Happiness. She’d never thought about it in relation to her parents before. Were they happy? She didn’t know. She’d never asked them. She wondered what they would say, if she did. She knew she made them happy. Her dad always used to tell her that the day she was born was the best day of his life. Her dad had chosen the name Claire, although her mother had insisted on registering it with an I so it was spelt the French way.

What made people happy at that age, anyway? They were sixty-seven, not exactly ancient but not young any more either. They’d been married since they were twenty-two, having met at school. Her father had worked in retail. They’d lived in the same house, her father had worked for the same firm, and they’d been attending the same social club for as long as Claire could remember. But growing up, that was normal – what all her friends had as well. A mum, a dad, maybe a sibling or two; if you were lucky, a guinea pig, and if you were very lucky, a puppy. You went to school, Mum picked you up, Dad usually came home from work at five-thirty, bath at seven o’clock and into bed. Everyone did the same.

But she’d always had a feeling that there was something slightly different about her parents. Like the time they’d slept in separate beds for a few years. Mum said it was because of Dad’s snoring. Dad said it was because of his snoring. At the time, she’d accepted that. But now she wondered if it was just another example of a broken marriage. There was certainly no physical affection between them; they didn’t hold hands or even peck each other on the cheek. They didn’t sit close – Dad had his chair and Mum had hers on different sides of the room, albeit both facing the television. But isn’t that what all couples did? Over the years, she’d begun to wonder.

4

The crowd was three-deep, lining Castle Street for at least half a mile. They cheered loudly as Claire ran past them, flags waving, hands clapping, propelling her to the finish line. She could see it just ahead, the blue ribbon pulled taut, the digital clock luminous and truthful against the grey sky. With a last surge of adrenalin, Claire pumped her arms and legs as fast as she could, her desire to beat the clock propelling her forward. As her taut stomach touched the imaginary ribbon, she opened her arms, the relief instantaneous.