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

by Jules Wake

  ‘No, probably not. I save it for special occasions.’

  I bit my lips trying to suppress a giggle as my mind goggled at what sort of special occasion merited an Adidas-style tracksuit.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Ash and I were heading off mid-morning on Friday – his idea – to beat the worst of the traffic. It made sense but it meant spending more time with him, which had given me a few sleepless hours last night as I’d be leaving the girls with Hilda for a whole twenty-four hours. We were unlikely to get back before mid-afternoon on the Saturday. That was a lot of time to spend with someone you’d once slept with when the two of you were pretending it had never happened. The bloody sod owed me an explanation.

  ‘We’re going to have a lovely time. Lots of baking. Now, how are you getting on with the council and whether we can use the park?’

  ‘Going round in circles,’ I groaned. ‘It’s nuts. I spent yesterday on the phone. You can’t actually speak to a real live person. All you get is press one for this and two for that, which is fine but none of them fit what I want and then the flipping thing goes dead. And I’ve tried online and sent various emails and no one has got back to me yet.’ Now that I had identified specific tasks, I was focused on achieving those rather than worrying about whether the whole project was actually viable. At least I could show Hilda I was doing something even if I wasn’t convinced it would ever come to anything.

  ‘Typical. And that’s what we pay our taxes for. What else have you done?’

  ‘I’ve been on the parkrun website and found out a bit more. There are local ambassadors who can help, but until we get permission to use the park, we can’t do anything. It’s all a bit chicken-and-egg. And we’re going to need lots of volunteers.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem,’ said Hilda complacently.

  I wasn’t so sure about that. ‘I don’t even know where to start.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and see Sascha in The Friendly Bean?’ Hilda had a Machiavellian glint in her eye. ‘Just think of all the extra custom a parkrun would bring her.’

  Hmm, twenty people and a dog, I thought, but I had to admit it was a good idea.

  ‘Okay, perhaps I can ask her to put a poster up. Invite people to a meeting. Find out what sort of interest there might be.’

  ‘She’s a sound young woman. There was some scandal about her a while back but I don’t listen to that sort of tittle tattle. Honestly, the old dears at Sunnyside have nothing better to do. Gets right on my tits it does.’

  ‘Hilda!’ I laughed.

  ‘Claire. I can say far worse, you mark my words. And you should hear the Queen. When we used to dog-sit the corgis when she went away – that was my first husband and I; he was very well connected you know – we always had tea with her. She can swear like a dozen troopers.’

  ‘Really?’ I was beginning to think that some of Hilda’s more colourful anecdotes might be grossly fabricated, or at the least somewhat over-embellished.

  ‘Shame I can’t come with you to see Sascha but I need to show my face at Sunnyside, make sure they know I’m still alive or they’ll be ringing my son and that’s the last thing I want.’ With that, she picked up her silver lamé messenger bag and disappeared out of the kitchen with her usual cheery, ‘Toodle-pip.’

  I sat at the kitchen table feeling silence settle on the house and that sense of shame came nudging its way back. I’d neglected so many parts of my life, but Hilda bulldozing her way in had brought sunshine into so many of the dark corners. Even now, thinking about her and all her husbands brought a wry smile to my face. She wouldn’t have let Ash get away with ignoring her; she’d have taken the proverbial bull by the horns and given it a damn good shake. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. Which was exactly what he deserved.

  Birds were singing their little hearts out as I walked across the park, passing beds filled with tightly packed flowers of pink and white. Spring was definitely running into summer and the sycamore trees shading this part of the path were vibrant with dark green leaves. I slipped off my cardigan to feel the sun on my skin and slowed my pace to enjoy a rare sense of peace.

  I’d always lived life at a hundred miles an hour, taking on as much as I could and trying to make sure everything was perfect, which invariably meant I was always running late or trying to catch up with myself. It suddenly struck me, why did I set myself so many goals all the time? And why was I always desperate to be the best I could be? Was it because Alice had been such a trial to my parents so I would always make sure I was never a problem, especially after she got pregnant, when they had enough to worry about? No, even before then I’d learned to be self-sufficient, and because I was academically able I was left to get on with things. But I’d still wanted their attention; I guess that was where my over-achieving and determination to do well had come in.

