Authors: Fiona Gibson
Mum on the Run (29 page)
September
Toby stares down at his bright blue school sweatshirt and pressed grey trousers. The top is a little too big for him, and he wriggles his arms, trying to make it fit better. ‘Nervous, love?’ I ask.
‘No,’ he says with a tinge of outrage. He picks up his schoolbag and slings it onto his back. That, too, looks too big for his slight frame.
‘Pencil case all packed?’ Jed asks, having got up extra early to help to ensure a hitch-free morning.
Toby nods. He also has a drink, snack, elasticated-front plimsolls and, stuffed at the bottom of his bag so no one sees, a freshly-laundered Ted. Finn, too, is wearing a new school uniform: the black top and trousers of the secondary school. Only Grace seems relaxed, having polished off three of the pancakes she requested this morning. Toby and Finn’s pancakes lie cold on their plates, barely touched and fraying a little around the edges. ‘Well, we’d better go,’ I say, affecting a businesslike tone. ‘Can’t be late on your first day, Toby. Finn, had you better set off now?’
‘Um, yeah.’ He sucks in his lips.
‘I’m assuming you want to walk on your own.’
He nods.
‘Are you calling for Calum and James?’
‘Yuh. I might.’ Yet, instead of getting up to leave, he twiddles with the edge of his pancake, pulling off tiny pieces and lining them up in an arc around the edge of his plate.
‘Okay, guys.’ Jed’s waiting at the door. ‘Let’s go.’ We head out, and I’m delighted that he’s managed to wangle a later start this morning, so we can do this together. Toby might be ready for Big School, but that doesn’t mean I am. I glance at Jed, who’s enviably brown from our Cornish holiday. ‘First day nerves?’ he teases as we all head out.
‘Just a bit,’ I tell him, taking his hand. Instead of marching ahead, Finn mooches alongside us, and I can virtually hear his brain whirring with all that lies in store at big, scary secondary school. Separate subjects. Timetables. A vast, grey concrete slab of a building with confusing corridors filled with over a thousand kids.
We stop outside St Mary’s Hall where he’ll head in the opposite direction. ‘Sure you’ve got everything, Finn?’ Jed asks.
‘Yeah, Dad.’
‘Know where you’re supposed to go?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Finn looks down at his adult-sized feet, and runs a hand through his soft, floppy haircut.
‘Well, good luck,’ Jed says. I can tell he wants to hug him, but we’re in the street, where anyone could walk by, so he doesn’t. I have to keep my hands jammed at my sides to stop myself from grabbing my boy and squeezing him tightly.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Finn says.
‘Better go then,’ I add.
Finn nods, managing to raise a precarious smile, then drops his schoolbag with a thud on the pavement and flings his arms around me. ‘Oh, Finn, it’ll be okay. You’ll know loads of people . . .’
‘I know.’ He pulls away, and although his eyes are damp, his smile is firmer now. ‘It’ll be good,’ he adds which, from Finn, counts as crazed enthusiasm.
‘It really will,’ I agree. ‘It’s a whole new thing for you, love. You’re far too grown-up for primary school now.’
He nods, and I sense him mustering strength before he turns and walks away. Spotting James and Calum across the road, he hurries over to meet them. My heart skips a beat as they start laughing and jostling each other, trying to pretend that this is an ordinary day. I spot the tall and elegant Kira, walking ahead with a couple of friends. No jostling there. Finn quickly smooths down his hair and quickens his pace.
I take Grace’s hand, and Jed grabs Toby’s as we turn the corner towards primary school. As we reach the gate, Grace kisses both of us and rushes in, eager to see her friends. Toby’s new teacher has asked parents to take their children into the classroom so the three of us make our way to the open door. Jed’s fingers interlace with mine as we step inside. Instead of charging ahead, as he used to at Scamps, Toby lurks close to my side.
His classroom is filled with brightly-coloured furniture. Jigsaw puzzles have been set out on the tables, and Miss Forest beams a welcoming smile. Jed grips my arm, and my eyes fill up.
Willpower’s the key,
Belinda said. I try to will my eyes to suck the moisture back in. ‘You okay?’ Jed whispers as Toby peels away from me.
‘Yes, I’m okay. Just a tiny bit wobbly, that’s all.’ I clear my throat, running through a mental list of why children growing up is completely brilliant: they stop lobbing your prized cosmetics into the loo. Mother of growing-up children is devoid of stains and can wear mascara daily. ‘Okay, mums and dads,’ Miss Forest says, ‘once your child is settled, could you please say goodbye and make your way out?’
I look down at Toby who is perched stiffly on a pea green seat. Is he settled? It’s impossible to tell. His lips are scrunched tightly together and his eyes are fixed on the jungle scene jigsaw on the table. ‘Bye, darling,’ I croak. ‘Enjoy your day.’
‘Bye.’ He doesn’t look up.
Jed and I walk away from school together. ‘Well,’ I say lightly, ‘that’s that. I’m glad it’s over, actually.’
The clouds part as he looks at me, and sunshine warms my face. ‘It’s a new start, isn’t it?’ he says.
‘Yes, love. It really feels like that.’ Taking his hand as we walk, I remember the postcard that came a week ago, addressed to Jed and me. There was no message, but it was a home-made card, obviously created by someone who’s good at crafts. There was a photo on the front, framed by pieces of sparkly braid all hand-stitched on. The photo was of Celeste and Agnes, huddled together and smiling somewhere sunny, somewhere French. I don’t know why she sent it. So Jed wouldn’t forget her, perhaps, or to say, ‘Here we are. Look at us. We’re doing okay.’ I placed it on the mantelpiece but the next time I looked, it had gone.
