‘Where does it hurt most?’ Harper asks, inspecting Tilly’s hands and carefully picking bits of grit out of her grazed palms.
‘My ankle.’ She reaches a hand to gently touch it. It sears with pain. ‘I think I’ve twisted it.’
‘Oh shit.’ Harper looks around. ‘Stay here and I’ll try and find a medic. I’m sure there’ll be one near.’
Harper goes as if to stand but Tilly grabs hold of her arm.
‘No, please don’t. They’ll probably tell me to stop.’
‘But Tils, you can’t keep going! You’ve hurt yourself. We need to get you looked at.’
Water soaks from the grass through Tilly’s leggings. There’s mud covering her trainers and splashed up her calves. She wraps her arms around her chest, goosebumps beginning to prick up and down her arms now she’s not moving.
‘I was so close. I promised myself I’d do this for Joe.’
Harper shifts closer, their hips and shoulders bumping.
‘You know Joe wouldn’t mind if you didn’t finish. He’d just be so proud of you for trying.’
Tilly wipes the back of her hand over her damp, snotty face.
‘I know you’re probably right. But this felt like one last thing I could do for him. And I wanted to do it formyselftoo.’
Because at first it had been about Joe, but the more she trained the more she found she actuallylikedrunning. Not all the time. But she likes the feel of the wind in her face, of moving herself forward all by herself. And she likes the feeling of getting stronger, as if maybe she can handle everything that lies ahead of her, after all.
Harper takes a breath. ‘Do you think you can put any weight on it?’
She tries … and winces as another stab of pain shoots up her leg.
‘Give me your arm,’ Harper says, reaching out for her.
Tilly brushes her off. ‘I can do it myself …’
But as she tries to take another step, she lets out a yelp. Tilly looks at her sister, her face creased with a frown, her littlestubby pigtails soaked from the rain. She has paused beside her, a hand outstretched in case Tilly needs it. Tilly takes a breath … then takes hold of her hand.
‘Maybe I do need some help, actually.’
Without saying anything, Harper loops Tilly’s arm around her shoulder, wrapping her other around her sister’s waist.
‘Come on then, let’s finish this race.’
They take a step together, Tilly’s ankle still throbbing. But less painful, now that she isn’t putting her full weight on it.
‘It’s no good. I don’t think I can run.’
‘No one said we had to run. We’re not far off now, we can walk the last bit. You’ll still be finishing a half-marathon.’
Together, they take a step. Then another. As they join the other runners again there’s a rousing cheer from the supporters lining the path.
‘You smell like a wet dog,’ says Harper through pursed lips.
‘So do you.’
‘Next time I run a half-marathon, I’m doing it in the spring.’
‘Next time?’
‘No, you’re right. I’m never doing this again. Only a lunatic would run this far – unless they were being chased by a bear.’
