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ON GREAT NORTH RUN day, the stretch of land between the cliff tops and main road would be packed with runners and spectators, but on that chilly April morning, aside from the odd dog walker, it was deserted.
The sea breeze caught Michelle’s breath as she turned onto the steep footpath bordering the length of Gypsies Green. From her position at the bottom, the hill seemed to go on forever. She gulped in a lungful of air, zipped up the collar of her sweatshirt over her nose and mouth and began her plod up the bank. She jumped at the sound of a ‘toot-toot’ from a passing white van.
‘Get those knees up,’ shouted the burly young workman hanging out of the window. He wolf-whistled as the van sped away. Michelle knew she should have been offended, but she smiled anyway.
The sight of a familiar mop of almost white hair bobbing across the field lifted her spirits further. From a distance, the hair and black running gear made Dan look like an old photograph negative. As he bounded into view, she could see his cheeky smile. The skin-tight T-shirt and running tights stretched over his chunky muscles, making his six-foot-four frame even more formidable.
‘You’re puffing and panting a bit there,’ Dan said, as he reached her. He turned around to join her, slowing his pace down to almost a walk.
‘That blooming hill,’ she gasped.
‘The wind will be behind you on the way back.’ He pointed towards the cliff path, as if without direction she would never have spotted the miles of nearby cliffs.
‘Funny how this doesn’t look so steep on the telly.’ Good thing she didn’t fancy him, she must look a right mess. All the same, she ran her sleeve cuff under her eyes to mop up any smudged mascara.
Dan squinted at the pub at the far end of the beach. ‘Do you think they’ll do Danish pastries in the Rattler? Maybe we could have a bacon sandwich with a pot of tea to start with.’
‘No wonder you have high blood pressure.’
‘It’s coming down. My GP’s pleased with my progress.’
Michelle plodded on without answering. If only she could go back to being ten years old, she’d never allow herself to grow up to be so unfit. And who’d have thought spindly little Dan would beef up enough to develop high blood pressure? She recalled him being the type of child to do as he was told, so it was no surprise he’d taken the medical advice seriously.
Dan jogged sideways and scrutinized her, a look of concern on his face. ‘You sure you’re all right?’
‘Uhu,’ she wheezed. ‘Get out of breath. Slow pulse.’
‘Isn’t that supposed to be a sign of fitness?’ He studied her crimson face and heaving shoulders. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Got another test next week.’ The incline levelled off and Michelle blew out a huge recovery breath. ‘It might be the cause of my fatigue condition.’ She nodded up towards the lighthouse in the distance. ‘You off again?’ She hoped so – she was desperate to walk.
Despite her long-term battle with fatigue, for which no doctors had yet found a treatable cause, she’d managed to embark on the training programme by scheduling rest periods after each session. She didn’t like people to see her when she was over-tired because they rarely understood. Her father had insinuated she was lazy, making her more determined to conceal the problem. There was no hiding it from Dan today, not after climbing that hill.
‘Yes, once more, then back for a cuppa.’
She watched him stride away and paused to catch her breath. Fermín used to call her lazy, too – whenever she dozed off during those first weeks after Sara was born, before she was diagnosed with anaemia. One night, she was so dizzy after picking her up to feed, Michelle had fallen. She’d somehow managed to do so with Sara safely nestled in her arms. Though she’d been unharmed, Michelle’s stomach still churned at the thought of what could have happened. Fermín had complained about the noise and pulled the duvet over his head.
Fuelled by angry energy, she set off again with extra verve, irritated that even the thought of Fermín could still invoke rage in her. She’d go months without giving him a second thought, and then he’d upset Sara with a nasty remark, or a senseless lie, and the old feelings of powerlessness to protect her daughter would come hurtling back.
Once Michelle reached the edge of the cliffs and could see the sea, Thoughts of Fermín dissipated, and it felt a lot easier. She marvelled at the way the calm grey ocean blended into the hazy horizon, and she watched the waves gently rolling along the beach ahead, the smell of seaweed drifting up from the rocks below. She loved to make out pictures in the clouds as they sailed across the sky. Sometimes she’d imagine floating up for a nap on a fluffy marshmallow one. Closing her eyes, she embraced the cool breeze, allowing it to soothe her overheated face. To Michelle, this felt like the most perfect place in the world.
It was when she had reached the beach and was wandering along the water’s edge as she waited for Dan, that she heard a child’s voice behind her. She turned, to find a little girl tottering towards the sea.
‘Bird,’ the toddler said, pointing to a sandpiper chasing a wave.
