It was probably just as well he was busy since I still had to catch that cheating rat of a fiancé of Megan’s. I couldn’t believe how I’d messed it up the previous evening. I never messed up. I’m the type of person who’d once spent a whole twenty-four hours feeling like a failure because I’d forgotten to put the wheelie bin out in time for collection.
Leaving James at the table eating his breakfast, I went upstairs to get my phone. My first thought was to get in touch with Megan to see if she had any idea about her fiancé’s indiscretions. I tapped out a quick text:
Megan, I accidentally ate a full Hotel Chocolat pistachio and honey slab last night. My thighs have swollen to double their size. Any chance of an extra session today?
Admittedly, it was far-fetched because I always try to eat healthily and would never wolf down a bar of chocolate that size, but I did eat a good quarter of one yesterday afternoon. A long run afterwards had probably dealt with the calories but to be honest, Megan was unlikely to question it – she knew I could be overdramatic at times. Knowing Megan wouldn’t turn down the extra thirty quid, I slipped into my gym kit and waited. Bingo. Less than five minutes later I got her reply:
Okay, be there in thirty minutes
Right on time, she was buzzing at my gate, and I went out to greet her on the driveway. Megan looked fresh in her colourful geometric-print workout leggings and matching cropped top, which showcased her lean stomach and visible six-pack. Her honey-coloured hair was scraped back into a high ponytail and her flawless caramel skin required no make-up. Why Mike felt the need for an affair was anybody’s guess. I’d never understood why men took such risks when they already had the perfect woman by their side. I was so fortunate to have found James.
‘Thank you so much for coming over on a Sunday. I’ve been consumed by chocolate-induced guilt.’ I shook my head – not so much for effect, but more because the thought of eating that much chocolate really did make me feel like a glutton.
She gave me a wry smile. ‘Is this as bad as the time you ate two bread rolls and thought you were nine months pregnant with a loaf?’
I knew she thought I was being over-the-top, but Megan knows I’m conscious of how I look. She would say vain, but that’s only because I don’t know what else to talk to her about other than weight and exercise. She’s a personal trainer for goodness’ sake! James loves my figure and he gives me so much that staying in shape is something I can do to keep him happy in return. Besides, once you hit thirty, you really have to work a little harder to keep the pounds off and the bread rolls do make more of a difference than they perhaps would have done a decade before. Ageing is a bitch.
‘I thought you and James were trying for a baby?’ she asked, like it was an excuse.
‘Trying being the operative word, and only once it happens will I allow myself to put on weight.’ Frustratingly, getting pregnant was the one thing I couldn’t control.
‘You’re like a size six already!’ Megan said, shaking her head. ‘Come on, let’s get those thighs working.’
I was more of an eight to ten, but it was sweet of her to say, and I was hardly going to argue.
We headed to the room off the kitchen that James and I had built behind the garage. It was going to be a snug, as that seemed to be the trend, but then I had the amazing idea of turning it into a mini gym after watching one of those ‘celebrity homes’ programmes. We’d kitted it out with a running machine, cross-trainer, and bike, plus all the kettlebells, dumbbells, and fitness stuff you could ever need. It sometimes irritated me when Megan ignored the equipment altogether and made me do burpees, but just that once, I let her have her way without complaining.
‘Let’s get you warmed up. Start with forty seconds of jumping jacks.’ No pain, no gain.
‘Okay.’ I began. ‘Did you enjoy the Sam Smith concert last night?’ I asked, panting as I jumped.
She smiled and gushed for well over the specified forty seconds about how amazing it was. I carried on jumping with a smile fixed to my face – it never seems right to stop until told to, does it? I must’ve jumped for at least eighty seconds (it felt more like ten solid minutes) and it was hard, trust me.
‘Who did you say you went with? Your fiancé, was it?’ I asked when she’d finally finished extolling the virtues of Mr Smith.
‘No, he’s not a fan. Besides, it was a girls-only night. I went with Mike’s brother’s wife.’ She smiled. I hoped she didn’t remember that she’d already told me who she was going with.
‘Well, at least he could pick you up afterwards,’ I prompted.
She laughed. ‘We were out too late for that. He was already asleep when I got in.’
I’ll bet he was. Worn out no doubt! The poor woman had absolutely no idea what her husband-to-be was up to. I had to catch him out. I allowed her to inflict burpees upon me and then surprisingly, we did actually use my kettlebells. By the end of the workout, my muscles burnt and my chest felt light. I felt good.
‘Thank you so much for coming over.’ I handed her three crisp ten-pound notes.
‘Not a problem. Same time tomorrow?’
I nodded. Mondays were one of our regular days along with Wednesdays and Fridays – I just hoped I’d be able to move my legs by then.
After Megan left I took a shower then sat in the orangery
