Chapter 12 #3
There it is again, the shadow that crosses her face.
“It’s all just a matter of technique and fitness,” she says, and I guess that’s probably true, but I don’t believe it’s the whole truth.
There’s something else there, but I’m not the guy she wants to talk to about it.
And that’s OK. I just hope there’s someone else for her so she can talk about anything, even about the things she’s thinking of when her eyes glaze over in class and she gets that worried expression on her face.
“Well, no, actually that’s not all,” she says, to my surprise. “Has anyone ever properly hurt you?”
Suddenly I feel kind of shitty. Because, if I’m honest, I don’t know.
Of course it hurts when I have to say goodbye to my parents at the airport.
When I remember that I won’t be able to be at this school with my friends forever.
Or when Grace and I argue. Not that we do argue.
Our last fight was months ago, and I can’t even remember what it was about.
In fact, we don’t actually talk anymore, even though there’s so much to say.
But we both know what would happen. We’d have to face up to the fact that there’s nothing left.
That you can argue only if you feel something. And I’ve stopped feeling anything.
“You have to think about the pain,” says Emma, and I ban myself from thinking about Grace again.
Because I get the feeling that Emma’s telling me something she never tells anyone.
“About the feeling when the person you love just goes away and abandons you. You have to imagine yourself running after that train and not being quick enough. It’s getting faster and faster, and sitting inside it is the person whose fucking attention you want.
But he’s being carried away. So you run, as fast as you can, because it’s all you can do.
That’s what you have to think about and, if you’re lucky, you might reach the point where your head is just empty and you don’t care so much about all of that anymore. ”
She’s talking about her dad, I’m sure, but I don’t dare ask her.
For a couple of seconds, the silence hangs between us, as oppressive as a thunderstorm. Emma avoids my gaze. I realize we’re standing still only when she claps her hands.
“Whatever. Forget it. Next interval, come on.” She’s running again, and all I can do is follow her, my mind whirling.
Why didn’t I say anything? Something like, I’m sorry you had to go through that.
If you want to talk about it, I’ll be here.
Instead, I’m silent, watching as she argues it out with herself.
As she runs. And suddenly I understand. When she takes her body to the limit, her thoughts stop.
When she’s so focused on breathing and keeping on running, there’s no room left for emotions.
I pick up my pace as Emma announces the next sprint.
You have to think about the pain.
The fact that it isn’t Grace’s face in my mind’s eye should probably make me think.
Instead, I remember the heavy feeling when Mum and Dad gave me one last hug at the airport.
All those stupid goodbyes that have got so normal they shouldn’t hurt anymore.
But it’ll never stop being unbearable when they leave me on my own somewhere and I have to be so fucking independent.
I think about Maeve, getting on the train after a visit here and heading back to St. Andrews.
About me, standing at the station and having to hold myself back so I don’t run after her. Now I don’t hold back.
My shins and thighs are burning, my lungs on fire. My pulse is racing, and once the last interval is finally over, I’m pretty sure I’m about to throw up.
I stop, and as my stomach lurches, I crumple. The blood is rushing in my ears, and my eyes are flickering. I can’t breathe fast enough to take in the oxygen my lungs are painfully demanding.
“No, stand up, Henry!” I feel Emma’s hand on my shoulder as I fall to my knees. The grass is cold and wet under my palms. I choke down the gagging. “Arms above your head, come on. You’ll soon feel better.”
I hear her as if through a thick layer of cotton wool, but somehow, my body does what she says. “Breathe into your belly. You have to keep moving, or your blood pressure will drop off. And tell me if you need to be sick.”
“You’re crazy,” I somehow croak out. The roaring in my ears is gradually fading. Her hand is between my shoulder blades. Even though my T-shirt is dripping with sweat. God knows what made me think of that right now.
“Better?” she asks as I rub my face and put my head back.
“I need to sit down,” I mumble.
“In a moment,” she promises. “Looks like we really did work you to the max this time,” she remarks.
I glare darkly at her. “I almost died.”
She smiles. “Yeah, almost.”
“And it’s not even breakfast time yet . . .”
“That was so good, Henry. I’m proud of you.”
“That I almost threw up?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “You went to the limit.”
“You can say that again.” My pulse is slowly starting to ease.
“It’s an important part of making progress in your training. Honestly. Tell me when you’re ready and we can jog slowly back. The others must be about to start the morning run.”
“Can’t we walk?” I suggest feebly, but Emma shakes her head.
“No chance, sorry. But we’ll go superslow. Cooldown tempo.”
“You have no heart.”
“Just as well, or I couldn’t run this fast.” When she points inquiringly toward the school buildings, I nod. She really is running slowly, but my stomach is still grumbling.
My dripping top is clinging to my body, the sweat is burning my eyes, but all I can think about are Emma’s words as we get closer to the school. At some distance away, I see the other pupils doing their morning run. Some of them aren’t quite as half-hearted as the rest.
I turn my head to Emma. “You really want to find him, don’t you?”
I’m sure she knows who I mean. Her father. The man who gave her a reason to run until she can’t go on.
“I think so.”
I nod. And at that moment, I know I’d do anything to help her.