Mum on the Run (28 page)

She throws me a startled look. ‘Isn’t he? I . . . no, I didn’t know that.’

I study her face, wondering if she really didn’t know, and if she’s secretly pleased or even feels a twinge of guilt. ‘We’ve had some problems,’ I add.

‘Have you? Um . . . I’m sorry to hear that.’ A tense silence fills the stark kitchen. It’s the tiniest thing she does – a minute gesture – but as she bats a tendril of hair from her eyes, I see her as Jed did: a girl who needed someone, and decided that he was a good, kind person, the sort of man who could help her to be a proper mother and make everything all right. Just as I used to feel. And I realise with a start that, although I could probably manage without him, and that we could coexist as parents the way we are now, I still want him very much.

‘Celeste,’ I say gently, ‘are you in love with Jed? Please tell me the truth.’

She lowers her eyes and turns away from me. ‘He’s been a good friend to me, Laura,’ she says.

Chapter Forty-Five

I leave, because I don’t need to hear any more. She didn’t choose him to confide in because he was kind, or understood about families, but because she’s been in love with him, all along. I’m grateful for the gust of cool evening air as I step outside of the mill. The garden is in full bloom, exploding with colour, the herbaceous plants merging like watery inks. There is a strong, heady scent – stocks, maybe – and I’m propelled back to Dad’s garden, with its wide borders bursting with pink and blue, and Finn eager to grow things and harvest his first runner beans. Something catches in my throat, and I bend down to re-tie a loose trainer lace. When I straighten up, Celeste is standing there, barefoot, looking pale and a little too thin in her navy vest and jeans. ‘Please don’t go yet,’ she says. ‘I need to talk to you.’

I frown. ‘Celeste, I’d better get back. It’s getting dark and . . .’

‘Please. It’s important. I . . . I owe you an apology. Would you come and sit with me?’

I nod, following her to the bottom of the garden where we sit side by side on the hammock. ‘So, what is it?’ I ask.

She turns to face me, making the hammock sway disturbingly. I press the toes of my trainers into the clipped grass. ‘Nothing happened,’ she blurts out. ‘There was nothing between me and Jed. You have to believe that.’

I look at her, at this small, thin woman with goose-pimpled arms in the dusk. She wanted him, I realise now, despite me and our children.

‘Do I?’ I ask.

‘I’d tell you. Honestly. I know how difficult I’ve made things for you. I didn’t mean to, not at first . . .’

My breath catches, and the hammock rocks unsteadily. ‘What do you mean, not at first?’

Her blue eyes hold mine. ‘Jed’s special to me. You know he’s the only one at school who knows about Agnes?’

I nod.

‘You know about my daughter?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘It’s not something I’m proud of,’ she goes on, twisting her fingers together, ‘living in a different country from her. I’ve tried to make it work. Jed helped me through all of that. He understood, Laura . . .’

‘Yes, but it’s always felt,’ I cut in, ‘like the two of you had secrets . . .’

‘It wasn’t Jed’s fault,’ she insists. ‘Oh, he was there for me at first, always happy to talk after work, or go for a drink, then I sensed him pulling away and . . .’ Her eyes glimmer with tears. ‘You know what, Laura? He’s so like Agnes’s dad. We were only sixteen when she was born, and we split up even before I had her, and my parents insisted that we never had any more contact. So I’ve never known what my daughter’s father is like as a man.’

‘But Jed has a family of his own,’ I say. ‘He has us, Celeste. Three children who need him.’

‘I know that. It’s all I want too, you know. I thought I’d have that, when Agnes came over to live with me. I’d even managed to get her a place at school . . .’ Her voice cracks, and she pokes her bare toes into the damp turf. ‘I found it hard to be around you,’ she adds. ‘I felt kind of . . . inadequate, you being such a perfect mother . . .’

‘You’re joking,’ I say with a mirthless laugh.

‘Oh, but you are. And Jed adores you, you know?’

‘
Do
you know that? How?’ My voice is sharper than I intended.

‘I do,’ she says, ‘because that first night he stayed at the hotel, under the railway arch, I went round to see him.’

It feels as if my heart has stopped.

‘I know it was wrong,’ she blurts out, ‘and he’s married to you, and the last thing I’d want to do is break up a couple . . .’

I breathe deeply, clenching my toes in my trainers.

‘But I did it. I went to his room . . .’

Slipping off the hammock, I walk away slowly, eyes fixed on the gate.

‘. . . Nothing happened,’ she insists, hurrying along beside me as I stride across the lawn. ‘He just talked about you. Kept asking me how I thought he could make things right again, and if I thought you’d be happier if he made the garden nicer for you, or had a new bathroom fitted . . .’

