by kendra Smith
‘Alright?’ James was towering over her. He was in a bright orange weatherproof top and black tri suit underneath. She looked up at him and nodded. She couldn’t actually speak, her throat was so dry. She hopped from one leg to another to distract herself, looking down at the electronic tag on her shoelaces.
‘I’ll wait for you at the pool, OK? Don’t worry about your time, just finish the race.’
That would be the last thing on her mind. Merely completing it was the major hurdle. She just wanted to get the run over, then she’d see James at the indoor pool and the rest would be fine.
Just fine, she reminded herself. They were just silly nightmares. Fragments of dreams. Nothing solid.
‘And try not to worry about—’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said impatiently. She knew what he was about to say. She jigged up and down, hoping that the start whistle would go off soon.
‘Remember we’re doing this for Izzy, alright?’
She nodded. Izzy. Focus on Izzy. A man with a loud hailer was telling everyone a few health and safety issues, about the water stations, that there would be officials along the way. The crowd was getting restless now, some people shouting and laughing. Some of the runners were wearing fancy dress; there was a man in red stripy tights and red stripy top, with black-rimmed glasses and a sign that read ‘Where’s the Bullying?’, a take on ‘Where’s Wally?’ A group of women were huddled together; one of them had a short veil on her head, the others in tiaras. They were wearing T-shirts pronouncing ‘Tanya’s Hen Do’.
James stood next to her, stretching out his hamstrings. They’d agreed that they would start off together but that as he was clearly faster than her, he’d go ahead. Three kilometres, she could do this, she knew she could do this.
Once the whistle went off, there was a loud cheer and then a thunderous noise of feet and the crowd clapping. At the start, everyone was shuffling away from the finish line with lots of arm jostling, cheering, the smell of sweat and deodorant mingling among the runners. A few of the contestants at the front sprinted ahead, but most people were slowly jogging along, waiting to get more distance between them and the person in front. James nudged her arm. ‘OK?’
She nodded. Blood rushed to her ears as a sea of people surrounded her.
‘Good luck,’ he said, striding ahead. The problem was, one of James’s strides was about five of her running steps. She increased her pace, pumped her arms and tried to keep up.
Despite the weather, the mood was jubilant, people were chatting, Tanya’s Hen Night girls were ahead of Victoria, giggling, one was applying lipstick with a compact mirror, another girl was pulling up her socks; they were adjusting tiaras and screeching to each other. She pulled back her shoulders and picked up her pace.
She’d lost James by this point and it had started to drizzle. She carried on, up past the edge of the woods feeling the dampness on her face and back of her legs. She was in a ‘tri suit’ – an all-in-one suit designed for going straight into the water. The ribbon of path running around the woods was covered in wood chip and easy to run on, but as the path continued deeper into the woods it narrowed and was interlaced with slippery tree roots.
Victoria rounded the bend at the end of the woods and took the path deeper inside. There was a yellow arrow directing her, although she knew the way. She carried on up a steep hill, a marshal on her left, waving her on and holding up a ‘1 km’ card. Thank God, a third was over. She continued up the hill, the rain was getting heavier and she knew the steepest part was yet to come. The air was thick with rain and humidity, and the smell of the damp soil filled her nostrils. She shivered as rain seeped down the back of her waterproof. Her feet were aching and she tried to ignore the sensation; she knew that she had nearly completed the steepest part. Just then a runner barged past her and knocked her off the path. ‘Oi,’ she cried out, as a woman in a tiara pounded ahead. It was one of the Hens.
Taking a huge lungful of air, Victoria could see the top of the hill. Just keep one foot in front of the other, she reminded herself. Out of breath, she reached the top of the hill, but she didn’t want to stop. She glanced at her watch and was thrilled to see it was the fastest time she’d ever made it up the hill. Galvanised by her time, she sped down the other side, knowing that when she came out the woods, it was an easy lap round the edge, then towards the finish line. She carried on, the path was thick with mud now and she could feel it splattering all over the back of her legs.
