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Untangling the rope, she began skipping – something she hadn’t done since school. Her body felt cumbersome and heavy, like trying to lift a juggernaut off the ground. ‘I’m not the one who needs anything expelling,’ she said, struggling to coordinate her arms and legs. ‘That would be my husband.’
‘Try to keep a nice steady rhythm.’
Easy for him to say. ‘He’s destroyed my life.’
‘Extend your arms, that way you won’t keep hitting your head with the rope.’
On cue, she smacked herself in the face again. ‘What kind of man abandons his marriage for a woman young enough to be his daughter?’ She swung the rope higher, missing her head, but making her arms ache. ‘He’s embarrassed his kids and betrayed everything we had together.’
Why, was the question? What was lacking in their marriage that had made him leave? They’d been happy together – or so she’d thought. How had she got things so badly wrong? It was the lack of a decent explanation that hurt the most, as if announcing he was leaving her for Tiffany was sufficient, and no further reasoning was needed. But it wasn’t enough – it’d left her with a host of unanswered questions and a sense of utter confusion.
‘Okay, stop.’ Anthony clicked the stopwatch. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Hurt. Angry. Stupid. Most of all, heartbroken. He was the love of my life.’
Anthony tilted his head. ‘I meant how do you feel after skipping?’
‘Oh, right. Fine.’
‘Let’s move on to the legs. Can you do twenty squats for me?’ He demonstrated the move, his muscular thighs bobbing up and down with ease.
She attempted to copy him, bending her legs.
The sight of a few other gym users also struggling to keep up with their instructors helped to distract her. Aside from the toned patrons who made exercising look easy, there were a few people like her. Older people who didn’t look happy about being encouraged to exercise and whose expressions reflected pure misery. Maybe she wasn’t the only person struggling with a lack of self-esteem.
‘Keep your back straight. Bend from the knees and lift your chin,’ Anthony said, assessing her from all angles.
Her thighs were burning.
‘Nineteen… twenty. Great, let’s move on to the pads.’ He headed over to a large punchbag hanging from the ceiling by a long chain. ‘Nice soft knees for this one, centre your weight, and ensure you make contact with the top of your foot.’ He kicked the bag so quickly and efficiently that she took a step back. ‘Your turn. Nice and slow to begin with.’
Connie tried to replicate the move, but she lost her balance, stubbed her toes on the bag and crumpled to the floor.
‘You didn’t centre your weight.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine,’ she said, feeling anything but, as she clambered to her feet.
‘Remember, top section of your foot. Tilt your body to make contact easier.’
Sucking in a breath, she tried again. The impact rattled up her body, sending her off balance, but she remained upright and didn’t squish her toes.
‘Much better. Try again. Put some weight behind it.’ Anthony positioned himself behind the pad and held it steady.
Connie eyeballed the punchbag, visualising her husband’s face on the front. She swung her leg up and made contact. Take that, Kenneth bloody Lawrence!
‘Excellent. Again.’
Another strike, which landed perfectly. The impact stung, but she didn’t care. Who did Kenneth think he was? Richard flipping Gere? Hardly. He was a pathetic sixty-five-year-old man. A pensioner, for crying out loud. Didn’t he realise how stupid he looked, parading around with a big-titted, twenty-something, who was clearly only after his money!
‘You’re doing great, Connie. Keep going.’
She was getting the hang of it. Settling into position, bending her knees and kick! Each one landing on Kenneth’s smug… annoying… imaginary face.
‘Bastard!’ she yelled, landing another kick. ‘Lousy… lying… cheating bastard!’ Another kick, this one harder, almost dislodging Anthony. ‘How dare you leave me after all I’ve done for you! Supported your career… raised your kids… cleaned your dirty underpants… And for what? To be tossed aside for Tiffany Tart-Face!’
The alarmed look on Anthony’s face dragged her back to the present.
Silence settled around her and she realised the whole place had stopped what they were doing and were looking at her. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, waving an apology at the other gym users. Embarrassing herself seemed to be her default setting these days.
