12. WILLPOWER
TWELVE
WILLPOWER
Two months and at least ten pounds still to go! Tess hadn’t yet bought her wedding outfit although she’d earmarked a couple on the Internet, along with another possible contender for the dubious privilege of accompanying her to the wedding. This one was called Walter Watson, and Walter (‘call me Wally’) liked being outdoors. He’d done the London marathon and he loved ‘keeping in shape’, so Tess could identify with that. He appeared clean-cut, bright-eyed and healthy, and probably just what she needed at the moment was someone to keep her on the straight and narrow.
So, another guy and another pub. The Travellers’ Rest was a timber-framed, ye-olde-sawdust-on-the-floor type of establishment, and a favourite haunt of Thameside walkers. At the weekends, city types ventured out here to drink real ale at low prices and to give their four-wheel drives an airing. As a result, it was always crowded. It would certainly make a change from the Beeches, an experience Tess was trying hard to forget. Even Orla had seen through Andy’s thinly veiled lust, so why hadn’t she? Why did she always expect people to be straightforward and on the level? Orla was quite right when she said Tess had been round the block a few times, but perhaps not as many times as Orla. Even so, she should not have been so gullible.
Even on this still chilly day in May there were lots of people sitting outside, clad in shorts and T-shirts and the like. Tess, wearing a warm sweater and jeans, shivered as she got out of the car, and wished she’d brought a coat. She’d given Wally the registration number of the car and agreed to stay in it, or beside it, until he found her. She still wasn’t keen on going into pubs on her own and looking around for someone she’d never met before, with the added horror of getting there first and not knowing whether to order a drink or to stand in a corner and hope she didn’t appear too gormless. The car park was a much better bet.
She didn’t have long to wait before a tall, muscular man dismounted from a racing-style bicycle and headed in her direction. He wore shorts, a fleece and a helmet. And he had a rucksack on his back. He looked like he was heading for the Tour de France.
He smiled as he approached her. ‘Hi, Tess!’ He held out his hand. ‘Let me just park the bike over there and I’ll be right with you.’ He had nice blue eyes and had already acquired a tan. She admired the well-developed calf muscles, the broad shoulders, the complete lack of flab. There was a little bit of a resemblance to Gary Lineker here. She wondered if he’d ever played football.
As he walked back towards her he said, wiping his brow, ‘It’s such a nice day, so shall we sit outside?’
Tess did not wish to appear a wimp, so she said, ‘Yes, lovely.’
He dumped his rucksack on the bench. ‘What’s your poison?’
‘Just a lime and soda, please.’ Tess was thinking of the weight she’d lost and the praise she’d got from Judy. And she liked the fact that he hadn’t tried to persuade her to have something stronger .
When he reappeared with the lime soda and a half-pint of real ale for himself, he said, ‘Who’d want to be inside a stuffy old pub on a glorious day like this?’
Well, I would, Tess thought. Again she wished she’d brought a jacket. The wind was cold and there was only intermittent sunshine but, nevertheless, most of the people sitting outside were in T-shirts or cropped tops and shorts. She was always amazed each year, when the calendar signalled the approaching summer, how many people immediately ditched their winter clothes and emerged in public half naked, regardless of the weather. The reverse process normally took place in September, often one of the warmest months, when the girls in particular, bored with their summer uniform, were back in duvet coats, leggings and boots. She’d have liked a duvet coat today.
They spoke about this and that for a few minutes before Wally asked, ‘Do you do any running, Tess?’ He regarded her seriously, plainly not referring to an occasional dash for a bus.
‘No, can’t say that I do.’
He sighed. ‘That’s a pity. It’s nice to go running with someone.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it must be.’ Tess thought for a moment. ‘I have to admit I’d like to tone up though, and lose some weight, so perhaps I should have a go?’
‘Do you jog?’
‘No, I don’t do that either.’ Tess was feeling as if she must be incredibly lazy. ‘I try to walk most days…’
‘You could start with jogging,’ Wally went on, wiping beer foam from his mouth. ‘Walk fifty steps, jog fifty steps, that sort of thing.’
‘Mmm,’ Tess said doubtfully.
‘Would you like me to get you started?’ he asked .
‘Well, I?—’
‘Next week?’ Wally interrupted. ‘I’m not supposed to know where you live, so why don’t we meet up at Mansell Park?’
Mansell Park was a ten-minute drive from Milbury and was one of those places Tess had avoided in the past; full of runners, joggers and cyclists, all with headbands, sweating and water-swigging. Not particularly her scene but, hey, all that had to change!
‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘I hope you’ve got some decent trainers,’ he said, frowning as he looked down at her M did Tess play tennis? She told him that she’d played occasionally in school, but not since. She noticed he was frowning as he finished off his beer and wondered if he already considered her a lost cause. Was this relationship also destined for the scrapheap?
‘So,’ he said suddenly. ‘If you’re free on Wednesday I could meet you in Mansell Park, and we could make a start. Seven o’clock, say?’
‘Seven o’clock? In the evening?’ Tess asked.
He looked at her as if she were mad. ‘In the morning , Tess.’
‘Oh, the morning ! Right then! How long will we be there?’
‘An hour should do it,’ he replied. ‘It’s so important to start the day with some exercise. You’ll become addicted to it, just you wait and see!’
‘I will?’ Tess drained her glass, wishing she were drinking something stronger.
‘You will,’ he confirmed. ‘I’ll see you by the pond, seven o’clock sharp.’
‘OK,’ Tess said, standing up. ‘See you then.’ No mention of a lunch, or a dinner, or even a breakfast after getting up at the crack of dawn and an hour’s exercise.
As he headed back towards his bike, Tess headed for the shops. She needed to buy a pair of trainers.
Trainers, Tess discovered, were expensive. You could buy a pair of white lace-up shoes that looked like trainers for a lot less money and, as Tess wasn’t planning to make this a long-term project, she found a stylish-looking pair in the sale.
The following Wednesday she set her alarm for six o’clock and wondered if she was going crazy. Only the thought of herself, slimmed and toned for her cruise, forced her out of bed and into a T-shirt and jogging bottoms which she’d found in the charity shop. She added a sweater, which she’d wear knotted casually round her waist when the going got hot, and the new shoes. After a hasty cup of tea she drove to Mansell Park. It was a cool, cloudy morning but at least it wasn’t raining; that would have been the ultimate nightmare and she’d probably have cried off, citing some mystery ailment.
She hadn’t told Orla about Wally and the jogging because she knew it would be a source of great mirth for Orla, who would doubtless tell her what an idiot she was and that she’d probably give up after five minutes. In a few weeks’ time she hoped to be able to impress Orla with her athletic prowess, her toned body, and perhaps even an athletic partner.
The athletic partner in question was waiting for her by the pond at seven o’clock on the dot, clad in a royal blue tracksuit and a pair of hefty, expensive-looking trainers.
‘Good morning, Tess!’ He gave her a hug, then asked, ‘Haven’t you brought any water? It’s important to keep hydrated, you know.’
‘Oh, I didn’t think,’ Tess muttered, realising she’d probably fallen flat at the first hurdle. ‘But I have a bottle in the car. Shall I go back for it?’
He sighed. ‘OK, but be quick.’
Why, she wondered, was there any great hurry? As she headed back to her car, she prayed that there was indeed a bottle of water in there. If there was, it was probably very ancient, but it would have to do. After much burrowing amongst a collection of shopping bags and tissues, she finally found the bottle of water and, as she walked back towards Wally, realised she hadn’t any pockets in which to store it. Well, she’d just have to carry it in her hand .
‘OK, let’s go!’ she said cheerfully.
‘Fifty brisk steps,’ he ordered, jogging alongside her.
She set off, counting to fifty, before he yelled, ‘ Now , start jogging!’
Tess began to jog and got as far as forty before, breathless, she stopped.
‘You are so out of condition!’ said Wally, sounding exasperated. ‘OK, so you’ll have to go back to walking. Brisk walking, Tess!’ He appeared to be a little short on humour so Tess stifled the urge to giggle. How ridiculous all this was!
She began to wonder if his late wife had suffered her fatal stroke while obeying his strident instructions. Perhaps he had her running marathons and perhaps she’d run one marathon too many… but then Tess remembered that he’d said it was her early death that had prompted him to do all this. Tess had had enough after forty minutes, having dropped her jogging efforts to a mere twenty steps for each fifty she’d walked, a fact that clearly disappointed Wally.
‘We have a lot of work to do,’ he said sadly, swigging from his water bottle. Having carried her water bottle in her hand for the entire ordeal, Tess thought she should take a sip too. She wasn’t very thirsty but she was hot and sweaty, and the new white shoes had blistered her heels.
As if on cue, he looked down at her feet.
