How Not to Be a Loser

by Beth Moran

  ‘Had you been there all evening?’ I asked during the ride home, having filled her in on Joey’s condition.

  ‘Got here about ten. My contact at the Gladiators called. I thought you might need a lift home, so I waited in the café by the entrance.’

  ‘You could have come up to the ward.’ Despite currently only seeing him every couple of weeks or so, Cee-Cee still loved Joey like her own grandson. She must have been worried sick beneath the bluster.

  ‘Family only, they said. And I didn’t want to intrude.’

  I reached across the car and gripped her hand. It was possibly the only time I’d touched Cee-Cee with affection, save for the odd post-race hug, and she nearly swerved into a bollard.

  ‘You are family.’ I choked back yet more tears. ‘I’m sorry I forgot that.’

  She nodded in response, blinked hard a few times and soldiered on.

  A few minutes later, as we left the city boundary for the darkness of country roads, Cee-Cee cleared her throat and spoke again.

  ‘The quotes weren’t true. I refused to speak to her.’

  ‘I figured as much. There’s no way you’d have churned out all those words in one sentence. And I know you don’t talk to the press.’

  ‘But it made me realise. Perhaps you were right. I kept on as your coach, when what you needed was a friend. Not sure I knew how to be any different. I’m sorry for that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I paused to swallow. ‘For everything. I’ve never forgotten what you’ve done for us. And I shudder to imagine what kind of childhood Joey would’ve had without all your kindness and your help for all these years.’

  ‘It wasn’t kindness. Back then, single women didn’t have the option of having children, so my squad became my family. And because it wasn’t a real family, I was allowed to have a favourite. And after Athens, well. I cost you your real parents. The least I could do was step in. I know I probably never said sorry for what happened. I’m not good at that type of thing. But I am, and I was only trying to show you that.’

  ‘Oh, Cee-Cee. It wasn’t your fault that my parents are terrible! Or that I ran off and got pregnant.’

  ‘Maybe not. But I did push you into a breakdown. So, it is partly my fault you’ve been unwell ever since. It’s only right that I would do everything I could to help.’

  ‘If you were in any way to blame for any of it, I forgive you. We all made a lot of mistakes. I’m sorry for running off instead of talking to you about it, and ruining your career.’

  She nodded, and I tried and failed to stop crying the rest of the way home.

  ‘I love you both, very much,’ she said, as we pulled up outside my house.

  The thing with someone like Cee-Cee, when she says those words, she means them. I would have said them back, but before I could find my voice, Cee-Cee had moved on.

  ‘It’s nearly two. Would eight be a good time to pick you up?’

  ‘Great,’ I managed to croak. Great that she asked instead of telling me a time, too. ‘Joey will be thrilled to see you.’

  ‘It’s family only.’

  ‘I know.’

  58

  Stop Being a Loser Programme

  Day One Hundred and Ninety-Two (On Hold)

  Over the next week, I had the triple crown of excuses to put the Programme on hold and stay inside. Joey came home after another day in hospital, but he was still prone to getting woozy and clumsy and suffering from headaches. With strict instructions to keep screen time to a minimum, in between frequent naps, he was bored and irritable. I was grateful for his friends calling in after school, for Cee-Cee who popped in on her days off to play cards (yes, she had a new job, in Sporting Warehouse of all places) and even for Sean, who was hanging around semi-permanently in a state of awkwardness. At the same time, I wanted to sit beside my boy on the sofa, hold his hand and monitor his every movement. It would be easy to take ‘make sure he avoids any exertion or physical activity’ to extremes (does sitting up and eating count as physical activity? How about a shower?), but I knew all too well about the line between helping and smothering, and while I didn’t always agree with Joey’s assessment of where that line lay, I did try to meet him somewhere in the middle.

  The aftermath of the article was another reason to hole up inside. Just until things blew over, I pretended to myself, while aware that when it came to small villages that would take at least another couple of generations, and there was no blowing over, only facing up to it, tackling it head on and riding it out.

