Love Is a Thief (16 page)

‘You’re right, I’m sorry. It must be some kind of over-protective,
stop talking about my childhood friend
knee-jerk reaction, like an allergy, an allergic reaction to sexual talk about Peter Parker, like a Peter nut allergy, a pallery.’

‘Stop talking, Kat-kins. Stop talking. And please remember that warm-up is a time for contemplative thought and muscle preparation. Everybody knows that. It’s not a time for yelping and wailing. Shame on you!’ He stomped back to
Fat Camp
while I stood alone at the edge of the group. I could feel the eyes of
Fat Camp
burning into my back, probably trying to turn me into a Grow Puncture, bastards.

hyde park | 06:30

Peter Parker finally arrived. I say he arrived—he sprinted, at high speed, across the entire length of Hyde Park. I watched him approach. He ran like a racehorse; graceful, powerful and straight over to the perverted
Fat Campers
. He didn’t even come over to say hello. I went to wave but changed my mind halfway up.

‘Are we ready, ladies?’ he said, jogging on the spot. ‘Right, everyone down on the floor. We are going to do the same routine as yesterday: stretches, press-ups, squats, burpees then the 10K run.’ I had no idea what he was talking about but Federico signalled for me to get on the floor. I looked around to see
Fat Camp
had their legs in the air doing sit ups.

‘It’s muddy,’ I mouthed at Federico as he rolled his eyes and pretended he didn’t know me. The next thing I know I had been picked up and was once again being carried in the muscular arms of Peter Parker.

‘You are supposed to be working out, Kate,’ he said, walking me into the centre of the group, then kneeling down and slowly laying me out on the ground.

‘Peter, you always seem to be picking me up and carrying me somewhere.’

‘Carrying you metaphorically or literally? And you’re very light. It makes me look masculine and strong in front of all these ladies. It was you or Federico and he doesn’t smell as nice.’ He sat back on his heels, taking in my running outfit. ‘Do you like your presents? Does everything fit? Because it’s important to have the correct kit; good support for your feet and your—’ He looked at my boobs then stared at the sky.

‘Everything is the right size. Thank you.’

‘Do you understand the exercise routine?’

‘Not one bit.’

‘Then follow me,’ he said, about to jump to his feet, then stopping himself. ‘Oh, your strap is twisted,’ he said, leaning back down to straighten the strap of my perfectly fitting sports bra. He hovered above me as he fiddled with it, his face directly above mine, his lips mere inches from my face. When he’d finished he realised how close we were, but he didn’t pull away like a fridge magnet. He just looked down at me, exactly where he was. I found myself staring back, into his blue eyes, into Peter Parker. Then he leant down, very slowly, and very deliberately, and he kissed my cheek, lingering there, his face against mine, cheek to cheek. I could smell the washing powder on his clothes, his skin, his shampoo; it was like a Peter Parker scent explosion in my nose. My heart felt as if it were doing something calamitous
in my chest and I hoped to God Peter Parker couldn’t hear it. Then ‘TWENTY MORE, PEOPLE!’ was
screamed
in my ear and Peter jumped back up to his feet. ‘Then I want you all to sprint to the Serpentine and back. Last one back will have to do it all over again and you know I mean it.’ The
Fat Campers
started scrabbling to their feet. ‘Go! Go! Go! Go!!’ he yelled as they all sprinted off. But I lay completely still on the ground, staring up at the morning London sky. I touched my hand to my face where I could still feel his kiss; the kiss of Peter Parker, the boy who never smiles.

a friend in need

A
s the
Fat Campers
left with Federico to film their post-workout video diaries for
True Love
’s
YouTube
channel, Peter and I went to have coffee. We found an empty park bench. We sat down. He slung his arm along the back of the bench, absent-mindedly playing with the hood of my tracksuit. It made my neck tingle, wondering if at any moment his skin would touch mine. I’d only completed half the Boot Camp but had managed to end up sweaty and crazy-haired. I would have paid good money for a hand mirror, a hairbrush and a couple of minutes of privacy to smarten up. I wondered if I would ever look as glamorous as the sprinting, problem-solving goddess that is Anneka Rice. Peter didn’t look puffed out at all. He looked shower fresh, handsome and tall; a tingle-creating triathlete dressed in tiny swatches of
Nike
.

