CHAPTER EIGHT
Raina got to her usual spot on Poplar High Street in East London and let herself bask for a moment.
She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the block.
Faint singing from one of the nearby kitchens.
Birdsong. Chatter from a group of teenagers on bikes, far up the road and outside of the corner shop.
Children playing football in a fenced-off AstroTurf down by the DLR station.
Though it was early on Sunday morning, with the real heat of the April sun promised but not yet fully delivered, Raina could smell all kinds of wonderful aromas.
Meals cooked with spices that lingered in the neighbourhood air and made her stomach growl.
And snacks for the marathon runners, most of whom would arrive in a rush, around lunchtime.
The water stations weren’t even set up yet, but Raina was exactly on time for what she wanted to do.
The marathon was the best day of the year for Raina.
The day she always felt like a real Londoner, a small carved-out piece of the constantly evolving bustle.
This was her old neighbourhood, and the marathon brought everyone out.
Not Christmas, or New Year’s Day, not Eid or bank holidays.
The London marathon was the day where every single neighbour, no matter who they were, came outside to celebrate.
The Benning family would bring out their deckchairs, even if it was raining.
Old John would show up on his mobility scooter with a freshly crocheted jumper and matching flag.
Priya brought out so many trays of food, which no runner could stop to eat, but everyone watching on the street would come rushing over to partake of.
Shivani and her current cohort of music students would play for people as they raced by.
The high street was mile twenty, which was exactly where most people hit their major wall.
After running almost four fifths of the race, their legs were breaking, their heads were aching and the need to walk or just stop altogether was strong.
No one looked particularly encouraged when arriving at mile twenty, which was why Raina loved being there.
She’d watched from Greenwich once and the atmosphere was brilliant, but not the same.
Mile twenty was when the runners needed their cheerleaders the most. They needed to be reminded that the last six miles were possible, that they were worth it, and that people believed they could do it.
They needed to remember that the finish line was closer than the starting gate, and that the end was in sight.
Raina was smiling just thinking about it.
However, the street was relatively empty just now.
Most people wouldn’t start arriving until noon, or a little before.
As far as they were concerned, that’s when the marathon really came by.
That’s when the charity runners in their costumes and name badges would limp along, smiling reluctantly while being lambasted with vigorous encouragement.
Raina came early for one particular reason.
When a blur of movement caught her eye, she turned to see Tom Branimir walking towards her, having just left the pathway to the DLR station. He was carrying a reusable coffee cup and wearing dark glasses. Raina smirked. Perhaps it was a little too early on a Sunday morning for the shark.
‘Fun won’t get here for hours,’ he called.
Raina resented how good he looked. The sleeves of his loose white shirt were rolled up and he had annoyingly sexy forearms. ‘Not true, we’re just in time.’
They stood side by side, Raina blowing raspberry bubblegum and Tom sipping his coffee.
‘Does your sister really work at Liberty?’
‘Mirren,’ he said, while stealing a sideways glance at her. ‘Yes. In accessories. I wasn’t stalking you, Raina.’
She loved the sound of his voice saying her name. She loved that he was always stealing glances at her.
‘Pepper thinks otherwise.’
‘And what do you think, Raina?’
‘How old is your sister?’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘I have a younger sister, too.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Solana.’
Raina could feel him giving her a quizzical expression.
‘Sunshine?’ he pressed.
‘Yep. She’s the sun, I’m the rain.’
She flashed him a smile, trying to cover up any cracks in her mask with a healthy paving of self-deprecation. He regarded her steadily, not falling for it.
Solana was almost ten years younger than Raina, but try telling her that. She was the most assertive and authoritative person Raina knew, giving Pepper Cousins a run for her money.
‘She’s studying Philosophy, Politics and Economics at Oxford,’ Raina went on, unable to hide her pride. ‘She’s much smarter than me, obviously.’
‘I doubt that.’
The remark threw Raina. She snapped her head forward, staring at the road before them. A concrete river waiting for heavy-breathing fish pushing themselves beyond all kinds of limits.
‘So, tell me.’ Tom finished the last of his coffee and popped a mint into his mouth. ‘Why so early?’
‘You haven’t worked it out?’
‘Gotta say, I’m a West London man; the marathon isn’t our thing over there.’
‘Yes,’ Raina acknowledged. ‘Would hate to upset all of those multi-millionaires with a race that inspires community and togetherness.’
