Chapter One
Lydia’s Diary, Six Years Old
Dear Diary,
Mum gave me this for Christmas. I didn’t know what to write. But today something WEIRD happened. Two boys came. Both had brown hair. One was older called Liam. He didn’t talk. RUDE. The little one hid behind his mum like a baby.
I said hi. He looked at me like I was evil.
Mum said show him my toys. He ran off.
Rude, rude, rude. His name is Lorence Lawrence. (Mum helped me spell) I told him that’s a old man name. He said PISS OFF. That is a BAD word! I told Mum.
I just wanted a friend. But I will NEVER be friends with him.
Lydia
‘Okay, ladies! Two more minutes, let’s finish strong!’ I bellowed over Chappell Roan’s chorus, holding back a laugh at the collective groan that echoed around the studio from the three women in front of me – Amy, Genevieve and Claire – my dream team.
I wasn’t supposed to have favourites, but we’d been meeting at Momentum for three years now, and I looked forward to our sessions every week – bright and early at 7 o’clock. They were more than clients. Some of my best friends, really.
Genevieve – Gen – was half-Indian and curvy, with thick dark hair.
Her petite mum had spent a lifetime pushing her to lose weight.
Amy, with bright pink hair and a wiry frame, had spent her childhood in and out of hospitals with leukaemia.
She fought to keep weight on. Claire, a recent divorcee with immaculate, cropped, grey hair, wanted a revenge body to spite her ex-husband, who’d left her for his younger co-worker.
They’d all come to me to fix something. But over time, their goals had shifted. Now it was about muscle, strength, and mental health. And community.
I wasn’t naive enough to think body-image issues disappeared overnight. I mean, I still hated being the tallest woman in every room, a giantess on a hill, but I was proud the gym wasn’t just about appearances for these ladies any more. It was about confidence. Achievement. Pride.
It was the reason I got into this business when I was 18 and fresh out of school. It was to bring out the best in people, and I could pinpoint exactly when that passion had begun.
Year nine. When I was caught hiding in the school loos in the worst moment of my week – double maths.
Mrs MacDonald, the gym teacher, found me.
She was a stern, tall woman. She had brunette hair, always scraped back into a severe ponytail.
She was someone I usually avoided during netball but, once I saw how her face softened when she found me, I decided almost instantly to trust her.
She didn’t shout at me or order me back to class.
Instead she angled her head and said, ‘Come on – I’m teaching the year sevens how to pass and catch. You can help me.’
I’d almost collapsed in relief. I spent the whole of double maths teaching the young ’uns (by that I mean pupils merely two years younger than me) how to play netball and it was the best two hours of my life.
Afterwards, Mrs MacDonald told me I needed to speak to my Head of Year about how I’d been feeling about maths, but she also said I was a very talented coach.
I had a future in it, if I wanted. I remember the way my chest burned with pride.
For the rest of my time at school, Mrs MacDonald served as not only an example of a brilliant teacher and coach, but also as a bit of a queer icon for me.
When it came up, she spoke openly about her wife and, as a closeted bisexual 14-year-old, that felt huge, to have someone living the life I might lead one day.
‘Yes, ladies!’ I pushed my arms up. ‘Two more minutes and we’re done!’
‘You said that a minute ago,’ Claire hit out, growling at me.
Amy’s arms sagged. Gen had abandoned her dumbbells, head thrown back, eyes closed, still jogging.
Claire’s form was perfect, her face grim with determination.
Today’s session hadn’t been easy. I’d cackled like an evil villain when I’d put the programme together – burpees and lateral rises were killers – but I knew they would thank me afterwards when their heart rate slowed and endorphins flooded their system, leaving their brain nice and quiet for the rest of the day.
And that satisfying stretch in your muscles.
‘Three… two… one.’ I turned down the ear-cracking music. ‘Okay, cool down.’
We all collapsed on the mat in front of us.
The blood was burning in my cheeks. As usual, I’d joined them in the workout.
Some PTs sat on their arses or leaned on equipment while their clients sweated and puffed, but not me.
If I was setting you a killer programme, I was doing it with you. Camaraderie and all that.
I starfished on the mat, panting gently, feeling my heart racing down the peak I’d sent it up. The girls’ breath echoed around the studio.
‘I hate you, Lydia,’ Gen panted.
‘Liar,’ I grinned. ‘Okay, stretches.’
I lifted my leg to cradle it to my chest, feeling the stretch in my glutes from our barbell squats at the beginning of the session.
‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Claire croaked.
Ten minutes later, we sat in a circle, gossiping.
‘So he says…’ Amy paused dramatically, ‘… things went from zero to a hundred, and he’s not cut out for a relationship. Like I asked him to marry me? It was one date!’
