Page 33 of Wish You Were Here
‘How hard can it be?’ she replies, and we start jogging again, and we both quickly realise as we approach mile two that actually, it can be quite fucking hard. We start walking again, puffing and panting. ‘I should probably quit smoking.’
‘Oh, right, yes, probably.’
‘And eating out every day.’
‘You eat out every day?’ I ask.
‘Pretty much. I hate cooking, and my flatmate isn’t much of a cook either.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘Currently single,’ she says, and I get a momentary pang of excitement. She’s single, isn’t a runner, attractive and needs a man who can cook. Tick, tick, tick and tick!
‘Do you live nearby, Ruth?’
‘Not really.’
‘Somewhere else in London?’ I ask, hoping she isn’t too far away. At least let it be south of the river. I would happily take a Bromley, a Sidcup, or at a push, Orpington.
‘Bristol.’
‘As in, Bristol, Bristol? West of England, Bristol?’
‘The very one.’
‘But I thought you were on your couch this morning?’
‘My brother’s couch. I’m up for the weekend visiting, but I live in Bristol. I moved there for university and never left.’
‘Oh, right, cool,’ I say, and that’s another one that can’t go anywhere. If I am not prepared to travel across the other side of London for love, I am certainly not going to travel across the country. It’s possible, but why start something with someone you know is going to be difficult and will eventually mean one of you having to uproot your entire life? As I think this, I immediately think about Saskia, but this isn’t really the same or fair because she lives across the world. If Saskia lived in Bristol,I would be there in a heartbeat. I would move to Bristol, adopt a Bristol accent and start supporting Bristol City.
As Ruth and I seem to be getting on well, and we are clearly at the same fitness level, I decide to walk/jog the rest of the way with her. Clearly, meeting women at parkrun isn’t the best idea, no matter what Will says. Ruth and I walk the last mile together before we cross the finish line in a time of forty-seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Will apparently had time to get a coffee and is waiting for me just after the finish line. I say goodbye to Ruth, wishing her luck on her couch to 5k journey, and then Will and I head off to get breakfast together.
‘So,’ says Will. ‘Any luck with the ladies?’
‘I don’t think parkruns are going to lead to love, mate.’
‘Sorry to hear that, but worth a punt.’
‘It has definitely reconfirmed my belief that I am not a runner.’
‘Amen to that because I had to wait twenty-five minutes for you to finish,’ says Will, and we walk off towards a nearby cafe – a sharp pain in both knees, tight hamstrings and a strange ache in my shoulder – and all I want right now is a large coffee and a full English breakfast. So far my search for love has encapsulated two blind dates and a parkrun, and has elicited exactly zero romance. It makes me think and wonder about Saskia even more – is it possible that despite the distance between us, she might somehow beThe One?
14
Saskia
I have been instructed to meet Brad at Lavender Bay, which is just across the other side of the harbour by Luna Park, at eight-thirty on Saturday morning. I have no idea what we’re doing, but I’m excited about it – although a little nervous too. I haven’t been on an actual date in a very long time. My love life over the last ten years has been a series of shit but short relationships, a number of meaningless one-night-stands, and so as I approach thirty, I am beginning to wonder when I am going to have a decent boyfriend. I am ready for a grown-up relationship. I know I told Lou that I am off men for the time being, but I think what I actually meant is that I am done with pointless sex. I want something meaningful, mature and maybe Brad is going to be it. Perhaps this date is just the beginning of a long and magical relationship. Although as I’m standing at the meeting spot, he’s ten minutes late and I begin to wonder whether I have been stood up. However, as I wonder whether to call Brad, I see him walking quickly towards me, holding two travel mugs of, I assume, coffee.
‘Sorry I’m late, Sas. It took me longer to get here than I thought, and the coffee was—’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’re here now,’ I say, looking at Brad, who looks ridiculously gorgeous in his designer workout clothes.He told me to wear workout gear or something comfortable, and so, of course, I had to go out and buy a whole new outfit. The only gym clothes I had were from about five years ago, when I thought I should try to get in shape, bought a bunch of stuff – not that sexy – joined an expensive gym – locked in for two years, good choice, Sas – and then stopped going after six months.
‘You look hot, Sas. Those gym clothes are really working for you,’ says Brad, a glint of something in his eyes, which makes me blush.
‘Thanks, you too,’ I say, trying to play it cool, as he passes me a coffee. Everything he is wearing is skin tight, so you can see all his rippling muscles, and it all looks high end, so despite the fact he’s in his workout gear, he looks like he’s about to pose for a fashion shoot. I might look the part in my brand new – and quite expensive – gym ensemble, but I hope I don’t actually have to work out. Looking fit and being fit are two very different things. ‘So, Brad, what are we doing?’
‘Follow me,’ he says with a mysterious smile, then he grabs my hand and we walk along Lavender Bay until we arrive at a kayak tour company. ‘We’re going to kayak the harbour!’
