Nearly Almost Somebody (30 page)

He smiled. ‘You ready?’

He took her hand and dragged her across the road into the studio. When she pulled back, trying to flee, he tightened his grip. The girl behind the counter directed them upstairs where Jane Knight was in the office, doing paperwork.

‘Hi Jane, this is Libby.’ He gently pushed Libby in front of him, his hands resting on her shaking shoulders.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she whispered.

‘It’s okay. Clara explained.’ Jane stood up, eyeing him with suspicion. ‘Hello Patrick.’

And this was why he hadn’t intervened until Robbie rang. Jane, like Clara, would put two and two together and make up the rest.

‘What would you like to do, Libby?’ Jane asked, but Libby was already staring into the studio, mesmerised.

‘Can I go in?’

She didn’t wait for an answer, but walked into the studio, gazing around as if she’d found Kansas again. Patrick watched through the round window in the door, smiling as she started peeling off layers to reveal she was already dressed in the Flashdance black leotard.

‘Is she what’s keeping you on the straight and narrow?’ Jane asked.

‘She’s nothing to do with me, just a friend.’ His phone rang. Grateful for the excuse, he walked away.

By the time he was off the phone, rescued from an afternoon with small animals by a lame bull, Libby was dancing. Jesus Christ, she really was a ballet dancer. Even though he’d seen the photos he’d not really believed it, not to this extent. For a good ten minutes, he stood mesmerised as she leapt and twirled on the tips of her toes, as graceful as a fairy.

‘She’s very good. Out of practice and her feet will hurt tomorrow, but very good. I have friends at the English National Ballet and I made some enquiries. She had great potential, would have made principal. She’s a turner.’ Jane smiled at his confused expression. ‘Her speciality is turning, doing pirouettes, manéges, fouettés, just like that.’

Libby’s skin glistened with sweat, her muscles taut as she span through twenty or so turns. Then suddenly, she stopped dead and burst into tears.

No, no, no. Don’t cry. This was supposed to fix you.

‘You don’t look as though she’s nothing to do with you,’ Jane said. ‘And about time too. Your mother worries about you.’

‘I have to go,’ Patrick said, still loitering. ‘Don’t tell her I watched.’

Jane smiled, clearly amused, but went into the studio.

‘Miss it?’ she asked Libby.

Libby nodded. ‘I need to start dancing again. I know I’m crying, but I’m actually happy. I can’t believe I’ve avoided it for this long.’

‘You needed some time. I stopped for five years after Juliet was born.’

‘Please, can I come to class?’

‘Of course.’ Jane studied her. ‘What else? Do you want to teach?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘We’re putting on the Nutcracker next month. I could do with some help marshalling the girls around. Would you like to help?’ When Libby nodded, Jane smiled. ‘Good. Now, I’ll let you off for today, but if you want to dance here, you will look like a ballerina. The eye make-up has to go and a fringe that long will need to be pinned back. You were a professional dancer so I expect you to set a good example to the girls. Barre?’

Libby nodded, wiping her eyes, and Patrick left her to it, his good deed done.

* * *

Libby knocked on Patrick’s door, her smile still in place from the forty minutes of punishment Jane had subjected her to. Between Jane and Xander, she’d end up fitter than ever.

Patrick answered, his expression blank, as if he had no idea why she might be standing on his doorstep. Libby’s smile fell. He’d gone out of his way to help her, but now he shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly not inviting her in.

‘I just wanted to say thank you, for today.’

He didn’t react.

‘I’m... I’m going to start class again and help out with the ballet they’re putting on at Christmas.’ She blushed, she shouldn’t have come. ‘Anyway, sorry to… just, thanks.’

Her cheeks burned as she walked away, but she held her head high. What was wrong with him? Clearly he didn’t like her, so why did he keep being nice?

* * *

‘But all she does is run.’

The frustrated voice, the high-pitch of the last word did little to alleviate Michael Wray’s worries.

‘You don’t have anything?’

‘No.’

