Chapter 3
Sophie
I’m walking fast, trainers bouncing on the pavement with every stride. My eyes are down, fixed on my phone. The screen is tilted away from the bright glare of the sun and I’m scrolling through Instagram, looking at photo after filtered photo of celebrities and people I barely know. I’ve no idea why I bother, and yet I never stop.
My head is full of the clients I have booked for the rest of the week. I make a mental note to remember a roller for the IT band strengthening one of my clients needs tomorrow. And there are two new mums who’ve booked a block of six sessions together that start this week. They want to burn off the extra pregnancy weight while their babies sleep. I’ll have to get to Fairview Park early tomorrow to grab a shady spot for them.
Today I’m on my way to Manor Road and a forty-four-year-old woman who talks non-stop for the entire session, no matter how many lunges and squats I make her do. She doesn’t need me to tell her how toexercise or stand over her barking orders. She spends hours in the gym each week. But I guess she’s lonely and likes the company.
I wonder if I should ask how her affair is going. She talks about it often enough, but it doesn’t feel quite the same as the ‘How are the kids?’ and ‘What plans have you got for the weekend?’ questions I usually ask.
I’m always surprised how much my clients tell me about their lives. Personal trainers are like hairdressers, I think. There’s a false intimacy, as though we’re friends when we’re not. How can we be friends when they pay me to spend that hour each week with them?
The tops of my shoulders start to tingle under the fierce sunshine. I forgot to put suncream on in my hurry to leave the flat. Nick was looking at his watch and tutting about being late. I’ll have red-raw burns tomorrow.Good one, Soph!
I look up and that’s when I spot Matthew up ahead, ambling towards me in his usual way – like a tortoise, slow and steady, no rush, no care.
What the hell?is my first thought, which is immediately followed by a double take.Is it really him?
Yes is the answer. Who else would wear black jeans and a black t-shirt in this heat?
I flick a glance behind me at the two long rows of middle-class detached houses with their gravel driveways and red-brick garden walls. It’s Westbury’s residential suburbia. Giant Victorian houses worth a million at least, and miles from town and the restaurant where Matthew works, miles from his beaten-up terraced house that gives me the creeps on the rare occasions I visit.
There is no reason why Matthew should be on this road at this time in the morning, except me.
‘You’re a big sister now, Sophie. It’s your job to look after Matthew. You have to promise you’ll always be there for him.’My mum’s voice leaps into my head, making my insides lurch. I take a breath and slow down, trying to get control of my thoughts before Matthew reaches me.
He lifts one hand from the pocket of his jeans in a lazy wave, and as our eyes connect I wonder what’s going through his mind. Are childhood memories of Christmases and birthdays, paddling-pool days and baking afternoons with Nan rolling through his thoughts? Does he see the good memories first or the bad ones? Does he have times like I do, when all he can remember are the bad things that happened? When his chest hurts so much it feels impossible to breathe? When all he feels is guilt? Sometimes I wish I had the courage to ask him. Then again, I wish I had the courage to do a lot of things.
I glance down at my phone. I don’t have time to stop and talk to Matthew. If Nick finds out I was late for a client again he’ll go crazy. Elite Personal Training is his business, his baby, it seems like most days. ‘It doesn’t pay to be late, Sophie. Ever. Do you get that? Now, I love you and I love that we’re working together, but you can’t be late for clients. We have to be better than that.’
I wanted to tell Nick that it was only one time and only ten minutes late, and it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t had to get across town on foot because he’d scheduled two appointments for me so close together and he’d taken the car. But my voice deserted me, so I just nodded instead.
Matthew reaches me and I slip my phone into my bag and push my cap up so I can see him better.
‘Hey little brother,’ I say, searching his face as I always do for the puny boy he used to be, but there’s no sign of the terrified five-year-old who couldn’t colour inside the lines. Matthew is tall now – six foot. I’m only an inch or so shorter, but his shoulders are broad and I always feel weak and tiny beside him, like I’m a ragdoll he can pick up and fling into the nearest rubbish heap anytime he wants.
His hair is dark and short and not styled in any particular fashion, and the stubble on his face is almost enough to be considered a beard. Only his eyes are unchanged – two dark pools that seem to stare right into me.
Matthew smirks. ‘Little?’ he asks, cocking an eyebrow.
I shrug. ‘You know what I mean. What are you doing here?’
‘Just fancied a walk before work. I’m taking photos. You’ve changed your hair.’
I touch my ponytail. The extensions, which have turned my sharp bob into long hair that reaches six inches past my shoulders, still feel strange and heavy on my head, but Nick likes them.
‘What’s there to take photos of around here?’ I ask, throwing another look around. The street is empty. People are out at work or in their gardens. It’s just me and Matthew. The ragdoll feeling returns and I find myself shifting my weight to the back of my feet, adding the tiniest distance between us.
‘Everything and nothing,’ he replies, like I knew he would. It’s the same bloody answer he gives anytime I ask that question. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ve got a client who lives on the next road.’ I make a face. An apologetic frown. ‘I’m running late actually.I’d better go. You should come to the flat sometime. We’ve got some furniture now.’
‘I doubt Nick would be pleased to see me.’
I ignore the comment. There really isn’t time to get into it, and even if there was, what would be the point? My brother and my boyfriend don’t get on and both of them seem to think that there is something I should do about it.
‘I got an air bed for one of the spare rooms,’ Matthew says when it’s clear I’m not going to reply. ‘If you ever want to crash at mine again then you won’t have to sleep on the sofa.’
