Girl on the Run (43 page)

‘People will honour the donations,’ I reassure her.

‘That’s not what I meant. I’m just sorry you didn’t finish it – for you.’

‘Some things are more important than a daft race, aren’t they?’

Before she gets a chance to answer, the ambulance pulls in and we’re at the hospital. The next hour is a whirlwind of temperature-taking, monitors, doctors and nurses – who, it turns out, are concentrating more on making sure Heidi’s head injury isn’t serious than on the MS relapse that led to it. Eventually, Heidi is whisked off and I go outside to make a few calls.

The first is to Jess. I let her know why I’m not there, and she briefly fills me in on the fact that Adam turned up today after getting her message, assuming she would be running in the half-marathon.

Their conversation was brief, snatched sentences shielded from Jamie’s ears, but Adam ended it by whispering: ‘If it’s all right by you, I’d like to come by this evening.’

‘Are you collecting your things?’ she asked him.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I just miss you.’

They have one hell of a lot of talking to do, of that there’s no doubt. But at least they’re talking. And I’m praying that leads to the right conclusion.

My next call is to Priya, to update her on Heidi’s condition. She’s with Matt in a taxi on the way to the hospital and is beside herself. I can hear Matt trying to calm her down in the background, but to little avail.

‘Priya, please don’t worry. I’m not going to let her out of my sight,’ I reassure her.

‘Abby, you’re going to have to,’ she replies. ‘You’re due to fly to Paris in less than an hour.’

Oh God. Paris. Daniel. I’d forgotten about both.

‘Daniel has taken your bag to the airport and has said you should go straight there from the hospital. Give him a ring on the way if you get a chance. Matt and I will be there in less than five minutes to take over.’

‘Okay,’ I say firmly.

I’m about to put down the phone when Priya stops me again. ‘Oh, Abby? That guy from Caro and Company was looking for you.’

‘Caro and Company?’

‘Yeah – not Jim Broadhurst, the other one. He said he was in the running club with you.’

I hear myself gasp. ‘Tom.’

‘That’s him! He seemed very eager to see you. I told him where you were and he went all funny. I hope I haven’t done anything wrong.’

I look up at the precise moment that a tall, dark man turns the corner of the hospital grounds and strides purposefully in my direction as he removes his motorcycle helmet.

‘No, Priya,’ I say as my heart thrashes in my chest. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’

But I have no idea whether that’s true or not.

‘What are you doing here?’

I’d like to say I ask the question with an air of cool and calm indifference. Instead, I am as giddy as a first-time parachutist – and not entirely confident that I’m capable of forming a coherent sentence.

‘I wanted to come and say hello.’ His face is stern, as if fearing my response.

‘What for?’ I ask, before I have a chance to think.

‘I don’t know exactly.’ He frowns as if this is as much a mystery to him as it is to me. ‘It’s just been so long since we’ve spoken, and . . . when I saw you today . . . at the risk of repeating myself . . . I’m not some sort of stalker but . . .’

I can’t help but smile, not least because seeing Tom less than composed is a strange experience.

‘I want to be friends again, Abby,’ he says finally.

I realise I’m holding my breath as I look intently in his eyes.

‘That’s possible, isn’t it?’ he continues. ‘Even if you don’t have feelings for me. Even though you’ve got a boyfriend.’

‘Friends?’ I manage, through trembling lips.

‘I want you to know,’ he says, ‘that you have nothing to worry about.’

‘Don’t I?’ I reply, my voice spontaneously rising by an octave.

‘I have no intention of trying to win you over.’

‘Haven’t you?’

‘Absolutely none,’ he replies, clearly believing this to be reassuring. ‘Much as I once thought I’d like to.’

I freeze at his last words. ‘What?’

‘But I would like to resume our friendship. If that’s okay by you.’ He studies my face. ‘Are you all right?’

The knot of emotion in my stomach unravels as I gaze into his eyes. ‘Tom,’ I say. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

We are interrupted by a clatter of footsteps and I look up to see Priya and Matt running towards us.

‘Where is she?’ Priya demands.

‘Oh, Heidi’s with a doctor in one of the rooms off the reception,’ I reply. ‘The nurses said she’d come and tell us when we could go back in.’

‘Right,’ says Priya anxiously. ‘Right.’ Then she looks at her watch. ‘ABBY! You’ve got to go!’

