Then he opens the glass barrier and lets me enter. I carry my gym bag with me; I don’t want to put anything in the locker room I’d need to retrieve should I leave in a rush. Properly inside, the bright lights are now teamed with the lingering odour of sweat and theboom boom boomof too-loud music. I can’t do anything about any of this; I’ve no tunes of my own to drown out what’s being played. I’ve left my phone at home, not wanting there to be any trace of me or it being here. I do put in my earbuds, which muffle the noise a little and give the impression I cannot hear what is happening around me.
Assessing the lay of the land, I see it as Pete’s Instagram depicted it, with the weights area in front of the treadmills. I head there, placing my bag in front of the treadmill next to the weight bench Pete uses most often in his pics. I have been to a gym before, so I do know how to work the equipment – that wasn’t a lie – but it is so, so boring. Walking on one spot, looking up at the mute television playingEmmerdale,this is worse than the times I’ve been before because I’m here indefinitely. At least on my jogs I get to see a bit of life, breathe some fresh air. Walking to nowhere, waiting for Pete, time drags.
The men who are congregated in the weights area would once have been intimidating to me while I moved in front of them in my spandex. I’d have been concerned the curves of my body may repulse or attract them in a way that would upset me. Now, it’s not that I want them to look at me, but if they do, so be it, I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Not that they’re giving me much attention at all, they’re too engrossed blethering with one another, and unfortunately I can’t help but overhear. It’s a lot of mundane chat. They talk more than they exercise, covering a whole plethora of shite: what supplements they’re taking, how many reps they’re working towards, how they all watched a guy on TikTok and are going to try out his plan for their calves. When I’ve been walking at an incline of level three on speed six – whatever these measurements translate to in the real world – for an hour and fifteen minutes, the men have almost broken me. There is only so much of this a normal person can endure. I prepare to give up. How dull gym guys are may have saved a man’s life.
But then one of them shouts in my direction, ‘Pete! How’s that pre-workout mix going for you?’
Pete passes, a gust of air from his movement hitting me before I see him. When he reaches the circle of gym bros he goes round them one by one, giving them each a high five before holding onto their hand and bringing them towards him for a hug. Clap hug, clap hug, clap hug. When he’s done, he gives me an ‘Awright?’ as if I’m part of the gang.
He puts his bag next to mine then starts to tell them about his new pre-workout. ‘Absolutely mince, guys. I’ve packed it in. Didn’t feel any better for it and it’s been making me shit constantly. My workout this morning, all I could think about was the toilet. Only came back tonight to finish off my arm routine. Had to quit earlier to go home to use the loo. I wasn’t for stinking out the toilets here with what was coming out of me. Was frightened if I stayed I’d get myself banned.’
I cannot believe this kind of intimate conversation is happening in front of me with no embarrassment. If I were discussing my bowel movements with people it would be in hushed tones in a locked, private space.
For a while, Pete fannies between the different weight stations, the vest he’s wearing getting sweatier and sweatier at the front. He’s towelling off his forehead when a gym guy asks him, ‘You get that place you were talking about?’
‘Nah, got outbid. I’m having so much bother the now trying to get the right kind of place.’
‘Still wanting a wee block of flats of your own?’ The other guy is lying down on the bench, Pete is spotting him.
‘Aye, in this part of town ideally. We’ll see. The market’s brutal.’
The guy on the bench is lifting what looks like a tonne. His neck is straining, vessels bulging, he pushes on. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for you, pal.’
There was always going to be an in with Pete. I’d get him to help me with a piece of equipment or tell him I recognised him from Instagram or ask if he knew the best exercise to strengthen my quads, but what I am hearing is even more perfect. I turn off my treadmill. I can’t be too knackered for what’s to follow and I need to get into position. I’ve walked for nearly two hours, my first few steps on solid ground are wonky, my body’s already forgotten how to walk without the aid of a machine. I get my stuff, take a big drink of water and head to the reception to wait for Pete.
The same man from earlier is at the desk typing on a computer. God knows what he has to type about. Surely the joy of being a man who works at a gym is that you don’t have to do much admin. ‘Hey, how was it, Jennifer?’
It takes me too long to realise that it’s me he’s talking to. ‘Oh, great. Really amazing.’ I peer behind him through to the gym floor, hoping that Pete is ready to leave. He seemed like he was almost done as I finished up. My hands are in my hoodie pocket, my legs jittering, ready to get going.
‘Do you want me to sign you up for membership today?’ He’s already burrowing around his desk for the paperwork.
A man’s head bobs into view. I can’t be locked into conversation if this is Pete. ‘Actually, I’m doing a trial at Pure Gym tomorrow. Then I’ll make my decision!’ I’ve nowhere to go but outside, which isn’t ideal. Still, I walk through the door and hold it open for the person behind and pray it is Pete. It is, of course it bloody is. The universe wants this for me.
‘Thanks.’ This is the bare minimum of politeness one should expect from a stranger, and yet it is so rare that I warm to Pete.
‘No bother,’ I tell him, taking my earbuds out. Pete’s car isn’t too far away from mine; we walk towards our vehicles cloaked in the darkness of the car park. When we’re out of sight of the CCTV I say, ‘I heard what you were saying about property in the gym.’ This is enough to stop him from moving on. ‘I’m actually an estate agent’ – that phrase from my lips almost asphyxiates me – ‘and I’ve a property that contains two one-bed flats coming onto the market in the next week or so.’
‘Really? Whereabouts?’
‘It’s literally round the corner from here. I could show you it now if you want?’
My body is vibrating with what’s about to happen. I’m not sure how I’ll be able to contain it if he says no.
He lets out a ‘hmmm’. To encourage him, I give him a smile that I think is flirtatious. I don’t know, I’m not a great flirt at the best of times, let alone when I’m trapping a man. ‘Aye, go on then,’ he says, and he sweeps his arm forward to beckon me to lead the way. Pete may have been taught his manners, but obviously no one ever told him not to go off with strangers.
22
‘From the outside it doesn’t look like much,’ I say to Pete as we stand in front of the flats.
‘The same could be said about me.’ He chuckles, too long, at his own joke.
In the rhythm of our flirtation I’m supposed to say something like ‘Oh that’s not true’, but I need my energy for what’s to come, so I make a noise that could be mistaken for a laugh but definitely isn’t as I open the door. When the stench of the house hits him, Pete’s chuckle turns into a cough. ‘Sorry, should have mentioned the smell sooner. The clean-up and renovation work involved will be factored into the price.’
‘And what are we looking at price-wise?’ He holds the door open for me, like a proper gentleman, before he follows me in.
Comparing prices online has told me a property in this part of Glasgow with proximity to transport links and amenities would normally go for over £450,000. Take in the state of the place and £420,000 would be right. To keep Pete keen, I round this down. ‘The owner inherited it from a family member. They’ve no interest in keeping ahold of it, they want a quick sale, so I think for the right buyer we could do £390,000.’
Pete lets out a whistle between his teeth. ‘I mean, that alone makes me want to put in my offer right away. Can I have a nosey?’