‘Her and McBride?’

‘He really doesn’t like her.’

‘Pity. They’d be big money. Readers love her. Readers love him. Get the scoop on them and it’ll be double what it was for the Goldings.’

Fifteen miles.

Libby lay in a field behind the Miller’s Arms in Gosthwaite Mills, the panorama surrounding her line of vision took in almost the entire route – the climbs, the descents, the streams, the walls.

Fifteen miles. Twenty-five kilometres. Seven check points. Five peaks.

And two thousand metres of climbing.

It all added up to approximately three hours and forty-five minutes of sheer hell. Less if she wanted to beat Grace’s record. Xander’s record was three hours twenty, but he wasn’t looking to beat that this year. His goal was to help Libby round in a new women’s record time – he wanted to punish Grace for the newspaper quote as much as Libby did.

Positives. The weather was perfect. Cool, but not freezing. Barely any wind. Overcast skies, so no need for sunglasses. She was fitter than she’d been in years, if not ever. Her ankle and core muscles had never felt so strong. She glanced down at her stomach, where she’d pinned her number. Twenty-four. Her age. Perfect.

Ninety-three entrants, fifteen women, but only one mattered – Grace. She stood chatting to some of the other members of the Haverton Harriers, all easily identifiable in their royal blue running tops.

‘How’s life now you’re dancing again?’

Libby opened her eyes to see Patrick standing a few feet away holding an ancient collie on a lead. Not Patrick, not now. She didn’t get him. Hot, cold, hot, cold. How could he go out of the way to drag her into the dance studio then not speak to her later the same day?

‘It’s good.’ She held out her hand to the collie, who limped towards her, licking her hand.

‘This is Baxter.’

‘Hello, Baxter. You have a dog?’

‘Sort of. How were you the next day? Jane said your feet would hurt. I’m not surprised. Standing on your tip toes like that can’t be right.’

‘It’s called
en pointe
and my feet were agony, but bizarrely, I miss the pain.’ She frowned at him. ‘You watched?’

‘Only for a bit. I got called away,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve never seen a ballet dancer in real life, impressive.’

‘Well, thanks for making me go in.’ She didn’t get him, didn’t get him at all.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Now, why couldn’t you have said that when I came round? Two words? Anything would’ve done. You’re so bloody rude sometimes.’

‘I had company. It wasn’t a good time for a doorstep chat.’

Was that his best apology? Company? Some girl no doubt. ‘Whatever. I need to focus.’

‘You look worried.’ Patrick crouched down, stroking Baxter. ‘It’s only a race, Libs.’

‘It’s fifteen miles of uphill struggle.’

‘You know you don’t have to finish. Or win. No one will think any less of you.’

‘If you think it’s the taking part that matters, you clearly didn’t listen to the ballet story.’

He smiled. ‘You’ve never done this before. Grace has.’

‘You don’t think I can do it.’ Libby sat up, appalled. ‘God, not since my dad thought I’d never... Screw you. I will do this.’
Or die bloody trying.

At the start, Libby’s desire to throw up intensified. Grace stood six feet away, looking calm, focussed and every bit the professional fell runner. Like Libby, she had her hair in a single plait, her fringe pinned off her face. Grace was probably carrying a stone more than Libby, but all of it as muscle. How the hell had she got so fit so quickly?

Xander rubbed her shoulders. ‘Stop looking at Grace and relax. Once you start running, you’ll be fine, Wilde.’

Libby stared straight ahead, trying to focus on the race organiser wittering about checkpoints and full body cover, but the blood pumping in her ears drowned out his words. The pistol fired.

She ran.

Once the start melee thinned out, Libby and Xander were where they wanted to be, in the front quarter of the pack. From here Xander’s plan was to chip away, using their quicker pace to put a gap between them and Grace. Libby would need it. She and Xander could maintain a faster pace for longer, but he’d warned her Grace always upped her pace at the end and if Libby was less than half a kilometre ahead of her when she reached Lum Crag, Grace would win. Xander had it all worked out.

