Chapter Five Let’s Get Physical
On Saturday evening we’re out with Charlie and Peter to celebrate a successful first week back at work and Patty’s triumphant return to the stage. As well as being a great time for bookings it’s been an interesting week with other minor victories, including the refill of the biscuit tin and my mother not re-enacting the scene from some great Shakespearean tragedy on dying young. Ninety years young. Although I very much doubt that the Grim Reaper will have the courage to take her, even at that age, I can’t help but picture the scene.
‘It’s your turn,’ says the towering black-cloaked figure tapping my mother on the shoulder with his scythe.
‘It’s bloomin’ well not. Go pick on someone your own size. And stop poking that thing at people, you’ll have their eyes out.’
I’m brought back to the moment with a toast led by Patty.
‘To a new year of Mercury Travel, which if this week is anything to go by, will be another year of fun and frolics,’ she says, clinking her wine glass against each of ours.
‘And to your return to the high seas,’ adds Charlie. ‘We’ll be selling plenty of cruise tickets now.’
‘So sales went well all week?’ asks Peter.
‘They did,’ I say. ‘And Josie seems to be having a fabulous time out in Finland. She’s sent a video of the snow around the hotel and sounds completely giddy with excitement. It does look beautiful.’
‘And our February trip is sold out completely,’ adds Charlie. ‘We’ll have a full complement of Mercurians accompanying us on our romantic trip to Greece.’ He leans across and kisses Peter.
‘Don’t you mean they’ll have to put up with you two smooching for the whole holiday?’ I get poked in the arm with a breadstick.
We’re in a local Italian, the same place that Ed and I came to last year. It was my first attempt at dating after the divorce and it was going well until we went back to my place. I’d managed to put that excruciatingly embarrassing memory to the very back of my mind until I walked in here and the whole debacle was triggered by the sight of the red-checked tablecloths. Thankfully, no one else mentions it, so I simply put that memory back in the archives, hoping one day I’ll laugh at it.
The waiter appears at the table and we all flick through the menu as if we don’t come here all the time and we don’t already know exactly what we want.
‘I’ll have the sea bass,’ says Peter and I order the same. I love my pasta but after all the bread and biscuits this week, I’m not sure I can face any more carbs. It doesn’t seem to be bothering Charlie or Patty, who both opt for pizzas.
‘As good as that looks,’ I say when the food arrives, ‘I’m not sure I’d have anywhere to put it after the buy-one-get-one-free biscuit frenzy we’ve been having all week.’
‘Oh, Charlie is building a little bunker to keep his in,’ says Peter, patting Charlie’s rounded tummy. It’s said affectionately but I know that no one likes to have a bit of extra weight pointed out in public and I spot Charlie flinching and doing a double-take of the Prosciutto Funghi Feast in front of him.
‘Wouldn’t that be the best thing ever invented?’ says Patty, who is still high as a kite and suffering no guilt whatsoever about her food choices today. ‘To be able to just tuck away all the impact of food you shouldn’t really eat in a little separate bunker? Rather than getting fat, the bunker would just get bigger.’
‘It could be like a wheelie suitcase that you drag around with you,’ Peter adds. ‘Your body stays slim but you move from a carry-on to an excess baggage warning.’
Again, he’s joking and so is Patty but Charlie is beginning to look uncomfortable. He picks at the topping of his pizza but leaves the crust — and I know he loves a crust.
‘I think you might have been right,’ he says to me. ‘That was a bit much. But this is my last hooray — the fitness regime starts tomorrow.’
‘Really? I might join you — what are you thinking?’ I ask.
A discussion about the pros and cons of various exercise options ensues.
1. Running — easy to get started but too hard on the knees and exhausting
2. Swimming — better for the knees but boring and you have to get into a swimming costume before you’ve lost all the flab — which seems to miss the point of exercise
3. Weights — too many testosterone-fuelled Schwarzeneggers mocking your puny efforts to lift 2 kg
4. Squash — way too fast and it really hurts if the ball hits you
That last point was made by me remembering my one and only attempt at the game with my ex-husband. As I now know he was in the full throes of an affair when we played, I do wonder whether he did it on purpose.
‘The key to exercise is consistency,’ says Peter with a lean person’s complacency. ‘If you don’t enjoy it, you won’t keep it up and you’ll get nowhere. Don’t do what other people do or what some social media post says is “guaranteed” to lose the flab — just do any activity that you enjoy and do it regularly.’
It’s very rare that a serious point is made during any conversation between Charlie, Patty and I, so we’re struck dumb for a few moments.
‘So what do you enjoy?’ asks Peter to his stunned audience.
‘Food,’ replies Patty, finishing every inch of her pizza.
‘You did that military fitness last year,’ I remind her. ‘To get fit for being on stage, remember. Could we not all go to that?’
‘Oh, he was good,’ says Patty. ‘Shouted a lot but you couldn’t get away with just hiding in the corner and breathing like I did when we tried yoga.’
