Running into Trouble, page 15
She got to her knees and grabbed the stack of unsorted mail and old magazines that were gracing the bottom shelf. They landed with a smack on the top and, to her horror, Hannah saw a red “FINAL BILL” flutter out of the stack and onto the floor.
She reached down to snatch it away, but Cassie had already noticed.
She frowned. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘I think you can get rid of those Pizza Hut vouchers …’ said Hannah, trying desperately to change the subject. ‘They keep sending me those.’
‘Hannah.’
Cassie reached over, grabbed the letter and tore it open. Hannah felt the colour drain from her face as her friend read it, sitting down on the seat next to her, wishing she could simply melt into the sofa and never be seen again. It’s odd to see Cassie out of her running get-up, she thought, watching as Cassie perused the letter, brow furrowed, looking casual and unassumingly glamorous in her skinny blue jeans and oversized black top that hung off her delicate shoulders.
‘It says here that you’re overdue on your utility bill. Can you afford this? Be honest.’
‘Yes! Of course I can,’ said Hannah stiffly. ‘Kind of. I just need Dan’s help. I called him the other day. Just waiting for him to get back to me.’
‘And when exactly was that? Why are you waiting on him? Han, this is serious.’
‘You’re talking as though I don’t already know,’ said Hannah curtly. She took a deep breath and reached for her cup of tea.
Malika, who was still placing things in the box marked ‘DAN’S STUFF’, called from across the room. ‘Windsurfing? Does he actually go windsurfing? No? Into the box it goes …’
‘If you don’t want to talk to Dan about this, I can,’ said Cassie. ‘I can give him a call right now, if you like. This is what I do for a living, Han. I help people in these situations. And if the utter dick-brain has time to stalk you on Instagram, he has the time to pick up the phone. You can’t just let him walk all over you. He’s already left you for someone else, now he’s dropped you in it with all the bills, too.’
‘Thanks. Really, thank you,’ snarled Hannah. ‘As if I didn’t feel like shit already.’
‘I’m only being honest with you, Han. Why are you putting up with this? Do you still want him back?’
Hannah ran a hand through her hair. Do you still want him back? Truthfully, Hannah didn’t know, but she knew deep down that her answer was, most probably, yes.
‘It’s not that easy,’ said Hannah, staring at the carpet, at the table, at anywhere but Cassie’s stern glare. ‘We’ve been through so much together. I know how stupid this must sound, but I still love him.’ The tears were in full flow now. ‘You’re younger than me, Cass. You don’t know how it feels for me …’
Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘I love him,’ she mimicked. ‘Such a cliché. If he loved you, he wouldn’t be doing this. He wouldn’t have cheated on you. If things weren’t going so well, he’d have talked to you, not run off with someone else. What are you, a doormat? Shall we go to the tattooist later and get “welcome” inked across your face? I’m only telling you this because I know you’re worth so much more. You need to move on, Han. If he does come back, how long before he does it again?’
Hannah put down her tea. Her hands were shaking and she was in danger of dropping it, letting the mug fall, the dark brown liquid seeping into the beige carpet.
‘Well, thanks for your lovely bout of concern, Cassie. I appreciate it.’
‘Han, sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. I’m not going to sit here and rub your back and tell you how everything’s going to be sunshine and rainbows. I’m giving you the honest truth, take it or leave it. You’re too good to be treated like rubbish by some dickhead who can’t make up his mind as to what he wants from one minute to the next.’
‘Cassie’s got a point,’ said Malika. ‘Plus, what about Steve, the sexy marshal?’
‘This isn’t about Steve,’ Hannah sniffed. ‘Plus, “move on”? That’s so easy to say. It’s so simple for you, Cass, with your perfect life. If we sell this house, I have to start from scratch. All those years, all the work put in … and where am I supposed to live? In some crummy bedsit? Move back in with my parents? I’m nearly forty-nine. I can’t do that.’
Malika spoke up. ‘Kath’s considering moving in with Andrea, so there’s a chance her room might be available soon. You’re always welcome to move in with us if you need to.’