  It had become a self-fulfilling cycle and now an ingrained habit. No wonder I’d become so stressed. There, I’d finally admitted it. In the last week, that feeling of being on the cliff edge of catastrophe had finally dissipated. Now, as I walked slowly in the sunshine, I realised that I had been stressed. Ridiculously so.

  The realisation was like letting all the air out of a balloon. I didn’t need to be anywhere by any particular time. The knowledge was hugely liberating. Time was my own to command.

  There was absolutely no hurry to get to The Friendly Bean, so I sat down on one of the park benches, taking a minute to sit back and close my eyes, enjoying the sun’s warmth on my face and my bare arms. I’d actually put on a dress for this meeting because I found the brusque, businesslike Sascha a little intimidating, which was ridiculous really because at work I was used to dealing with far more high-powered people. It was symptomatic of how much self-confidence I’d lost since I’d been officially told that I wasn’t capable of doing my job. I bloody hated that stress diagnosis. It had robbed me of so much. Maybe it was time I started fighting back.

  After five minutes, I got to my feet. At the worst, Sascha could say no. But she could also say yes. Hilda’s upbeat, can-do attitude with her refusal to consider any of the obstacles I kept raising, had definitely rubbed off on me this morning. Feeling more positive than I had for a very long time, I headed for the café.

  When I pushed open the door of The Friendly Bean, there were only a couple of people in there and Sascha’s scarf was a vivid rainbow of blues, violets, pinks, and fresh greens, reflecting the colours bursting to life out in the park.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  ‘Not running today, then,’ Sascha nodded towards my outfit.

  ‘No…’ I grinned at her. ‘Wanted to appear more professional. Have you got a few minutes?’

  At this, her sculpted pierced brow rose. ‘Are you hoping for a job?’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I want to run an idea by you… to do with the park.’

  ‘Sure. Coffee?’

  ‘Cappuccino, please.’

  With experienced barista expertise she whistled up two coffees and as she poured the frothed milk in them she nodded towards the purse in my hand with a shake of her head. ‘On the house.’

  We sat in the same corner I’d sat in with Alice weeks ago and like a curtain being pulled back, it made me think how much things had changed in that short space of time. The world seemed clearer and brighter and I’d lost that lethargic fug and sensation of dragging my limbs into action. I think it had a lot to do with the running. It gave me a sense of purpose each morning and a goal to strive for. I could almost run a whole 4k now without stopping.

  ‘You okay?’ asked the other woman.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, fine.’

  ‘So, what do you want to ask me? If it’s about installing outside heaters, it’s a no. And if you’re trying to sell me environmentally-friendly coffee cups, I’m already on the case. I’m quite happy with my coffee supplier and my sister makes all my cakes. Anything else you’ve got, I’ll listen to.’

  ‘Accountancy services?’ I offered laughing.
/>   ‘My dad.’

  ‘Good because I’m not trying to sell you anything.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that, because I needed a break and you gave me a good excuse to get off my feet. I didn’t want to have to cut it short. So, what do you want?’

  ‘A group of us’—that sounded a heck of a lot better than me, an old woman, one man and his dog—‘are thinking about setting up a parkrun here, in the park obviously, and I wanted to know if you would help us publicise it by putting up a poster… and I wondered if you might consider letting us use the café to hold a meeting. We need to gather together local volunteers and find out if people would be interested.’

  ‘A parkrun?’ Her features sharpened. ‘Like the one in Harrogate? My sister’s boyfriend goes over every Saturday, rain or shine.’

  ‘Does he?’ I said. ‘That’s a bit of a hike.’

  ‘Bloody loves it, he does. Says it’s quite a thing. About five hundred people every Saturday.’

