Фиона Гибсон – Mum On The Run (страница 3)

I swallow hard. ‘You really want me to do this, sweetheart?’

She looks up, dark brown eyes wide. ‘Yeah.’

‘Okay. Promise you won’t laugh?’

She nods gravely. Something clicks in me then, propelling me towards the starting line, despite my wrong shoes and bogus sprained ligament and the fact that Finn will be mortified. ‘Mum’s doing the race!’ Grace yelps. ‘Go, Mum!’ I daren’t look at Finn.

‘Well done, Mrs Swan,’ Miss Marshall says warmly. I bare my teeth at her.

‘Good for you,’ Beth says, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze.

‘You know I can’t run,’ I whisper. ‘This’ll be a disaster.’

‘It’s just for fun,’ she insists. ‘No one cares about winning.’ I muster a feeble smile, as if a doctor were about to plunge a wide-bore syringe into my bottom.

‘Your shoes, Mrs Swan,’ Miss Marshall hisses. ‘You might like to . . .’

‘Oh, God, yes.’ I peel off the lovely turquoise suede sandals which I bought in a flurry of excitement when my sister Kate came to stay. She chose snug-fitting skinny jeans; I headed for footwear because trying on shoes doesn’t involve changing room mirrors or discovering that you can’t do up a zip. As I scan the row of women, all raring to go, I realise I’m the fattest mum in the race. What if my heart gives out and I’m carted off on a stretcher? Beth grins and winks at me. Naomi, who’s set her sports drink on the ground behind her, assumes an authentic starting position like Zola-bloody-Budd. I ignore her and focus ahead. The pitch doesn’t usually look this big. Now the finishing line seems so distant it might as well be in Sweden. ‘On your marks, get set . . . go!’ Miss Marshall roars.

Christ, don’t they give you a warning, like some kind of amber alert? These aren’t women but gazelles, charging off in a blur of limbs and kicking up mud behind them. I’m running too. At least I’m slapping down each bare foot alternately and trying to propel myself with my arms like I saw Paula Radcliffe doing on TV.

The pack zooms ahead. Are they on steroids or what? They must have taken some kind of drug. If I survive this I’m insisting on tests. Right now, though, a sharp pain is spearing my side, making my breath come in agonising gasps. ‘Go for it, Laura!’ cries one of the dads, in the way that people cheer on the unfortunate child in the sack race who’s staggering behind, swathed in hessian, and finally makes it to the finishing line streaming with tears and snot after everyone else has gone home.

There’s cheering, and I glimpse Naomi punching the air in triumph at the finishing line. My bra straps have slipped down, and my boobs are boinging obscenely as I thunder onwards. I glance down to assess their bounceage, and when I look up something’s terribly wrong, because Jed is standing there. Jed, who should be at his own school, not witnessing the ritual humiliation of his wife. Worse still, he’s standing next to Celeste, that new teacher with whom he’s clearly besotted, although he acts all blasé (overly-blasé, I’d say) whenever her name pops up. Gorgeous, honey-skinned Celeste who, to top it all, is half-sodding-French.

I keep running, telling myself that they can’t be here, laughing and standing all jammed up together. It’s just some terrible vision caused by over-exerting myself. And they say exercise is good for you. No one mentions the fact that your chest feels as if it could burst open and you start hallucinating.

I glance back to check. Celeste is gazing up at Jed and fiddling with a strand of her hair. Anyone would think she’s his cute, doe-eyed girlfriend in her polka-dot skirt and sweet lemon cardi. She reaches out to pick something – a stray thread, perhaps – off Jed’s top. Grooming him, like a mating monkey. It’s sickeningly intimate. He smiles tenderly at her. Whenever I try to pick something off him, he bats me away as if I’m a wasp.

I charge on like a heifer, boiling with rage, my boobs lolloping agonisingly as I try to recall the last time Jed smiled adoringly at me. I can’t remember. It’s so horrifying to see him looking at her that way that for an instant I forget where I am. I lose my footing, skid on the muddied pitch and lurch forwards with arms outstretched, belly-flopping onto the ground with a splatter.

Dear God, kill me now.

I lie still, waiting for my life to flash before me. A lump of dirt, or possibly a live bug, has worked its way up my nose. With my eyes squeezed tightly shut, I’m poised to transcend to some heavenly Celeste-free zone, where no one is ever forced to take part in a mums’ race.