Hannah thanked her, grateful for the generous offer. However, living with a group of twenty-somethings was out of the question. There was no way she wouldn’t cramp their style. No, she’d probably prefer the bedsit. At least it’d be hers and hers alone.
‘Han,’ said Cassie. ‘I’m surprised you’re even standing for this. Let him go.’
‘Plus, Steve’s more attractive,’ added Malika. ‘Not my type, but I’m just saying.’
Cassie’s words stung. Deep down, Hannah knew there was truth in her brutal honesty, but it hurt. Hannah felt a flash of anger at this woman, Miss – or soon to be Mrs – Perfect, who seemed to have life handed to her on a plate. And even that wasn’t good enough.
‘Thanks, Cass,’ she snapped, ‘but it’s different for me. “Oh, just leave him,” says Perfect Cassie, with her lovely fiancé and house, in a world where everything goes her way. It’s obvious you’ve lived your life excelling at everything, never having to worry.’
‘Han—’
‘No. It’s easy for you to look down on me because guess what? I’m not bloody perfect. I’m not like you or your mates, with your dazzling careers and fantastic fitness habits, off to get your personal bests so you can compare them in the office and tell each other how brilliant you are and give yourselves a giant pat on the back.’
‘Hannah! I’m trying to help.’
‘Is it helping, Cass? Not only do I have to endure you looking down on me, but I also have to hear you moan about not wanting kids. I’ve looked it up, you know. Child-free-by-choice, or whatever it is you call yourselves. I’ve seen those women on social media, whining about kids in restaurants or on trains, stating how so amazingly happy you are that you’re not a “breeder” or a “mombie” and won’t be blessing the world with your “crotch-goblins”. You know what, Cass? That hurts.’
‘We’re not all like that. Han, my choice has nothing to do with this—’
‘Wait, I’m not done. I’m nothing like you, Cass. So please, please don’t try to tell me what I should be feeling. I’m not saying I want Dan back. I’m well aware that he’s treated me badly. You don’t have to keep reminding me. All I’m saying is that it’s not as simple as it seems. I’m going to have feelings for him, for some time. Just accept that, OK?’
When silence fell, besides the sounds of Malika rummaging through boxes, Cassie spoke quietly.
‘I know you’re angry. But I’d be an awful friend if I only told you what you wanted to hear.’
Tearfully, Hannah put her head in her hands. Cassie stayed silent before hopping over to the sofa. She pulled Hannah in for a hug. It felt strange to Hannah, feeling Cassie’s hands on her shoulders. She didn’t think Cassie was the hugging type.
‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘You can get through this. Try to focus on the race. If you can get through that, you can get through anything.’
Hannah nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘Whoa!’ came a shout from the back of the room, startling them both.
They looked up to see Malika, who was on her knees, rummaging through an old box. It was falling apart ; one that had been long ignored in the dusty depths of the attic. She held up a handful of books in triumphant glee. Books with glittery covers that Hannah recognised immediately. Her stomach dropped as Malika flipped one of them open.
Her old diaries.
Oh no.
‘Please don’t …’ said Hannah, almost launching herself across the sofa to shield Malika from her cringeworthy ramblings of the eighties.
But the damage was already done.
‘Wow,’ said Malika. ‘Look at this! Can I read it, Han?’
Hannah’s face was puce. Malika was already flicking through in apparent awe.
‘Ugh, if you must.’
Malika read aloud :
So there’s a disco on at the youth club next week and I really want to go. I bought a new dress. Mum went with me to get it, says it looks great. But you know when sometimes you think something looks great and you get home and it’s anything but? Well, that’s what happened to me. It’s too tight and bright pink, and it pinches me in the ribs and makes me look like a giant ball of fluff. If I go to that disco, Bronwen will look gorgeous and I’ll just tag along and people will laugh. They already laugh, so this will be a million times worse. And Mum is going to wonder why I’m not going and will be mad that I asked her for a new dress. She’ll shout that we can’t afford it, so I’ll have to fake period pains, and Bronwen …
Hurriedly, Hannah reached over and grabbed the diary from Malika’s grasp.
