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‘Oh, you’re Izzy Coulthard. I heard about your book deal. The stunt with the roughneck. Brilliant idea. I bet that sold a few extra copies.’ He sort of laughs and sort of chokes on his red wine as he speaks. Whatever he does, it’s disgusting. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking about doing something similar, trying to get close to reality TV stars, to put my name on the map, so to speak.’
If Brooks were here, I think there’s a good chance he would punch this Marcus guy in his upturned nose. Since he isn’t…
‘For your information, Marcus, it wasn’t a stunt.’ I rise, my chair scraping the floor as I stand. ‘Brooks Adams is a million times the man you could ever hope to be.’
I drain the wine from my glass and bang the empty down on the table. Then I leave the trivial, stuck-up party and the farce of everything that is my life in London.
* * *
‘Look, I told you I didn’t want to be there. The guy was a dick.’
Anna stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, looking a little green. Maybe she should have slept off more of her hangover.
‘You know what, Izzy, why don’t you just go back to New York if you prefer it so much?’
I put my headphones into my ears. ‘Be careful what you wish for. I’m going for a run.’
I set my wristwatch and start a half marathon. I run through Chelsea, Kensington, around Hyde Park, checking my watch at each mile. By the time I reach thirteen miles, I have shaved eight minutes off my best-ever time.
I bend forward and drag air into my lungs, then start to walk off the run. My smile is so wide, my cheeks ache. At the next store I pass, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I buy a chocolate bar. I take it to a bench in St. James’ Park and I watch people walking by as I enjoy my treat, square by square. Brooks was right. If you work hard, a reward is fine. I don’t feel guilty at all.
Working on cardio with Brooks was what got me to my best time today too. I take my phone from the bottom pouch of my yoga pants and snap a selfie.
I type the words:
You shaved eight minutes off my half marathon with your brutal cardio. You know the saying, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels? Well, it’s bullshit. This chocolate bar tastes bloody amazing.
I hesitate before finally hitting send and then enjoy the last of my sweet treat.
38
BROOKS
‘What do you think?’ Drew asks.
I lean back against the window ledge and take another look around the second floor of the old building, just off Wall Street. It’s the perfect location for the new gym. And the space is enormous. But the renovations were abandoned by the previous tenant, and it’s hard visualizing a gym around polystyrene drapes and scaffolding.
A lady called Gloria is showing Drew and me around. She’s a realtor his firm regularly works with.
‘You need to think outside the box,’ Drew says. ‘The space always looks smaller when it’s empty. Try to imagine yourself working out in here.’
I pace around the room but I’m not sure I can imagine myself here.
‘I think the ceilings are tall enough to have office space on a mezzanine level, like you do in your current place,’ he adds, walking around in jeans, boots, and a hard hat that’s a match for mine, only his is red and mine is blue.
As I try to ‘think outside the box,’ I receive a text message. The name on the screen is the last one I expected to see and the only one I’ve been hoping for.
I smile at a picture of Izzy in her sports gear, who’s sitting on a bench, eating chocolate, and admitting that my interval training has got her fitness up.
God, it’s only one text message but I feel like I can breathe again.
I reply:
It’s not just my cardio training. The squats and lunges have given you more power in your quads too.
She replies in an instant and I actually laugh out loud.
Smart arse!
