Ally had a flashback of herself covered in margarine, with her fringe plastered to her forehead, but for a moment she had the feeling that Rosemarie might just envy her a little.
* * *
Ally pushed open the door of her cosy little apartment, where instead of an empty echo, there was now a warm glow emanating from the sitting room.
‘Hi, guys, did you miss me?’ she cooed in her ‘pets’ voice. She didn’t know if sound waves starting in the air would transfer to water; nonetheless, the fish nosed up against the glass, so maybe they really were glad to see her. From her bag she retrieved two slices of pizza left over from lunchtime: black olives, Serrano ham, Gruyère cheese, all on wafer-thin homemade dough. In fairness, Dave and Evelyn really were great chefs.
She sat on the ground, against the sofa, and munched her warmed-up pizza.
‘I wish I could be as certain of everything as Rosemarie is,’ she confided to Harry and Sally. ‘But it just doesn’t work like that for me. What do fish do all day? If I were a fish, it would be so relaxing – I wouldn’t need a job, I wouldn’t even have to worry about any dating shite, because I’d just have been bought with someone.’ A thought did cross her mind .?.?. What did Sally really think of Harry – or did she think at all?
Since no advice was forthcoming from her fish, she took outLove Linksand flicked through it until she came to the chapter on soulmates. The gist of it was that your soulmate is the person who’s your perfect match, so you fit together and can negotiate all the different stages of your life, not just the heady honeymoon phase. But what happens if the other person doesn’t feel the same way? There was a time she’d thought Francis was her soulmate. And still, in her darkest moments, she wondered if she hadn’t let him go too easily. But none of this was helping.
She came to the conclusion that the saying that opposites attract was rubbish. Couples who had the most in common had acloser, more enduring bond. So, if she was to have any hope with William, she had to get fit, and that involved one thing. Exercise.
It was all about motivation, she decided, while rifling through her drawers and pulling out the coral Lululemon top and leggings she’d found in the end-of-summer bargain bin a few years ago, which had been waiting for this very moment for their first public outing.
The following morning, she squeezed straight into the Lycra outfit without looking in the mirror, so no chance to chicken out, then threw on her oversized grey coat and was out the door before she’d time to say ‘fitness goals’. Result! She hopped off at the Smithfield Luas stop and hurried towards The Owl’s Nest. She’d worked out the plan: arrive at work half an hour early and go for a jog on her pre-chosen route – fifteen minutes would be plenty for a start. Then, after, freshen up with baby wipes and deodorant to avoid ponging out the customers and quickly change into her normal clothes before starting her shift at eight thirty, feeling like a goddess. Ace.
She passed by the window in the semi-darkness and noticed Evelyn lost in her own world, having worked her way through a mountain of wraps and baguettes which sat, crusty and inviting, in a stack behind the counter. Pizzas sat pre-prepared on greaseproof paper, while lemon drizzle and carrot cakes were cooling on wire trays. The food processor whizzed through batches of buttercream and lemon icing for the toppings. It struck Ally that although everyone kept saying what a great chef Dave was, it was Evelyn, humming away to her transistor radio, who was the unsung heroine.
‘Evelyn, how do you do all this?’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what time is it?’ squawked Evelyn.
‘I’m early,’ Ally announced as she flew through the café and into the staff cloakroom.
‘Thanks be,’ said Evelyn. ‘I was nearly having a stroke,thinking I was behind,’ she called to Ally’s back.
‘I’m in since four,’ she explained. ‘I used to work in the Johnson’s bakery so I’m used to it. I don’t like lying-in in the mornings, it’s not good for my head. After this I go on and do the dinners for the homeless.’
‘Well, you’re amazing,’ Ally announced as she reappeared in her new jogging outfit. Evelyn’s serene expression didn’t flicker as she began deftly icing her first carrot cake.
‘Will you be warm enough?’
Ally realised later that she should have taken the hint. Evelyn didn’t say much, and when she did, she meant it. If this was The Owl’s Nest, then she was the owl: silent, nocturnal and watchful.
But bugger that, today was the first morning of her big life change and she was going to live it. Slim, gorgeous, fit. She whizzed past Evelyn with a wave, humming the old Queen song, ‘Don’t stop me now .?.?.’, zipped up her matching fleece and emerged out onto the street.
Dodging the pedestrians was one thing, but she was mainly focusing on the other runners – or rather, how professional they looked: guys with muscly legs, fitness trackers and the sort of running shoes that cost what she’d spend on a weekend away. She remembered that the last time she’d actually been jogging was a fun run for the children’s hospital, where half of the participants were in fancy dress. It was hard to feel anything but competent when you had a giant chicken running one side of you and a hairy ballerina on the other.
She tried to ignore her jagged breathing, conscious of inhaling car exhaust as she hopped over litter and random dog poo. Nothing worthwhile was easy, she reminded herself. She ran along Thundercut Alley, then left onto Queen Street – although, ‘running’ was an exaggeration, as every other jogger and even hurried pedestrians whizzed past her. Nonetheless, she was eleven minutes in and still breathing; she unzipped herfleece and tied it round her waist –go me, she whooped inwardly – and for one unguarded moment she stepped out to cross Haymarket.
Next thing she heard was a screech of brakes and a yell from behind, while simultaneously feeling a thump in her side.
‘What the fuck?’
She was aware of something grey beside her head that turned out to be the kerb. As everything swung back into focus, she registered that she was lying on her back at the side of the road, winded and dizzy, with her legs splayed in her ripped Lululemon co-ord. The cyclist, who had thankfully been able to jam on the brakes and come to a sliding halt, was staring at her, shocked and incredulous.
‘What the hell? You walked straight out .?.?. What the hell was I supposed to do?’
They were about equally stunned, so a second passed before she recognised who was under the tea-cosy hat.
‘William?’
She’d just never seen him with an expression of mixed shock and fury before.
‘Ally, shit, are you OK? Seriously, though, you weren’t looking. You could’ve been killed.’