The reason I’d asked Peter Parker for coffee was work-related. I needed his advice and I hoped that today he would be as prolific and prophetic as Peter normally was.
But as he affectionately tucked some of my crazy hair-frizz behind my ears I struggled to focus on the work at hand and not on my overwhelming desire to throw myself on the ground on the off chance he’d give me another kiss. You see, I wanted to help someone who probably didn’t want my help. The someone in question was Jenny Sullivan. The chances of her listening to me were zero. So I needed another way, or more specifically I needed another brain. Because I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen that kiss. There was a code of conduct in
Liberty’s
Menswear Department and Jenny’s husband had crossed the line. I wish someone had helped me when Gabriel had crossed that line. I wish someone had stuck their oar in, given me their ten pennies’ worth, confirmed that the situation definitely wasn’t OK. So it was my duty to help Jenny Sullivan. It was my duty to help her help herself.

‘So just to clarify, Kate,’ Peter said calmly, taking a sip from his coffee. He was focused and handsome in a way I never seem to achieve—not that I want to be considered a
handsome lady
, just purposeful. ‘There is this nameless person—’ I decided anonymity would be professional; it’s what Anneka would have done ‘—and you have decided that you want to find a way to help change their life but make them think they decided upon this change themselves?’ Concise and brilliant.

‘Exactly, Peter,’ I said, nodding along with a smug smile. ‘That is exactly what I want to do.’

‘You want to change someone’s life because in your opinion
they would be happier living it a different way, in your opinion?’ That sounded a teeny bit more manipulative than I would have liked. ‘Even though they might actually be happy with the life that they have chosen for themselves.’ Is this how Hitler started?

‘The thing is, Peter, sometimes people are scared to admit what is staring them in the face. They’re scared of change; scared of the unknown. So they just need a bit of help taking the first step. I want to be the step.’ Hitler didn’t want to be a step. He wanted to be an all-powerful master of the human race.

‘So how are you going to show this nameless person the error of their ways? And what is it that you want them to change? What if they’re not capable of making a change? Or don’t want to?’

‘Well, what’s currently going on in their life is not to be envied; pretending everything is perfect and complete when clearly it’s messed up and empty. Just because you tell everyone a thousand times a day how great your life is doesn’t make it so. Sometimes it’s better to just throw your hands in the air and say, “I’m scared, I’m in pain, things really haven’t turned out the way I wanted them to and I don’t know what to do.” My mum always says, “Do unto others as you wish to have done to yourself,” so that’s what I’m trying to do.’

‘Your mum says that?’ He frowned and removed his arm from behind me. He looked out across the park. I also looked out across the park. We were like Greek philosophers, pondering, pausing, taking a moment and gazing. Move over, Socrates.

Peter turned to face me. ‘Is this about me, Kate?’

‘What?’

‘Because you think I should be living my life a different way?’ He was glaring at me. ‘Because I promise you, Kate, you know
nothing
about my life and you know
nothing
about the choices and circumstances that got me here.’

‘Peter, I never said that. I don’t think that, I just—’

‘And they were good choices,’ he said, nodding his head. ‘They were
really
good choices. Just because I am self-sufficient and self-contained doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with me. And under the circumstances there was no other way I could have been. And I like it, actually, I like who I am. I’m not frightened of change,’ he said, poking his own chest. ‘I make change. I am change!’ What the hell was he talking about? Where was this coming from? Where was it going? This didn’t feel like ancient prophetic Greece. It felt like the bloody crucifixion when Jesus got all strung up and it totally wasn’t his bloody fault. ‘And I have never once judged you, Kate, and your choices and mistakes. Yet you see fit to judge me and my life, like your vision of the world is the only correct one. I don’t even know why I am surprised really—’ He started packing up his sports kit ready to leave. ‘You, Winters, always think you know what’s best for other people, always do what the hell you want.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Kate, you can’t keep focusing on me like this. You can’t. You’ve been doing this since we were kids. Trying to save me or help me or change me. You need to take a step back. We both need to take a
big
step back. You need to focus
on your own issues, not constantly trying to piece me back together after Mum’s death. She died, OK. She died. I am over it. You need to get over it.’ He finished packing his bag, then sat staring out at the park. ‘I think it was mistake,’ he finally said, ‘to get back in touch with you. It was mistake.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘It’s not good for me.’