‘Ugh,’ Gen wrinkled her nose.
‘Honestly, Amy,’ Claire said. ‘If I’ve learnt anything, men are… What was it again?’
‘Trash,’ Gen finished, sipping water.
Claire continued, ‘Twenty years with my husband. And he leaves me for a twenty-five-year-old. Keep your money, keep your assets.’
‘Amen,’ Gen raised her bottle.
I huffed, ‘Hypocrite.’
Gen just shrugged, eyes smiling. Her lanky, adorably nerdy husband cooked her dinner, paid for her to open a tattoo studio with his lucrative coding job, and every night he played video games while she read Romantasy beside him.
‘It can’t be all bad,’ Amy complained. ‘All my siblings are married to their soulmates. So are my parents.’
She picked at her mat, head low. Amy had been single for a while and was desperate to find love. So desperate she let mediocre men mess her around.
She was a romantic, and I’d been like that once.
Until two years ago.
My mind drifted to that night two years ago. The night I thought was a fresh, new beginning until I’d woken alone, with a handwritten note. That’s when I lost my best friend and my belief in love, all in one go.
‘It doesn’t exist, Amy,’ I said quietly. ‘And even if it did, what’s to say they don’t leave? No warning. Just gone. All for what – some socially prescribed idea of love? I have you guys. That’s all I need.’
Silence. Amy, Gen, and Claire stared at me.
‘Lydia—’ Gen started.
‘Are you still not over…’ Amy’s eyes widened. ‘You know – him?’
His name used to roll off my tongue. Now I never said it. And they didn’t either.
‘We thought you were happy with Casey,’ Claire said gently. ‘You’ve moved in together.’
I gave a brittle laugh. ‘Of course I’m happy with Casey. I was just saying,’ I gestured to Amy, ‘maybe we shouldn’t put so much pressure on romantic love. Fifty per cent of marriages end in divorce.’
Claire harrumphed in agreement.
‘See!’ I laughed, eye twitching. ‘It’s not just me.’
‘You used to say I’d find the right person,’ Amy said.
‘I wonder what made her change her mind,’ Gen said.
They knew what happened with Ren. I came into one session after he left and cried my eyes out. I told them everything and regretted it ever since. I wished they didn’t know that particular weakness so well.
‘It was years ago. I’m totally over it.’
There was a quiet, knowing glance from the girls that made my skin itch, until Claire finally took pity on me and clapped her hands, changing the subject.
‘Right. I’d better go. I need to get packing for my trip. I’ll see you girls in a few weeks.’
‘Oh, I forgot you were going on that trip!’ Amy said, tucking her pink hair behind her ears. ‘We’re going to miss you.’
‘I’ll be back before you know it.’ Claire smiled, gathering her things.
I’d forgotten too – she’d been planning this for ages. Three weeks off, hiking across the country with a bunch of women she’d never met. She’d wanted to do a trip like this for years. Her husband hated nature. He preferred pools and air-con.
Three whole weeks off. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken three days off. This month alone, I had clients seven days a week. 7 o’clock in the morning to 9 o’clock in the evening. Maybe a nap in the middle. Three weeks off sounded… impossible.
I snorted under my breath, imagining Craig’s sour face if I asked him for that amount of time off.
My eyes flicked to the clock. And my stomach turned to lead.
‘Fuck!’ I shot upright. The girls scrambled to stand too.
‘What?’ Gen blinked.
‘Can you pack up? Shit, I’m screwed.’ I was already halfway to the door. ‘I’m already fifteen minutes late. Craig is going to crucify me.’
‘Go, go.’ Claire shooed. ‘We’ll pack up. Don’t worry.’
‘But you can’t pack up on your own—’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Gen led me by my elbow to the studio doors. ‘Get gone, we’ll sort the rest.’
‘Thank you!’ I shouted, as I turned and moved through the gym, weaving past slow walkers on their way to the badminton courts.
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ I muttered.
Momentum Gym was packed, and I couldn’t believe I’d let my class run over – again. I’d spent half the session watching the clock, promising myself today would be different.
I had a meeting with Craig at ten past eight. He always booked appointments at stupid times – never on the hour or half past. Always five past. Ten to. The bane of my life.
I glanced at my watch. Twenty-five past eight.
Fuck!
‘Excuse me, sorry.’ I swerved past an older lady.
‘Oh, Lydia!’ Mrs Daniels’s eyes lit up. ‘My athlete’s foot is much better – thank you!’
‘Oh, no problem, Mrs Daniels. We’ve all been there!’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you—’
Oh, God, please, not now.