‘What?’

‘Daniel’s waiting for you! At the airport! God, Abby . . . a taxi’s never going to get you there on time at this rate.’

Matt looks at the clock. ‘Priya’s right, Abby. You’re cutting it horribly fine.’

I glance at my phone and register that there are two missed calls from Daniel’s number, and a voicemail that he must have left while I was speaking to Jess and Priya.

I look up at Tom, his words spinning round my head. ‘It’s too late,’ I announce, desperate to continue my conversation with him – and to hell with the repercussions. ‘I’ll have to phone Daniel and tell him I’ll never make it. A taxi won’t get me there fast enough.’

‘A taxi won’t,’ Tom says, grabbing me by the hand. ‘But I will.’

‘What do you mean?’ I say, struggling to keep up as we march across the hospital grounds.

‘I mean,’ he turns and grins, ‘that you’re about to have your first ride on a motorbike.’

My inner thighs press tightly against Tom’s buttocks, a position that could, to anybody not witnessing it, sound absolutely delightful.

Delightful, however, it is not.

As his motorbike darts between cars, whizzes round corners and whooshes through amber lights, I couldn’t feel less relaxed if I was on a blind date with Hannibal Lecter.

As Tom circumnavigates a roundabout – with precisely no regard for the speed limit – I wish that his vehicle of choice had been a golf buggy. Yet as my arms grip his muscular torso, my helmet-clad head pressed against his back, a plethora of other thoughts crash through my mind.

About this journey being horrible. And terrible. And just plain wrong. Yet, I must admit, there are moments when it’s also electrifying. And – particularly when I close my eyes and feel the contours of Tom’s body against mine – it is undeniably, gloriously . . .
right
.

My rush from being on the bike is one thing: that I can feel every muscle in Tom’s torso contract and release as he moves is another. And that’s before we get onto my emotions, pinging from one extreme to another.

First, repeatedly, there’s my fear that we’re about to crash, or I’ll fall off, or something horrific will happen. It’s a feeling I simply cannot shake, no matter how many times Tom reassures me.

Then there is desperate, unquenchable longing – a wish to end all wishes – that this isn’t going to be the last time I’m this close to him. No matter how much I try, I cannot accept the idea of him not being a valid part of my future.

Then my mind races to Daniel – lovely, perfect Daniel; the innocent in this tangled mess – who’s waiting at the airport for me, ready to treat me to a weekend in Paris. To treat me as every woman wants to be treated. How
I
want to be treated.

And in the middle of it all are Tom’s words. ‘I have no intention of trying to win you over. Much as I
once
thought I’d like to.’

So . . . he once wanted me – but now he doesn’t? Does that mean he could again?

‘Which terminal?’ asks Tom, looking back for a second.

‘First,’ I gulp, gripping tighter.

The motorbike pulls into the drop-off point. Being static should, in theory, calm my hyperactive nervous system, but it does nothing of the sort. As Tom takes off his helmet, helping me dismount, my legs are like jelly.

‘Thank you,’ I mutter, removing my helmet and handing it to him.

He nods. ‘Pleasure,’ he replies, then says nothing.

We stand looking at each other. Then I glance in the airport terminal and see Daniel pacing up and down next to our luggage, looking at his watch.

‘You’d better go,’ Tom urges.

I nod, but can’t say anything. Anything at all.

I turn to head for the terminal, knowing that this is the only decent thing to do. I simply cannot stand up a man at the airport when he’s about to whisk me to Paris. I couldn’t live with myself.

I head to the revolving doors, trying desperately to suppress the tears in my eyes. I am inches from entering them when I feel a hand on my arm.

‘Abby,’ says Tom urgently. ‘Come over here. I’ve got to tell you something. I’ve got to get something off my chest.’ He pulls me to the side of the building, where we’re out of sight of the main windows. ‘Look, it’s no good.’

I gulp. ‘What’s no good?’

He takes a deep breath. ‘For months, I’ve been pretending this hasn’t been happening. I can’t go on any longer. And while I stand by what I said about not wanting to do anything dishonourable, I cannot watch you fly off somewhere with another man without telling you how I feel.’

I can barely catch my breath. ‘How
do
you feel?’