‘Well,’ Jed says as we reach the street corner, ‘I’d better get off to school.’
‘And I’m due at work.’ I check my watch. ‘My Zeta-Jones wannabe will be arriving for her blow dry in ten minutes.’
‘Lucky you.’ ‘You know what?’ I say, looking at him. ‘I think I am, and I’ve only just realised that.’ Jed smiles, then he kisses me softly on the lips. It’s like the kiss on the stairs at that long-ago party when we were young, and fell madly in love, and didn’t have to think about how to construct erupting volcanos or pack acceptable lunchboxes. It was just us back then, and it feels like that now on this perfect September morning.
People are milling around us, heading to work, ready to start their day. We stand, with the warm sun beating down upon us. Then he kisses me again. I don’t care that we’ll be late, or that someone might see us kissing on a street corner, because today tastes as light and sweet as marble cake, and so does he.
Huge thanks to my wonderful agent, Caroline Sheldon, and my editor Kate Bradley at Avon, for making this book happen. Thanks also to Charlotte Allen for publicity wizardry. Thanks to Margery and Keith for all your love and support, and to my dear pals Cathy, Michelle, Marie, Cheryl and Fliss for boosting emails and always being there. Without my brilliant writing group I’d be totally stuck: big thanks to Tania, Vicki, Margaret and Amanda. Without my fabulous running buddy I’d be a complete couch potato: thanks to super-whizzy Carolann. Above all, an enormous hug to my wonderful family: Jimmy, Sam, Dex and Erin. In fact it was my daughter Erin’s idea to write a book about running in the first place. Clever cookie!
15 Brilliant (And Even Life-Changing) Things About Running
By Fiona Gibson
1. It gets you out of the house.
That may sound faintly tragic. However for people like me, who work from home and rarely speak to a living soul, pulling on my trainers and pounding the streets is a complete sanity saver. Without it I’d be pale and light-starved, like a mushroom, and end up talking to myself.
2. It’s not the gym.
What do gyms do for us anyway? Take our money in exchange for a shiny card – then precisely nothing happens. Oh, I know there are those horrendous fixed weights to grapple with and classes you can go to – but these have always left me cold – and dripping with guilt because I’ve spent all that money and never go.
3. It’s dead easy.
People can come over all technical and try to blind you with science but, basically, we all know how to run. I’d done no exercise whatsoever until I was about 39, and I still managed to run without toppling over.
4. You can chat while you run.
Not at first, admittedly – when you’re just starting out, you can barely stagger along without fear of vomiting. But it does get easier, very quickly. One friend of mine, who had barely run in her life, completed a 10k race with only ten weeks’ training. When I started, I used to feel like my chest might burst open, and now I can run for an hour or so and actually enjoy it (honestly).
5. If you don’t want to chat, you can run alone and think.
Or even
not
think. Certain friends claim that they don’t actually think when they run; they just get into the flow and pound along in a sort of Zen-like manner. Me, I prefer a chat and a gossip. Perhaps I’m just not very Zen.
6. Running makes you look glowingly healthy.
I started running about six years ago after visiting my friend Fliss in Devon. She looked great – not just super-slim and toned but also kind of . . .
radiant.
She told me she’d started running and I thought, rather greedily, I’ll have some of that.
7. They say running is great for a flat tum.
Admittedly, this has yet to happen to me. But things are less jiggly in the bum and thigh departments.
8. You don’t need fancy gear.
Not even tight Lycra shorts, mercifully. A pair of ratty old trackie bottoms or shorts will do – although a running bra is essential (as Laura, my main character, found out). Sorry, but your flimsy little under-wired number is not up to the job.
9. You can run races and flash your medal about.
When I say ‘race’, I don’t mean like Paula Radcliffe. A leisurely jog will do nicely (and you still get a medal for that. Oh, and a free banana).
10. These races are non-competitive
(unless you’re one of the elite runners right at the front, in which case you probably won’t be reading this). It’s incredibly heartening to glance around and see that you’re running alongside people of all shapes and ages, and realise that some are going to be worse than you.
11. If you’re pushed for time, you can just pull on your trainers whenever you get the opportunity and head out.
No planning or scheduling needed, unless you prefer to run with a mate. Even then, if a few of you run together, you can usually get hold of someone for a quickie, so to speak.
12. It’s also brilliant for tension.
I can be in the foulest mood, having been unable to find my kids’ school uniforms, homework folders and lunch money. Then they’ll head off to school and I’ll go out running with my mate. Forty minutes later I’m almost human again and a lot less shouty.
13. If you’re a former couch potato like me, you can feel incredibly proud as you improve as a runner.
In fact, it’s a good idea to look back and revel in your progress and even make a note of how far you’ve run.
14. Runners are allowed to eat sweets.
In fact it’s recommended. One Jelly Baby per mile, they say. You’re not stuffing sweets – you are
refuelling.
15. I feel guilty saying this.
But running is also an incredibly handy excuse if you need a little break from the children. Somehow, it’s more acceptable than saying, ‘I’m just going for a little lie down.’
Fiona is an author and journalist who has written for many UK publications including
The Observer
,
The Guardian
,
Marie Claire
and
Red
. For several years she has written a popular weekly column chronicling her family life in
The Sunday Herald
newspaper.
Fiona lives in Scotland with her husband, their twin sons and daughter. She likes to draw, run 10k races, play her saxophone and lie in the bath with a big glass of wine, although not all at once.
To find out more about Fiona please visit www.fionagibson.com.
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Copyright © Fiona Gibson 2010
Fiona Gibson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1-84756-249-4
EPub Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007438532
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