stopping the car.
As he got out he hesitated. ‘Thanks for the lift and . . . er, I know it’s a bit of a cheek but do you often go to the gym? I mean, winter’s coming. It gets wet and cold at the bus stop . . .’
‘OK, OK, if I’m going I’ll look out for you. But I don’t always go at the same time,’ she warned.
‘Cool, good enough.’ He treated her to a final smile as he turned and sauntered through the gates, and Mel was left with a Cheshire cat-like display of the most perfect teeth modern orthodontic treatment could provide.
Sarah’s car was parked as close as she could get to the gym’s doors. Mel parked the Golf between a pair of the massive tank-like vehicles favoured by the women of the area – yuppie trucks, Rosa called them. It must have been raining when Sarah arrived, either that or she had slid out of the car all geared up and ready for the cross-trainer in her little pink Nike shorts and cropped-off vest and didn’t want the outside world to catch sight of her exposed tummy. Sarah’s gym outfits, particularly the lime snake-print leggings, it occurred to Mel, would sit neatly on her Tina Keen detective. Sarah and Tina had similar clothes taste and both were skinny, wiry women, though Tina was a few inches shorter and a good bit faster-moving. If the two had to escape from a burning building, Tina would be swifter off the mark, out of the nearest window, pausing only to pocket her cigarettes and shimmying down a drain-pipe as if SAS-trained. Sarah would be sizing up all possible exits for the one that would do the least damage to her nails.
Mel took her time in the changing room, shoving her reluctant feet into her state-of-the-art trainers that were far too high-tech for the paltry amount of exercise she took in them. She almost felt sorry for them, for the lack of decent challenge she offered, their soles barely scuffed from sauntering round on the gym’s carpets as she took her time ambling between the weights machines, stopping for chats here and there. The most she asked of these shoes was that they didn’t slip on the pedals of the stationary bike as she watched Lorraine Kelly organizing viewer makeovers on GMTV.
‘Oh, you’re here! Have you been in yet?’ Sarah, her face flushed as seaside-rock pink as her outfit, bounded in and flopped down on the bench next to Melanie.
‘No. I just got here. I gave Perfect Patty’s boy a lift to school.’
‘Huh!’ Sarah snorted. ‘His school’s only next door, it’s hardly out of your way.’ She poked a sharp finger into Mel’s leg. ‘You’re slacking. We need you toned and honed for the meat market. And book a sunbed, manicure and facial too. If I’m going to relaunch you as a desirable product I want to have something good to sell.’
‘You don’t give up do you, Sarah?’ Mel stood up and went to the mirror, tying her hair back into a scrunchie. ‘I’m really truly not looking for another man. I’m living completely on my own now for the first time since I was – well, ever, really and it’s great. Let me just enjoy it, OK?’
‘OK.’ Sarah sighed and looked sulky. ‘But – if you won’t go out with boys will you come out with the girls? Our dear old school’s having a final reunion. They’re closing it for good, knocking the place downand building something – social housing I think – so will you come to that? Thursday week?’
‘Now that you’ve got time on your hands . . .’
It was something Melanie wasn’t supposed to have. It was too much along the lines of Pleasing Herself. Perhaps it had been a mistake to drop in on her mother on the way back from the gym. It gave a bad impression of careless leisure to be frittered away at sinful will. Mel and Gwen sat at the small round table by the window in Gwen’s kitchen. In front of them was a two-cup cafetière, a small floral plate (intertwined morning glory), with chocolate chip biscuits arranged in a circle, overlapping as exactly as if a
As he got out he hesitated. ‘Thanks for the lift and . . . er, I know it’s a bit of a cheek but do you often go to the gym? I mean, winter’s coming. It gets wet and cold at the bus stop . . .’
‘OK, OK, if I’m going I’ll look out for you. But I don’t always go at the same time,’ she warned.
‘Cool, good enough.’ He treated her to a final smile as he turned and sauntered through the gates, and Mel was left with a Cheshire cat-like display of the most perfect teeth modern orthodontic treatment could provide.
Sarah’s car was parked as close as she could get to the gym’s doors. Mel parked the Golf between a pair of the massive tank-like vehicles favoured by the women of the area – yuppie trucks, Rosa called them. It must have been raining when Sarah arrived, either that or she had slid out of the car all geared up and ready for the cross-trainer in her little pink Nike shorts and cropped-off vest and didn’t want the outside world to catch sight of her exposed tummy. Sarah’s gym outfits, particularly the lime snake-print leggings, it occurred to Mel, would sit neatly on her Tina Keen detective. Sarah and Tina had similar clothes taste and both were skinny, wiry women, though Tina was a few inches shorter and a good bit faster-moving. If the two had to escape from a burning building, Tina would be swifter off the mark, out of the nearest window, pausing only to pocket her cigarettes and shimmying down a drain-pipe as if SAS-trained. Sarah would be sizing up all possible exits for the one that would do the least damage to her nails.
Mel took her time in the changing room, shoving her reluctant feet into her state-of-the-art trainers that were far too high-tech for the paltry amount of exercise she took in them. She almost felt sorry for them, for the lack of decent challenge she offered, their soles barely scuffed from sauntering round on the gym’s carpets as she took her time ambling between the weights machines, stopping for chats here and there. The most she asked of these shoes was that they didn’t slip on the pedals of the stationary bike as she watched Lorraine Kelly organizing viewer makeovers on GMTV.
‘Oh, you’re here! Have you been in yet?’ Sarah, her face flushed as seaside-rock pink as her outfit, bounded in and flopped down on the bench next to Melanie.
‘No. I just got here. I gave Perfect Patty’s boy a lift to school.’
‘Huh!’ Sarah snorted. ‘His school’s only next door, it’s hardly out of your way.’ She poked a sharp finger into Mel’s leg. ‘You’re slacking. We need you toned and honed for the meat market. And book a sunbed, manicure and facial too. If I’m going to relaunch you as a desirable product I want to have something good to sell.’
‘You don’t give up do you, Sarah?’ Mel stood up and went to the mirror, tying her hair back into a scrunchie. ‘I’m really truly not looking for another man. I’m living completely on my own now for the first time since I was – well, ever, really and it’s great. Let me just enjoy it, OK?’
‘OK.’ Sarah sighed and looked sulky. ‘But – if you won’t go out with boys will you come out with the girls? Our dear old school’s having a final reunion. They’re closing it for good, knocking the place downand building something – social housing I think – so will you come to that? Thursday week?’
‘Now that you’ve got time on your hands . . .’
It was something Melanie wasn’t supposed to have. It was too much along the lines of Pleasing Herself. Perhaps it had been a mistake to drop in on her mother on the way back from the gym. It gave a bad impression of careless leisure to be frittered away at sinful will. Mel and Gwen sat at the small round table by the window in Gwen’s kitchen. In front of them was a two-cup cafetière, a small floral plate (intertwined morning glory), with chocolate chip biscuits arranged in a circle, overlapping as exactly as if a
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