Chapter 24
24
LISA
It was a mistake coming down to the gym in the town centre thinking she’d be able to do what all these Lycra-clad bodies in front of her were putting themselves through. As a little girl she’d been pretty good at gymnastics, cartwheeling around the garden of the schoolhouse and doing handstands up against the wall, school uniform tucked into her knickers. Until Mother had told her to stop creating such an exhibition of herself; she was the headmaster’s daughter, for heaven’s sake, and she was to remember that. Did she really want the school porters to be viewing her underwear? It was pretty obvious, Mother said on more than one occasion, just from where she’d inherited this lewd behaviour. Her real mother – the dirty tramp – had obviously passed on her predilection for showing her knickers to all and sundry.
Lisa had gone into Father’s study, from which she was barred, on pain of a slap, to look up both lewd and predilection , in the huge dictionary Adrian Foley kept in there. She had learned from the dictionary that her real mother was crude and offensive in a sexual way but then had to also look up both ‘crude’ and ‘sexual’. Not very nice words to describe her real mother. But then, as the seven-year-old Lisa conceded, she must have been a pretty awful woman not only to have given birth to her when she didn’t have a husband, but to throw her away as well. Unwanted, a half-caste as Karen Foley so often reminded her (usually when she’d done something to disappoint – and that list was endless), she had been thrown out by the real mother. For years, Lisa thought she must have been thrown into a dustbin by the real mother, mingling amongst potato peelings, apple cores, scrapings from Sunday lunch plates, until she was rescued by Mother and Father and given the comfortable and Christian home and excellent education other unwanted little bastards could only dream of…
‘Lisa?’ A powerfully built young man stood in front of her, smiling. ‘Shall we have a chat about what you want from the gym?’
‘Oh, I’m not convinced I can do any of this.’ Lisa looked longingly towards the main entrance, but the man – Ari, from his lanyard – just laughed.
‘You look to be in pretty good shape already.’
‘I do a lot of gardening,’ Lisa said, following him into an office where he took an iPad and began punching in some details. ‘I want to swim again, maybe do some classes?’
Ari nodded. ‘Absolutely. If you’ve not done any gym work for a while…’
‘Never, actually,’ Lisa broke in. ‘And, you need to know, I do have a medical condition.’
* * *
An hour later, not only had she been given a tour of the gym, she’d also tried out some of the machines, had a swim and a sauna and was now about to shower in really quite upmarket surroundings. Jayden had said, months ago, he’d pay for Lisa to join the gym, but she wanted some independence, wanted not to be beholden to Jayden Allen any longer, and had raided her savings to pay for the membership.
Gosh, this was fabulous, Lisa thought as she peeled off her wet swimsuit. She was actually here, had done a bit of a workout and was feeling good. More than good. Shy at first of stripping off in front of the other women in the communal changing room, she took a surreptitious look around. OK, there were the ubiquitous beautiful yummy mummies, highlighted hair swishing as they hoisted designer bags over shoulders, shouting loudly to Camilla, to Tia and to Darcy that they’d see them at school pick-up, and whose turn was it to book tennis? To host Supper Club next? But over in the corner were some of her own tribe: women in their late forties and fifties hiding middle-aged spread and stretch marks behind large fluffy white towels. Lisa rubbed at her long dark hair before moving over to the mirror to finish the job with a fancy blow-drier, which left her locks in soft tendrils round her elfin face. She gazed at her reflection before reaching for blusher and lipstick and the new mascara she’d read a review on in The Sunday Times and which, for once, totally lived up to the hype.
‘Wow, you’ve long eyelashes.’ One of the women from the oldies corner of the changing room was at her side, reaching for the styling wand Lisa had just replaced in its holder on the mirror.
‘Thank you.’ Lisa smiled. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve treated myself to a new mascara.’
‘Well, you look fabulous!’ The woman smiled back.
‘That’s so kind, thank you. I’ve suddenly realised I’m over fifty and need to sort myself.’ Why on earth was she telling a stranger this?
The woman stared. ‘Over fifty? Goodness, I thought you were one of the school Right-on Rangers that take over the place every morning. Terrifying lot, they are. Mind you, I suppose you could still be one? Apologies – women do have their kids in their forties now, don’t they?’
‘Apparently.’ Lisa pulled a face. ‘I had my first two in my early twenties.’
‘Well, you look bloody good on it. I’d have put you in your early forties; you’ve got some great genes there.’
‘Wish I knew where these genes came from,’ Lisa murmured, staring at her face in the mirror, suddenly feeling strange, confused.
‘Sorry?’ The woman looked confused herself, glancing at Lisa’s Levi-clad bottom. ‘Where they’ve come from? No,’ she laughed, ‘I meant genes not, you know… not your jeans.’
