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She smiled. ‘You did really well, though.’
Kind of her to lie.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I really want to get fit.’
‘Me too. Important, isn’t it, as we get older?’
We stood there chatting. And what can I say about that, other than it was lovely, really lovely? My God.
Blue Eyes is looking at me with concern, and I realise I’m in floods. ‘Do you want to take a break?’
I shake my head, take the tissues she’s holding out to me.
‘I just can’t believe what happened to her, you know? I mean, I can. I know I have to face it, but she was just so nice… no edge to her, y’know?’
Blue Eyes waits while I compose myself enough to carry on. I sip some of the water, wipe my eyes and take a few deep breaths.
Once I’m calm enough to speak, I tell her things I know she knows already, like the fact that the woman’s name was Anne-Marie Golightly. Most people round our way will know that; it was in theWeekly Newsand the nationals. It will have been on the television, though I never watch the news on telly anymore. She was from Liverpool. To me, she was… she was just, you know, a lovely person. She had two kids, both grown up now, and referred to her husband as his lordship, which she said with real affection and it made me smile.
And she asked me questions too, which felt new, somehow. I told her Kieron was at art college and I didn’t moan about Katie and her strops, just said she wanted to be a make-up artist and that she was currently a YouTuber and left it at that.
At a certain point, we both sighed.
She looked around her. ‘Bloody hell, there’s only three cars left. We must have been here an hour!’
I laughed, followed her eyes to the sky-blue Mondeo, my rusty red Twingo and a bright yellow, very expensive-looking sports car. ‘I’ve lost all track of time. Too busy gassing.’
I shake my head and smile at the memory.
Amanda is looking at me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. ‘That must have felt good,’ is all she says.
‘It did,’ I reply. ‘Have you ever done that? Met someone and just chatted away like you’ve known them for years? It’s such a good feeling, isn’t it?’
‘It is.Simpaticois the term. I think it’s from the Spanish but I’d have to check. It describes the feeling of mutual understanding, getting along with another person. Do you think it felt particularly good just then?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, you were feeling distant from Lisa.’
‘Oh, yes, I suppose so.’
‘Do you think you can tell me what happened after that?’
I nod, even though I can’t, not really. I can only tell her what I remember. I remember that the leisure centre lights flashed and went out. I remember that a second later, the manager came out, locked the main doors and strolled over to the sky-blue Mondeo, whistling. I wondered if he’d seen us, whether the lesser-spotted menopausal woman is more visible in a pair. Apparently not.
‘His lordship will be wondering where I am,’ Anne-Marie said.
I wondered if Mark had even noticed I wasn’t back yet.
She looked over at the car park and pointed her key, and to my surprise, the yellow sports car cheeped and flashed, at which point she returned her eyes to mine and gave me an enormous grin, really cheeky, like a kid’s.
‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘I’d never have put you in that! I thought you were on the bus.’
‘That’s my husband’s menopause you’re looking at. Daffodil-yellow Audi TT. Takes me ten minutes to get out of the bucket seat. Do you want a lift?’
‘No, love. I mean, I’d love one, just to get a ride in one of them things, but that’s my rustbucket over the other side. Ta, though. See you next week for some more torture.’
‘Torture, aye. You’re not wrong. Night, then.’
