Chapter One #2
Could I tell her I was running late for something? I really should just say it – Mrs Daniels, we’ll have to talk later, I’m running late. But a voice inside whispered, She’ll be so disappointed. What if it’s something urgent?
The words stuck in my throat. I couldn’t say them.
‘Sure!’ I turned, jogging backwards, palms sweating, even as Mrs Daniels’s eyes crinkled with a smile.
‘My husband still won’t come to the gym. He hates exercising in front of people.’
‘Understandable!’
‘What can I get him to do at home? For his mobility, you know.’
‘Sure. There are plenty of things you could do—’
‘Something simple.’
‘Sure.’
‘Not too challenging.’
‘Yep, I’ve got just the thing.’
‘Angel.’
Five minutes later, I’d ordered resistance bands from my and explained how to strengthen his knees, quads and glutes. I’d never met Mr Daniels, but I knew how much she worried.
‘What would we do without you?’ she said, patting my cheek.
‘Happy to help,’ I smiled, twitching.
I bolted up the stairs, past the Olympic-sized swimming pool, dodging Tom and Esme, the inseparable married couple, on the stairs. Me and the other PTs joked they were basically one person now.
‘Sorry!’ They said at the exact same time.
‘Tom. Esme. Tomesme,’ I muttered, skidding past Ryan leading a circuit session, giving him a quick wave, and bolted for the staff corridor, until my shoulder hit a hard shoulder.
Quinn Roberts.
He was a wall of a man, with huge shoulders, a bald head and a thick moustache.
‘Lydia!’ he grinned. ‘Meant to ask—’
My eye twitched. I needed to leave. Do it. Tell him you’re running late for an appointment. Tell him your nan just died and you need to get to the funeral. Tell him you left the oven on, or you’re having an allergic reaction and you’re about to swell up like a balloon and float away.
Say anything.
But the words stuck in my throat. Again.
‘Shoot!’ I squeaked, panic fizzing in my chest.
‘I’ve entered regionals this weekend,’ he said, slowly. ‘Will you come and watch? I haven’t told anyone else, just in case it’s a blow-out. It would be so embarrassing—’
‘Of course. Text me the details.’
‘Ah, I’m chuffed.’ He clocked me a strange look as I turned to bolt down the hallway. ‘See you, Lydia.’
I hurtled down the hallway, stopping at a door with a STAFF ONLY sign. I paused, nervously, then knocked.
‘Come in.’
Craig had his legs up on the desk, a phone in the crook of his ear and a stress ball in his hand. He was throwing it up in the air and catching it.
His dyed-black hair was slicked back, as if it was a nuisance, sharpening his already angular features – a statement jaw, pointed nose, and a mouth that was perpetually angled down like he’d been born disappointed. He gestured for me to sit down, and relief poured into my system.
‘Okay, yep,’ Craig crooned. ‘Well, you know, I wanted to run it past you. Yep, yep, Boss. Yep. Have a drink for me. Yep, ciao, ciao.’
Craig put the phone back on the receiver. His smile vanished.
‘Twenty-five minutes today,’ he said, looking at the clock. ‘That’s a record.’
‘I’m sorry. I swear it won’t happen again. You know how it is – people need things, you can’t just walk away.’
Craig stared as if I was a maths equation he didn’t understand.
Craig had never liked me. When I joined the gym at 18, his eyes had always narrowed when I opened my mouth. Since day one, he’d called me out in front of clients, offered ‘suggestions’ for their form. I let it slide, thinking maybe he just wanted me to be my best.
But when clients began requesting me instead of him, things shifted. The nitpicking started.
And when he became the general manager six months ago, it got much, much worse.
Suddenly, it was all about numbers.
KPIs. Timesheets. Door codes changed weekly now for ‘safety’.
The rota switched to 24-hour clocks, and I had to double-, triple-check I’d got the time right for my shifts.
I think he knew I struggled – but he never said anything.
Just smirked when I counted on my fingers.
Or paused too long reading the schedule.
I was diagnosed with dyscalculia at school and had hidden it since I scraped a ‘pass’ in my GCSE maths and moved on.
But, even now, anything involving numbers filled me with dread. I learnt to mask it, pretending to understand like everyone else. And some days I managed, others not so much.
But I’d kept my head down and tried to keep up with Craig’s demands. My disastrous timekeeping – made worse by the fact that I couldn’t read the old school clocks in the gym – was the most obvious thing to pull me up on.
Craig leaned forward like a villain in a low-budget mob film. ‘We’ve reached an impasse. Your KPIs are all over the place.’
‘I know. I’ll improve. I’ll set alarms—’
‘We’re ending your contract.’
Air whooshed from my lungs and my ears rang. Blood desperately tried to pump around my body.
‘As in, cutting back my hours—’
Personal trainers were freelance at the gym, meaning I could take on as many clients as I wanted.
‘No,’ Craig said, shaking his head. ‘We’re giving you two weeks’ notice, as your contract requires.’
He slid over a document. TWO WEEKS, highlighted in yellow.
‘Wait… you’re letting me go?’ I whispered.
‘No. We’re not renewing your contract. Do you understand the difference?’ Craig said slowly. As if he was talking to a child.
‘I’ve been here since I was eighteen. All of my clients. I won’t have any income. I’ll have to—’
My throat constricted. Tears burned in my eyes when I thought about the idea of building everything again – over ten years of work, ten years of hard graft.
It was years of late nights and early mornings.
Years of laughing and networking, and making sure every client, every demand, was taken care of. All of it – gone. Just like that.
Without Momentum, I’d have to build everything from scratch again.
I couldn’t even form words. Tears threatened to overflow, and I hated crying in front of anyone, let alone Craig.
‘Everything has its time, Lydia,’ Craig said sagely. ‘I’m afraid there is nothing I can do.’
‘Niall. Niall wouldn’t allow this. We spoke a few months ago about changes. He asked my opinion on the new class structures—’
I’d met Niall, the enigmatic Irish CEO of the gym group, at various times in the last ten years. We had chatted at Christmas parties, and he had always insisted, ‘You’re exactly what this gym needs, Lydia, someone who cares, a friendly face to keep the gym local.’
Whenever I’d got offers from other gyms, I’d thought about Niall. Whenever I’d felt belittled or bullied by Craig, I thought of Niall and his occasional encouragements.
‘That was him on the phone. He agrees. Said this’ll be good for you. A fresh start. He asked me to thank you for your many years of service.’
The colour drained from my face but I kept it neutral. My eyes stung, but I blinked it away.
Keep calm. Don’t make a scene.
‘Look. If you’d prefer not to work the notice,’ Craig said, gently, too gently, ‘I’ll take your clients before they’re reassigned. Gives you space to process… and move on.’
I nodded, feeling numb.
I couldn’t remember leaving Craig’s office, but somehow I made it back to Momentum’s cafe, and someone touched my arm. I turned, but tears – tears I refused to let drop down my face – obscured my view.
‘Lydia.’ Pink hair. Amy. It was Amy. ‘We were waiting to check you were okay.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Gen’s voice was low and lethal.
‘Love, come and sit down,’ Claire said. ‘Oh, God! What’s happened? Tell us.’
‘I’ve been sacked,’ I said. I realised then that I was sobbing. ‘I’ve been sacked from Momentum.’