A personal trainer
They’re on very expensive mats in a very expensive gym, and Cee is wearing very expensive athleisure while barely breaking a sweat.
She’s brought her sister, and her sister, whose name is Clara, has brought a friend.
Clara is red-faced in an old T-shirt and trackie bottoms. Maisie, who is visiting for the weekend, looks like she’s going to be sick.
‘Is this who you’ve become since I left London?’ says Maisie. ‘A fancy gym woman?’
‘Cee is the fancy gym woman,’ says Clara. ‘She forces me to come. Have you ever tried disagreeing with Cee?’
Cee shoots them a look that confirms what Clara has to say. She’s lying beneath a TRX cable, pulling herself up off the floor with effortless grace. Maisie and Clara are trying and failing to do the same.
‘This is more Nimesh’s thing,’ Maisie says, arms straining. ‘Who knew his forties would be his fitness decade? You know he’s applied for the marathon?’
Clara visibly shudders. It’s clear that they aren’t going to make it through two more sets, so the PT pulls them over to the battle ropes and encourages Cee to demonstrate the next exercise.
He tucks her compact stomach, adjusts her lower back, but it’s all for show.
Her form is perfect, legs planted hip-width apart, hamstrings firm beneath her leggings.
Tight ponytail bobbing, taut back muscles flexing and flowing with each swing.
He’s tried it on with every one of his female clients, even the married ones.
Especially the married ones. And yet, never Cee, because he’s scared of her.
Cee’s sister is less scary – and even less interested.
She’s leaning against the mirrors with her arms crossed, like a misbehaving child playing truant from PE.
‘I know you set it up,’ she says to Maisie.
‘Set what up?’ Maisie sounds innocent.
‘Seb,’ she says. ‘Coming to the screening.’
‘I didn’t,’ Maisie protests. ‘It just slipped out.’
‘Well, it was a mess,’ Clara says. ‘He didn’t know about Nora.’
‘We didn’t know whether to tell him,’ Maisie says. ‘We couldn’t decide—’
‘He didn’t know?!’ It’s Cee who says this, staring back over one well-muscled shoulder. She’s stopped working out, has allowed the ropes to hang slack.
‘No one told him,’ Clara says.
‘Fucking hell,’ Cee says. ‘The internet exists.’
‘This is Seb we’re talking about.’
‘Seb we’re still talking about.’ Maisie gives Clara a pointed look. ‘After all these years.’
‘Augie didn’t tell him in Italy?’ says Cee, still holding the dormant ropes.
‘Wait,’ Clara says. ‘Augie saw him in Italy?’
Cee’s face tightens. ‘Let’s focus on the exercise.’
Once they’re finished, the PT leads the three women over to the mat and guides them through a series of stretches, helping Cee go deeper on each one until she bats his hands away. While Maisie and Clara half arse the same stretches on the mats next to them, they keep talking.
‘Ren’s meeting us for coffee after this,’ Clara says.
‘Ren’s back?’ says Maisie. ‘I love Ren.’ A serene smile. ‘How is Ren?’
‘Totally different,’ Clara says. ‘And the same as she always was.’
‘I assume you’re paying penance to her, too?’
The PT gets this reference. Clara has apologised half a dozen times in the hour they’ve been here for missing Maisie’s wedding, and for everything else before that. She grimaces now, but it turns to a smile when Maisie takes her hand.
‘Turns out building bridges takes longer than burning them,’ Clara says. ‘Who knew?’
One last stretch. The PT stands back this time, lets the ladies do their thing. Cee gives it her all. Clara and Maisie don’t.
‘It was weird,’ Clara says, back on topic. ‘He was so good with Nora.’ She’s sitting cross-legged on the mat, picking at her short, chipped fingernails. ‘And Nora was different with him.’
‘He always loved kids,’ Maisie says, absent-mindedly. She catches herself. ‘Sorry.’
Clara flushes. Cee avoids coming out of her stretch. Even the PT picks up on the awkwardness.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Clara says, waving it away. ‘This is why I didn’t want to see him. I don’t want to dig this all back up.’ She sighs. ‘I’m in a good place.’
Maisie looks at Cee. Cee looks at Maisie.
Clara notices. ‘A pretty good place,’ she says. ‘Anyway, he’s moving away. So that’s that. Our paths won’t cross again.’
Maisie makes a face.
Clara narrows her eyes. ‘What now?’