‘I know. I know exactly what you meant. Gosh, I’m sorry. Offloading to a total stranger.’ Lisa attempted a smile but still felt adrift. Here she was, at fifty-four, just beginning to emerge from years of not being able to do the things she wanted. But emerging from what? Who was she? Where had she come from? ‘I don’t know who I am,’ she blurted out. ‘I don’t know any of my history. I don’t know who I am,’ she repeated.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ve upset you.’ The woman put out a hand.
‘No, really, you haven’t. I’m just so cross with myself for leaving it until now to try and find out who I actually am.’ Lisa picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder and smiled at the woman. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Really lovely to talk to you. Thank you.’
* * *
‘Ms Allen? Lisa?’ Lisa looked across at the ‘in’ turnstile as she was making her way towards the ‘out’. For a split second, she couldn’t work out why this incredibly good-looking man would know who she was.
‘Oh, Mr Sattar.’ She flushed, remembering the tirade she’d directed at him just a few days earlier at Hudson House. ‘Hello, how are you?’
‘Good, good, but all the better for seeing you.’ He smiled, and for some strange reason Lisa felt her pulse race. ‘Listen.’ He made his way through the turnstile until he was standing at her side. ‘Have you a minute?’
‘Well, I was just on my way up to Hudson House. There’s such a lot of work to be done in the garden…’ Lisa trailed off. ‘Mind you, not much point, I guess, seeing you’re going to be in there with your bulldozers.’
Ignoring the rebuke, Kamran Sattar said, ‘Do you fancy a coffee?’ He indicated a hand towards the gym’s coffee bar. ‘I’ve a PT session, but it’s not for half an hour.’
‘PT?’ Lisa pulled a face. Hadn’t they done PT at infant school in yellow Aertex and big brown knickers?
‘Personal Trainer.’ Kamran smiled. ‘I’ve been working so hard lately I’ve been neglecting the gym. New year, new resolutions…’
‘New projects for the village?’ Lisa realised that if she could think of Kamran Sattar as the enemy, as the man behind the redevelopment of St Mede’s school and Hudson House and not as this gorgeous man who was making her pulse race, then she could converse with him on his level, find out more about what the Sattar brothers were up to. Arm both Robyn and Jess with information about what was going on in their respective places of work.
‘Thanks, coffee would be great.’ Lisa followed Sattar as he went to the bar. ‘Flat white, please.’
‘So.’ Lisa went straight for the jugular once he sat down, placing a cup in front of her. ‘What are your plans for Hudson House, Mr Sattar?’
‘It’s Kamran.’
‘OK. Kamran. Your plans for Hudson House?’
‘I honestly don’t know yet.’
‘Oh, come on, you don’t honestly expect me to believe that?’
He smiled. ‘OK, OK, I’ve a pretty good idea. I mean, we’d like to buy the place wholesale and then decide.’
‘You’re not prepared to tell me, are you?’
‘No.’ Kamran grinned across at her. ‘I’m curious, Lisa. Why do you have such an interest in the place?’
‘Apart from my daughter losing her job? Apart from the house being lovely and my not wanting to see an aspect of Beddingfield’s industrial history go to the wall in the name of modernisation?’
‘Of jobs for the locals?’ Kamran raised an eye in her direction. When she didn’t reply, he asked, ‘What’s your history, Lisa? I know Jess is your daughter yet you don’t have the Yorkshire accent she has.’
‘Eeh, lad, ah can put one on if yer want.’ Lisa smiled. ‘I was brought up in Surrey but moved to Sheffield when I was nine.’
‘And your background?’
‘My background?’
‘How’ve you ended up here in Beddingfield.’
‘I sometimes wonder.’ Lisa smiled. ‘No, it’s wrong of me to say that. My husband and I came across the village by chance. I loved it…’ She shrugged. ‘Had my girls here and been here ever since.’
‘You have a husband?’ Kamran Sattar’s eyes held her own. ‘Still?’
‘Actually, that’s a moot point. I’ve never had a husband…’ Lisa broke off as a tall, toned blonde in shocking pink appeared beside them.
‘Ah, caught you! Coffee, Kamran! I thought we’d decided to cut it out?’ The girl, arms folded, glanced from Kamran before focusing on Lisa.
‘We all fall off the wagon sometimes, Tamsin.’ He smiled, standing and stretching. ‘Lisa, thanks for the company. I enjoyed our chat.’ He held Lisa’s eye for longer than was probably necessary, and she felt her heart skip a beat. This man was so gorgeous. Her pleasure in his company was dented only when she heard Tamsin laugh affectedly. ‘Kamran, I never had you down as fancying older women!’ And with a hand on his backside, she laid claim to him by kissing his cheek proprietorially.