Angus and I exchange looks again. I love how Laurie says what she thinks, no beating around the bush. ‘What was wrong with me?’ I protest. ‘Hang on, maybe I don’t want to know.’
‘We’ll be here all night,’ Angus adds.
‘You were all posh like, “We’ll have so much fun!”’ Lauren mimics, making us laugh.
‘But now you think we’re nottoobad,’ Angus says, or hopes.
She breaks into a smile. ‘You’re not too bad. For oldies.’
The three of us sit, peacefully, listening to the sound of the waves, enjoying the end to this perfect day, until Angus says, reluctantly, ‘We’d better make a move, I don’t want to get a parking ticket.’
‘Race you to the car,’ I suggest, before we all scramble to our feet, laughing as we run across the beach, back to the carpark.
22
Laurie and I have been busy all morning making fig tarts, a plum and apple crumble, and a fruit salad. As I put the crumble and tarts into the oven and set the timer, I think about the past month, since we went to West Bay.
Laurie, Angus and I still meet Angel in the park twice a week. We’re now doing burpees (guess who laughed at the name) which is basically a push-up followed by a leap in the air. Angel tells us this builds our strength and endurance, especially if we can do as many as possible, in a row, without stopping. There is no way Laurie could have done this in week one, nor me probably. We also have added into our circuit training pop squats, which are simply standing with our feet a hip-width apart, positioning ourselves in an elegant squat position, before jumping straight into the air and landing, supposedly softly, and gracefully, back in the squat position. Laurie once toppled over, but picked herself up and tried again, not seeming to care as much when passers-by stopped and stared, though Angel is always quick to move them on. Angel doesn’t encourage us after every single exercise anymore, which I take as a compliment. In fact, she pushes us harder, living up to her name of the Smiling Assassin.
Angus and I still jog three times a week, on a Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday morning. He knocks on my door at 7.30, before we run five km, usually down the Chiswick Mall, towards Hammersmith Bridge, and back. Whereas I used to arrive at the office hungover and lethargic, and in desperate need of a second coffee, I now have more energy to face the barrage of unread emails and deal with clients. And whereas I used to dread the weekends, I now live for the café, my Saturday place as I’ve come to call it, and my runs with Angus. I haven’t given up wine, life’s too short to give up all the things I love, but I do feel healthier taking more exercise and bothering to cook a decent meal for myself in the evenings, instead of eating out of a cereal packet. Angus, however, is an all-or-nothing man. He is working out every day, religiously, and the weight is falling off him as he hasn’t touched an alcoholic drink or a cigarette since we began our programme. ‘Once I make up my mind about something, that’s it,’ he’d told me on one of our runs. ‘I don’t need nicotine patches, hypnotists, or any other bollocks like that.’
Laurie still smokes, but she smokes less. She’s outside right now on a fag break with Ian. He wanted to put in an appearance at the café today, to finally suss out where she spends every Saturday, and to sample one of her puddings. No one would dare force Laurie to give up smoking. It’s been her constant friend. Yes, people die of it, but at the same time, people die behind the wheel of a car, and we’re not all about to stop driving.
Laurie has had one or two more dips in the past month, her anxiety returning like a toxic friend never getting the message. She confided to Angel that she still sneak-eats, once, sometimes twice, a week. Angel is good with her; she takes her out for a coffee and a chat, reminding her of the reason why she wants to get fit and make changes in her life. Angel receives no extra money taking Laurie out, and she still discounts our sessions. ‘I can say this now,’ she’d confided to Angus, Laurie and me, ‘with my friend hat on, but when I first met you, I was daunted, and I meanreallydaunted. I had never trained three such different people. But Isowanted to help.’
‘You took pity?’ Angus suggested.
She tutted. ‘I wanted to help. Seeing you improve, Laurie, and build your confidence, and seeing you wear tops that don’t hide your figure, Holly, that gives me more pleasure than anything.’
‘Me too,’ Angus had agreed.
Angel tutted again, hands on hips. ‘Quit flirting, Angus.’
‘Hang on, what about me?’ he’d then asked.
Angel laughed, asking Laurie and me how we put up with him, before adding, ‘You were like a little old lady to begin with. “My feet hurt!”’ she mimicked.