  ‘Really? That many? Wow.’ I sat there trying to get my head around the figure. Five hundred people was a lot. ‘We’re certainly not expecting that many here.’

  ‘Why not? Harrogate’s a good forty minutes away. Plenty of folk round here might prefer to run local. And from what I’ve heard from Steve, they like to mix it up, visit other parkruns. Tourists, they call themselves.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what sort of interest there’ll be around here.’

  ‘I think you might be surprised.’

  ‘Well, before we even get it off the ground, we need to find out what the interest is and whether we can round up enough people who are willing to help. But first of all, I need to find out if the council will let us use the park and I’m going round in circles. I don’t suppose you’ve got any idea who I might contact at the council?’

  Sascha gave a quick dry bark of a laugh. ‘Yes. Neil Blenkinsop… yes, that’s his name and yes, he’s a bit of drip, but a nice enough bloke. Doesn’t give me any bother. He’s Director of Parks and Leisure.’ She dug out a battered leather address book from her pocket and thumbed through the pages. ‘Here you go.’

  I tapped the number straight into my phone. She eyed it with derision, I noticed.

  ‘So would you put a poster up?’

  ‘’Course. No problem. And I’ll open up one evening for you to hold a meeting. I might even lay out refreshments.’ She grinned.

  ‘Would you?’ I stared at her with surprise. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Kind? You think? Where are all those runners going to come for a nice energy-reviving brownie and hot drink after their run? I think I’ll call it the Saturday Morning Parkrun Special.’

  ‘There’s no guarantee we’ll get it off the ground,’ I warned, not wanting her to get too carried away.

  ‘Well, you won’t if you don’t try. Everyone said I’d not make a go of this when I first started and now look. Now, when are you thinking about holding this meeting?’

  ‘Er… I’m… well…’ That involved making proper plans. ‘I need to find out if we can use the park first.’

  ‘Phone him now.’

  ‘And I have to have it in writing.’

  ‘Phone him. Isn’t that why people carry those things around with them?’ She dipped her head with disdain towards my mobile.

  ‘I guess.’ I shrugged, realising that I was going to have to make the call there and then.

  It was answered on the second ring.

  ‘Neil Blenkinsop.’

  ‘Hi, Mr Blenkinsop, I wonder if you can help me. Sascha at The Friendly Bean has given me your number.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said and I got a quick impression of apprehension and resignation. ‘How can I help?’ he asked in a dry voice.

  ‘Well, we’re interested in setting up a parkrun and I wondered how we would go about applying for permission to hold it in Victoria Park.’

  ‘A parkrun? In Victoria Park? In Churchstone?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, trying to inject enthusiastic encouragement in response to his flat tone.

  ‘A 5k run?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm, that’s very interesting.’ There was a long pause during which my heart began to sink; maybe I should have done this face to face; maybe I should have prepared a bit more of a pitch. ‘When would you want to do it?’

  ‘Well, it would be a weekly event. Every Saturday morning.’

  ‘Have you spoken to the Churchstone Harriers?’ The abrupt change of subject and his sharpened voice startled me.

  ‘Er, no. I don’t know them.’

  ‘Local running club. They go out on Wednesday nights. You should give Charles Engwell a call. He’s the chairman. He’ll help you. They have a Facebook page. Can you email me a proposal, as soon as?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, casting widening eyes towards Sascha, surprised by this decisiveness.

  ‘There’s a town council meeting next Tuesday. Seven o’clock. I can put it on the agenda… but if you contact the harriers and other local runners they could come to the meeting and support the proposal.’

  ‘You… mean you support the idea?’

  There was a loud huff on the other end of the line. ‘Victoria Park is one of the jewels in the crown of the Dower Dale district council but is currently underutilised. We have one of the most beautiful bandstands in all the country and I can’t remember the last time a brass band set foot in it. It’s a tragedy. I think most of the footfall in the park, apart from a few dog walkers, are customers of Sascha Comely’s establishment. All the children prefer to go to the indoor adventure place while their parents drink in the pub. The council has been assessing various initiatives to encourage people to exercise more; I think this would kill several ducks with one well-placed stone.’