  And, thirdly, I did have a Senior Bid Writer’s project deadline whizzing towards me. It wasn’t easy to focus on virtual reality systems when our reality had been tipped over, the contents kicked about the gutter. Somehow writing about immersive environment simulators seemed a bit less important. But paying my bills and not being evicted was also important, so I moved my office into the living room and knuckled down as best I could, one eye firmly fixed over the top of my laptop on Joey.

  59

  Stop Being a Loser Programme

  Day One Hundred and Ninety-Five (Still On Hold)

  Cee-Cee’s ex-colleague from the Gladiators called in, conveniently at a time when Cee-Cee was there. He asked how Joey was feeling, expressed his complete understanding at how the combined circumstances of the trial plus his mother’s ‘spot of bother with the press’ could have led to a momentary slip in concentration.

  He believed in second chances, was confident Joey would have learnt from what happened, and would be delighted if Joey joined the club. Once he’d made a full recovery, obviously. Bearing in mind that he was turning fourteen soon, and there wasn’t much time to spare.

  But the invitation, coming at such a late age, was indication of how impressed he and the other Gladiators coaches were. He genuinely thought that, with dedication and the right attitude, Joey stood a chance.

  Joey nodded, smiled politely, shook the man’s hand and said how much he appreciated it, and that he would be in touch as soon as he was back to full strength.

  The instant the front door shut, a victory dance exploded out, in blatant disregard of all instructions concerning physical exertion.

  I watched, smiled, let him spin me around the living room and tried very hard to grapple with my anxiety monster until I’d crammed it back inside the cage where it belonged.

  Life hurts, sometimes. Following your dreams costs, maybe everything we’ve got. Trying and the risk of failure and disappointment come as a two-for-one offer. Joey might not make it, whatever ‘it’ was. He might sacrifice his teenagehood pursuing a goal that he’d never reach. He would encounter deeper and longer-lasting pain than a mild concussion if he joined the Gladiators.

  But he would know the pain of regret if he didn’t.

  Who was I to tell him which hurt more?

  And any pain I might feel had nothing to do with it.

  60

  Stop Being a Loser Programme

  Day Two Hundred and Eight (Still On Hold)

  Joey had been back at school over a week. He had one more check-up in a few days, where the doctor expected to be giving the all-clear to resume gentle exercise.

  I had completed my first project as Senior Bid Writer, and apart from a small piece of editing work, had nothing until a new project started the following Monday.

  I had not left the house in nearly three weeks, apart from two quick trips to the supermarket and Joey’s medical appointments.

  Mel and Dani had called in on me every few days, bringing breakfast each Saturday and turning up at inconvenient moments midweek with flowers, doughnuts or a punnet of fruit. They also brought campaign updates. Now only four thousand pounds shy of the original target, they were looking at potentially ending up with enough to fund an aquachair, or an extra poolside wheelchair as well. And, of course, they also provided training updates. Kommando Kim was doing a competent, if bone-breaking and wrath-inducing, job of clobbering them into shape for the big day. Dani, Isobel and Mystery Woman Two (otherwise known as
Miranda, it turned out) had started cycling alongside the runners on Sundays.

  They had also persisted with the same conversation, every time they’d called in:

  ‘Oh, and me and Selena are going swimmin’ whenever we can. Are you coming? You could give us some tips to improve our technique.’

  ‘When are you going? I might be busy.’

  ‘We’re goin’ whenever you’re not busy. Which seems to be most of the time.’

  ‘Let me know when you’re at the pool and I’ll see if I’m free.’

  They weren’t fooled by my attempts at fobbing them off. ‘Please don’t make me go swimming with Selena without you.’

  ‘I said, I’ll try to make it. I do have a job and a recovering son to care for.’