Her arms were pumping by her sides, she tried not to slow down, but it was incredibly slippery. Loose stones had made her slide a few times over the mud but she had steadied herself. Now, she could just see the edge of the wood meaning that the finish line would be in sight when she emerged from the trees. She sped up, increasing her stride, glanced at her watch, and, just as she did, she miscalculated jumping over a tree root and felt her foot jar against it – suddenly she was up in the air, the soil beneath her coming closer and closer until – wham! – she was face down on the path, her right knee felt jolted into the soil and her right hand took the full impact. All the air had been pumped from her lungs and she took heaving breaths, lying on the path, her ribs still slightly tender. Rain carried on beating down on her and she sat, feeling the dampness soak through her jacket. She studied her right hand, it was covered in blood and ached. Her right knee was throbbing and a trickle of red liquid made its way down her leg, seeping into her socks. She sat for a moment, in the pouring rain on the muddy path, knowing she had two choices. She could either burst into tears, or get up and carry on. She thought of the accident, of Izzy’s face the night at Heath Farm, and she hauled herself up onto her knees, onto all fours, winced, and then gradually stood up. There was nothing for it but to start to run again, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other.
By the time she emerged from the woods her hand and knee were throbbing in time to her footsteps. She could see the finish line. Izzy and Jake were huddled under a green golf umbrella. Now, she just had to get to the swimming pool and finish off the last part. She ran towards the finish line to cheers, let the official take the tag off her foot, waved to Izzy.
‘Go Mum!’ she heard Izzy call, and that cheer carried her forward as she sprinted towards the pool – just as a new kind of pain shot through her chest. A tightness. No, she would not allow herself to panic. A nauseous sensation wound its way around her stomach as she entered the hot fug of the pool – her body seemed to be taking over. There was the tightness again. She looked up and could see James lining up for his heat of the swim. She could do this.
46 Lulu
I creep around the back of the village hall. There are flowerbeds beneath the windowsill and it’s hard to see in, but I find a spot in between two planters of pansies and geraniums. I edge my way through them, and rip my tights just as I approach the window. Damn. The windows are dusty and there are cobwebs on the outside, I brush them away and peer in.
I clench my hands on the window ledge and take a deep breath. My knuckles go white. I lean closer. Markie is there with Katia. She’s in my dress, she’s singing songs I wrote the lyrics for. Children are milling around her like she’s bloody Santa Claus. Swish, swish goes her long blonde hair that doesn’t seem to have fuzzy bits that stick out. I’m reminded of a time when I was about five, I was in Reception at school. This little girl Nula wore my dress. Every day, just before our Rich Tea biscuit, we were allowed to play dress-ups. And every day there was an unwritten rule that we all wore the same clothes and played the same parts. I was the Princess. There was Baba – a big felt elephant’s head – but nobody wanted that, because Denise used to hide in it and pee; there was also a pirate outfit, and a knight made of stretchy silver elastic and bits of tinfoil – and the Princess dress. But one day, I went to the toilet and when I got back Nula was wearing the Princess dress. ‘I’m the Fairy Princess today,’ she’d said, waving a sparkly wand at me. When I looked at the others they were all dressed up too. I was bereft. The teacher came over and chided
with me, told me that everyone had to have a turn in different outfits. I looked in the dressing-up chest and there was only Baba left. I burst into tears.
That’s how I feel today.
Markie is sitting on the upturned box, strumming his guitar and grinning at the enthralled kids. I can just make out his voice. But then my heart stops. Because it’s his eyes, he’s looking at her and it’s the admiration, it’s unbearable as she twirls around. It shouldn’t matter but it does.
A spider scuttles along the window ledge and I gently move it out the way. I flick some hair off my face. What am I doing here? When I look up, Markie and Katia are packing away their things, and the children are collecting their party bags. Mums and dads are appearing and collecting their offspring. After a while, the hall clears out and Markie and Katia are chatting by the piano. He’s gesturing with his hands and she’s throwing her head back laughing. Then their faces look serious – oh God, is he going to kiss her? I feel ashamed that I’m peeking in on such an intimate moment and yet I can’t pull myself away. Another few quiet words and then he leans in and he hugs her, puts both his strong arms around her shoulders and pulls her tight and kisses her on the cheek. I close my eyes. I’m too late.
