Chapter Nine
I wake up the next morning to the tinkling xylophonic sound of my phone alarm. I stretch out like a cat and wonder vaguely why I feel so well rested. And then my eyes flutter open and I catch sight of where I am – in a beautiful mews house, having just slept on what is evidently a very high quality mattress. I sit up in the bed and smile at the bright winter-sun light that’s already streaming in through the glass balcony doors. I can vaguely hear the bustling sounds of the Saturday Market being set up on Portobello Road.
It’s 7 a.m. and I’ve arranged to meet Henry and Auguste in the living room at 7.45 a.m. for their first PT session.
After a quick shower in the glorious bathroom, I dress in my favourite neon blue leggings and crop top. I towel dry my hair and scrape it up into a high ponytail before wrapping it around into a messy bun.
My phone buzzes with a text.
It’s Dad.
You haven’t messaged me back. Is everything okay? Can I come to visit or what?
I grin as I realise that me staying here at Henry’s house means I can see my Dad. Now I am here he doesn’t need to know any of the bad stuff that’s been happening. I mean, I won’t be able to get him the slap up meal he wants, but maybe I could make him something to eat here, if Henry doesn’t mind. I quickly type out a reply inviting him to come and visit tomorrow and letting him know that I’ve moved. The last thing I want to happen is for my dad to knock on the door of my old building and run into Mr Hemmings. Ugh Mr Hemmings. I might have Henry as a client, but I still need to get a ton more work if I’m going to be able to pay him back before he tries getting the money off my dad.
Grabbing my kit bag, I make my way down the two flights of stairs and wonder what the real hero woman is like. I betshe’snever had an eviction notice. I think about the probability of Henry having actually found her at some point. I suppose he’ll stop looking now that he thinks it’s me…
‘Morning!’ Henry calls out as I reach the living room. He’s dressed in football shorts and a white vest shirt that shows off his perfect toned, tanned arms. Wowzer. Maybe he should be training me.
I try not to stare too much because I am, of course, a professional. I help myself to a glass of water from the open plan kitchen.
‘I hope you’re ready for a great workout!’ I say brightly as Auguste shuffles into the living room, clearly less alert than Henry and me. His dark hair is all tufty over his head. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and an old T-shirt with some sort of French slogan on it.
‘Good morning, Auguste!’ I say cheerfully as he slouches to the kitchen and sleepily pours himself a tar-like black coffee from a cafetière.
I wave the notebook I brought with me around in the air. ‘I have a few questions to ask before we begin,’ I tell the two of them. ‘Just to check your levels of fitness and to chat through any medical issues.’
Henry groans and starts star jumping on the spot. ‘We are young men, both in superb health! We don’t need to do all that!’
I grin. ‘Actually, we do,’ I say firmly switching into my go-to PT mode of badass woman who takes no crap. ‘I want to check that I’m giving you the best workout for your individual make-up.’
Henry rolls his eyes slightly and chuckles. ‘Fine, you’re the boss.’
‘Right now I am,’ I quip, pulling my blood pressure monitor and oximeter out of my kit bag and handing each of them one of the standard health forms I make every new client fill out before I train them.
Auguste takes his form without a word and slouches over to the kitchen table. Henry grabs my notebook, presses the paper against it to hold it steady and scribbles out his responses while still standing up. While the pair of them scratch their pens over the paper I do some gentle stretches, rolling out my shoulders, head and hips.
‘Okay!’ I say when they’ve finished filling out their forms. ‘Blood pressure time.’
I take their blood pressures and am pleased to see that they’re both excellent. I then ask them about their goals for health and fitness and what they would most like to get out of their time with me.
‘I want to be jacked,’ Henry says in his lovely plummy voice. ‘Like, not a meathead as such, but just larger than I am right now. And especially on my legs. I have quite spindly legs and I don’t like it.
‘Okay. I can help with that.’
‘I just want to feel more energy,’ Auguste says, slurping from his coffee. ‘I am working on many projects and want more energy to do all of them without feeling the tiredness.’
‘Absolutely,’ I say. ‘Even just getting more exercise in general will help to bolster your energy levels. I’ve got you.’
When I’m in PT mode I feel so bold and confident that anyone would think I was a woman who had her life completely together. I love the feeling I get when I’m helping people to become stronger. To see the initial reluctance on their faces when they underestimate what they’re able to do, and the pride that follows when they realise that they’re capable of way more than they ever realised. It’s magic.
For the next hour, I put the two men through their paces, joining them in various high intensity cardio and body strength workouts. Henry has boundless energy and is loudly competitive, jibing Auguste as they do press-ups and lunges. Auguste isn’t quite as verbal but is just as competitive as Henry. I can see the effort on his face as he tries to hold out his plank for just a second longer than Henry’s. It’s good for them to be competitive. It means they work harder.
By the end of the session all three of us are red faced and pouring with sweat, although I’m the only one who isn’t completely out of breath.
Henry presses his hands onto his knees, panting.
‘Wow. You were right. You areexcellent.I haven’t sweated that much in a long time. You are very bossy, Bess.’