‘I’m
not good for you? Peter?’

He wouldn’t look at me. His jaw was clenched.

‘I hope everything continues to go well with your Love-Stolen Dreams column.’ He kissed me lightly on the cheek before getting up and walking off across the park. He didn’t even take his coffee with him, leaving it on the bench next to me.

‘Well, you really took the wind out of his sails!’ Chad said, appearing from literally nowhere and sitting himself down on the bench. ‘Although I can see his confusion. You didn’t exactly spell out that you were trying to help Jenny.’ I looked at him with surprise. ‘Federico likes to share,’ he qualified. ‘Although I’d rather he twatting didn’t. And she won’t appreciate your help, Kate. I can tell you that for free. She made her choice. She gave up one thing so she could have something else. Her husband, her marriage, it’s part of her twatting brand,
brand Jenny
. And she would stab her grandmother if it meant keeping her career on track. I wouldn’t want to be the person to take that down.’

‘I don’t want to take her down. I want to help her.’

‘The first thing you need to realise is that you can’t have it all, Kate. LSD should have shown you that. The magazine’s never been so successful because it’s impossible to
have it all. We don’t live in a twatting fairy tale, Kate, Jenny made her choice; she lives with his infidelity and she has the lifestyle and success she wants.’

‘I don’t believe you. I don’t believe this is what she wants and I don’t believe you can’t have it all.’

‘Well, she won’t appreciate your efforts, Kate, like a certain someone who’s been sat in our office since 7 a.m. this morning.’ He picked up Peter’s coffee and started gulping it down. ‘Those fatties are doing well, aren’t they?’ he said, leaning across me to grab a handful of my breakfast muffin.

‘You were watching Boot Camp?’

‘I watch all their training sessions, Kate. And don’t look so twatting surprised. I do give a twat what happens at my magazine. I tell you, my old mum would have loved this,’ he said, pointing at
Fat Camp
, who were laughing in the distance with the camera crews. ‘She was terrified of sport, didn’t want to look ridiculous in front of my old man. But if she’d had this, all these other ladies to be with, I think it would have made a difference. When you have money, Kate, you can always buy what you need: personal trainers, gym subscriptions, twatting therapists and dieticians. You can even buy love, or at least sex but it’s the same twatting thing. Money is the key to any lock. But without it, well, people need things like this. And I think
Fat Camp
have worked well hard. We should give them a treat, nothing sugary of course, something to make them feel glam.’

‘Did you just use the word
glam?’

‘Shut the fuck up, Kate.’

‘And what did you mean when you said someone’s been in the office since 7 a.m.?’

‘The husband of your dancing mate is in the office; waddles when he walks; always carries a tennis bag. Well, he’s in the office and he is well twatting annoyed with you.’

why can’t
I
give you all that you need!

boardroom | true love

A
s I walked into the office I could see Jane’s husband James in the boardroom. He was pacing up and down, occasionally picking up a handful of red
Haribo
, gobbling up a sweet per step, and Chad was right: he did look pretty angry.

‘I’ve got a bad knee, Katie! OK! A bad bloody knee! It’s my cruciate ligament. It could tear off my kneecap at any moment, just like that.’ He did a wild arm movement. ‘Just like that!! I can’t bloody dance, Katie, and now you’ve got my wife sneaking off twice a week to get all sweaty with some lech. They are competing in a bloody dance competition together! And every time I see the man he goes bright red and looks at the floor. Every time! He couldn’t look more guilty! Bloody pervert! Honestly, Katie, honestly, I thought you were a friend to us both. I can’t believe you arranged all this.’

‘James, she’s not sneaking off. She told you she was going. We both did. And she’s invited you to
all
the practices.
And I find it hard, no, impossible to believe that Julio is after Jane.’ What a drama queen.