He looks away and laughs. ‘I got this horribly wrong last time I tried to tell you, so this time, I’m going to be absolutely clear.’

‘Y-yes?’

His jaw locks, as if a part of him is still holding back. Then, with blazing eyes, he grabs both of my hands. ‘I love you.’

‘W-what?’ I manage.

‘I love you, Abby.’ He smiles widely, as if simply saying it is a weight off his shoulders. ‘I can’t actually believe how much I love you.’

‘Really?’

He nods. ‘Look, you have a boyfriend waiting in there. And I . . . I don’t know what the answer is. But I do know something. The way I feel at the moment, I don’t want to spend another minute of my life without you.’

I gaze into his eyes and think about my choice.

Tom or Daniel.

The decision comes to me with absolute clarity. There really is no other option.

‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ I say. ‘But I’m afraid you’re going to have to.’

Tom’s face drops.

‘What I mean is – just for one minute,’ I say hastily. ‘Not a moment longer. I want you to wait here. Don’t move, Tom. I mean it.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he replies as I sprint away.

Daniel can tell something’s not right the second he sees me.

‘Abby,’ he smiles uneasily. ‘You made it in time.’

‘Yes,’ I manage.

‘I didn’t wait in the check-in queue,’ he continues. ‘It’s gone right down now so we should be able to get there straight away.’

‘Right,’ I reply, dropping my eyes. ‘The thing is, Daniel—’

‘Don’t,’ he interrupts softly, looking into my eyes.

‘What?’

‘You don’t have to say anything, Abby,’ he whispers. ‘You’re not coming, are you?’

I close my eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He breathes out. ‘There’s somebody else.’ It isn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

‘I haven’t been seeing anyone while we’re together,’ I tell him, ‘but . . . yes, there is.’

‘Tom?’ he asks.

I frown. ‘How did you . . .?’

‘You talk in your sleep,’ he smiles gently. ‘That day you fell asleep on my sofa . . .’

I’m about to say something else, when the tannoy announces the final call for the flight.

‘I’d better go – I’ve still got my meeting in Paris. And you’d better have your luggage back.’ He hands me my bag.

‘Thank you, Daniel.’ I kiss him on the cheek. ‘Have a good trip, and . . . take care, won’t you? I mean that.’

As Daniel heads towards the check-in desk, I race outside, my suitcase trundling behind me. I go as fast as I can with a large piece of luggage in my hand, as a terrifying thought overwhelms me – that Tom might not be there.

But as I emerge from the doors, he’s standing next to his motorbike. He looks up and walks towards me, looking every bit as gorgeous as he did the first time I saw him a year ago. In fact, a million times more – particularly given that he isn’t unconscious this time.

I drop my case to the ground and stand on my tiptoes to fling my arms around him. He looks in my eyes and moves his mouth towards mine; I can taste his sweet breath before we’re even touching.

When we kiss – for the very first time since I gave him mouth-to-mouth in the car park – it’s the most exhilarating experience of my life. It goes on for ever and is over in a flash.

Then I move my lips to his ear and whisper, ‘I love you too. But is there any chance we can get a taxi home?’

I wouldn’t have blamed Daniel if he’d never spoken to me again. Yet, being the thoroughly lovely sort he is, he called in at the office a month later to tell me that one of his clients was looking for a web-design company.

I wasn’t in so Heidi took a message – the mention of which provokes the same response from Matt every time: ‘That’s not all he took, from what I heard.’

The remark is as mischievous as it is misleading, for Heidi and Daniel’s relationship is no light-hearted fling. They are as smitten as two lovebirds fed a diet of aphrodisiacs – and it’s lovely to see. As for the MS, Heidi’s relapse ended as suddenly as it came about a week later. She’s now in remission, on various drugs, and feels totally normal again.

Of course, the fact that the relapses are getting worse and lasting longer isn’t great news, something of which she’s only too aware. But determination oozes from Heidi’s every pore, and she completely refuses to let the disease beat her. She’s constantly telling me what an inspiration the other members of her MS support group are. I don’t think she realises that that’s exactly what she is herself.

Priya and Matt are still dating. It’s been four months, which in Priya’s words is not just a record, but a miracle. Yet, now they’re together, you can’t imagine them apart. Matt is as perfect for Priya as her luminous hair – and, after another power cut in the office last week, long may that continue.