Maybe none of us knows each other as well as we presume. We spend more time apart than together. To all intents and purposes we experience life alone, so what right do we have to assume that genetics, a communal living space and an array of shared memories give us unfettered access to one another?
I consider the umpteen small pieces of myself that the kids know nothing about. The times I wagged school. My first job, sweeping the floor at a hairdresser; my second, cleaning out cages at the vet. The months I spent working as a croupier in south London. The kids seem so sure they understand me, but I have had hundreds of other lives before them. In their eyes, my memories are two-dimensional storybook tales that bear no relevance to them. And yet all those experiences were stepping stones, leading me to Callum and my children.
By the time my thoughts return to the day ahead, we have reached the school. The car park is already full, the junior races have started. Neon-jacketed officials direct us to a patch of grass, and as soon as we pull up Georgia grabs her bag and opens the door. ‘See you later,’ she says. ‘There’s a briefing in the sports hall, I need to go.’
‘Hang on,’ I call after her, jumping out of the passenger side in an ungainly rush. She stops and turns, and I hurry across. ‘I’ll come with you,’ I smile, and she gives me a strange look and stomps off ahead of me. I glance back to see Callum locking the car, and jogging to catch up. Georgia sets a determined pace, and I struggle along in her wake, each of my footsteps in the long grass bringing globs of watery mud to the surface, sucking at my boots. It’s nasty underfoot today – thank goodness Georgia has well-studded runners.
We reach the crowds at the top field as they begin to cheer the under-12s home. I watch the youngsters sprint down the grassy hill, their faces red, lithe bodies straining with their final efforts for places. One of the frontrunners is a girl wearing our school colours, and the excitement surges as she crosses the finish line in second place. I join the cheering, even though my heart isn’t in it.
Georgia is heading for the sports hall on the western side of the field. I see Mrs Sawyer put a hand on her arm and stop to talk to her.
Before we can catch up, a voice calls, ‘Callum!’
We both turn as we hear my husband’s name. A young woman with long dark hair, wearing the navy uniform of the Mountain Rescue team, is standing in front of a first-aid tent. The organisers are always mindful of safety, even though I can’t recollect anything more than a sprained ankle in all the races I’ve attended.
To my surprise, Callum doubles back towards her. Has he forgotten that we are supposed to be shadowing Georgia? I chase after him.
The woman ignores him and addresses me. ‘You must be Mrs Turner,’ she says. ‘I’m Danielle.’ Her smile is as tight as her handshake. She turns to Callum. ‘I just wanted to say hello.’
‘Danielle is a much valued member of our team,’ Callum says, turning to me. There’s a strange edge to his voice, and he appears paler than he did a moment ago.
What can Callum be thinking, making us dawdle here? I’m trying not to be rude, but I haven’t got time for these introductions now. I glance round to see that Georgia has moved on, and cannot contain my impatience. ‘I’m sorry, we need to check on our daughter before her race. Callum,’ I hiss when he doesn’t respond straightaway. ‘She’s gone into the hall already, we’d better go.’
‘Wish Georgia luck from me,’ Danielle calls after us.
Callum strides next to me, silent, as we move away from the tent. ‘Can you just prioritise something other than the bloody rescue team for once,’ I grumble.
‘Don’t start, Anya,’ he growls. I glance at him. His jaw is tight, his eyes are fixed on the hall. ‘I’m going to have another word with the marshals, okay? I’ll only be five minutes, you keep an eye on Georgia.’