Still looking at myself in the mirror, I watch as my eyes widen in horror. I’ve managed to jog-walk about two miles and it’s taken me ages. The idea of running twenty-six miles is completely insane. That’s what public transport is for. Except there’s a little voice in my head that points out that all the runners we cheered on in April must’ve started somewhere, and after all, I’ve told myself I’m going to make some changes in my life.

I peel off my horribly sweaty clothes and dump them in the laundry basket. After I’ve showered, I lie back on the bed, wrapped in a towel. I could sleep for a week, but I’ve got about twenty minutes before I need to get going if I’m going to get to work on time. Maybe I’ll just have one more minute.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Jess

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jess

3rd July

‘You?’ Gen splutters, when I tell her and Sophie about my new running regime . . . of all of two days. Sophie, also laughing, pats her on the back. It’s Wednesday lunchtime and we’re sitting in a café in the city.

‘Why not?’

‘You’re just not exactly – well, come on, Jess. The last time you ran anywhere was probably when you found out Tesco had reduced all the Christmas chocolate to half price last January.’

I’m slightly offended at just how funny Gen and Sophie find the idea of me running. ‘I’m actually quite fit, I’ll have you know,’ I lie.

‘Well,’ Sophie says, looking at Gen then me. ‘As you’re on a mission to turn your life around, we’ve got a proposition for you.’

She’s got that glint in her eye that I recognise, and I groan.

I’m about to be organised.

‘So, Gen and I were talking about your lack of love life—’

I glare at Gen, who is trying to look angelic and chewing on the crust of her toasted sandwich. ‘Sorry,’ she mouths, pulling a face with her mouth still full. ‘She needed a project.’

‘I didn’t mean me,’ I say, scowling. But I can’t deny it, Sophie’s looking far more like her old self.

‘You’ve tried one date. It was a disaster, but you can’t just fall off the horse and stay there. You need to get back on.’

Sophie’s tone is firm, like a primary school teacher encouraging a recalcitrant pupil to join in with a PE class.

‘Honestly,’ I say, trying to sound assertive, ‘I’m fine. Loads of work stuff going on, lots of friends, I’ve got my running—’ I’ve been twice, but that definitely counts ‘—and I really just don’t want to . . .’ I tail off.