‘She fell asleep,’ I tell the group.
‘The instructor told us to relax,’ Patty protests.
‘And she snored,’ I add.
The waiter takes our plates and asks if we want to see the dessert menu. Given the conversation we’re having, it’s only surprising to him that we all say no in unison.
‘I could give military fitness a try,’ says Charlie. ‘Shall we book ourselves in?’
Peter and I immediately agree — and after a bit of coaxing, Patty does too.
‘I know I have to get back in shape but he’ll take one look at me and know I haven’t kept up any of the exercise,’ she says. ‘I’ll have to say I broke my leg or something.’
‘Tell the truth,’ I suggest. ‘That you met someone and became more interested in lurve than lunges.’
She clinks my glass, smiling. ‘And to be perfectly honest, I still am.’
* * *
Leaving the restaurant, we say our goodbyes to the boys and head home. Once inside we both get straight into our slouchies, make hot drinks — chocolate for her and camomile for me — then take up position in our usual spots: Patty stretched out on the sofa and me snuggled up on the big armchair. As I said, it’s amazing how quickly you can get into a routine with someone.
‘What do you think will be on your mum’s bucket list?’ asks Patty. She’s flicking through videos of eighties and nineties bands on the TV, making notes as to which might make it onto the Granny-Okies setlist.
‘I have no idea,’ I answer truthfully. ‘She’s never been the shy and retiring type so I’ve always thought that she and Dad have done everything that they’ve wanted to. They’ve certainly seen the world and are still travelling.’
My parents often come on Mercury Travel trips and they’ve been to many of the big places people dream about, including the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls and the pyramids. My mother described them respectively as ‘big’, ‘wet’ and ‘sandy’ in her postcards home. Even now, Mum will seek out a shop selling postcards, and getting one always makes me smile. It’s such a lovely tradition and I think it’s quite sad that it’s died out. A WhatsApp selfie is just not the same.
‘Maybe it’s not going to be travel, maybe it’ll be sword-swallowing or skydiving,’ says Patty.
I shrug, unable to imagine Mum doing either of them but equally unable to think of anything else.
‘One thing it won’t be is a military fitness session,’ I say. ‘I really can’t believe I agreed to join that.’
‘You were supporting Charlie,’ Patty says. ‘He obviously wants to get in shape for Peter — that man has a seriously good body.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d notice another man’s body, as smitten as you are.’
‘One can still admire a Porsche while driving a Rolls Royce,’ replies Patty. ‘Talking of which, any word from your Mini Cooper?’
I frown at her, puzzled.
‘Michael — the mystery man,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t think what car he’d be but Michael the Mini works until we know otherwise.’
She winks at me and I shake my head in despair.
‘Call him now,’ says Patty. ‘Just say hello and see if he fancies coffee one day.’
‘Well, there is a new place I’ve heard of recently, but I don’t know — surely if he wanted to meet up wouldn’t he have called me, to say he had a nice time at the party or ask how I’ve settled in? There are loads of reasons he could have called, but he hasn’t.’
‘So, call him and tell him he’s rude for not calling.’
I promise that I will call but tell Patty that I’ll give it another few days. She sighs at me and gets up, heading into the kitchen. When she returns she has a phone attached to her ear — my phone.
‘It’s ringing,’ she says, handing it to me. Patty knows all my PIN numbers so breaking through security and finding Michael’s number was as hard as accessing my mum’s phone. My heart is pounding as I hear the ringtone and I’m mentally whizzing through tones of voice to use when it’s answered. To my relief it’s not picked up and I have to leave a message. I tell him that I’ve settled in at Patty’s and if he fancies it, I’d love to meet for coffee one day. I’m about to hang up when I feel I have to say, ‘Oh, it’s Angie by the way — your old neighbour. The one you left gnomes for.’
I end the call and look up at Patty, who gives me a satisfied nod.
Within five minutes my phone rings and I see Michael’s name light up. I show Patty before answering and she gives me the thumbs up then leaves the room as I say hello.
‘I was so glad you called,’ Michael says, and I hear genuine happiness in his voice. ‘I didn’t have your number. You had mine from the visit to the vet but you called me from there and so I had no record of yours.’
I rummage through my memory for the details of that day and realise that’s all true — thank goodness Patty forced me to do this. Our conversation is very chirpy and we arrange to meet for coffee next weekend. I’m on a high as the call ends and dance up the stairs to Patty’s room to tell her the news. Her door is shut but I think nothing of opening it and looking in. She’s on the bed video-calling Jack, and as I walk in she jerks up as if she’s been caught dirty-talking — which she probably has.
‘Bit of privacy, if you don’t mind,’ she says to me, waving me out of the room.
I retreat, slightly wounded. I won’t have my best friend here for much longer and, truth be told, I’m not really ready to share her yet.