‘You looked like you were limping back there,’ he said, replacing the bottle into the royal blue depths of his trouser pocket.
‘I think I’ve blistered my heel,’ Tess admitted.
He carried on staring at the shoes. ‘These don’t look like proper trainers,’ he remarked. ‘Look how thin the soles are! These soles of yours are so thin that they can’t possibly protect you when your foot hits the ground.’ He placed one large foot alongside hers and pointed at the tyre-tread soles on his own enormous grey trainers.
‘Well, I’ve had enough for today anyway,’ Tess said, dreaming of a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich. And getting the shoes off.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s arrange for another go in a couple of days’ time. Same time, same place, different footwear ! OK? Now, I’d suggest you have a light breakfast or something, but I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to join you because I’ve got to be at the golf club for eight thirty.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Big tournament, so I mustn’t be late. In the meantime, why don’t you buy some decent trainers and have a go by yourself tomorrow morning.’
As Tess limped back towards her car, he gave her a peck on the cheek and headed for the bicycle rack. Did this man have a car? Or a sense of humour? Tess was none too sure she wanted to bother finding out.
It was tempting to forget the whole thing, but Tess didn’t feel she could give up so easily. She decided she would buy proper trainers and perhaps a little rucksack as well, in which to carry the bottle of water and the sweater. After all, she thought, it was almost like having a personal trainer, and for free! Let’s face it, you wouldn’t expect a personal trainer to be laughing at your uselessness or offering breakfast. And she’d have a little jog round Milbury in the morning, avoiding Penny Lane of course.
With sticking plasters on both heels, Tess ventured forth to seek appropriate footwear and found a seriously suitable pair on sale. And they were, she had to admit, very comfortable. And expensive, despite the discount. She’d do her Milbury jog very early in the morning in the hope that she wouldn’t be seen by anyone she knew: Orla, for instance. Orla was already finding Tess’s dates a subject of great mirth, and Tess could only guess at how she might react to hearing about the Andy incident. And now Wally, and the jogging. She’d probably split her sides.
At quarter to seven the next morning, she was up and half walking, half jogging with the new trainers on her feet and a rucksack on her back to hold the obligatory bottle of water. She walked briskly up the road and round towards the little shops on the High Street before she began jogging. She felt she’d improved slightly on the previous day’s attempt, and she’d reached her twenty-ninth step when ‘Pastry’ Parker, taking a breath of fresh air outside his shop, called out, ‘Good morning, Mrs Templar! Getting ready for summer, eh?’
Damn and blast! She’d forgotten that bakers would be up very early to knead the dough, or whatever it was they had to do. Orla bought her buns and stuff there, so Tess hoped fervently he wouldn’t mention this early morning sighting.
‘Good morning!’ she replied, suddenly aware that she hadn’t felt in the least tempted to buy one of his mouth-watering pastries.
Then she almost managed a forty-forty ratio of walking to jogging, before she collapsed onto a bench on the edge of the green. She was hot, sweaty and thirsty, so she was probably doing something right.
Tess felt quite perky on arriving at Mansell Park the following morning. Wally was already there, waiting by the pond, running on the spot. He pecked her on the cheek and, looking at her feet, said, ‘Well, those are more sensible!’ And off they set again, Tess feeling more confident and more suitably attired. She didn’t do so well with Wally as she had on her own, probably due to the fact that she was less relaxed under his critical eye. But she wasn’t going to give up, and managed almost an hour before he said, ‘I can see a tiny bit of improvement. Fancy joining me for a cuppa?’ There was a café on the edge of the park where they were serving breakfast to half a dozen workmen, condensation running down the windows, and a very appetising smell of bacon cooking. They sat down at a Formica-topped table by the window and Tess, who was ravenous, said, as the elderly waitress approached, ‘Don’t know about you, Wally, but I’m having a bacon butty. And a large mug of tea.’
Wally whistled. ‘Not the healthiest of choices, Tess. I’ll just have a black tea.’
‘Two teas, one black, one bacon butty,’ intoned the waitress, before she shuffled her way back to the kitchen.
‘It’s important to keep your fluid intake up,’ Wally said, leaning forward, ‘and your calorie intake down.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Tess said, rubbing a hole in the window steam so she could see out.
Wally lowered his voice. ‘Not only that, they cook with fat here, Tess! None of your olive oils in this humble establishment. But if you need your arteries furring up, you’ve come to the right place.’