Chapter Two

For several moments, nothing happens. There are no angels, softly strumming harps; just a dull thudding sensation in my ears. Gradually, I become aware of faint drizzle on my face, and a ripple of concerned voices around me. My eyes are still squeezed shut. ‘Laura?’ comes Jed’s voice. ‘Are you all right? Can you hear me? Jesus Christ . . .’

‘I think she’s knocked herself out,’ someone gasps.

‘Laura!’ Jed exclaims close to my ear.

‘We should call an ambulance,’ comes an urgent whisper.

Don’t move. If I lie here without flinching maybe they’ll cart me away and cremate me. Jed and the children will manage fine, as long as Grace reminds him that she has gym on Tuesdays and Fridays and he doesn’t give Finn brown bread sandwiches in his packed lunch.

‘Try to stand up,’ Jed urges. ‘You’ll be okay, we’ll get you inside . . .’

‘Is Mummy all right?’ Grace cries. My eyes ping open instantly and I stagger to my feet, aware that my nostril is still packed with mud.

‘Yes, I’m okay, love. Just slipped . . .’

‘Poor Mummy!’ Grace’s eyes are glossy with concern as she grips my hand.

‘God, Laura, that was pretty spectacular,’ Jed says, shaking his head despairingly.

‘You poor, poor thing,’ Celeste witters, craning forward as if eager to witness what kind of stunt I’ll pull off next.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I snap. ‘I just slipped, that’s all.’

‘Does it feel as if you’ve broken anything?’ Beth asks gently, easing her way between Jed and Celeste. As they appear to be almost surgically attached, this is a major feat.

‘I . . . don’t think so,’ I reply, wishing everyone would melt away, apart from Beth. Then I’d spill it all out – about Celeste picking something off Jed’s top and how the sight of them together made me feel sick and disorientated.

‘Are you sure?’ cuts in Miss Marshall. ‘That was a pretty serious fall.’

‘You might have sprained something,’ Beth suggests.

‘Yes,’ I blurt out, figuring that this is my only way to save face: to turn it into a medical situation. ‘My left ankle really hurts,’ I groan.

‘Let’s get her to the doctor’s,’ someone mutters.

‘No, I don’t need a doctor, I’ll be perfectly okay . . .’

‘Miss Curwin will take you to the office,’ says Miss Marshall firmly.

‘It’s fine, I’ll look after her,’ Jed says quickly.

Damn. I might have been able to feign a sprained ankle in front of the school secretary, but not with Jed. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ I hiss as he helps me to my feet and leads me towards the school building.

‘We’re due for a meeting about this inter-schools art competition,’ he says.

‘Oh,’ I say hollowly. We. How fantastically cosy. Flanked by Jed, Celeste, Grace and Miss Curwin, I hobble towards the main entrance. Over by the goalposts, Finn and James are locked in conversation with Beth’s daughter Kira, the golden girl of his class. I pause, waiting for Finn to charge towards me, desperately concerned about my wellbeing. Nothing happens. Anyone would assume I’m some random crazy who’s blundered onto school property. Not the woman who carried him in her womb and has tended to his every need for the past eleven years.

In the office, I lower myself onto a chair. Miss Curwin produces the first aid box, extracts a bandage and starts to bind my left ankle. It’s quite a crush with everyone packed into the tiny room. So many eyes are fixed upon me that I begin to feel like something that’s been dug up from a field and put on display in a museum. ‘You’d better go back to the playing field now, Grace,’ Miss Curwin says. ‘Your mum’s going to be fine.’

‘Okay.’ She smiles unsteadily.

‘See you at home time,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry – I feel much better already.’

‘Sorry I nagged you and made you break your foot,’ she murmurs.

‘Oh, darling, it’s not your fault. It’s mine for being such a clumsy idiot.’

‘Yeah,’ Grace brightens, turning to leave. ‘No other mums fell over, did they, Dad?’

‘Er, no, love.’ Jed clears his throat, and I catch him throwing a quick look at Celeste.

‘Are you in a hurry?’ I ask sharply. ‘Because I don’t want to keep you from your meeting.’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘we are supposed to be meeting Miss Marshall . . .’

‘Oh, I can deal with that, Jed,’ Celeste insists, widening her pale blue eyes. ‘You should take Laura home. Poor thing, she must be in agony.’

‘I’m fine,’ I say quickly, horrified now at the prospect of keeping up the bust-ankle pretence all the way home. ‘I’ll have to wait for school to finish anyway. That’s only an hour. Then I’ll pick up Toby and walk home, no problem.’ I pull myself up, gripping the edge of the desk for support.