Michelle scanned the area for the girl’s parents, the beach was deserted. ‘Where’s your mammy?’ she said, dashing over to her.
The child jumped onto an incoming wave and fell on her bottom. She gasped as the cold North Sea seeped through her trendy little jeans and trainers. Her face crumpled. Michelle plucked the shivering child from the water and cuddled her in to warm her up.
She pointed at a shell. ‘Bird.’
Michelle paced back and forth in search of the parents, not daring to venture too far, for fear of going further away from them. They must be frantic, she thought. Her stomach churned as she recalled the time Sara had wandered off in Ashpeth market. She’d only let go of her hand for a second to pay for some apples, but when she looked down, Sara had disappeared. It had been the worst moment of Michelle’s life. Although it had all ended well, with a tearful reunion, and an accusation of neglect by the angry stallholder who’d found Sara near a busy main road, Michelle had never forgotten the devastating feeling of losing her.
An unholy wailing announced the arrival of the child’s mother. The hysterical young woman raced towards them, arms flapping and hair blowing wildly behind her.
‘I think we’ve found Mammy.’
The girl pointed at her, shrieked with glee and said, ‘Bird.’
By the time the sobbing mother reached them, she was inconsolable, babbling incoherently and holding two upturned empty wafer cones.
Michelle handed over the girl. ‘I think you lost your ice cream.’
The shaken young woman eventually managed to thank her, before staggering away, clutching her daughter in a vice-like grip. As she watched them disappear, Michelle felt a presence behind her. She turned to find Dan, his head tilted to the side, arms folded and smiling.
‘I’m so glad those days are over,’ she said. ‘Not that you ever stop worrying.’
‘Tell me about it.’ He pointed to two deep frown lines on his brow. ‘I blame Tamara for these.’
The sight of Dan’s freckled, rosy-cheeked face took her back in time. ‘You look just like when we were kids and used to play out on our bikes.’
‘Except the ginger hair’s now white. And I’m not scared to speak.’
‘Better than going grey,’ she said, thinking how nice it would be not to have to dye her hair back to brown.
He was right about the speaking. She couldn’t recall Dan saying anything for months after they all met on their estate. At first, she thought he might be ‘not quite right’. Especially with his aunty being the Deaconess – a strange lady – who lived in the house on the corner. She’d greet people with a cheery, high-pitched ‘Hel-lo’ as she cycled past. She wore a hand-knitted loopy bonnet over her grey basin-cut hair, and a Frank Spencer style trench coat which clashed with the huge navy T-bar leather sandals. Michelle glanced down at Dan’s gigantic trainers and smiled – he and his aunty certainly shared the same foot gene.
Dan was squinting at her chin. ‘You’ve got a little bit of something there.’ He pointed to the skin beneath his own lower lip.
‘No, that’s a permanent mark. An accident with a pen while tidying Sara’s toys years ago.’
His already flushed face turned a deeper red. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry.’ She gave a nervous laugh and automatically covered the mark with her hand. ‘Everyone points it out.’
He tutted in apparent disapproval at the people who had mentioned it, even though he was one of them. Strangely, his comment felt like a hug. There was something comforting about having someone so big and strong rooting for her.
As she looked at Dan, she noticed a bump on his brow. ‘How did you hurt yourself?’
He rubbed it with his hand. ‘All part of the job. You pick up a few knocks along the way.’
She felt proud her little friend had grown up into such a good person – willing to risk his life to defend the country. As she was admiring his bravery, he reminded her he hadn’t lost his childlike playfulness.
‘Can you still do a handstand?’ he said. ‘You and your mates were forever doing those.’
‘Don’t know, but I can do these.’ Michelle skipped into a run of three cartwheels.
Dan executed a clumsy handstand and tumbled into a heap on the sand. ‘It’s great,’ he said, dusting himself down. ‘Like playing out again.’
Michelle cartwheeled back. ‘Ooh, sand. Sand in my eyes...’
‘You okay?’
‘Yes, fine thanks.’ She used her bottled water to irrigate the affected eye.
‘You can tell you’re a nurse. I’d have rubbed mine.’
‘Don’t remind me about work, it’s manic there at the minute. I’d rather have sand in both eyes than think about that place.’
‘How about coffee? I wonder if they do serve Danish pastries. The sea air’s making me peckish.’
As they turned to walk along to the Rattler, Dan grabbed Michelle’s hand and effortlessly yanked her towards him. Before she could steady herself, he kissed her.
