Page 25 of Close to You
‘There might be an event in Edinburgh next year. I’ve got to email the guy back.’
‘That’s great news!’
‘Right…’
It’s hard to feel enthused with everything else going on. I wonder if I should bring up what I saw in the back of her photo – though it’s difficult to know how to broach it.Hey, you remember my ex-husband…? I want to ask her about it – but, at the same time, if she didn’t notice David, or the person wholookslike David, I don’t particularly want to draw her attention to it.
There is another gap and then: ‘It’s been ages since you visited,’ Jane says. ‘I’ve not seen Andy in a while, either. Why don’t you come over this week…?’
I have the instant panic of trying to come up with an excuse for not going. My idea of a good evening has generally always involved having my feet up in front of a television. Ever since what happened with David, I’ve become even less likely to take people up on their offers to do things. The less I have to talk about him or myself, the smaller the chance of accidentally letting something slip. Jane is perhaps the only person with whom I’d be close enough that my guard could drop and the truth might pop out.
‘What nights are you working?’ she asks.
It’s only the question that jolts my memory. ‘Tonight,’ I reply. ‘I’ve got a spin class at six.’
‘Are you free Wednesday?’
‘I’m not sure. With us moving in together on Saturday, I’ve still got packing to do. I’ve hardly done anything yet.’
‘You must have one evening free, though…? You’ll be busier when you’re actually moving in.’
‘I’ll check with Andy and see what he says.’
I’m hoping he’ll be busy all week because I’m not sure I can risk simply not asking him. I have big lies to cover up and one thing I’ve learned is that there’s no point in piling smaller ones on top.
‘Do you want me to drop you off at home?’ Jane asks. ‘Or the studio?’
I don’t have a mode of transport for now, so tell her the studio. I’ve got the spinning class there in a few hours and can’t be bothered trying to figure out a way to get across the village in these temperatures.
It’s not a long drive, though the day is already starting to darken as we pull into the car park at the back. Natural light is at a premium at this time of year.
When we come to a stop, I thank Jane for picking me up and she turns in her seat, smiling awkwardly.
‘Can I ask a favour?’ she says.
It’s hard for me to begrudge that, especially as she’s just picked me up and driven me back to the village. I do know that, whatever she asks, I’m going to have to say ‘yes’.
‘Of course,’ I say.
‘I’m getting that mole removed on Thursday afternoon,’ Jane says.
‘The one on your neck?’
‘Right. It was supposed to be a four-month waiting list, but they had a cancellation. The only thing is that Ben can’t get out of work and, um…’ She tails off but glances to Norah at her side.
I almost can’t believe the words as they come out of my mouth, though I suppose one good turn deserves another, far worse, favour.
‘I can take Norah,’ I say, regretting it before I’ve even finished. I’d rather spend time on the doorstep with a Jehovah’s Witness than have to babysit a sixteen-month-old. Ask to borrow someone’s brand-new car and they’ll look at you as if you want a kidney – but the same person will be delighted to thrust their actual offspring onto literally anyone else with barely a blink.
‘That’s fab of you,’ Jane replies. ‘We can talk details later in the week. Maybe Wednesday night…?’
‘I’ll let you know once I’ve talked to Andy.’
Jane blows me a kiss and then I get out of the car and head for the back door of the fitness studio.
If karmaisa thing, then it has a strange way of manifesting itself. After what happened with David, life has delivered me everything I wanted. When we met, I told him that I wanted my own studio and here, three years on, I have precisely that. It’s barely a couple of miles from my flat and so successful that I have to turn down personal training clients as I can’t fit everyone in. I’ve gone from grotty sauna-like conditions at the back of decaying council-run leisure centres to a custom-built place of my own. Not only that but I’m part of the conference tour scene. I get invited to various events once or twice a month on average, where I either host mass fitness sessions or give talks about the industry. I suspect that anyone who ends up on a speaking circuit knows deep down that it’s money for old rope – telling people what they want to hear – but I’m not complaining. If someone wants to pay me to spout the same old drivel over and over, then I’m all for it.
My building has studios on two floors and I’ve taken to renting out the space to other trainers to use with their own clients. My office is on the top floor, hidden away in a corner, largely so I can avoid everyone else, under the pretence of having work to do. I breeze through the space and head up the stairs, before unlocking my office door and letting myself in. Once inside, I check my emails, wondering if Steven might have got back to me with any more photos. He hasn’t, so I trawl through the Facebook profiles of some of the people I know from last night. There are all sorts of pictures posted, though none I can see with the man in the blue suit.
