Year nine.When I was caught hiding in the school loos in the worst moment of my week – double maths.Mrs MacDonald, the gym teacher, found me.She was a stern, tall woman.She had brunette hair, always scraped back into a severe ponytail.She was someone I usually avoided during netball but, once I saw how her face softened when she found me, I decided almost instantly to trust her.She didn’t shout at me or order me back to class.Instead she angled her head and said, ‘Come on – I’m teaching the year sevens how to pass and catch.You can help me.’
I’d almost collapsed in relief.I spent the whole of double maths teaching the young ’uns (by that I mean pupils merely two years younger than me) how to play netball and it was the best two hours of my life.
Afterwards, Mrs MacDonald told me I needed to speak to my Head of Year about how I’d been feeling about maths, but she also said I was a very talented coach.I had a future in it, if I wanted.I remember the way my chest burned with pride.For the rest of my time at school, Mrs MacDonald served as not only an example of a brilliant teacher and coach, but also as a bit of a queer icon for me.When it came up, she spoke openly about her wife and, as a closeted bisexual 14-year-old, that felt huge, to have someone living the life I might lead one day.
‘Yes, ladies!’ I pushed my arms up.‘Two more minutes and we’re done!’
‘You said that a minute ago,’ Claire hit out, growling at me.
Amy’s arms sagged.Gen had abandoned her dumbbells, head thrown back, eyes closed, still jogging.Claire’s form was perfect, her face grim with determination.Today’s session hadn’t been easy.I’d cackled like an evil villain when I’d put the programme together – burpees and lateral rises were killers – but I knew they would thank me afterwards when their heart rate slowed and endorphins flooded their system, leaving their brain nice and quiet for the rest of the day.And that satisfying stretch in your muscles.
‘Three… two… one.’ I turned down the ear-cracking music.‘Okay, cool down.’
We all collapsed on the mat in front of us.The blood was burning in my cheeks.As usual, I’d joined them in the workout.Some PTs sat on their arses or leaned on equipment while their clients sweated and puffed, but not me.If I was setting you a killer programme, I was doing it with you.Camaraderie and all that.
I starfished on the mat, panting gently, feeling my heart racing down the peak I’d sent it up.The girls’ breath echoed around the studio.
‘I hate you, Lydia,’ Gen panted.
‘Liar,’ I grinned.‘Okay, stretches.’
I lifted my leg to cradle it to my chest, feeling the stretch in my glutes from our barbell squats at the beginning of the session.
‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Claire croaked.
Ten minutes later, we sat in a circle, gossiping.
‘So he says…’ Amy paused dramatically, ‘… things went from zero to a hundred, and he’s not cut out for a relationship.Like I asked him to marry me?It was one date!’
‘Ugh,’ Gen wrinkled her nose.
‘Honestly, Amy,’ Claire said.‘If I’ve learnt anything, men are… What was it again?’
‘Trash,’ Gen finished, sipping water.
Claire continued, ‘Twenty years with my husband.And he leaves me for a twenty-five-year-old.Keep your money, keep your assets.’
‘Amen,’ Gen raised her bottle.
I huffed, ‘Hypocrite.’
Gen just shrugged, eyes smiling.Her lanky, adorably nerdy husband cooked her dinner, paid for her to open a tattoo studio with his lucrative coding job, and every night he played video games while she read Romantasy beside him.
‘It can’t be all bad,’ Amy complained.‘All my siblings are married to their soulmates.So are my parents.’
She picked at her mat, head low.Amy had been single for a while and was desperate to find love.So desperate she let mediocre men mess her around.
She was a romantic, and I’d been like that once.
Until two years ago.
My mind drifted to that night two years ago.The night I thought was a fresh, new beginning until I’d woken alone, with a handwritten note.That’s when I lost my best friend and my belief in love, all in one go.
‘It doesn’t exist, Amy,’ I said quietly.‘And even if it did, what’s to say they don’t leave?No warning.Just gone.All for what – some socially prescribed idea of love?I have you guys.That’s all I need.’
Silence.Amy, Gen, and Claire stared at me.
‘Lydia—’ Gen started.
