some amazing houses belonging to, like, celebrities and things, but I think your house is the best. It’s the most … me , you know?’ He smiled again and began to unpack his gym bag. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘are you ready to go?’
She nodded wanly.
‘You look … I hope you don’t mind me to say this, but you look bad today.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘thanks a lot.’
‘No, I don’t mean you look unpleasant. I mean, you look like there are bad things in your head. You look weighted down, squashed, you understand?’
Lydia grimaced. Squashed and weighted down. He made her sound like a slug under a brick. ‘Just stuff,’ she muttered. ‘Some weird stuff going on in my life, that’s all.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Anything you’d like to talk about?’
She laughed, louder than she’d meant to.
‘What,’ he teased, ‘you think I can’t talk? That I am just some big meathead?’
‘No! Of course not. It’s just … I don’t know. We never talk. It would be weird.’
He smiled and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I am here as your personal trainer, right? You pay me to make you fit. That is the deal. But also, I have to know that you are in the right place, mentally, for me to make you fit and I have noticed lately that you are not. That I leave you and then you go like this,’ he collapsed his upper torso, pathetically, ‘until the next time I see you. And that is no good. So, if you think it would help, talk to me. I am cheaper than a shrink!’
‘Oh, God,’ she said, drily, ‘I wouldn’t know where to start. I really wouldn’t.’
‘Try me.’ He smiled. ‘I think I’ve heard pretty much everything there is to hear. I’m pretty hard to shock.’
Lydia glanced at him. He’d crouched down on his haunches to her level. His skin was like chamois, matt and unblemished. She was sure she could see a hint of concealer under his eyes. That confirmed it. Bendiks was gay. And the fact of his being gay made him suddenly emotionally accessible. ‘Right, well,’ she began, slightly defensively, ‘up until four weeks ago I had no idea that my mother, who died in suspicious circumstances when I was three, had used a sperm donor to conceive me. Someone from my home town sent me an anonymous letter. And last week I signed up to a website that promised to reunite me with any siblings I may unwittingly have dotted around the world. I have had a DNA test and been told that my father’s name was Donor 32 and that so far no other children have signed up or registered, so now every single day I sit by my computer checking and checking and checking to see if anyone’s added their details, to see if I have a brother or a sister. And I’m finding it really hard to concentrate on anything else. When I’m not hovering over my computer, I’m walking the streets staring at people like a loon, wondering if they look like me, wondering if they might be my … family .’
She felt her body relax as the words left her mouth. The physical feel of them was soothing and pleasant, like syrup.
Bendiks exhaled slowly from bellowed cheeks and lowered himself on to his backside. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Unbelievable.’
Lydia nodded.
‘So your father … the man who brought you up … he could not …?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose not,’ she said.
‘And he knew? That you were not his?’
She shrugged again. ‘I don’t know. He said something strange once, just before he died, said that I was as much his as anyone’s. Never knew what he meant by that, I thought he meant I was as much his as I was my mother’s. But that makes sense if he knew, doesn’t it? And it would explain why he hated me.’
Bendiks began to make a scoffing sound.
‘No, really, he did. I always knew he hated me and I always thought it was because I hadn’t died instead of my mother. I always felt guilty, you know, that I wasn’t enough to make up for him losing my mum. And then, well, now I know that he
She nodded wanly.
‘You look … I hope you don’t mind me to say this, but you look bad today.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘thanks a lot.’
‘No, I don’t mean you look unpleasant. I mean, you look like there are bad things in your head. You look weighted down, squashed, you understand?’
Lydia grimaced. Squashed and weighted down. He made her sound like a slug under a brick. ‘Just stuff,’ she muttered. ‘Some weird stuff going on in my life, that’s all.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Anything you’d like to talk about?’
She laughed, louder than she’d meant to.
‘What,’ he teased, ‘you think I can’t talk? That I am just some big meathead?’
‘No! Of course not. It’s just … I don’t know. We never talk. It would be weird.’
He smiled and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I am here as your personal trainer, right? You pay me to make you fit. That is the deal. But also, I have to know that you are in the right place, mentally, for me to make you fit and I have noticed lately that you are not. That I leave you and then you go like this,’ he collapsed his upper torso, pathetically, ‘until the next time I see you. And that is no good. So, if you think it would help, talk to me. I am cheaper than a shrink!’
‘Oh, God,’ she said, drily, ‘I wouldn’t know where to start. I really wouldn’t.’
‘Try me.’ He smiled. ‘I think I’ve heard pretty much everything there is to hear. I’m pretty hard to shock.’
Lydia glanced at him. He’d crouched down on his haunches to her level. His skin was like chamois, matt and unblemished. She was sure she could see a hint of concealer under his eyes. That confirmed it. Bendiks was gay. And the fact of his being gay made him suddenly emotionally accessible. ‘Right, well,’ she began, slightly defensively, ‘up until four weeks ago I had no idea that my mother, who died in suspicious circumstances when I was three, had used a sperm donor to conceive me. Someone from my home town sent me an anonymous letter. And last week I signed up to a website that promised to reunite me with any siblings I may unwittingly have dotted around the world. I have had a DNA test and been told that my father’s name was Donor 32 and that so far no other children have signed up or registered, so now every single day I sit by my computer checking and checking and checking to see if anyone’s added their details, to see if I have a brother or a sister. And I’m finding it really hard to concentrate on anything else. When I’m not hovering over my computer, I’m walking the streets staring at people like a loon, wondering if they look like me, wondering if they might be my … family .’
She felt her body relax as the words left her mouth. The physical feel of them was soothing and pleasant, like syrup.
Bendiks exhaled slowly from bellowed cheeks and lowered himself on to his backside. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Unbelievable.’
Lydia nodded.
‘So your father … the man who brought you up … he could not …?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose not,’ she said.
‘And he knew? That you were not his?’
She shrugged again. ‘I don’t know. He said something strange once, just before he died, said that I was as much his as anyone’s. Never knew what he meant by that, I thought he meant I was as much his as I was my mother’s. But that makes sense if he knew, doesn’t it? And it would explain why he hated me.’
Bendiks began to make a scoffing sound.
‘No, really, he did. I always knew he hated me and I always thought it was because I hadn’t died instead of my mother. I always felt guilty, you know, that I wasn’t enough to make up for him losing my mum. And then, well, now I know that he
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