Don't You Forget About Me

“Sure?” he said.

“Positive! Though I may avoid cider and black for a little while.”

I could not believe how many people there were in the park, doing exercising stuff. Walking their dogs, having picnics with their families, power walking. “Why aren’t they all lying on their sofas watching hangover telly?” I said. “These people are sick.”

“It was your idea, Dunham. You’re the one who wanted to come out running. So when was the last time you ran?”

I had to think. “Well I ran for the bus a few weeks ago when I was going into Worcester. Although actually, that’s probably a few months back now.” I felt slightly alarmed as I thought it might have been even longer than that and I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had left Broad Hampton. Perhaps I was going to be stuck here for ever.

“You need to stretch first,” he said. “Come on.”

I started copying what he was doing and stopped almost immediately.

“I feel like a twat – everyone is looking at me.”

“Come on, Cara,” he said sternly. “Just do it; no one’s looking at you.”

I placated him with a few half-hearted calf stretches.

“Come on then, let’s go,” he said and shot off at such a pace I considered giving up and just turning round and going the other way.

“Come on,” he shouted from ahead and I started running. He jogged back towards me and round in a circle. When I had been going for all of about forty seconds, I said I needed to stop for a rest. It was exhausting.

He continued circling around me for a while as I stood there with my hands on my thighs, head bowed like I had just finished a marathon.

“Can we walk for a bit?” I said.

“Sure,” he said. He put an arm around my shoulders and hauled me upright.

Now that I wasn’t trying to run at Usain Bolt speed, I was able to take in the sights and sounds of the park. The daffodils, the lake. “It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I come most mornings.”

“Do you?” I said. “Well I did not know that.”

“There’s loads of stuff you don’t know about me.”

“Is there?” I said. “Well, it must be nice to have something to be passionate about.”

“Yeah, well I’m passionate about loads of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like you, my love,” he said in an over-the-top voice. He took my hand and spun me round and before I knew it, he had bent me over in some elaborate dance move and I was relying on him to keep me held up because my knees had somehow got lost beneath me.

“Stubbs! Get off me,” I said, giving him a whack on the arm. He pulled me up and I looked around to see if anyone had seen what a massive idiot he was being.

“What’s wrong with you,” he said, laughing hard.

“Everyone’s looking,” I said.

“Oh here we go again. Don’t want anyone looking at you, but always moaning that nobody notices you.”

“Nobody does notice me,” I said, feeling a little bit hurt and embarrassed that Stubbs seemed to think it was funny.

“Yeah, right,” he said.

“Anyway, I thought you wanted to ask April out. Isn’t she the one you’re passionate about?”

He scratched his head and looked off into the distance and kind of mumbled a bit.

“Maybe,” he said.

“Well, why don’t you then?”

“I dunno. I don’t know what she’ll say.”

“She’ll say yes. Or she’ll say no.”

“Nah, was a silly idea really. She wouldn’t go out with someone like me.”

“What do you mean, someone like you?”

“You know what April is like, she’s all bad boy bikers or corporate bankers. She goes for anyone with a bit of drama attached. I reckon I’m just too ordinary for her and just not popular enough. She is fit though.” I reckoned he added that bit about her being fit because he was worried he had almost revealed his innermost secrets and fears and had to change it at the last minute to blokeify his statement.

“Yeah, she is. Fit.” I thought, unlike me who wanted to keel over after a forty-second run. I didn’t think that being an athlete was my thing at all.

“I’m bored of this now,” I said. “Can we go for a cup of tea instead?” I motioned with my head to the tea rooms.

Stubbs reluctantly agreed and we sat near the window with a pot of tea and piles of toast.

“So the athletic life isn’t for you, then? What’s next on your plan?”

“Brain,” I offered. “Or criminal?”

“Do you want to leave without paying then?”

“No way,” I said, looking round to see if the staff or one of the customers on the nearby table had heard us.

“Brain it is then.” Stubbs reached out behind him and picked up one of the newspapers from the rack. He flicked through to the crossword page and said, “Nine down…”

“Stop,” I said. “I can’t do crosswords.” Brain was probably the least likely fit for me, I reckoned.

“How do you know you can’t? When did you last do one? Here try this one. Nine down: ‘month for fools’.”

I tutted and decided I wasn’t going to go along with it but then he said, “It’s easy.”

“April,” I said. Stubbs grinned and raised his eyebrows.