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“How did you know?”
“I heard it die. The whole building heard it die.” Lauren put down the clipboard. “Can you stand up for me?”
She ran through the usual assessment: bend forward, twist, then lie on your back while I lift your leg. The hamstring objected. Early. Carly’s face didn’t change, but her breathing did, and Lauren lowered the leg.
“There,” she said. “That’s where it stops you.”
“It doesn’t stop me.”
“It stops you. You just keep going anyway.” Lauren straightened. “Which, between you and me, is how it got like this. Do you warm up properly on Wednesdays?”
“Of course.”
“Properly? Or three half-hearted leg swings while telling yourself that counts?”
Carly’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen that video.”
“Everyone’s seen that video. My mum’s watched it eleven times. She keeps sending me the link, in case I don’t know it exists.” Lauren held out a towel. “Okay. I’ll start with the hamstring, then work up into the glutes and lower back. If anything’s too much, tell me and I’ll ease off. If anything feels sharp rather than achy, tell me straight away. I’ll step out while you get changed. Underwear’s fine. Lie face down under the towel, and I’ll knock before I come back in.”
Carly took the towel. “I was in the army. I’ve changed in a tent in front of forty people.”
“I know. But this is my room.” Lauren heard how it sounded and didn’t take it back. “And in my room, you get a knock.”
For a second, Carly looked thrown. Then she nodded.
“Okay.”
Lauren stepped into the corridor and leaned against the wall with her eyes shut. Out on the gym floor, a weight hit the matting. The vending machine clunked.
This is your job, she told herself. You are a professional. You have touched literally hundreds of hamstrings.
None of them had been Carly’s.
She counted to sixty, knocked twice, waited for the muffled “Yes,” and went back in.
The first few minutes were the hardest, and then they weren’t.
That was what she liked about the work. Whatever was going on in her head, her hands took over eventually and dragged the rest of her along. Muscle didn’t care about history. It cared whether you were paying attention.
Carly’s hamstring was a cable pulled taut. Lauren warmed it with long, broad strokes, then went deeper, feeling for the band locked tight from the back of the knee up. She talked as she went, low and plain, as she did with every client who held their breath. This might be tender. Tell me on a scale of one to ten.
“Six,” Carly said.
“Your six or a normal person’s six?”
A pause. “Eight.”
Lauren eased off. “Thank you for being honest.”
“You asked.”
“People usually lie. Especially footballers. Especially centre-backs.”
“I’m not a centre-back. I’m not anything yet.”
Lauren didn’t comment on the yet. She was saving it.
She worked up into the glute, then the lower back, and there it was.