I laugh bitterly. ‘A
bathroom
?’

‘. . . and that’s what we did,’ she concludes, throwing me an imploring look.

I stop and stare at her. ‘You went to Jed’s hotel room and talked about gardens and bathrooms?’

She nods. ‘And I realised what he has with you, and that he loves you so much and always will. And . . .’ She swallows hard. ‘That sort of decided it for me.’

‘Decided what?’ I ask curtly.

‘That I should leave and go back to Agnes in France.’

‘Well,’ I say, ‘I hope it works out for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’d better head back now before it’s completely dark.’

‘But it’s dark already. You can’t run all that way. Please let me drive you . . .’

‘I’m fine,’ I say firmly, taking a deep breath. ‘I really need to get home.’

I wait until I reach the main road before stopping and fishing out my mobile from my tracksuit. ‘Laura?’ Jed says. ‘Where are you?’

‘On my way home. I’ve been longer than I expected. I’m sorry.’

‘I was starting to worry . . .’

‘I’ll be home in half an hour, love. I went to see Celeste . . .’

‘Why? I thought—’

‘It’s fine, Jed. It really is. We just talked and I’m coming home now, okay?’

‘I could come and pick you up. Toby’s in PJs but I could tuck him up in the car, we’d be with you in five minutes . . .’

‘Honestly, Jed. The run will do me good.’ It does, too. I follow the grass verge back to town, running steadily with a new sense of strength, as if I could keep going forever. Perhaps it’s the thought of the Scarborough race. Or maybe it’s the fact that, even when faced by a beautiful woman in a tawdry hotel room, my husband chose to discuss bathroom fittings.

Chapter Forty-Six

I pull on my Absorba-Bounce bra and my race T-shirt. Shorts today, as it’s too hot for tracksuit bottoms. My heart is thumping nervously, and I can’t even choke down the advised pre-race snack.

Danny texted me, asking me to meet by the stage at the starting point. OK SEE YOU THERE, I texted back. I’ll be glad of someone to run with today. Don’t fancy doing this alone. ‘Are you coming to watch?’ I ask the children hopefully as they toy with their poached eggs and Jed sips his coffee.

‘Don’t know,’ Grace murmurs. Finn merely sniffs, and Toby is too intent on peeling off his toast crusts to answer.

‘We might see you down there,’ Jed says, ‘but it’ll be tricky spotting you in all those crowds.’

‘Okay,’ I say, grabbing my bottle of water and some new fangled chip thing which came with my race pack, and which I have to attach to my ankle. This will record my time accurately. I’m not really worried about that. I’m more concerned about the stage Danny mentioned, and what I might be expected to do on it.

I attach my race number to the front of my T-shirt with safety pins.
Now
I look like a real runner. ‘Bye then,’ I say hesitantly.

Jed flicks up his gaze. ‘Bye, love. Good luck.’ The children merely carry on eating.

They could show some interest, I think as I stride into town, noticing numerous people decked out in race T-shirts, all heading in the same direction. I know I’m not exactly setting out to traverse China on a yak, but still – it’s a big deal to me. I think of all the times I’ve stood on the sidelines, cheering on Finn’s football team, and yelling encouragement as Toby and Grace have staggered across the nursery garden or the school playing field with an egg and spoon. I’d have thought Jed might have been a little more supportive, too, if he wants to move back in with us properly instead of this indistinct half-at-Duncan’s, half-at-home situation. It feels as if we are both poised, waiting for something to happen. In some ways, though, the breathing space is doing me good. Sleeping alone is okay. It’s preferable, at least, to sharing a bed with someone who doesn’t want me.

There are more and more runners, arriving from all directions, and crowds are gathering as I approach the starting point. Most are in pairs or groups, laughing and chatting excitedly. I start to feel quite alone in my T-shirt with Dad’s face on, chosen from the selection of pictures we rounded up for Grace’s school project. ‘My Granddad Charlie’, she called it, captioning each photo in careful handwriting and gathering memories from Mum and Finn and me. Finn was surprisingly helpful, especially with the gardening parts.

I glance around for Danny. As it turns out, the stage is for an exuberant trio of fitness instructors who are coaxing the assembled crowds through a warm-up routine. I pace around, queue for a portaloo and sip from my water bottle anxiously.
Still
no Danny. Not sure how we’ll find each other in this crush.

‘Hey, you’re meant to be warming up,’ Naomi cries, forcing her way towards me in a tight baby blue shorts and top ensemble.

I grin at her. ‘Well, I walked into town. I feel pretty warmed up already.’