  By the time I’d put down my phone, I was feeling quite swept away by his businesslike enthusiasm.

  ‘Well, that was helpful.’

  ‘Blimey O’Riley. You’ve just discovered what turns Neil Blenkinsop on. Never heard him so popping before.’

  ‘That’s popping?’

  ‘Positively for him. Dry old stick normally. Although, come to think of it, I think I read in the parish magazine that he did the Great North Run last year, so I’m guessing you ticked one of his boxes.’

  I suddenly realised that in all probability, I’d just cleared the biggest hurdle and that the parkrun might just happen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Have a lovely time,’ said Hilda, sticking her head in through the window. Bill promptly tried to do the same, his nose just cresting the top of the wound-down glass, both paws resting on the door. ‘Are you sure you’ve got everything?’

  That comment was a bit rich given she’d arrived after lunch with a solitary carrier bag perched on her lap when Ash had picked her up from the home. It had looked as if she’d brought nothing more than a toothbrush with her.

  ‘We’re not going on holiday,’ I pointed out, already regretting signing up for this trip. What on earth was I going to talk to Ash about for three and half hours, when I had only one burning question and it was the one I refused to ask?

  ‘A change of scene is as good as a rest. It will do both of you good to get away for a night. Who knows, you might even find you like each other after all.’

  ‘Thanks, Hilda,’ I said, glowering at her as she beamed at me, all sparkly and winsome as if she were our personal matchmaking fairy-godmother. If only she knew what had happened with him before. I bet she wouldn’t be quite so keen to treat him like her favourite grandson.

  I heard Ash growl under his breath. Normal service had resumed. Although why he disliked me so much when once upon a time he’d given off such different vibes, I had no idea.

  The first ten minutes passed in silence and he shot me a couple of apprehensive glances. As well he might. I was still mentally rehearsing and in no hurry. After all, we had three hours to kill

  ‘Warm enough?’ asked Ash, fiddling with the heater. ‘You can turn on the heated seat if you ge
t cold.’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’ I adjusted my sunglasses; it was another bright spring morning. ‘The idea of toying with him, like a cat with a mouse, rather appealed. Let him stew a while.

  We lapsed into silence which lasted until we hit the A1M. It was no good; I couldn’t sit on it.

  ‘So, Ashwin Laghari, what happened?’

  He sighed and shot me a wary glance. ‘I owe you an apology.’

  ‘What, and you’ve only just realised that now?’ I snapped, pissed off at his attitude. ‘You owe me a hell of a lot more than that. One minute it’s all fun frolics and flirty texts. The next a resounding silence. Classy.’

  He winced, his hands gripping the steering wheel. ‘You’re right. It wasn’t. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘Are you always that much of a bastard?’ I enjoyed tossing the words at him, finally releasing the pent-up frustration and anger from the weeks during which I’d checked my texts and agonised over why he had gone quiet on me while cursing over what a fool I’d made of myself.

  His jaw clenched.

  Good. Before he could say anything, I carried on. ‘I’ll give you one thing; you’re one hell of an actor.’ I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I’d believed there was a real spark between us. ‘Took me right in. Is that a regular thing you do? Or do you keep it for chance encounters on the train?’

  His eyes stayed glued to the road ahead but I could see him swallowing.

  ‘Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t an act? That night was—’

  ‘Whatever it was, you had a very short memory.’

  ‘I lost my job.’ The quiet admission stopped me in my tracks. ‘On the Monday. It was totally out of the blue.’

  ‘And what? It robbed you of your ability to text or pick up the phone? You could have at least said something had come up. It still would have been crap but not half as crap as just not bothering.’

  I studied his grim profile, the locked jaw, and the steady gaze at the road ahead. I’d wondered why he wasn’t working but had assumed he was between jobs, on gardening leave – the usual run of events with high flyers – and like me had just temporarily lost his sense of purpose. Now I’d voiced some of my anger, I felt a touch of sympathy.