  Mel and Dani said nothing more, but I caught their worried glances. The grand opening of the Amelia Piper Swimming Centre was three weeks away. As much as I loved them, I began to dread the knock on the door. Being a recluse was a lot easier without friends to challenge and cajole you, making you feel guilty for soon-to-be broken promises and general life-failures.

  And I couldn’t be with Mel and Dani without thinking about Nathan, like a big, superfit shadow lurking in the corner, crinkling his eyes at me. Okay, so maybe I sometimes thought about him anyway. I didn’t have that much to do now Joey was at school, or many other people to think about. But Mel and Dani talking about the Larks, making me stress about how I was going to let them all down and reminding me that at some point I was supposed to make a speech to a crowd of people who thought I had lost the plot years ago and only deteriorated since: that made me miss him even more.

  So, here I was, heading out, into the open air, the actual street, to do something that however cringey, clearly beat the alternative.

  I scuttled down Foxglove Lane old-school, pre-Programme style, and up to the huge house. Before I had time to run away, or pass out, I knocked on the door.

  Audrey opened it, wearing a short skirt and a crop top that would rival my new swimsuit for lack of coverage. She beetled her newly shaped, pencil-assisted brows and pursed her lips.

  ‘Hi, Audrey, how are you?’

  ‘Fine. What do you want?’

  Eugh. She didn’t look fine.

  ‘Can I come in for a couple of minutes? I want to talk to you about something.’

  She hitched her top a millimetre higher up her exposed chest and scanned the road behind me. ‘Five minutes, ten tops.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Stepping aside to let me in, she took one last look outside before slamming the door behind us.

  Audrey perched uncomfortably on a minimalist, leather armchair, while I sat on the matching sofa.

  Given the time limit, I jumped straight in. ‘The triathlon is in three weeks.’

  ‘And?’ She shrugged, but it was a little too couldn’t-care-less.

  ‘I need you to take my place in the swimming race. Please.’

  ‘What?’ She wrinkled her nose in a mixture of surprise and derision.

  ‘I can’t do the swim. Your mum reckons you’re decent enough in the water. If there’s only two competitors for our team in any of the legs, we’ll be disqualified.’

  ‘You do it then.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I shifted on the sofa, causing it to make a loud farting sound that couldn’t have more aptly summed up how I felt if I’d produced it myself. I could go all in, open myself up to shame and ridicule, and Audrey could smile as she booted me out empty-handed and pick up the phone to pass the juicy information on to her new buddy Moira Vanderbeek. Or, I could let the tatty remains of my pride prevent those gorgeous, fabulous Larks from having any hope of even competing, let alone winning a medal.

  Okay. I could do this.

  ‘As you’ll be aware, along with the rest of the population, I’ve not been swimming since my mini-meltdown, fourteen years ago. I’ve tried to work back up to it, I even went to Brooksby pool and got as far as the changing rooms, but I can’t. Not without panicking. And the deep end of a swimming pool isn’t a great place for a panic attack.’

  Audrey looked unconvinced.

  ‘I know your mum was way out of order at the Christmas party, but please don’t let that stop you from helping the rest of the club. Or Tate. Nathan would be devastated.’

  Audrey frowned, looking pensive. ‘They keep sending me messages, asking how I am and stuff. Bronwyn invited me out for a drink a couple of times. But I couldn’t go because Graham doesn’t… I was busy. But if she’ll be there, I won’t go. It’d be disrespectful to Graham.’

  ‘Okay, Audrey. I’m going to say this, and given my life story, please don’t hate me, just know that I’m trying to be a friend: if you don’t want to swim, then I accept your decision. But make sure it is your decision. Don’t give up a whole bunch of people who love and care about you, who are fun and funny and bloody amazing for the most part, because one person says they want you all for themselves. Trust me, it won’t end well. No one has the right to demand all of you. You have too much to give to limit it to just him. And if friends and hobbies and living life to the full make your relationship more difficult, not better and richer and stronger, then it’s not a healthy one.’

