Chapter Ten #2
After those five, she does indeed move to add another 10kg, and after that another 8kg. As she does six reps of each, I don't just get to look at the curve of her backside, but the soft valley of her back, deep and defined even through her top.
I would never call her body muscular, but it's sculpted, it's toned, and it's all feminine strength.
And her skin, it's the perfect shade of roasted peach, kissed with syrup-coloured freckles everywhere; on the backs of her arms, across her shoulders and even in a few places on her neck.
I wonder if they can be found further up her legs, along her thighs, on her hips. ..
“You still with me?” She moves to get two 2.5kg plates and attaches them efficiently. “This will be my last round.”
When her second-to-last rep is done, she seems suddenly out of breath and gasps a little.
“Too much?” I ask.
“Just tired,” she says, but doesn’t elaborate. Nor does she move to do her last rep.
“You can do this,” I say, and I clap my hands together.
“What was that?” She laughs and hangs her head low, shaking it.
“Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? Cheer you on! Big you up!”
“Just stay close,” she says.
Oh, I will.
“You got this!” I call out.
“And quiet, please.”
“Right-oh.” I bend low only half a second after she does.
She does indeed seem to need more of her to lift the bar this time and at one point I worry she's not going to do it, or that maybe she'll hurt herself.
I inch a little closer, close enough that the front of my thighs are lined up behind hers.
A moment later, the bar is up and she's standing straight, the back of her - all of it - pressed against the front of me - all of it.
She holds her lift a few seconds longer than she held the previous ones, then she drops it with a loud thud.
But she doesn't move, and it could be my imagination, but it feels like she applies a little more pressure, leaning back against me, seeking me out with her back and butt and I'm there, I'm right there, ready and warm and hard and. ..
“Hey! Streak of piss!” I hear an instant mood-killer of a voice.
“Fuck!” I hiss.
“Why are you fecking hiding from us here?” Maeve is marching towards us. I step back as quickly as Jenna shifts forward. Maeve is close enough now to see Jenna. “Oh, hello. Again.”
“Hi,” Jenna says and then she turns to me and adds in a whisper, “Hot sister.”
“What are you guys doing?” Maeve's nose wrinkles, like she's just come across a bad smell.
“Weights,” I say at the same time Jenna says, “Lifting.”
“You don't lift weights,” Maeve says with a snort.
“No, but she does.” I point at Jenna. “And she's strong too.”
“That's cool.” Maeve gives a shrug that will appear uninterested to Jenna, but I know it's a serious indicator that she's impressed. Maeve curls her upper lip as she gives me a once over. “Could you put some clothes on, please? I don't want to taste my breakfast again.”
It's Jenna's turn to snort now.
“It's got to be over twenty-five degrees already and I’m covered in multiple layers of sweat, so no.”
“Well, Ma wants you back at the villa,” she says, as she starts fiddling with the exercise bike’s seat which is much too tall for her.
“Bollocks,” I mumble.
“I'm all done,” Jenna says. She grabs her phone, headphones, and a bottle of water. She doesn't look at me when she speaks, “Thanks for spotting me.”
“Is that what you call it?” Maeve snickers as she continues to mess around with the bike seat unsuccessfully.
“You better head back, brother dearest. Ma is not happy, even despite a double yoga session with twenty minutes of silent meditative breathing. Dad wasn't even allowed to flush the loo during it. I mean, look at what I’ve resorted to so as to escape it. I am actually wearing all this gear I get for free, giving myself a savage wedgie and obscene camel toe.”
“Jesus, Maeve. Do you have to?” I shake my head.
“She's right.” Jenna walks backwards away from us, much too quickly for my liking. “Lycra is not a friend of all parts of the female anatomy, but also at the same time, embrace it, Maeve. You look amazing, camel toe and all!”
She turns and then shuffles off in a light jog.
“Jenna, wait!” I call out.
“Oi! Don't forget your manky sweat rag down here.” Maeve points at my discarded top.
“I'll be back in a minute, for Christ's sake,” I spit at my sister as I race to catch up with Jenna, all the while very pleased to have another chance to see her from behind. “Jenna, wait.”
