“You a triathlete too?” she asked.
“Thinking about it. It looks fucking hard.”
“It is.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled.
I swiveled in my chair to face her. “Can you testify from experience?”
“I started training a few years ago after a bad breakup,” she continued. “I hadn’t been on a bike since I was a teen, and there were several times before and during the race I thought I might die. But the high after finishing is better than any drug. You should try it. I guarantee you’ll be hooked after your first competition.”
“You think it’s realistic for someone to start at my age?”
“Oh my God, totally. You’re young and you clearly work out.” She glanced away and at the floor. “I mean, you’ll love it.”
I hadn’t worked out much lately, but at least I looked as if I were in good shape, even if I didn’t feel it.
I’d never had a conversation with Fiona other than about work. I’d not considered her existence outside of these four walls, but clearly she was passionate about what she was talking about.
“Any words of wisdom on where to start?”
She leaned across my keyboard and started tapping away. I sat back in my chair and moved slightly. “Here,” she said. “Try this website. If I were you, I’d start with a sprint, and see how you get on.”
“Wow, fifteen miles is a sprint?” It sounded more and more brutal.
She clicked on several menus and scrolled through the site, pulling up a spreadsheet. “Start with a training plan, but don’t be afraid to change the one you come up with. The first time you don’t really know left from right. You’re a big guy, and you look fit, but . . .” A blush bloomed across her cheeks, and she moved away from the keyboard, but continued to stare at the screen. “But you don’t know how your body’s going to react. I could take a look at your plan if you want me to. Perhaps give you some ideas of where to train.”
“That would be great, thanks,” I said through a grin. “It would be good to have someone to talk this shit through with. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Okay, well, email me your plan when you have it, and I’ll take a look. We could go for coffee sometime and look over it.” She shrugged “But I’m sure you’ll be—”
“Let’s grab some time on Friday maybe?” Putting a triathlete in front of me was like the universe telling me I was on the right track. What had been a vague idea thirty minutes ago was firming up to be a realistic proposition. Having someone help me get started was just what I needed.
“After work?” I had back-to-back meetings on Friday.
“Yeah, sounds good.” Fiona grinned and began to head off. Before she got to the door, she froze.
“You came to talk about the Nigelson, case, didn’t you?” I laughed.
She slapped her forehead and spun to face me. “I did. I came to drop this off,” she said, handing me the bunch of papers tucked under her arm. “It’s the environmental report you asked for. I’ve emailed you my analysis, but thought you might want to see the original.”
“Thanks, that’s great. I thought it would take longer.” She managed to get through work like a machine.
“Oh, I had some free time, so I got to it sooner than I expected.” She smiled and turned to leave. “See you Friday.”
Finally, things were coming together. The flat. The triathlon. Even catching up with Adam. I was getting on with my life, just as Ashleigh had wanted me to. But I couldn’t help thinking everything would feel a little better if she were here to share it.
Ashleigh
Richard suggested a quick bite before the play, and I couldn’t see a reason to say no. It would be good to have a distraction. At least I’d managed to get a seat on the bus. I had my book in my bag, but I couldn’t bring myself to read at the moment. Everything on my e-reader was about couples bound to have a happily ever after. I was too concerned about whether or not I was going to get mine to read about anyone else’s. As usual, I was lost in thoughts of Luke.
When would I see him again? Haven had cancelled Sunday night dinner, making up some crazy excuse about her hairdresser. I knew she’d intended to give Luke and me a little breathing space, and I was grateful, but I missed him so much.
Haven had mentioned he’d moved, and I wanted to hear every last detail. Hell, I wanted to see the place for myself. I didn’t want to miss another Sunday dinner together. It wasn’t that I’d changed my mind. More that I still wanted to be his friend, have a presence in his life while he decided what he wanted. Because, if he didn’t want me, I needed to know we were still going to be friends, still be part of each other’s worlds.
The bus stopped, and I watched as people filed off, creating room for those queuing at the front. I managed to scramble out just before the doors shut. I’d zoned out and not taken in that I’d reached my destination. I really shouldn’t be responsible for people’s healthcare needs at the moment—I could barely get off a bus at the right time. Thankfully, the restaurant was just a few yards away from the stop. I checked my watch. I was only ten minutes late.
I spotted Richard immediately, and relaxed as he smiled and waved. I handed my coat to the hostess.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said as I neared the table.
“No worries.” He stood and kissed me on the cheek. “I ordered some wine. Is that okay?”
“There’s never going to be a time in my life when I say no to wine, just for the record.”
“Maybe when you get stuck in your MBA. You won’t be able spend all your free time buzzed. How’s the application going?”
It was a surprise that he asked me. He hadn’t seemed very interested when we were dating. “Good. I sit the entrance exam in a month and start in January if I get in.”
“I’m sure you will. You’re clever. They’d be lucky to have you apply.”
His response was far from what I’d expected. I raised my eyebrows.
“You are,” he said. “All the doctors say so.”
“They do? You talk about me? Us?”
“Of course we do. Are you telling me you don’t talk about us?”
“Nurses are far too busy and professional. Doctors,” I said, swirling my index finger in his direction, “are clearly a bunch of underemployed gossips.”
Richard chuckled. “Well I don’t know about the underemployed thing, but I’ll cop to the gossip bit. And actually the blokes are much worse than the women.”
I rolled my eyes.
“What?” He held his hands up.
“You say that like it’s a total shock that men are just as gossipy as women. You’re a nice guy, but sometimes I want to slap you about the head.”
“Why? I was being nice and saying that women aren’t the gossips you might expect.”
I started to laugh. “Holy crap. I despair. And you don’t see that by doing that you’re reinforcing the stereotype? It’s not a compliment.”
He stopped suddenly, as if I’d pressed pause, his hand hovering over his wineglass. He blinked once, twice and pursed his lips. “Jesus, you’re right. Fuck. You see. I said you were clever.”
“I know I’m clever, but thank you.” I grinned.
“Have I done that stuff before, you know, like when we were dating?” His eyes were the size of saucers, as if I were Galileo telling him the earth moved round the sun.
I shrugged. “Maybe. Once or twice.”