One, two, three. One, two, three. The carefully chosen music on her iPod worked to keep her pace even. She’d maintain the same rhythm, only changing the length of her stride to match inclines. How could Patrick think she couldn’t do this? Because he knew she’d failed before. Well, not this time.

The lactic burn in her thighs wasn’t the worst it’d ever been, but heading up Black Fell, it wasn’t far off. Eight other runners were in front of Libby and Xander, but Grace was the required half a kilometre behind. Ten miles had gone. Libby had mud splatters up to her knees and a graze on her left elbow from stumbling over rocks. She checked her watch – still on target and feeling good. She could do this.

She leapt up onto a stile, vaulting over the top and landing on the grass, already running. Behind her, Xander swore. He bent over, clutching his side.

‘What happened?’ she asked, switching her iPod off.

‘Stitch. And it isn’t going away.’ He jogged on, his face set in a grim frown.

Their pace slowed but they ran on, heading up to the peak of Black Fell towards the fifth check point. A patch of scree slowed them further, twice making Xander mutter under his breath.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

He didn’t answer, but glanced up at the cairn. Fifty metres to go. A runner overtook them.

‘Xand?’ she asked, concerned by his increasingly pale face.

‘Just get to the checkpoint,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll have to retire. I can get a lift from here.’

Libby’s nausea returned. ‘But–’

‘You keep running.’

‘I can’t do this by myself.’

‘Yes you can. You know the route. You’re on time.’

Libby shook her head. ‘Not without you. I’ll get lost. I’ll never find the right route down from the Crag.’ Twice she’d buggered it up in training, not spotting the gap in the rocks that led to a wall gap where the drop on the other side was only a couple of feet instead of ten. Instead she’d had to detour to reach the stile.

At the summit, Xander struggled towards the checkpoint, looking ahead to the runners already on their way to the fourth peak.

‘Okay, new plan. See the Haverton Harriers runner, three in front of us?’

Libby narrowed her eyes, but nodded. ‘Isn’t that Mike Robb, last year’s champion?’

‘Go catch him up.’

‘I can’t–’

‘Yes, you can. You’re faster uphill. He’ll leave you for dust going downhill, but if you can get somewhere near him going up the Crag, you’ll be able to follow his route to the wall. Watch him.’

The checkpoint loomed. She could retire too.

‘Wilde, you can do this. You have an hour left. You got the legs?’

She nodded.

‘Don’t kill yourself, but catch him up. You can get the guy in front of us by the time you get to the bottom of the Pike. Then focus on the guy in front of him. Aim to catch Mike Robb by the top of the Pike. Stick with him across the ridge to the Crag.’

‘I’ll get lost and die.’

‘You’ve got your GPS watch on. I’ll track you on Daisy’s laptop.’

She paused, sticking her dibber into the reader and thanking the marshals.

‘You can do this, Wilde.’ Xander kissed the top of the head. ‘Now go. Grace will up her pace at this point and she’s less than half a K behind you.’

Libby hesitated.

‘For fuck’s sake, Wilde. Run!’

Shit. She strode away, switching her iPod back on as she focussed on the lime green vest of the runner in front of her.

Your ass is mine.

The ground disappeared under long, easy strides as she enjoyed the gentle, grassy descent. The lactic burn eased and she took a small drink, her confidence boosted by the quickly diminishing gap between her and the lime green vest.

She’d prove Patrick wrong. She’d prove Grace wrong. She’d prove she wasn’t a quitter. Not anymore.

She passed the first runner way before the bottom of the Pike, and target two was only twenty metres in front when she started the next uphill. A glance down to her left showed Grace sprinting down from checkpoint five. Xander’s stitch had slowed Libby down, giving Grace the chance to make up some ground.

She’s going to catch me.

Libby ignored the runner ahead, instead focussing on her main target, Mike Robb, fifty metres away. Her legs burned as her pace increased, but the gap shrank. This might kill her, but Xander had given her a strategy and she wouldn’t let him down.