She stops at the peak of the trail that joins up with the pathway that takes you to either side of the hill. The sun shines down on her. When she squints at me, with a saluting hand shading her eyes, the sunlight glows around her like a halo.
“What's up with your mum that she needs all that meditation and yoga?” she asks when I reach her.
“It's a long, long story,” I say. “And I really don't want to talk about my mother. I want to ask you what time we'll meet tonight.”
She looks away. “You said sunset,” she replies quietly.
“I did.” I nod. “But what if I wanted to be all kinds of wild and firm that up with a pre-arranged time?”
Jenna looks at the ground. “I'll see you at sunset,” she says, and then she turns and walks away.
I watch and wait until she's made it over the crest of the hill, presuming she's taking the path to her villa, which must be on the opposite side of the resort to ours, right on the top corner. It’s a relief, if I’m honest. The thought of her crossing paths with my mother is not a pleasant one.
I head back to the gym area and see my sister still struggling with the bike seat. “Come here, you muppet,” I say, nudging her out of the way.
“Jesus! You stink!” She pinches her nose. I tut and drop the seat so it lines up with her hip.
“There you go.”
“Well, thanks, I suppose.” Maeve climbs on and puts her feet in the brackets on the pedals, but she doesn't start moving them. “What do I do now?”
“Jesus Christ, Maeve, you cycle. You don’t even have to steer, surely you can cope with that.”
“Haha,” she deadpans and slowly starts to move the pedals.
“Go talk to Mum. Clear the air, for feck's sake.
We're on holiday and I am bored of all this aggro when I’m supposed to shoot sunshine-filled happy holiday clips that make my followers just the right amounts of envious and happy for me.
Speaking of which, you're still going to help me today, right?”
“Yes, I'm a man of my word. Unfortunately.” I pick up my cycling cleats, my top and water bottle. “After lunch, right?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Jesus, exercise is for dryshites.”
“Enjoy,” I say and give her a wave as I start walking off, taking a swig of water.
“You better not mention Mrs Robinson to Mum,” Maeve calls out.
“Mrs Robinson?” I stop and turn back.
“The Graduate, you uncultured swine. A 1967 film about a younger man and an older woman. But I suppose it’s not a 2000s Jude Law rom-com so why would you know about it?”
“Nah. I’m more of a Matthew McConaughey fan myself. Besides, Jenna's not that much older.”
Maeve gives me one of her famous eyebrow raises. “How old is she?”
I hope my shrug looks more nonchalant than I feel. “I don't know. She hasn't told me.”
Maeve grunts with amusement. “Hmm. And when was the last time you heard Mum tell someone her age in public?”
“Jenna is not the same age as Mum.”
“But Jenna is older than you, Marty. You can see that, right?”
“Yes, I am aware.”
“And Mum is not going to like that,” Maeve adds, her eyes on me now. “I can kind of understand why.”
“What do you mean?”
“You're supposed to be taking things slow, calming down, getting your shit together.” Her words are blunt but there is a cautious kindness in her eyes.
I step closer, my shoulders tense. “I'm sober. I live at home. I do whatever she tells me to do, like coming on this bleeding family holiday. Isn't that enough?”
“The holiday is hardly a hardship, dickhead. And drinking was a symptom, remember? Not the cause,” she adds.
“I fucking hate when you're smarter than me.” I point my bottle at her.
“I'm not. Nowhere close. There's a reason all I can do is post videos of myself and flog athleisure wear to people who will never actually wear it to work out. Ha! Like me!”
“We'll have words about that attitude later, missy, but I suppose right now I’d better go face the music, fight the dragon, enter the torture chamber, whatever.” I add hand gestures to every word.
“Ma does love you,” my sister says. It's so unlike her to say something like that it gives me pause. I look at her, waiting for eye contact or just some kind of clarification from her side, but she's back typing away on her phone.
“Yeah, yeah. Tough love,” I mutter.
“Love is tough, it’s what makes it last, I guess,” she says with only the briefest look up. “Now piss off, ya melter, I've got hundreds of DMs to work through.”
“Tough love you too,” I call out and jog home, taking the opposite path to Jenna.