Suddenly there’s something fluffy by my feet coupled with loud barking.
‘Shush, Mustard! No! Sorry, sorry!’ A woman in a light blue tracksuit is tugging at the lead of this furry friend who is yapping at me and jumping up on my legs, snaring my tights.
‘Oh, gosh, sorry!’ Her voice is high pitched.
‘Don’t worry!’ I say, reaching down to pat him. He reminds me of Pickle, but he’s determined to be the centre of attention, and leaps around me, twisting the lead and I’m caught up so much that – no! I trip over and fall into the flowerpot as the dog’s owner lets out a shriek.
She yanks the dog away apologising and then fusses around the dog trying to make him sit. I’m covered in soil now and the pansies are squashed, the ladder in my tights is running right up my thigh. I am trying to haul myself out of the wooden planter just as I hear a voice I recognise above me. No, no, no.
‘Lulu? Is that you?’
I’m stuck in the flowerpot, my skirt up to my waist with ripped tights. I look up at Markie and make a face.
‘What, exactly, are you doing in the flowerpot, you eejit?’ He grins at me. And I can’t help it but we both burst out laughing. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he dropped us back at Victoria’s on my ‘wedding’ day and he’s leaning out the window, his hair flopping over his forehead, shaking his head at me. It’s a bittersweet moment: I’m overwhelmed with the joy of hearing his laugh and sorrow about what I’ve just seen.
I shrug. ‘I was just passing.’
We’re sitting in The Little Norland Coffee Shop, next to the village hall. I love this place. It’s a family-run business and all the food is made onsite. The chairs and tables don’t match, there are comfy leather sofas dotted around and fresh flowers on every table. Newspapers are stuffed into a stand next to the cash register and the place is warm and cosy, the smell of freshly ground coffee in the air.
‘Passing the back of the village hall, and you got stuck in a flowerpot?’ His face is deadpan.
‘I told you, it was the dog.’ I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself saying any more as I look at his cheeky grin. ‘Oh, alright. I was spying on you.’ It just comes out. It’s too hard not to be honest with him.
‘Your voice’s snippy again, so it is.’
‘I’m not snippy.’
His eyebrows rise and I feel I owe him an explanation. ‘Because, well, I just wanted to see, you know, what you were up to and how you were coping – without me.’
‘Coping?’ His mouth twitches. I could hit him. ‘Well, Katia is doing brilliantly, so she is. She’s deadly.’ I’ve got used to Markie’s quirky Irish expressions now. ‘She’s got a great voice, a knack with the kids.’ He looks at me and opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something. Then his expression changes. ‘And how’re you going, Lulu, how’s your old man? How’s Pickle? Did you think about what I said?’
I’m glad we’ve moved on from Miss Amazing. Seeing her was enough. And I have thought about what he said; he messaged me when I was on the train, to let me know that Katia was permanent. It was a blow, even though I know I’ve got to move on, move away from kids’ parties. He told me get a ‘proper job’ as an actress or singer, with a smiley face. Sent me the link to that agency I told my dad about. I know he meant well, but it still hurts. I fold my arms across my chest and nod.
‘I did – and I spoke to Victoria, that night, I told her. Actually Izzy blurted it out,’ I confess, pushing my sleeves up and looking at him. ‘But I was going to tell her, and then I told her everything, absolutely everything, I swear, about being drunk, about pulling the wheel, the way I felt, the pressure, everything I told you.’ I shrug. ‘All of it.’ There’s this odd need to be totally honest with him, as if he pulls it out of me.
‘Good. And how was she?’
‘She didn’t blame me at all. In fact, you know what she said? She said,’ I feel my throat catch. ‘She said she loved me, that she knows I didn’t do it on purpose.’
‘Go on.’ Markie touches my knee and my heart does a little flip.
‘In fact, she said she’s glad we had the accident.’
Markie leans back on the sofa and moves a cushion. ‘She said that?’
I nod.