Horrified, she pushed him away. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘God, Michelle, I’m so sorry.’ He grasped his head with both hands, a look of utter panic on his face. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
Fury shot through her body. ‘Friends. You said friends.’ She turned to leave then spun back. ‘You lying bastard.’
She thought back to the email conversations she’d loved so much – the natural progression from general catching up, to jovial banter, and then confiding past disappointments and future hopes. What a fool she’d been.
‘I didn’t lie, I swear.’ He stepped towards her with outstretched arms. ‘I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world.’
‘I trusted you.’ She jabbed her finger at him. ‘All these months we’ve been chatting... I’ve confided in you – personal stuff I could only tell a friend.’ She looked directly into his eyes. ‘You’re not a friend. You’re just another dishonest man.’
Dan stood, his head bowed, scuffing the sand with his trainer. He looked once again like a ten-year-old boy. ‘You can trust me.’
‘All of that stuff you wrote about being trapped in an unhappy marriage. Supporting an unstable wife. Making sure your daughter’s secure – do you even have a daughter?’ She picked up a jagged pebble and hurled it with all her might across the waves. ‘I bet I was so easy to hoodwink.’
‘Stop it. Please. Hear me out.’ He grabbed her arms, more gently this time. ‘Look at me.’
She’d cut her finger, it was stinging. But she refused to let Dan see she was hurt, as she grudgingly looked up at him. She noticed the little blond hairs in his nostrils and the dry skin on his lips, and she recognized his aftershave – Nivea for Men – not a fragrance she’d associate with a womanizer.
‘I swear I wanted no more than your friendship. To be able to chat to someone now and again, someone who respected me.’ He looked out to sea. ‘Coming back here and meeting you... It felt like returning home. Like when we were kids.’
Michelle eased his arms from her. ‘We never used to kiss,’ she said in barely more than a whisper.
Months of cosy chats had convinced her that little Daniel Helmsley had grown up into a decent man, because he had been, little Daniel Helmsley. How stupid she’d been – the newspapers were full of stories about social networking sites and disillusioned, middle-aged losers looking for cheap affairs.
‘I didn’t mean to. Sorry, I –’
Michelle held up a hand to fend off his excuses. ‘How can you expect me to believe you? Why me? Why didn’t you join one of those sleazy internet sites and leave me out of it?’
‘I don’t want sleaze. I never planned to kiss you. I’ve loved every single one of our chats. They’re such a lovely escape from my shite life. It’s like everything’s all right again.’ He held her gaze, a look of tenderness in his eyes. Then he smiled. ‘And you make me laugh my socks off. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped laughing.’
He was right about the laughing. Michelle hadn’t cackled so much for years. But she’d been stupid to let her guard down. ‘I believed you were a decent man. I haven’t known many of those.’ She looked away. ‘I wanted to believe a man could genuinely like me as a person – how pathetic.’
Dan pulled a neatly folded white cotton handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away her tears.
‘You carry a proper hanky in your running tights? Part of your act is it?’ Michelle half-heartedly thumped his shoulder and gave him a grudging, watery smile.
‘I hate infidelity, there’s no excuse for it.’ He gently brushed her hair from her eyes. ‘But we bonded straight away in those emails.’
‘Bonded?’ What was he talking about? No man had ever bonded with her.
‘And then today, I noticed your little hands.’
‘What’s wrong with my hands?’ She flipped them over, inspecting the palms then the backs.
‘And you have such small feet,’ Dan continued, smiling as he peered down at her sand-caked trainers.
She drew back her shoulders and dug her feet into a hole in the sand. ‘I’m a size four and a half. That’s not small.’
‘Penny takes a nine. I saw your little hands, and the next thing I was kissing you. I’m sorry.’
Michelle looked into his eyes and felt as if she could see his soul. How on earth had she managed to get herself into this situation?
Dan’s mobile phone pinged. He looked crestfallen. ‘Sorry, I have to go – Penny’s been sent home from work with a migraine and needs me to call for her prescription.’
‘So, you’ve remembered you have a wife?’
He gave her a sheepish look. ‘Can we talk more later? Please?’
‘I don’t think there’s anything left to say.’
His mobile trilled. ‘Damn. Sorry, I’ll have to answer it.’ He turned towards the car park. ‘I’ll email you later.’
Back in her own car, Michelle was rummaging in her hold-all for antibacterial hand wipes and a sticking plaster, when she noticed a message alert flashing on her mobile phone. A text from Dan. It looked strange, until then it had been emails only.
Please don’t give up on me, Michelle. I know I’ve messed up. Sorry. Please, give me another chance. Xx
