May 2024

I slip on my Nike running shoes and tie them in a double knot, there’s something I find weirdly, so satisfactory about tying my shoe laces. There’s a bang from the kitchen which makes me jump. I groan; Emma, my adoptive Mum is faffing about in the kitchen behind me, getting everything ready for later. There are lots of plates of food already set out on the dining room table wrapped in cling film. Her kitchen aid mixer is whirring, probably whipping up cream. I’m twenty-six today, twenty-bloody-six and Emma insisted on having a party, it’s the last thing I want really.

‘Just heading out for a run, I’ll only be twenty minutes or so,’ I say.

There’s a clatter of cutlery on china. ‘You’re going out for a run, now?’ Emma says, her voice rising in pitch.

I glance over my shoulder. She’s staring at me; a strand of her brown curly hair falls over her left eye. ‘Yeah, I’ll be back soon.’

‘But, Danielle, people will be arriving at twelve, and you’ll want to have a shower and get changed before everyone arrives.’ Her voice comes out thick and fast.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. ‘That’s not for another couple of hours. I’m only going to go once round the village.’

Before she has the chance to protest further, I open the front door and slip out onto the driveway, gravel crunching under my feet. At least Michael wasn’t with her to insist I needed to stick around to help out; Emma sent him out to the shops ten minutes ago, after panicking we wouldn’t have enough booze, and I’m sure we have more than enough. We always do, Emma and Michael have a glass of wine most nights.

I eye the puddles ahead of me on the road. The sun’s only just starting to peak through the cloud cover now. I begin to break into a steady jog. Like I’ve been doing for the past few weeks, I glance at the house being built on the left hand side as I pass it, even though not much progress has been made.

Callum, my best friend from when we were both ten-years-old, is waiting for me at the top of the road, already jogging up and down on the spot. He’s wearing his black Adidas gym top and grey sports trousers I got him for Christmas last year, when we both committed to start up running; he only lives round the corner. He salutes me as I approach, his hand brushing his floppy, blonde strands of hair, and begins jogging up and down on the spot. 

‘Happy birthday,’ he says, grinning. ‘I have got you something, but will bring it round later.’

I roll my eyes. ‘God, if someone says happy birthday to me again, I’m going to scream.’

‘C’mon, you’re the birthday girl, supposed to be the centre of attention.’

‘I’ve no idea why Emma bloody insists on having a party every year, I’d much rather go away for my birthday, or just do a nice quiet family meal somewhere,’ I say sighing.

He shrugs. ‘Maybe the party is more for her; she must hate the thought of you growing up.’

We continue to jog further up the road, passing the lily pod covered pond on the left; I sometimes take my lunch with me and sit on the bench beside it for half an hour, if the weather’s nice. It’s sometimes nice to sit on the bench there with Callum and talk about life. ‘Perhaps, I know every time I talk about the possibility of moving out she goes really quiet.’

‘It’s gonna be hard for them, maybe more so for Emma. Have you managed to have a look at any more flats?’

I shake my head. ‘Nope, I’ve been too busy with this new commission I had come in last week; this guy’s been sending me all this info he wants on his website left right and centre and I have to try and tell him, that it’ll just make his site look clunky, without trying to come across as sounding frustrated. The last picture I got from him, that he wants on it, was the rear end of a sheep, who’s gonna want to look at that?’

Callum laughs. ‘I take it he runs a farm?’

‘Nah, he runs a five star hotel in London,’ I reply grinning, narrowly avoiding a boggy patch of grass. In the distance church bells begin to chime.

‘Well, you’ll always figure out what to do, I’m sure. Hey here’s a thought, perhaps we should get a place together,’ Callum suggests. ‘That’ll be a laugh.’

‘Are you serious? Every time I go into your room at yours it’s like a bombs hit it, there’s no way I’d be able to cope with the mess.’ A woman strolls past us walking a chocolate Labrador and smiles.

‘Oh c’mon, it would be amazing living together, I promise, hand on heart I’ll clear up after myself. It’ll be different for me once I’m in my own place.’

We reach the top of the road. The Old King’s Head pub is to my right; the wooden sign with its name and a grisly looking portrait of Henry VIII creaks in the breeze. I stop. ‘Actually d’you mind if we grab a quick coffee?’ I ask.