‘Aaand that’s enough of that. I’ll take that, thank you,’ she said. ‘And those.’ She swiped the whole lot.
Armed with the diaries, she wandered into the kitchen.
‘Aw, come on, Han. I was enjoying that. Did you go to the disco in the end?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘I faked the period pains. I just couldn’t bring myself to go. Bronwen was annoyed, but then she ended up snogging the boy I fancied. Well, the whole school fancied him, really, so she wasn’t too annoyed after that. To be fair, she was pretty smug.’
She took the first diary from the top, its cover decorated with a holographic horse, and flicked through. Pages and pages of her handwriting, large and neat. The pages bulged with the thoughts and dreams of teenage Hannah. Naive and oblivious as to what life held in store.
On 1 January 1988, she’d been seventeen and angry at the world. Life hadn’t been going to plan, even then. She remembered wanting to give up those daily jottings, yet somehow, she hadn’t been able to stop writing. Hannah ran a finger over the handwritten date and flicked through, her embarrassment tinged with a hint of sad nostalgia. Sometimes her writing was frantic, the frustration of her youth evident in the way her ‘t’s almost tore through the paper, how the curled ‘l’s were straighter in times of annoyance with friends, with boys, with her weight. In all the books that stood next to her, stacked on the worktop, not once was she happy with the way she looked.
‘This Bronwen,’ said Malika.
Hannah turned to see that Malika had taken another from the pile and was already engrossed.
‘She’s in here a lot. Has she always been your best friend?’
‘Yep.’
‘Hmm,’ said Malika, her expression unreadable.
Hannah didn’t have time to dwell on it, as Cassie came to join them in the kitchen.
‘I might still have all of my old diaries at my parents’ house,’ said Cassie, flicking through as she sipped her tea.
Hannah wanted to stop her looking, to save her embarrassment, knowing the childhood worries and anxieties those glittery books contained.
‘What was in yours?’ laughed Hannah. ‘Let me guess. “Today, I aced my maths test again?” I bet all the boys fancied you.’
‘Actually, they didn’t,’ said Cassie. ‘Believe it or not, I had bad acne and braces for years. Super desirable.’
‘I’m sorry for prying,’ said Malika. ‘I was just being nosy. It’s hard to believe you wrote these before I was even born.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ quipped Hannah.
‘I love it,’ said Malika. ‘I kind of wish we could go back to this sometimes, you know? It’s intriguing to read about what someone’s school life was like before mobile phones and social media took over. It’s a whole different world now. I’ve never even been to a disco.’
Hannah considered scooping up all the diaries and shoving them straight into the bin. But something stopped her.
‘You’ve never been to a disco?’
Malika shook her head.
‘I’ve only been to awful school ones,’ added Cassie. ‘And they weren’t real discos. Just lots of Ricky Martin and fizzy pop. Actually …’ Cassie turned to Hannah, a smirk of mischief forming. ‘Han, you know it’s your turn to choose an activity, right?’ she asked. ‘I chose yoga, Malika took us belly dancing. You need to pick one.’
The holographic horse stared back at her from the book. The expectant smiles of Cassie and Malika told her all she needed to know.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘And I now know what we’re going to do. Ladies, we’re going to a disco!’
21
Malika
‘Let’s get these down us, then!’ Dean yelled, over the noise of the busy bar.
He appeared at the table to a collective cheer and began to distribute the array of shot glasses from a small tray. Malika took hers, hesitantly inspecting the green concoction. At the count of three, they all knocked back their shots. Malika grimaced as the liquid hit her throat.
‘Whoop!’ yelled Roz, raising her little glass to the air. ‘Happy belated birthday, guys!’
The others swiftly joined in, clapping and cheering as Malika and Dean stood to take a bow. Since their birthdays were a few weeks apart, they’d gone out on a boozy joint night out ever since Malika had started living with the group.
‘Thanks, guys. You really didn’t have to do this.’
‘Shh,’ Dean pretended to whisper. ‘Yes, they did. We deserve to be spoilt.’