‘Yes, but you don’t want to strain anything or take a tumble, do you?’ She appraises my gym-kit-style shorts.

‘It’s okay,’ I snigger. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine, but if I’m not, there’s a piece of paper in my pocket with contact details for my next of kin.’

She laughs, launching herself into a series of enthusiastic star jumps. I spot Beth too, who’s not running but has come along to cheer me on. ‘You’ll manage it no problem,’ she tells me.

‘Yes, I seem to remember you saying that at the school sports day . . .’

‘But look at you now! You’re like a different person. You’re . . . unrecognisable.’

‘Thanks.’ I swallow hard.

She pauses and gives me a concerned look. ‘How are things?’

‘They’re okay,’ I say truthfully. ‘Jed comes over every day. It’s almost beginning to feel . . . I don’t know. Not normal exactly, but workable.’

‘But you want more than that, don’t you?’ she asks.

I nod. ‘Yes, of course I do. But I need to know that he wants that too. And, somehow, he has to show me.’

She glances around at the assembling crowds. ‘Hasn’t he brought the kids to cheer you on?’

I grimace. ‘No, but it’s probably better that way. They’d be standing around for hours and only get fed up.’

She nods. ‘You’re probably right. Anyway, good luck. Or should I say break a leg . . .’ She hugs me, then disappears back into the crowd.

Still no Danny. The warm-up ends, and with all the anticipation and build-up I feel quite exhausted already. I glance down at my T-shirt, at Dad’s face, smiling in his garden. A proud face. I have gleaned sponsorship for his hospice from my clients at work and the playgroup mums, and although it’s so tempting to sneak off to Café Roma, I have to go through with this.

An exuberant man with a megaphone directs us all towards the starting area. Ten kilometres now feels like a horribly long way to run without stopping, and I have visions of being scooped off the road and shrouded in a silver blanket, like a roast chicken. I’m already too hot. The sun beats down as we shuffle and wait. ‘Seven minutes to go,’ the man bellows. ‘Good luck, everyone. There’s water at the two-mile mark.’

I swig from my bottle, making a mental note not to drink so little that I collapse in a dehydrated heap, but not so much that I’ll be forced to take an emergency loo stop in a bush at the roadside. Everywhere I look, groups of friends are revving each other up for the race. I feel as if I’m at a party where everyone’s great mates, and I don’t know a soul. Even Naomi’s disappeared into the crowd.

‘Laura, over here!’ I squint and spot Danny, waving to attract my attention. He’s not wearing a race T-shirt but a plain black long-sleeved top, for goodness’ sake. I squeeze my way through the crowds towards him.

‘Hey,’ I say, ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You’ll roast alive wearing that. And where’s your runner’s number? I thought—’

‘Um, I’m not running,’ he says.

‘Aren’t you? Why not?’
Three minutes to go
, the announcer calls.
Everyone in their correct muster areas please . . .

‘Because . . . you don’t need me.’ He smiles, and I see his gaze flicker over the picture of Dad on my T-shirt.

‘But Danny, I thought . . .’

‘Sarah’s been in touch,’ he adds. ‘She wants to come back. Give things another try . . .’

Two minutes, runners! Good luck everyone. It’s a scorcher of a day so make sure you top up with plenty of water . . .

‘Oh, Danny. Is that what you want?’

He raises his eyebrows and smiles, and his cheeks dimple as the sunlight catches his clear blue eyes. ‘I think so. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be a new start for us. We’ll see. How about you?’

‘Good,’ I say firmly. ‘We’re getting along, you know? Just being Mum and Dad.’

He nods, then adds, ‘Could I show you those pictures I took of you sometime? I was really pleased with them.’

‘Were you?’ I laugh. ‘I’m glad. Sure, I’d like to see them.’

‘It’s . . .’ Danny pauses. ‘It’s been great, Laura.’

‘Yes, it has.’ The announcer is saying one minute to go. Without thinking, I quickly kiss his cheek. ‘Better go. Don’t fancy being the last person to finish.’ I scamper away, aware of him watching as I hurry towards the starting area.

‘Five, four, three, two . . .’ There’s a blast of horns, and I’m off, no longer feeling alone but jammed in amongst too many runners, all trying to find their own space. Slow and steady, that’s what Belinda said at Tub Club. Mustn’t run out of steam by that first water station. People are running with pictures of loved ones on the back of their T-shirts: ‘For Mum’, one says. ‘For Deena, 1955-2010.’
For Dad
, I think, as the crowd thins out and we head along the main street and past the pub where those men commiserated with me after my debut run.