‘Sure.’

We slip into the pub, the door squeaks as I push it open, and a waft of garlic reaches me from the kitchen. I keep my head bent low to avoid the Tudor beams on the ceiling; there’s been more than one occasion, when Michael’s had one too many in here, and he’s whacked his head on the beams trying to leave. It’s actually open for breakfast, although there are only a couple of people inside. We choose a table close to the bar. On the wall to my right, two old coins, from the 16th century, found in the pub, are hanging in a frame. Every time I look at it, it makes me think of what this place must’ve been like hundreds of years ago when it was a coaching inn.

‘Two cappuccino’s please,’ I say as we sit down, smiling at the barman.

‘Sure thing,’ the barman, Jordan, his name is, he’s been working here for as long as I can remember, replies. ‘How’s things with you, Danielle? Last time we spoke, you were talking about training for the London marathon; I kept looking out to see if you needed sponsors.’

I feel my cheeks blush. ‘Oh God, that never happened, it would’ve only given me a couple of months to prepare, think I was living in a fantasy world. I’ve been keeping myself busy though, works driving me mad. I keep saying to Emma and Michael that we need to come up here for a meal one night, it’s been ages.’

‘It’s actually her birthday today,’ Callum says leaning back in his seat.

‘Callum,’ I hiss at him.

‘Oh of course, I should’ve realised. Coffees on me,’ Jordan says. ‘Oh and you’ve got to have a piece of chocolate brownie, it’s just come out of the oven.’

‘Oh no you don’t have to do that,’ I say, resisting the urge to glare at Callum.

‘No, no, you guys have given us plenty of tips over the years, it’s the least we can do.’ He plonks two coffees on the table. ‘Enjoy.’

‘Thank you, anyway.’ God my cheeks are still burning from embarrassment. I wrap my hand around the cappuccino. ‘And we best not have any brownie, Emma’s doing a bit of spread for later, but thanks anyway.’

‘So, why don’t we consider it, you know, us living together?’ Callum takes a sip of his drink. ‘We don’t have to look for a place round here; I’ve heard Billericay isn’t too bad for prices. If we start looking now we might have a place by Christmas. Billericay’s got easy access into London hasn’t it, which’ll be great.’

I laugh. ‘You’re living in a fairy tale if you think that’s gonna be possible. But yeah I’ll think about it.’

‘Well, you know my parents have always said they’ll help me when I move out, so that’ll be a plus; we could always rent somewhere first, just to see how we get on living together.’

‘Ex-cuesme.’ The back of my neck prickles. Someone’s standing behind me. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but its Danielle, isn’t it?’

I spin around. A man with sandy brown hair; he must be in his mid to late forties, is standing behind me. He’s wearing a burgundy jacket, jeans and a blue shirt. I frown, there’s something about him that’s sort of familiar. I look him up and down, but I can’t place him. He might just remind me of someone. ‘Yeah, it is, who are you?’

‘I hope you don’t mind, but I saw you earlier and thought I’d just pop by and see how you’re doing.’ He edges closer to our table.

I stare at him. ‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ I say, not meaning to snap, but I can’t help it.

‘Um, no, not exactly, but I wanted to talk to you about your family . . .’

‘Oh God, you’re a journalist,’ I say, slumping in my seat.

He shakes his head vigorously. ‘No, no I’m not, I’m a . . .’

‘Actually mate, I think you need to sling your hook. Can’t you see how uncomfortable she is?’ Callum says, straightening up in his seat, like he’s preparing to land a punch on the bloke. God, the last thing I want is for there to be a scene.

‘Please, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,’ the guy protests, holding his hands out.

‘Mate, piss off,’ Callum says.

I’m aware now Jordan’s watching us from the bar, wiping up a cup with a tea towel. God, the last thing I want is for there to be a scene. The guy mutters something under his breath before he shuffles out of the pub, slamming the door behind him, which makes dust fall from the ceiling.

‘Everything OK?’ Jordan asks.

I smile. ‘Yeah, fine.’ Callum’s looking at me. ‘I’m fine, Callum.’

I relax into my seat, but no matter how hard I try I can’t get what the guy said out of my head: please, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.