Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen …. heart rate one hundred and ten, great, he’s in the zone.
The worst are the ones who just assume that since life has been peachy until now, they can take it all for granted.
Twenty-one, two, three … he fights the urge to stop and allow himself some recovery time. Recovery is for wimps.
Twenty-eight, nine, thirty … enough.
We can't just assume those important to us will always be there. Sometimes shit happens. And the only thing we can do is assess the risk, mitigate against it, check our kids are resilient and, above all else, make sure nobody gets too close in the meantime.
Scott squat thrusts to standing. A trickle of sweat meanders between his pecs. It isn’t going to be enough today. A run – maybe a half marathon – will keep the demons at bay. He jogs down the stairs.
In the kitchen, Brianna’s cooking what looks like pancakes; her blonde, curly hair is pulled into a gorgeous, loose ponytail.
So like her mum.
The thought compresses his chest, and the familiar stab of longing just about fells him. He approaches his daughter, pecks her on the cheek.
‘I’m off for a run, honey,’ he says, ‘what are you doing today?’
She shakes her head. ‘Not sure. Think I’ll work through a packing list for university,’ his capable, assured daughter says.
‘Cool. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be an hour, two at the max. I have a key, though. No need to stay in.’
‘Sure thing. Love you, Dad.’
‘You too, honey.’
He grabs a key, opens the door, does a few quick stretches and finds his rhythm: one, two, three.
Bloody mattress toppers.
SEPTEMBER
FRESHMAN PARENTS' ONLINE FORUM: ST ANDREWS UNIVERSITY
Omg. Can’t believe it’s finally here. Driving up tonight. Good luck everyone.
Yes, good luck all. Feel so nervous for him!
Wish it was me again.
Same.
Me too. Hoping not to cry.
Chapter 2
HEATHER