You really didn’t, she thought, trying not to think of her cosy bed, the lure of her little sanctuary that was waiting for her in their empty house. Instead, it was half past ten, and she and her housemates were spending their Friday night working their way through the many pubs and bars of Gloucester Road in celebration of Malika and Dean’s birthdays. Malika hadn’t particularly wanted to go out ; she thought she did, thought it would do her good to spend time with her friends again, but as they’d walked into their third bar, Roz already tipsy, the unending noise, the heat of so many bodies crammed into one space was starting to make Malika feel uneasy.
She still hadn’t thought it right to celebrate, to have the big night out that they usually did, where Roz, Dean, Kath, Andrea, Abbie and a couple more of their close friends who could make it would go out on the town to celebrate.
Yet for the past month, the urge had vanished, slipped away into a breezy night along with her yearning to do anything social that wasn’t race prep. When she wasn’t running, she was usually in her room. Running made her feel free, took her away from the harshness of life, fended off her anxiety even just for an hour or more. When she was out, her feet hitting the pavement, she was someone else ; someone with a goal, a purpose. Someone who could put the regularity of her life behind her, if only momentarily.
She hadn’t expected to meet Cassie and Hannah in the park that day. But since she had, her life had become that little bit better. It made her feel strange to admit it, but when she was part of the club, she felt … different. Like she didn’t have to pretend. As though they understood.
Running had helped her. Just by being outside, she felt better. Her body felt better. And sometimes, it was as though she felt Abbie beside her, telling her to keep going. Keep going, it’ll all be OK if you keep going. We can do this together!
Malika found solace in the rhythmic sound of her shoes, or the feel of the sun against her face. And the club, with Hannah and Cassie, only made it more fun. When the world around her began to feel distant, and the sky became grey despite the summer sun, she knew that a run and a chat could help her through.
Unfortunately, she knew that she hadn’t seen enough of her housemates in recent weeks, so when Roz arranged the birthday night out, she could hardly refuse, instead deciding to do what she did most days : grin and bear it until she could get back home.
‘What are you having?’ Dean asked loudly over what seemed like a thousand voices.
They were all there now, around the wooden table, which was sticky with beer spillage. The place was packed. The varnished oak tables, surrounded by the old-fashioned decor that gave the small pub the air of an antiquated tavern, were hidden within a sea of people who battled to reach the bar. Loud chatter sounded from every corner and as Malika sat near the window, squashed in between Roz and Andrea, she wished she could be outside. She felt warm, trapped. She longed to be out in the cool air.
‘I’m buying,’ said Andrea.
Malika had an inkling of what was to come. Everyone would buy her a drink and she’d end up with far too much to force down before they headed to their next venue. She decided to put a stop to it, quickly.
‘Guys, I totally appreciate this, but I’m fine, honestly. I’ll just have one vodka and Coke.’
‘That’ll be a double, then?’ asked Dean, grinning.
‘No! Just a single. I can’t drink much tonight. And I can’t really stay out too long. I’ve got a run tomorrow.’
It wasn’t a lie. Malika had planned to run around the marina again in the morning. The last thing she needed was a hangover.
‘You what?’ asked Kath incredulously, looking at her through her oversized glasses.
The whole table gawped at Malika. Expressions of amusement and slight shock greeted her as she shuffled uncomfortably in her limited space.
‘Come on, Mal,’ said Kath, ‘you need to be out with us. Having fun, like we used to.’
‘Honestly, I can’t,’ Malika replied, smiling apologetically at them all. ‘Otherwise I’ll be knackered tomorrow.’
‘You’re always running,’ said Roz. ‘We barely see you. Can’t you just give it up for one day? It’s not every day you turn twenty-four, you know.’
‘Yep, you need to celebrate this glorious age,’ joked Andrea.
Malika considered this, remembering what Cassie had said about keeping the habit. She knew that she could probably sit out one run, but for once, she didn’t want to. It shocked her – the fact that just weeks ago she’d never in a million years have thought she’d prefer a run over a hungover, lazy Sunday with her best mates, complete with Roz’s famous bacon sandwiches and strong tea.
