permission to use the park, which was already proving tricky but I was prepared to give it a go. That might have been down to post-shopping euphoria this morning.

  Honestly, Hilda was costing me a fortune, although my kitchen was much homelier with an initial colour scheme that was nothing like the stylish, sophistication I’d daydreamed of. Following a trip to Dunelm Mill on the outskirts of the town, I was now the owner of a new set of chunky Emma Bridgewater-style china, including a tea pot, utensil pot and a butter dish and six new painted wooden chairs in a soft sage-green which co-ordinated with the chickens on the table cloth. On the seats were padded chair cushions with more chickens and tucked away in the cupboards were various essential baking items including a new electric whisk, bun trays, cookie cutters, and cake tins.

  Soft warming colours plus cute poultry wasn’t quite the style I’d envisioned for myself but I’d had a change of heart and realised that cosy was so much more inviting and would be much cheerier to live with. The house was turning into a place in which I wanted to spend time, instead of a place to sleep between office hours. The realisation brought an unwelcome nudge of shame. How had I managed to let my life outside work matter so little?

  ‘I’ve had my own child and four husbands for goodness’ sake.’ Hilda’s words broke my reverie and I turned back to her. ‘You can trust me with Ava and Poppy. We’re going to have so much fun.’

  Maybe it was the fun part that worried me.

  ‘Four?’ I sipped my coffee and sighed as the rich flavour hit my tongue. Why
had I waited so long to get myself a decent coffee machine?

  ‘Yes, although Frank – he was number three – wasn’t official; we never married but everyone thought we were, until his wife turned up at the funeral. Was a surprise to me too.’ Her greying eyebrows beetled up to her hairline in exaggerated horror. ‘Had one hell of a battle proving that the house was mine. She wanted half. Cheeky madam. I very nearly deeded the house to my son so she couldn’t get her mitts on it. Glad I didn’t now. He’d have sold it and put me in a home years ago. I’d have died of boredom long before now.’

  ‘How old is your son?’ I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. She never talked about him.

  ‘He’s nearly forty-six. I had him quite late. Now, husband number two, he was interesting.’ She grinned like a mischievous imp. ‘Not as handsome as my first but a lot more fun. Actually, quite naughty as it turned out. He ran an antiques business but I heard, a few years after he died, mind, that he’d had a thriving side-line in forgery. Good job I sold the Monet before that came out.’

  I blinked but she blithely carried on, so I guessed she was joking.

  ‘I got it in the divorce settlement. This really is very good coffee.’ She rose and began putting a fresh capsule in the machine.

  ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to have coffee. I don’t want to be responsible for making you ill.’

  ‘Oh, pish. Do I look unwell? They do fuss so at the old people’s home. Why do you think I spend so much time in the park?’ She patted her hair. ‘Although, I ought to go to the hairdresser’s before I pick the girls up from school on Friday. I don’t want anyone thinking you’ve left them with some batty old lady.’

  I laughed. ‘It’s going to take more than a set and blow dry to convince anyone.’

  ‘You’re probably right, dear.’ Her smile was placid. ‘I’ll wear my best tracksuit. The white one with the red go-faster stripes down the side.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve seen that one.’