Free Girl on the Run by Jane Costello Page B

head-over-heels in love. This suspicion was reinforced a few years ago when, one drunken night out, she confessed she’d never told him that she loved him.
    She narrows her eyes as if sensing my thoughts. ‘You don’t, do you?’
    ‘It depends what you mean by “well matched”,’ I say as diplomatically as I can. ‘You’re very different in some ways, but lots of people think different’s good. You know, opposites attract.’
    ‘ Are we opposites?’ She says this as if it’s news to her.
    ‘Well, I suppose on the one hand you’re intelligent and outgoing and fun, and . . .’
    ‘And Adam?’
    ‘Well, he is intelligent and . . .’ I take a bite of cake.
    Jess decides to change the subject. ‘Have you had any second thoughts about returning to the running club?’
    I nearly choke. ‘Jess, if you think there’s any way I’m going back, you’re insane. I turned up dressed like someone you’d give your spare change to, trudged round hopelessly, then regurgitated the contents of my gut in front of a fellow member with whom – to top it off – I happen to be in an insurance dispute.’
    She laughs. ‘You make things sound far worse than they are sometimes. At least you didn’t throw up in front of Doctor Dishy.’
    ‘If that’s the best you’ve got to say on the issue, God help me. Has he said anything about me?’
    ‘Um . . . yes.’
    ‘Liar.’
    ‘I’m not,’ she replies. ‘He asked whether you were coming back. I told him it was unlikely.’
    ‘What did you say that for?’
    She looks at me incredulously. ‘Because that’s what you’ve spent five days telling me.’
    I bite my lip. ‘Fair enough. I wish there was a way I could see him again, but without any running being involved. Can’t you throw another dinner party?’
    ‘Sorry, but our weekends are crazy for the next couple of months,’ she tells me. ‘Look, don’t bite off my head, but why don’t you do as I suggested in the first place? Get a bit fitter – then join. I know you felt it was a disaster on Monday, but that’s only because you were with people who were way above your abilities. And there’s no shame in that, by the way. They’ve been doing it for years.’
    ‘Bully for them. I got home and considered having a Stannah Stairlift fitted.’
    ‘Oh, come on, just start again. You can go in the slow group this time. Plus,’ she says, nudging me, ‘I’m sure if you asked nicely, Doctor Dishy would help you limber up.’
    There is no doubt Jess knows how to push my buttons. Because by the time I get home, I’ve thought about nothing but Doctor Dishy and his lithe body in that running gear. I push the thought out of my mind as I sit down at my computer and reluctantly compose the following email.
    Dear Tom
    At the risk of destroying every shred of sanity Joan has left, I wondered if I could put a proposition to you. While this does not mean I’m saying our little collision was solely my fault, I have no doubt that things would get messy if our insurance companies started fighting.
    I would therefore like to do the honourable thing and pay for the damage – if it’s not too late. Would it be possible to phone Joan and tell her your insurance claim is off? Then if you could let me know your address, I’ll send you a cheque. Thanks.
    Abby
    I press Send and feel a bitter lump in my throat. A thousand pounds. I click onto my internet banking site and check out my savings account – otherwise known as the Australia Fund.
    I’ve been putting money into it for years, the intention being to visit my Aunt Steph in Sydney at some point. I haven’t seen Steph – my mum’s younger sister – for years, but she used to email me all the time to say I should plan a trip.
    Mum’s never been close to Steph, for no other reason than their personalities are polar opposites, something you can tell just by looking at old photos.
    There’s one picture of the sisters outside their terraced house in Anfield, Mum plastered in