  ‘My relationship with Mum was hardly healthy.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. But I think, with some tough conversations, and probably a huge amount of therapy, it’s not unfixable. In her warped way, she only wants the best for you. Are you sure that’s true for Graham?’

  ‘Ten minutes is up. Can you go now?’ She glanced at the window, apprehensively.

  ‘I can. But if you’re worried about how Graham will react if he finds me here, then you really need to think about what I’ve said.’

  ‘Okay, I get it. Will you just go?’

  I left.

  Would my words convince Audrey to save the day? At this point, I was more concerned about whether what I’d said would help save Audrey.

  61

  Stop Being a Loser Programme

  Day Two Hundred and Thirteen (Still On Hold)

  Sunday morning, Selena turned up at my door. She flung her arms around me, enveloping me in the worst of her post-run perspiration, and squeezed so hard my ribs crunched.

  ‘I don’t know what you said to her, but thank you. I’ve booked us a joint session with my therapist and am cancelling the hitwoman. Although, having had Graham under surveillance for the past few weeks, she’s considering going ahead and putting him out of action anyway. There’s more than one way to neuter a rabid dog.’

  ‘Is Audrey going to swim?’ I managed to gasp, once I’d broken free.

  ‘Yes. But you are, too. Audrey’s wonderful in her own way, but she’s no Olympian. We aren’t in this for the laughs, Amy. You’re our secret weapon and quite frankly our only hope. Don’t you dare even think about missing it.’

  62

  Stop Being a Loser Programme

  Day Two Hundred and Twenty-Seven – Back On!

  In flagrant disregard of Selena’s order, I bravely dared to think about missing the triathlon for the next fortnight. I thought about it while mindlessly completing a funding application for a local charity who deserved far more care and attention. I thought about it while carefully monitoring Joey’s gradual return to training, and readjusting my relationship with Sean to one of co-parents, and polite friends, nothing more for now and for as long as he continued to surreptitiously stare at me whenever he thought I wouldn’t notice. I thought about it when Cee-Cee came around for dinner, every Tuesday, as we slowly started to settle into a new balance of friendship. I thought about it whenever I went out, which was just enough to stop Joey worrying and to prevent a total backslide into hermithood. I thought about it when I stayed under my duvet instead, which was more often than I wanted to admit. I thought about it whenever I thought about Nathan, which was even more often than that.

  I grew sick from thinking about it. Pale, and irritable, and beyond knackered
.

  In my capacity as a professional writer, I had cobbled together a passable speech. It wasn’t quite ‘I have a dream’, but seeing as most people would be too busy ogling for signs of my mental disintegration rather than actually listening, it would do.

  The day before, Easter Sunday, Mel persuaded me to go along to a sunrise church service at a local farm. It had been a gloriously hot weekend, and even at that hour, the air was rich with the promise of spring sunshine, heady with the scent of blossom from the trees above, and the dewy grass beneath. We sang along with the nesting birds, about life, and hope, and all things new. About power, and courage, and victory won. Words that came back to me like a long-forgotten native language.

  I thought about how far I had come, in two-hundred and twenty-seven days. How much I had done. My life had become unrecognisable. I’d dared to hope the Programme might bring me greater freedom. I’d never imagined it would give me friends.

  So why had I stopped?

  Because it got hard? Every damn step had been gut-grindingly hard. Opening the door for eleven point two five seconds had been my personal best, at one point.

  Because my coach wasn’t there to hold my hand any more? I was supposed to be finally living as an adult, not a victim, no longer expecting other people to sort out my problems for me. Accepting help and support, yes, but taking responsibility for myself. If I couldn’t do this without Nathan, there was no point in doing it at all.

  Oh, for goodness’ sake! Of course I would go to the triathlon. I would smile, shake hands, cut the ribbon with a stupid pair of giant scissors, give my so-so speech and hand out the trophy to my old team, the Larkabouts.