‘So today is a triceps and biceps day,’ he adds.
‘You know . . . I’m actually thinking of doing some core today. Would you mind?’
Gavin spins round, looking alarmed. ‘But it isn’t acore day.’
‘I know but I thought I’d live a little. Variety is the spice of life and all that.’
‘But Jules, your whole workout has been meticulously planned out. The number one factor for success is—’
‘Discipline?’ I finish. It’s not the first time he’s said this.
‘Precisely.’
‘I’m not suggesting I sit in the coffee shop and eat cream cakes,’ I say, though the idea suddenly sounds quite appealing. ‘I’m just a bit stiff after last night’s match.’
His expression darkens. I wish I hadn’t said anything. ‘Which part of you has seized up?’
‘Oh, it’s not that bad. My legs are a bit tired, that’s all. And perhaps a bit of lower back.’
He exhales through both nostrils. ‘I did tell you about tennis, didn’t I? You’d be better sticking to spectating.’
‘Well, Iwouldlove to go to Wimbledon, though it’s not easy to get tickets. Besides, I’ve read that these aches and pains are nothing a bit of Pilates can’t sort out. It apparentlyprotects your joints from all the twists and turns involved in racquet sports.’
I must admit, I wasn’t sure about the idea myself. Until I reached an age when I couldn’t avoid it, I shied away from anything ‘holistic’, a word I usually associate with an excessive interest in crystals and Kate Bush in the ‘Wuthering Heights’ video. But I’ve warmed to the idea if it means I won’t be quite so creaky next time I play.
Gavin is clearly unconvinced.
‘I thought you’d decided you weren’t going to carry on with all that anyway?’
‘I was in two minds,’ I reply, wondering why I’m having to justify myself. ‘Though I am also conscious that I’m not as young as I was. You were right about the potential for injury.’
He looks slightly mollified by this concession.
‘But I’m taking steps to mitigate against that,’ I continue. ‘It’s especially important when you’re in perimenopause, apparently. Hormones are all over the place at my age. People think it’s all just hot flashes and periods going haywire but . . .
are you all right?’
His face has blanched and it occurs to me that I’ve perhaps strayed into territory he’s not entirely comfortable with. I probably shouldn’t be surprised about this. I accidentally dropped a Tampax in the street a few weeks ago and, when I picked it up and popped it back into my bag, Gavin ushered me away from the scene like he was shielding me from the paparazzi.
‘All right, you go and do some core, but I’m going to stick to my routine,’ he says finally. ‘I was thinking, maybe we should start doing some more things together away from the gym?’
‘We should. You’re right,’ I say.
‘How about the cinema one night?’
‘Great idea.’
‘You come over this week for dinner? I could cook one of the recipes on the nutrition programme?’ he suggests.
‘Gavin, that would be lovely,’ I say, though my head does start to spin a little about where this is leading.
‘How about Tuesday?’
‘Oh. I can’t do Tuesday. That’s practice night.’
‘Thursday then.’
‘Thursday is the next match night.’
