I take advantage of the break. Lean down on my knees, let my lungs fill. They’re burning a bit, but it’s a good kind of burn. Like the kind you get with happy tears, or laughing till it hurts.
Tonight’s the first of what I’m hoping will be regular Wednesday night runs together. Kieran’s brought Lucky with him, the dog we saved that Kieran eventually adopted. (Sadly, my other canine charges are all too old to join us now.)
I glance at Kieran. “Could ask you the same question.”
“Oh, cheers. Kick me while I’m down.” His face is red as rhubarb, skin slippery with sweat. “I’m dying here, mate.”
I channel Steve. “Pain is just weakness leaving the body, you know.”
“I tell you what I do know,” he gasps. “You’re a smug—”
I laugh. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”
We resume the jog. I could go a lot faster: a better diet, training sessions with Steve, and regular surfs with Warren have done wonders for my cardiovascular system. But I’m enjoying tonight’s easy pace because it’s a chance to talk to Kieran.
Steve, Tamsin, Warren, and my counselor all reckon the time is right.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said to me, a long time ago.”
“Was it when I agreed to come running with you?” Kieran growls. “Because I take it back.”
We come to the end of the road. It runs into a car park with a view, and it’s late, so the place is empty. There’s a bench nearby, looking out across Eversford. You can see the river from up here, and the church spires. Across the sea of rooftops there’s a smattering of attic windows, lit up like tiny life rafts.
Though it’s November and the air is alive with ice, we’re both warm enough to take five minutes out. So I sit down next to Kieran, who’s already sprawled against the back of the bench like he’s been shot.
Lucky settles on the ground next to us. He’s barely panting, the athletic bastard.
“I’ve been thinking about coming back to the surgery,” I say carefully. “If you’ll have me, that is.”
Kieran hauls himself into a sitting position. “Amazing. Of course. That’s brilliant news.”
“I’d need to look into training.”
“Already done it, mate, eons ago. I’ll e-mail you. What made you change your mind?”
I finally filled Kieran and Zoë in on my dreams this summer, over pints at the pub. I was twitchy and clammy-palmed, afraid of saying what I couldn’t take back. But they seemed to accept it fairly readily (with any lingering doubts seen off pretty quickly via an introduction to Warren). The relief I felt was visceral.
I stare down at Eversford. It’s a map of moving lights and brightly lit smoke from industrial chimneys. “Fitness. Sleeping better. Getting out of my head. Realizing that hiding away doesn’t help.”
Still, it feels like grief to me that Callie and I can’t be sitting here together. Self-improve until you’re flawless, but if the person you love is nowhere to be seen, something will always be missing.
Not that it was ever really about me. If Callie’s happy now, with eyes firmly trained away from her fate, that’s all that matters.
Kieran smiles slyly. “So you’ve not... I mean, this isn’t to do with a girl?”
“Nah.”
“How long’s it been now—two years?”
“Yeah.”
“You ever hear from her? Callie.”
I shake my head.
“Stalk her?”
“Er—”