I turn the corner and Café Roma comes into view, the smell of freshly-baked goodies teasing my nostrils. It would be so easy to swerve in. No one would know. That ankle-strap chip thing has fallen off anyway, and I could pelt around Lyedale Park enough times to make Jed and the kids believe I’d made it to the finishing line. The absence of a medal might perplex Toby, but I’m sure I could pick up an acceptable replica in town.

As I pass the café, something catches my eye on the small hill opposite. It’s a banner, made from a roll of paper, and it’s being held up by a couple of adults and a cluster of children. GO LAURA! it reads. Even as I’m running past, I can make out a cheering Beth and Pete, plus Grace, Toby and Jack, who are yelling excitedly. Finn is there too, standing a little away from the banner, and he’s affected his nonchalant expression as he talks to Kira. I’ve almost passed them when he looks my way and offers a small wave. Tears fill my eyes, and I’m so choked to see them all here for me that running suddenly feels effortless. I’m laughing and crying as I charge on, sloshing water onto my scorching face. Realising I’m going a little too fast, I try to settle into a steady pace. Don’t want to peak too soon. Don’t want that silver-blanket-roast-chicken scenario.

‘Laura!’ a man calls out some distance behind me. Maybe Danny’s changed his mind and decided to run with me after all. I glance back but can’t see him. ‘Hey, Laura!’ the voice comes again, closer now. I turn again, scanning the runners’ faces while taking care not to lose my footing among the discarded water bottles.

Then I see him, darting between groups of runners to get close to me. ‘Jed,’ I breathe. ‘What
are
you doing?’

‘Running.’ He flashes a grin.

‘What, all of it?’ I gasp.

‘Looks like it,’ he says, ‘unless you know of a shortcut we could take.’

I laugh, taking in the sight of my husband in shorts, a T-shirt and race number. ‘Did you actually enter for this?’ I ask.

‘Yep.’

‘But you never said! And there wasn’t a race pack for you . . .’

‘Late entry,’ he says. ‘Picked one up when I arrived. Hope I’m not cramping your style.’

‘No, of course you’re not,’ I laugh.

‘Well, I thought maybe you could use the company . . .’

‘I can,’ I say, feeling my heart swell with each step. ‘I really can.’ By the time we reach the halfway mark, Jed is clearly amazed that I haven’t been carted away on a stretcher.

‘You’re not bad,’ he pants.

‘Well, thank you. I have been training, you know.’

‘Yes, but a few months ago, I’d never have imagined you, um . . .’

‘Doing this?’

‘Yeah.’ We run on, past the crowds all yelling support, and a samba band bangs a rhythm which, as I’m flagging now, gives me an extra spurt of energy.

Jed is lagging behind, red-faced, his breath coming in gasps. ‘You okay?’ I yell back.

‘Fine. Just a stitch. You go on – I’ll meet you at the finish. You can share your banana with me.’

‘But I want to run it with you . . .’

‘I’ll only hold you back,’ Jed insists, clutching his side.

I slow down to a jog and run alongside him. ‘Take it slowly,’ I say. ‘Deep breaths, nice and steady. Here, have a sip of my water.’

‘Thanks, coach.’ He swigs from my bottle, and we fall back into step. Just one kilometre to go. My chest is burning, and the balloon-strewn arch, with its giant digital clock, shimmers in the distance. 750 metres to go. 500 metres. ‘Sorry, I’ll have to stop,’ Jed says.

‘You can do it,’ I say, grabbing his hand. We slow down further until we’re half-walking, half-jogging towards the balloons. Then, somehow, the sight of them bobbing against a brilliant blue sky, as if we’re at a kids’ party, makes us speed up and tear over the line.

There’s a swarm of runners grabbing their finishers’ packs from a table, plus bananas and bottles of water. ‘Can’t believe I didn’t manage sub-fifty minutes,’ Naomi snaps at her husband, who’s holding their doleful child’s hand. ‘The clock must be wrong. I’m going to complain.’ Without spotting us filing past, she takes a furious bite out of her banana.

‘Wonder what our time was?’ Jed asks. ‘I forgot to put that chip thing on.’

‘And mine fell off . . .’

We look at each other, and he takes my hand as we head for a space on the grass. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’ Jed asks.

‘No, it doesn’t.’ I break into a grin. ‘It’s the taking part that counts.’

We wait amidst the milling crowds, and finally Beth and Pete head towards us with the children and their bundled-up banner. Spotting us, Grace breaks away from the group and tears ahead. ‘Mummy!’ she cries, sending me flying backwards with a hug and a kiss. ‘Did you win?’