‘Behave,’ Tom said, laughing. ‘You live in Barnes.’
She was surprised that he remembered.
He’s writing a hit piece on you, kid. That’s the only reason he knows.
Across the road, an elderly couple were walking arm-in-arm. When the woman noticed Tom and Raina standing on the other side of the street, her face lit up and she waved.
‘Raina!’
Tom was bemused, but Raina smiled a radiant smile and waved back. ‘Morning, Mrs Chigaru.’
‘You look well.’
‘You, too, Auntie.’
‘This your fella?’
Raina and Tom both grimaced with the mild embarrassment only mischievous older people were able to provoke.
‘No,’ Raina said firmly. ‘He’s my stalker.’
‘Very good.’
Tom watched the couple retreat and then turned to Raina. ‘Shouldn’t joke about stalking.’
‘I had one, so I can joke about what I like actually.’
He stared at her in horror. ‘What?’
‘Yep. A guy got a little too fond of the podcast.’
‘Raina!’
‘Why do you think I don’t live here any more?’
‘You used to live here?’
‘Yeah. Poplar resident for four years. Lived not too far from the giant mural of the chihuahua.’
‘So, this was an annual tradition?’
‘Still is. I come back every year.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, I’m hoping you’ll see. This is the best day in London.’
‘Tell me why?’
‘Is this off the record?’
‘Absolutely not.’
Stop talking, her common sense rose up and shoved its way to the front of her thoughts. Boring and dull, remember? Nothing worth writing about. Don’t get sentimental.
‘I don’t know how much you know about the marathon, seeing as you’re a heathen, but this is the twentieth mile. People are struggling by this point, even the seasoned runners and the pros. It’s brutal. Some people tend to lose all confidence and doubt their ability to complete it at all.’
‘I would have thought the first mile would sort that out for people.’
‘Nah, one mile in, you still feel optimistic. Your Big Ben costume doesn’t feel like you’re carrying a car. You feel good.’
‘I don’t need to have run one of these to know that none of it feels good. Except, maybe, the end.’
‘Now, Tom,’ Raina said slyly, ‘you can’t spend the whole process thinking about the finish, you’ll never put in a good performance.’
Tom made a noise of disbelief and then started to choke on his mint. He pounded his sternum a few times, glaring at Raina with accusatory eyes. She merely laughed.
‘We’re here to remind them why they’re doing this,’ she added, a quiet seriousness creeping into her voice. ‘We’re here so they remember that they can do this.’
Tom wanted to strangle Raina Lewis for making him get up early on a Sunday. She had no good reason for doing this to him, he realized. She was screwing with him.
He was feeling quite superior about the fact that the runners wouldn’t appear for a couple of hours. However, Raina stepped forward. Her face lifted up into the cool sunshine and she smiled widely. Tom dragged his gaze away from her face to see what she was looking at.
A disabled competitor in a racing wheelchair appeared at the top of the high street, heading down towards the side of the road where Tom and Raina stood. He moved steadily, clearly taking great care to control his breathing.
Raina clapped loudly, causing the athlete to glance over and offer a strained but appreciative smile. His pace never faltered and he was soon way ahead, almost out of sight.
Only once he was gone from view did Raina stop clapping.
Tom felt a quiet discomfort. He didn’t want to poke the spot and articulate just what it was that made him feel a mixture of surprise and shame.
He stepped back and regarded Raina as she whooped and cheered for more para-athletes as they raced down the strip of street.
Visually impaired runners also joined the scene, raising their hands to acknowledge the cheers from an enthusiastic Raina.
‘I didn’t . . .’ Tom spoke softly, clapping alongside Raina as more runners came down the slight incline. ‘I didn’t know . . . I never realized—’
‘Uh huh,’ Raina said dismissively, clearly not interested in his backpedalling. ‘Well, now you do.’
An onlooker might have presumed Raina personally knew each and every runner, by the way she cheered and hollered for them. She bounced and whooped for each one and Tom felt a little warmer each time.
‘Do you do this every year?’ he asked.
‘Whenever possible,’ she replied. Her eyes were still fixed on the athletes.
‘I didn’t know they had a disability race.’
‘They don’t.’
Tom frowned. ‘What? Then what was that?’
‘They’re part of the elite class. They’re athletes. They set off at the same time as the other elite runners.’