Page 42 of Close to You
‘Checked a few websites and followed up a tip about an auction that’s happening in Marlborough on Tuesday. I headed out there to ask a few questions and then tried to persuade the owner to sell privately to me. I’m waiting on a callback. I met a couple of interesting locals out there, actually. Some bloke who does house clearances who took a card and another guy who was going on about how he can get fake IDs and passports. I took his card just to be polite. Probably a nutter.’ He pauses and then adds: ‘What about you?’
‘I got my first personal training clients today.’
‘Congratulations! I knew you could do it.’
I try not to be too smug – even though I’m definitely pleased with myself.
‘I’m hoping I’ll be able to do a bit more during the day and have more evenings off,’ I say.
‘That’ll be nice.’ He rests an arm around my shoulder. ‘I’msoproud of you. You’ve done this all by yourself. So many people lack the ambition to do the type of thing you’ve done.’
I put my bowl to one side and press my head into his shoulder. I needed to hear this. It’s what makes us more than housemates.
‘Thank you for believing in me,’ I say.
‘Of course I believe in you. Who wouldn’t?’
‘Nobody else did,’ I reply. ‘Only you.’
Twenty
Three years, two months ago
The traffic light changes to red with such perfect precision that it might as well follow it up with a flashing middle finger. I could gun the engine and pile on through the junction – but I’m not a taxi driver, so I ease onto the brakes and sit.
There must be some sort of in-built sensors in traffic lights that can pick up on when a person is in a hurry. Got hours to spare? Hey, here’s a green light. Running late? Too bad: it’s red for you.
It’s probably no longer than a minute, but it feels like an age until the light switches back. I hit the accelerator on the ‘g’ of green and fly across the junction, taking the series of familiar turns until I pull up outside Nick’s house. The garage door is open and he’s already there in his running gear, waiting for me.
‘I amsosorry,’ I say as I head along his drive. ‘I was having problems with the car and then I got caught behind a tractor.’
He waves me away and doesn’t question the story, even though it’s only cover for that fact that David and I spent twenty minutes arguing over how he never does anything around the apartment. He’s not swept up since he moved in and the fridge was empty again today. He never shops for more, as if nipping into Asda is beneath him.
‘It’s fine,’ Nick says. ‘I’ve not been home that long either. It gave me a chance to warm up.’
As my first personal training client, I’m slightly protective over continuing to work with Nick, even though I’m not convinced his heart’s in it. He says he wants to train for a marathon, but I don’t believe he’s sticking to the plan I’ve drawn up for him. His garage is a makeshift, converted gym – but he’s the type with all the gear and little idea. He’s packed a weights bench and an exercise bike into the space; plus there’s a top-of-the-range road bike hanging from a hook off to the side. It looks like it’s never been ridden.
I take him through a short series of warm-ups and then we head off along the pavement for a run. He’s out of breath by the time we hit the corner, like a lifelong smoker doing CrossFit. I ease off, slowing until I am, essentially, doing a fast walk. Nick stays at my shoulder as we continue along the pavement. I check the heartbeat on my sports watch and it’s steady.
‘How are your kids?’ I ask.
He gasps slightly for breath, but we’re going slowly enough that we should be able to have a conversation.
‘Alexa’s enjoying school,’ he replies. ‘She must get it from her mother because I was never a fan.’
‘It’s basically just painting at her age, though, isn’t it?’
‘True.’
We take the corner and I tell him that we’re going to sprint to the next turn. It is with obvious reluctance that he agrees – and then we bolt to the corner. I have to jog on the spot for a few seconds, waiting for Nick to catch me and, when he does, we drop our pace once more.
In all, we do a little over two miles in a lap until we arrive back at his house. I jog on the spot again, but the lack of breath and stooped stance makes it clear he doesn’t have another lap in him.
It’s only as I’m watching him that I spot a flicker of movement from across the road. I figure it’s the wind at first – but then I see the shape of a person ducking out from behind a bush and then quickly slipping backwards again. I continue to watch as Nick hunches onto his knees.
‘Do you want to go inside for some water?’ I say. ‘I’ll wait here.’
‘Right.’
