‘People with stamina aren’t made any differently to anyone else,’ she was saying. ‘The only difference is they have a clear goal in mind, and a determination to get there. Stamina is essential to stay focused in a life filled with distraction. It is the ability to stick to a task when your body and mind are at their limit, the ability to keep your head down, swimming in your lane, without looking around, worrying who might overtake you ...’
Who the hellwasthis person?
She skipped a little further into the video, and this other Nora was still talking with the confidence of a self-help Joan of Arc.
‘If you aim to be something you are not, you will always fail. Aim to be you. Aim to look and act and think like you. Aim to be the truest version of you. Embrace that you-ness. Endorse it. Love it. Work hard at it. And don’t give a second thought when people mock it or ridicule it. Most gossip is envy in disguise. Keep your head down. Keep your stamina. Keep swimming ...’
‘Keep swimming,’ Nora mumbled, echoing this other self and wondering if the hotel had a pool.
The video disappeared and a second later her phone started to buzz.
A name appeared. ‘Nadia’.
She didn’t know any Nadias in her original life. She had no idea if seeing the name would have inspired this version of her with happy anticipation or sinking dread.
There was only one way to find out.
‘Hello?’
‘Sweetheart,’ came a voice she didn’t recognise. A voice that was close but not entirely warm. She had an accent. Maybe Russian. ‘I hope you are okay.’
‘Hi Nadia. Thanks. I’m fine. I’m just here in the hotel. Getting ready for a conference.’ She tried to sound jolly.
‘Oh yeah, the conference. Fifteen thousand pounds for a talk. Sounds good.’
It sounded ridiculous. But she also wondered how Nadia – whoever Nadia was – knew this.
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Joe told us.’
‘Joe?’
‘Yeah. Well, listen, I need to talk to you at some point about your father’s birthday.’
‘What?’
‘I know he’d love it if you could come up and see us.’
Her whole body went cold and weak, as if she had seen a ghost.
She remembered her father’s funeral, hugging her brother as they cried on each other’s shoulders.
‘My dad?’
My dad. My dead dad.
‘He’s just come in from the garden. Do you want a word with him?’
This was so remarkable, so world-shattering, it was totally out of synch with her tone of voice. She said it casually, almost as if it was nothing at all.
‘What?’
‘Do you want a word with Dad?’
It took her a moment. She felt suddenly off-balance.
‘I—’
