‘I went once,’ I confess.
Why is Angus staring at me?
‘What’s wrong?’ I check my hair, my face.
He comes over, tucks the price tag back inside my top.
‘Pull it out!’ I urge, laughing as Angel approaches us, carrying a bulky gym bag over her shoulders. He gives the price tag a yank.
‘Wow, you’re a bargain,’ he says.
Angus, Lauren and I are working out in our own space, Angel giving us different exercises to do so we’re not comparing ourselves with one another. I can’t remember the last time I did a press-up. It feels harder than Angel made it look. ‘That’s so good, Holly,’ she says, ‘fifteen seconds left!’ I swear time goes slower when you’re doing press-ups.
‘This might not look much, but it’s hard work,’ I overhear Angel say to Lauren. She’s wearing what looks like one of Ian’s shirts tucked into a pair of old grey leggings which contrast strongly with her new white trainers, which we found at the shelter, in the room filled with donated clothes and shoes. ‘Right, I want you to do some squats, but we’re going to do it with the support of the chair first, to put less pressure on your back and to get you used to pushing through your legs. It works your thighs and core. Yes Lauren! That’s it, and another, that’s awesome, try and do ten if you can in forty-five seconds. Go! Holly, sit-ups. Angus, why have you stopped? Lauren, you’vegotthis, well done.’
‘Teacher’s pet,’ calls out Angus, making us laugh.
Soon we’re all engrossed in our different exercises but Angel gives us plenty of mini-breaks, impressing upon us the need to drink plenty of water. I try not to stare when I see Lauren lying on the grass, wheezing, unable to sit up. ‘Don’t worry,’ Angel says, kneeling beside her. ‘It’s hard, take a deep breath. There’s no hurry, we can have as many breaks as you need. You haven’t done this before, but believe me, one day you’ll be able to, I promise. We can do this.’ When I watch them high-five, I feel someone, up there, in the sky, was looking out for us on the day I met Angel. She truly was sent to our funny little trio.
‘Keep going everyone!’ Angel calls out towards the end of our sixth session, on Monday. After our initial taster on Friday, two and a half weeks ago, Angel created individual training circuits for us which include sit-ups, press-ups, squats, star jumps, step-ups, planks, lunges and running, although Angel told Lauren she didn’t want her to run immediately. She wanted to spend more time with her doing gentle stretching exercises for her back, that felt like more of a priority. ‘I don’t want to rush you,’ she’d confided. ‘It’s important we take this slow and safely, OK?’ Lauren didn’t seem to mind or appear to feel left out. Angel has a magic way with words, a gift of making her feel special rather than the most vulnerable. Angel had said quietly to Angus and me, after our second session, that physically Lauren would be able to run, but emotionally she might struggle with doing too much too quickly. She’d seen this happen before. ‘You know best,’ Angus had said, both of us thankful for her guidance. As Angus and I are returning from our second lap to the tennis courts and back, he calls out, ‘Why isn’t running as much fun as coffee and a fag?’
‘Or a glass of rosé,’ I say.
‘Or one of Sander’s buns,’ Lauren suggests.
‘What are we all running towards, guys? Visualise something or someone amazing, makes you go faster!’
‘Chris Hemsworth,’ I say, my pace picking up.
Angel agrees. ‘Why aren’t you sprinting?’
‘Debbie Harry,’ Angus says breathlessly, adding, ‘My feet hurt.’
‘Oh, you poor little boy,’ I say.
‘It’s the trainers. Scott’s feet are smaller than mine.’
Angel isn’t impressed. ‘Come on big feet, don’t whinge, or get your own shoes.’ Angel turns to Lauren, who is jogging up and down on the spot.
‘Who’s Debbie Harry?’ Lauren asks, making Angus and me feel even more our age.
‘She’s Blondie, a famous singer. How about you, Lauren? What or who are you running towards?’
‘Food.’
‘If you could have one last meal, what would it be? Keep going everyone!’
‘Cheeseburger,’ Angus says, now doing press-ups for a minute. I’m doing star jumps, though my legs feel like jelly. I don’t know if I can keep going. My heart is pounding in my chest and my body wants to go on strike.
‘Keep going,’ Angel instructs, ‘only three minutes to go. I’d have a buffet, French cheeses, good-quality butter and a fresh crusty baguette. Delicious!’ Lauren is now going up and down on her folding step stool. ‘One, two, that’s it, keep marching, up, down, but if you need a break Lauren, stop.’
‘Teacher’s pet,’ Angus says again.
‘Thirty seconds left! You’vegotthis, everyone.’
As we’re nearing the end of our session, Angus is doing sit-ups and making a lot of noise about it, I’m skipping and Lauren is doing star jumps. ‘If you get tired, Lauren, do regressive ones, remember?’ Angel waves her arms above her head. ‘One leg at a time. Great, Angus, you’re doingsowell.’
Angus doesn’t have the energy to answer back.