Ten more minutes to the top of Lum Pike, then five down along the Ridge, ten up to Lum Crag, then ten down to the valley bottom. The last ten minutes would be flatter, but with more obstacles – streams, walls, and mud.

Mike didn’t look remotely pleased to see her, but she stayed at his heel up to the checkpoint. As Xander predicted, Mike left her on the downhill, his experience allowing him to run with more confidence over the rough terrain, but on the way up to Lum Crag, Libby once again sat on his heel, sticking her dibber in the checkpoint the second he’d taken his out. Grace was half a kilometre behind. Libby could do this.

For the first time, her hope soared. She’d done the climbs. She’d done the majority of the miles. Twenty minutes stood between her and victory. Instead of letting Mike get away, she ran faster than she’d ever dared, determined not to lose him or her way down to the wall. Once she was at the wall, she could let him go.

Twice she slipped, but she kept running. Adrenalin took over, her instincts kicked in and she found she was smiling as she sped down the mountain. She was fell running with the best. Grace would never catch her now.

Mike led her to the wall and Libby relaxed. Familiar territory. Safe territory. She eased up a little, no longer needing the tour guide, but coming back to her usual pace, letting her feet match the music. She placed a hand on the wall as she stepped onto it, but the stone moved and she stumbled. Unable to control her landing, her foot hit a rock, twisting her ankle. She yelped, landing in a heap.

Oh God, no.

Mike Robb glanced back, but she stood up and waved, telling him she was fine. Just keep running. She jogged on, but each step sent a bolt of agony through her ankle. Behind her, Grace was at the top of the Crag. In two minutes, she’d be at the wall. There was no way Libby could win, but she’d finish if she had to walk over the line.

If only Xander were here… He’d be at the finishing line. She couldn’t let him down. She couldn’t walk across the line – she had to run across it. The two runners she’d overtaken earlier dashed past, followed by another two. Grace was next.

‘Stick to ballet,’ she called, laughing as she ran like a gazelle past Libby.

No. Libby would not be beaten, not like this. She’d danced on worse. Grace had no idea what Libby could do.

I can out run her. I’m faster.

Libby ran as she’d danced in Swan Lake, ignoring the messages her ankle was sending to her brain. In the woods, she caught Grace, but didn’t overtake. She’d wait. Five minutes to go. Grace’s pace steadily increased as they leapt streams and boulders.

The woods disappeared and the Miller’s Arms came into view as Libby prepared to make her move. Around the next bend the track opened out onto a grassy fell. The final half-kilometre. At full stretch, Libby could do it in just under two minutes. Crikey, they were within the record time.

She pulled to the right, lengthening her stride.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Grace kept pace.

Libby refused to glance around or answer back. She had to run faster. Pumping her legs, focussing on breathing, she ran as though she hadn’t run twenty-four kilometres already. Grace was right behind her, cursing her, wasting her breath, as Libby turned onto the bridleway.

Just keep running.

She could hear the cheers and applause for the runners ahead of them. Her legs moved faster. Xander would be waiting. Patrick would be there. She had to win. Her ankle had numbed to one searing burn and she turned into the field with no idea where Grace was – on her heel or by her side.

At the end of the fenced off route in the field, Xander was shouting at her to run, pointing to the clock. She would beat Grace’s record by five bloody minutes. From the excited cheers, she knew Grace was behind her, the spectators cheering on the sprint finish. Zoë, Patrick, Daisy, Robbie, Vanessa… familiar faces flashed by as Libby pushed harder, her legs burning, her lungs on fire.

Twenty-five metres… ten metres… five.

She crossed the line.

Xander helped guide her hand to the dibber sensor and once her finish time was logged, Libby raised her arms to the sky. She’d done it.

‘You are totally amazing,’ Xander yelled, lifting her off her feet.

She wanted to thank him, but as he put her down, pain shot through her ankle. Using his arm for support, she hopped to the official’s booth and handed in her dibber. It was over. She’d won the women’s race.