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29
Rebecca
My chest was burning as I ran up the slope, away from the lake. If I could just make it to the top, I’d have done my 7K. My thighs felt as though they were going to explode as I staggered the last few metres up the hill, pumping my arms to help my body along.
I checked my Fitbit: 39 minutes. Not bad. Three minutes faster than I’d run the same distance on Sunday.
I flopped down on the grass, lying flat out, dandelions tickling the back of my neck. Above me, the sky was blue with fluffy clouds, like when you drew a picture of a house when you were a kid. My imaginary abode had always been square, detached, with a front garden full of flowers, a curved path and smoke chugging out of its chimney. In other words, nothing like my actual house, which had been in the middle of a slightly shabby row of terraced houses with no front garden in a suburban town. I didn’t remember ever seeing flowers in our little patch of garden at the back.
I sat up, resting my chin on my knees, hugging my shins. It was gorgeous here. To my left was Kenwood House in all its creamy, dramatic Georgian glory and in front of it the lake and the white bridge, which looked like the most romantic setting on earth from this angle but was in reality a replica and couldn’t actually be walked across. I let my imagination run away with me, picturing myself as a lovestruck heroine in a Jane Austen novel. In order to do justice to this image, however, I had to work hard to block out the family with five noisy children behind me, the lively group of octogenarians playing boules to my left and the man teaching his dog to catch a manky tennis ball in its mouth to my right.
The hairs on my arms stood on end now that I was cooling down and I pulled at the tracksuit top I’d tied around my waist, slipping it on. When I looked up, I spotted somebody thundering diagonally up the hill. I was glad he was struggling as much as I’d been because that meant that it wasn’t so much my lack of fitness that was the problem as the steep incline. I had another sneaky look: I recognised that black-on-black ensemble, the T-shirt with some sort of hip-hop slogan on it, the three-quarter length joggers. Jack.
Possibly sensing me eyeballing him, he spotted me, too, and came to a stop, bending double to catch his breath and then walking towards me.
‘You OK there?’ I said.
His face was bright red and there were rivulets of sweat streaming down his face. ‘Just about,’ he replied, taking a deep breath in and then blowing it noisily out again through his mouth. ‘God, that hill is tough.’
I nodded empathetically, dabbing at my forehead with the sleeve of my jacket. ‘I know. I’m going to be aching big time tomorrow.’
‘How was your run?’ he asked.
Because the sun was behind him, it was like I was viewing him in silhouette, the features of his face almost too dark to make out.
‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t really up for it, but you always feel better afterwards, don’t you?’
I watched him stretch his quads, flipping his heel up behind him, holding onto his foot. He had excellent balance; if that had been me, especially if I’d had an audience, I’d have been flailing my arms about all over the place.
‘Have you seen any more of Clive?’ I asked him.
He crouched down in front of me. ‘Popped in last night. Physically he’s doing really well,’ he said. ‘The hip operation was a success, as far as they can tell. Obviously they’re still monitoring him and all that. They got him out of bed for the first time earlier in the week. He managed a few steps, the nurses said.’
I’d knocked to ask Jack about him once or twice, and each time there was this kind of unsaid mystery surrounding it. I could tell he was wondering what my hospital phobia was all about.
‘It’s his mental health I’m worried about,’ added Jack, flopping down on the grass next to me, his legs splayed out in front of him.
‘Oh, really?’ I said, surprised. Clive had always seemed so strong. So independent, so capable of dealing with anything life might throw at him.
Jack sighed. ‘He’s lonely, isn’t he? I think I underestimated how important it is for him to see us all, even if it’s only to say a quick hello to as we go up and down the stairs.’
I pulled blades of grass out of the ground. ‘That’s sad.’
Jack leaned back on his elbows. ‘He was telling me how he’s lived this really solitary life and how that suited him for a long time. He liked being able to please himself. But now they’re talking about him going into a home.’
The wind picked up and I tucked a stray hair behind my ear.
‘My nan’s in Greenhill Lodge, not far from here.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘Does she like it there?’
I nodded. ‘She’s definitely starting to. She’s like Clive, really sociable, so it’s nice that she’s got people to talk to all the time. Although she still thinks all the other residents are much older than she is and that she’s far too young and spritely to be in a place like that!’
Jack laughed.
‘I could mention it to Clive,’ I said. ‘Next time I visit,’ I added, looking off into the distance.
Jack looked out at the lake, then back at me again. ‘Can I ask you something?’