‘How so?’ He tilts his head to one side.
‘Because she’s glad that she’s time-travelled back six years, I suppose. She said she prefers the old Vicky, the one from six years ago.’
Markie puts both hands above his head and stretches. I can’t help but glance at his shirt as it opens up at the collar and notice how smooth the skin is there. ‘I see. And what did James say?’
‘Don’t know. I went to bed, but there was something else going on between the two of them and, well, he left for a bit. But I think they’re patching things up now.’
‘Relationships, eh? Messy.’ He stares at me and pulls at his earlobe where the guitar earring sits. ‘How did, er, Simon take it?’
I roll my eyes. ‘God, I can’t believe I was about to—’ I shake my head, ‘to share my life with him, I mean, he was horrible to me. I was going to tell him about— Anyway.’ I shift in my seat and pick at my laddered tights. Something stops me going any further. ‘I know he lost his first wife, but he was cruel, told me I was “cheap”. Those were his words.’ I lower my eyes and stare at my boots. I still feel ashamed.
Markie lets out a long low whistle. ‘Never can tell.’ He finally says.
‘What?’
‘People aren’t always what they seem, and we don’t know what they’re hiding, what they’re running from.’ He stares straight at me, and it’s as if he knows.
A young girl with blonde hair in a high ponytail comes up to us wearing an apron. She’s the owner’s daughter, and asks if we want anything else, but I shake my head. She puts a bottle of water on the table and smiles at us.
‘I did some serious thinking at Dad’s,’ I say, ‘and I know I’ve been a bit messed up, I’ve been running away—’
‘I know you have, Lulu. It’s obvious. When you first started working for me you told me you’d auditioned for the West End, but then next thing, you’re happy to be stuck with me.’ He shrugs. ‘I mean, I know I’m a great guy and all that—’ He stops and looks at me; it’s as if he can see right through me, then playfully punches my arm. ‘I’m kidding, but what I mean is, I’m ten years older than you Lulu, I made my choices, it’s my business. But you? You’re wasted here.’ He waves his hand around, I assume he means Little Norland.
I open my mouth to speak. There’s so much more I want to tell him. More than anything, I want to let these demons go. But just then my phone pings. A text from Izzy.
Where are you?? Mum’s done the run and now it’s the swim.
‘Oh shit, shit, shit! I was meant to b
e there!’
‘What’s up?’ Markie is staring at me. ‘You’re doing that sucking-a-lemon face.’
‘It’s Victoria, I can’t believe I missed her run!’ I glance at my phone for the time. ‘But there’s still the swim to do.’
‘Her duathlon, you mean?’ I’d texted him and told him all about it on the train on the way down. ‘I saw all those signs at the car park on the way here. You need to be there.’ He jumps up. ‘I’ll drop you off on the way.’
I grin at him, thankful that he can always see what needs to be done.
He looks at his watch. ‘We’re doing Caterpillar at five o’clock.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘So there’s time.’
A little splinter lodges in my heart. We. I attempt a shaky smile. Then my eyes follow him as he walks out the café, one hand yanking up his jeans, the other slinging his guitar over his shoulder and I’m rooted to the spot. I want to run after him, but I stop myself. I slowly pick up my handbag, take a deep breath and head to the door.
47 Victoria
She sat on the raised edge next to the pool, shivering in her tri suit, and tried to stem the blood from her hand. She’d managed to nip to the Ladies’ quickly and wipe down her leg and wash her hand, but they still stung. An official was standing next to the swimmers with a clipboard, talking. She was in white shorts and T-shirt with a lanyard round her neck, laughing and joking. In her hand were coloured wristbands she was giving to each swimmer. Victoria watched her mouth move, saw her check her watch, issue some more instructions, and then nod at them. But Victoria couldn’t hear. Instead, she was staring at the choppy water, the noise of the pool and the crowds thrumming in her ears. Swimmers were gliding up and down, like underwater missiles, chasing their own personal-best time, slicing through the water. Suddenly, the whistle blew to signify someone finishing, then an electronic bleep as the next wave of swimmers entered the water.