As she bit into the delicious butty, Tess said, ‘Well, you’ve got me started on some exercise, Wally, but when it comes to my diet I do try to be careful but I like a treat occasionally. And that’s exactly what I’m having now!’
‘Each to his own,’ Wally said piously.
‘I take it we’re not going to be wining and dining any time soon?’ Tess asked, wiping the fat from her chin.
He looked confused. The idea had obviously never entered his head. ‘I’m vegan,’ he said after a moment, ‘have been for a couple of years now. But perhaps I could cook you a vegan meal some time when I’m not too busy?’
Tess grinned. ‘Like I said, we’re probably not going to be wining and dining any time soon.’
They parted company amicably and politely. He wasn’t that much like Gary Lineker anyway.
‘Any time you fancy a jog, Tess,’ Wally said, ‘you just email me.’
Tess looked down at her feet, knowing she must justify having bought these trainers. But she’d be happier going it alone.
‘I’ll do that,’ she said, as he gave her the obligatory peck on the cheek before jogging off in the opposite direction.
Plainly there was no spark there for either of them, and there was never going to be. But at least he’d set her off on the right track to rediscovering exercise.
Fired up with enthusiasm, Tess continued to rise early to jog her way round Milbury in the mornings, avoiding Penny Lane. Only Pastry was around at that time, and a few men on their way to work. Every bone in her body was aching when she arrived at Curvaceous on the following Saturday morning. Orla had got there first, opened up, and was now filling the kettle. Tess saw the box of cupcakes on the counter and groaned. She’d been to the baker’s, after Tess had worked so hard to keep running past it.
‘Rumour has it,’ Orla said cheerfully, ‘that there’s been a sighting of some old bird staggering round Milbury at the crack of dawn. Can’t imagine who that might be. ’
‘Fancy that,’ Tess said drily. But it would be worth it. No pain, no gain, and all that. And she’d certainly got the pain.
‘Isn’t this taking things just a tad too far?’ Orla persisted. ‘It’s only a bloody wedding! All over in a matter of hours, and everyone’s going to be gawping at the bride, not her mother.’
Tess didn’t bother replying. She knew perfectly well – and so did Orla – that women eyed each other up and down on such occasions. Particularly the mother of the bride, and particularly when her successor was Ursula. Ursula was quite fit to upstage the bride, never mind the bride’s mother.
The following day Ellie, accompanied by Lisa, arrived at Temple Terrace for a dress fitting.
‘There may be a tantrum when she discovers the dress is cream and not pink,’ Lisa warned. ‘She’s mad about pink.’
‘Ah, but I’ve made a pink sash, and she’ll have pink roses in her hair,’ Tess replied. She called out for Ellie, who’d disappeared into the back garden to find Dylan.
Ellie came running in, took one look at the dress and said, ‘But it’s not pink …’ Her lower lip began to tremble.
‘We have to do what Auntie Amber wants,’ Lisa said, rolling her eyes at Tess, ‘and Auntie Amber wants cream.’
‘But it’s got a lovely pink sash, and we’re going to put pink roses in your hair and in your posy,’ Tess put in quickly. ‘You’re going to look so pretty. Now, shall we slip this on and see how it looks?’
‘It looks lovely,’ Lisa said a few minutes later. ‘You look beautiful, Ellie. ’
Ellie didn’t look altogether convinced, until Tess added the pink sash and told her to imagine the flowers. ‘They’ll be pink too and very sweet-smelling. I think you’ll be as beautiful as the bride!’
‘Can I have pink shoes, Mummy?’ Ellie was now pirouetting in front of the mirror. ‘With high heels?’
‘You may be able to have pink shoes, but certainly not with high heels!’ replied her mother.
‘Why not?’
Lisa sighed. ‘Because you’re four years old! You’re a little girl!’
‘So I need high heels to make me bigger, don’t I, Nana?’
‘They still wouldn’t make you as big as Mummy and me, so why don’t we go for some lovely flat pumps like ballet dancers wear? I’m sure Auntie Amber would agree to them being pink.’
‘Can I wear it now, to go home in?’
‘No,’ said Lisa, ‘you can’t. You can’t wear it until the wedding.’
‘And I still have to finish it off,’ Tess added.
‘I want to wear it now !’
‘Well, you can’t,’ shouted Lisa. Then, as Ellie’s lip started trembling again, she said to Tess, ‘God, I wish I wasn’t pregnant; I need a bloody gin and tonic!’
Tess realised then that this wedding was stressing them all out, one way or the other.