‘Now you’re a man, Angus,’ I finished off.
‘Exactly,’ Angel agreed.
As I head out of the kitchen, I glance at Laurie through the glass doors, still talking and smoking with Ian outside. She does look different. I can’t put my finger on what exactly has changed as she still wears the same T-shirt tucked into black trousers, she often doesn’t bother to wash her hair and her skin remains pale. Since visiting Pat, we’ve returned to West Bay once more. Laurie is now friends with Rochelle. She has realised her mother loves Laurie, and perhaps, with hindsight, she did over-react. ‘Pat would have given up her home to anyone if she’d been asked to,’ she’d explained to us on our second visit. ‘She used to give all her money to charity. You should have seen her bank statements. But I can see Laurie is different,’ she’d admitted, finally.
Angus and I would have liked an apology, but we’ve settled on them being friends. I marvel at how Laurie holds no grudges, yet we believe this is what has enabled her to survive all these years. Aside from her stepmother, who could be dead or alive for all she cares, Laurie has the most forgiving nature. ‘She could hold so much anger towards the world,’ Angus had said, ‘but where would that leave her?’
Angus, Laurie and I talked a lot in the car on the way to see Pat again. Jamie and I always used to say how car journeys were good places to chat because your audience was captive. Angus and I had wanted to know what had happened to Laurie after she’d been kicked out of Pat’s. Laurie described how she’d returned to Yeovil town centre to find a place to squat. Returning home, to her step-mum’s, wasn’t an option. Being near her boyfriend was far more frightening than sleeping on the streets. ‘When my dad died, she started going out with him pretty quick. She didn’t waste no time. He used to come over most nights and enjoy more than a hot meal, if you know what I mean.’
Angus and I felt sick. Laurie, however, was somehow able to talk about it without tears or anger. Angus told me that had to be a protective mechanism. She was distancing herself, numbing herself, as much as she could from the horror of his abuse. At the same time, she’d taken a giant leap of faith by telling us what had happened to her. It made me feel even closer to Laurie.
She found herself a washing-up job in the Ritz Café in the town centre– ‘Not so ritzy if you know what I mean, but they were good, gave me free lunches and hot drinks.’ She worked at the café for over a year. She described how she met a guy there, almost ten years older. He’d come in for his beans and fried eggs on toast most mornings. She’d just turned seventeen and was on jobseeker’s allowance; he was twenty-six. She moved in with him. ‘He wasn’t nice, didn’t like me speaking to other men. I remember one time we were out of milk. I was standing at the door, with my coat on. He kicked off, pulling me back by the hair, asking why the fuck I hadn’t bought the milk. One morning I woke up and knew I had to get out. I’d had enough of being his punchbag. I walked to the train station, Yeovil Junction, but he followed me, and I moved back, stayed there another year,’ she told us. ‘It got worse. I couldn’t even have a conversation with another guy without getting a cut lip. In the end I knew if I stayed, he’d end up killing me, so in the middle of the night Teddy and I got on a train to London. Thought London is a big place, millions of people; he can’t find me here. I came to Hammersmith, slept rough for a few weeks. On the street you get to know people and they have a few friends, so I sofa-surfed on and off for another six weeks, but I knew I wanted to find a proper home, I needed more support. I went to the council every day, and then Simon from the housing team called, saying he’d found me a place in the night-shelter.’
‘Thank God for Simon,’ Angus had said.
‘I wasn’t thanking anyone at the time. I was dead scared. I sat in the lounge thinking I don’t know these weird men that live here, and I can’t get away from them. The manager was kind, but I didn’t trust anyone. Had panic attacks night and day. And then my support worker, Jane, asked me if I wanted to work at Soul Food. She knew I’d had experience working in a café before. That’s when I met you guys,’ she’d finished.
Laurie returns to the kitchen, breaking up my thoughts by informing me she’s going to give Ian a guided tour. ‘So, this is the kitchen, obviously, where Holly and I cook and Angus nicks the chips. Come and meet Scottie, our head chef. He’s the bossy one, but actually he’s a real softie.’
‘Hi Ian,’ Scottie says, shaking his hand, ‘nice to meet you, but can you get out of my kitchen?’
