The morning sun was already climbing over the rooftops as she stood on the doorstep, phone pressed to her ear. He still wasn’t answering. She’d left three messages now, each one shorter and more anxious than the last. They’d agreed to meet at his flat at eight.
It was nearly half past. Knocking on for over a minute had produced nothing but silence. He’s definitely not there, came the voice from behind her, impatient and already certain. She didn’t want to believe it.
They’d said they’d meet him at the starting line. He’d been training for months, all that fundraising, all that effort. Why on earth would he disappear now? She banged on the door one more time, harder.
Nothing. Maybe she should go check, she said, but the answer was already there. No, they needed to get moving. He’d be down there, he had to be.
There was no way he’d miss his own race. Later, when the news hit, it didn’t make any sense. He’d missed the starting line completely. His slot had come and gone.
By the time anyone found him, it was over. He’d crashed out on the sofa, slept through his alarm, and woken to a world that didn’t need him to run anywhere. She went to find him before the others could. He was sitting in his flat, staring at the floor like it had the answers he was looking for.
He couldn’t explain how it had happened. He’d put his phone on silent without thinking. He’d closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, and the whole morning had slipped away from him. I’ve let everyone down, he said.
She sat beside him and told him a story then, the one she’d never told him before. Years ago, she’d trained for a triathlon. She’d put everything into it, all her savings, all her hope, just like he had. The night before the race, she’d put her back out.
The physio had told her it was psychosomatic. Her body had found a way to stop her because her mind knew she wasn’t ready. She’d been so ashamed of that, she’d buried it for years. Maybe your body saved you from something worse, she said.
Maybe it knew you weren’t fit enough and stopped you before you could get hurt. He shook his head. It doesn’t change how I feel. Like a failure.
She reached for his hand. It’s not your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I pushed you into this.
I wanted it more than you did. I never let you listen to your body. He looked up at last. I wanted it too, he said.
The medal still belonged to him, everyone agreed. He’d earned it through all those months of training, all the money he’d raised. They brought it to him later, along with a bottle of fizz. Paul’s memory still got the money, someone pointed out.
That was what mattered. And they were proud of him, all of them, whether he’d crossed the finish line or not. You deserve this more than I do, he said. No, mate.
No arguments. You’re wearing it. It was the best they could do for him, and for a little while, it was enough. Across town, another argument was taking shape.
Will had been caught in a lie, and he wasn’t letting go of it easily. The girl had told them she was pregnant. She’d said it was his. He denied it, of course, with the same tired confidence he’d used on everything else.
It was her in the hotel room on your birthday, not Chloe, came the accusation. She’s lying. Why would she lie? Because she can’t stand that I ended it.
But she wasn’t lying. They all knew it, even if they couldn’t prove it. She’d refused a DNA test, which made it worse. Why wouldn’t she want to prove him wrong?
Unless proof didn’t suit her purposes. Unless she didn’t need to prove anything because the truth was already obvious to everyone but him. At the family meeting, the shouting became unbearable. He’s going to keep denying it, someone said.
Maybe he should see a counselor. It wasn’t a bad idea, they all agreed. If anything could get the truth out of him, it might be that. He wasn’t the only one about to face a hard conversation.
Summer had heard the whispers, the accusations. Miss Walsh had been the one, hadn’t she? The one who’d made her life miserable at school. She’d told people about it, but no one had believed her.
Not until it was too late. Mr. Osborne came to find her one afternoon. He looked uncomfortable, which was fair, given the circumstances.
When you first told me about Miss Walsh, I didn’t believe you, he said. I should have. It’s okay, she told him. It’s not okay.
You’re not a kid that makes things up. I should have known that. If there’s anything you need, any support, you come to me. You understand?
She appreciated it, even if it came late. At school, the other pupils whispered, and she steeled herself every time she walked into a room. But the apology, at least, had been real. At the cafe, the morning rush was winding down.
Roy was working the till, and the conversation drifted toward a client who’d just dropped them for another firm. Seven clients lost, and it was her own fault, all of it. She’d taken on a case she knew she shouldn’t have, and now the fallout was ruining the business. She couldn’t even pay herself a salary that month.
She was thinking about selling her car. Things are that bad, she admitted. Things are that bad. The bacon roll and the black coffee arrived like a small mercy.
Salt and fat, he said, the perfect combination in your current predicament. She almost smiled. Then the heaviest client of them all walked through the door, the one she’d begged them to take on in the first place. He wasn’t there to gloat, exactly.
He owed her an apology. I hope you lose, he said. No offense. None taken.
Maybe two things were going right after all. Annie King had called, asking to talk about the Shuttleworth case. One client who was still on board. Hallelujah.
Then her phone buzzed. Miles was back in the area. She’d seen him on the street earlier, hovering outside the shop like a stray dog that wouldn’t leave. He’d made it clear he planned to stick around.
Maybe if you’d flashed your badge instead of using brute force, came the remark, we’d have got rid of him by now. She didn’t have the energy for that fight. At least I’m not in prison, she said. Just try to ignore him.
He’ll get bored and move on. Easier said than done. The cafe survived the afternoon, just barely. But the tension followed them home.
Later, at the pub, the same faces gathered around the table, and the conversation turned to the race, the medal, the strange morning that had started with a man who couldn’t hear his alarm and ended with a bottle of fizz in his honor. For a few hours, it felt like the worst of it was behind them. But the worst of it was not behind them. The man with the wine came into the cafe with a woman on his arm, all cheer and smarm.
He asked how her holiday had been. She remembered him clearly. He was the one who’d shown up at the party uninvited and slipped his phone number into her hand. He’d been hanging around for days, telling her they were meant to be, charming her at the counter while her husband watched from the back.
She asked him to be polite about it. He wasn’t. I don’t remember being barred from this cafe, he said. You’re not, came the careful answer from behind the counter.
But perhaps another establishment might be more amenable to your presence. He turned to her, all “aren’t we having fun” energy. But when you’re harassing my wife, said her husband, stepping forward, there’s nothing fun about it. When did asking about a holiday become harassment?
the man demanded. The answer didn’t come in words. It came in a shove. It was barely a tap, really, but the man went sprawling backward, and then he was shouting about assault, and the police were called, and the whole thing was a mess with no clean end.
The charge won’t stick, she thought, and she was right. But he was warned. If it happened again, the charge would not just stick, it would take. And this time, he left.
On the phone, the argument with Mel went on too long. She knew her mother was only worried, but the worry came out as accusation. I know you’re his mother, she heard, but I didn’t want to upset you. The blame was starting to land on her now, and it wasn’t fair.
He’d been abused right on the main road, and no one had seen it. No one had stopped it. She’d been there, and she hadn’t been able to stop it. Look at me, he said, his hands on her shoulders.
This is not your fault. But she wasn’t sure she believed him. The last thing she saw that day was the medal, left behind at the pub. She caught Todd slipping out the back with Theo, and there was something about the way they moved together that said everything.
Summer saw it too. She’d found them, quick and red-faced, and the look on his face was enough. I can’t believe what’s just happened, he muttered. I wish she’d have found out we’re back together sooner or later.
She was going to find out anyway. Back together? She could feel the shape of it now. The broken months, the accusations, the way he’d let her go.
But standing in front of her, he wasn’t the man who’d messed up anymore. He was asking for another chance. These last few weeks without you, I’ve felt empty, he said. I know I’ve behaved badly.
I know I’ve messed up. But I can be a better man. Please, Todd. Please give me another chance.
I love you. She looked at him for a long moment. The afternoon light was fading. The medal was still in his hand, warm from where he’d held it.
I love you too, she said.
