‘Oh God, this feels good. I could stay in here for ever.’ Beside me, Louise rests her head back against the wood and lets out a contented sigh. We’re sitting on the top step of the steam room, engulfed in scented mist, our skin slick with drops of water and sweat.
‘I can never manage more than ten minutes or so,’ I say. ‘You must like the heat.’ It is lovely though, all the tension melting away as my body has no choice but to relax. It’s been a great couple of hours. Louise was sweetly awkward when I got to her flat, and I could tell she didn’t really want me to come in – she had her bag ready by the door – but I insisted on a guided tour. She could hardly refuse, and she’s many things, but rude isn’t one of them. Which is good, because I wanted to see inside.
‘This is the closest I’m getting to a holiday this year,’ she murmurs with a half-laugh.
I’ve closed my eyes too, mentally checking my catalogue of the rooms of her home. The sitting room; one TV, a cream sofa with a beige throw covering the old cushions, a small cigarette burn on the left arm. Blue carpet. Hard-wearing. Child-proof. The main bedroom. Small, but enough space for a double bed. Feature wallpaper behind the bed. White built-in wardrobe. White chest of drawers with a cluttered surface of make-up. A tangle of cheap jewellery overflowing from a small bag – the kind that probably came free with a face cream or in a gift set. A dressing gown hooked on the back of the door – once a fluffy white, now rough and tired from too many washes and with coffee or tea stains on the sleeves.
I’ve learned to be good at taking in the details. The details are important when you need to see a place. It’s a compact flat. Adam’s room – I didn’t study that one so hard – is much smaller and more colourfully crowded, but it’s certainly homely. Lived in.
‘Also,’ Louise continues, and I pay attention, now I’m sure I have everything securely logged in my head, ‘this sitting still business is always preferable to the gym. I’m going to ache tomorrow.’
‘You’ll feel better for it though,’ I add.
‘I do already I think,’ she says. ‘Thanks for helping me. And not laughing.’ I feel a surge of affection for her. She did quite well, all things considered. She tried, at any rate. I hadn’t run as fast or as long as usual, but I didn’t want to put her off. Today was about getting Louise into the idea of the gym rather than my own workout, and after spending nearly all day lying on my bed yesterday my joints were stiff and it was good to be moving, even if it wasn’t that strenuous. We’d done some light cardio and then I’d shown her around the various weight machines, and she valiantly tried them all as I designed a few circuits for her that would keep her muscles curious.
‘You know, I’d like a regular gym buddy,’ I say, as if it’s the first time the thought has occurred to me. ‘Why don’t you come with me on the days you’re not working?’ I pause, and drop my head and my voice. ‘And on a weekend if I come on my own. You know, without David.’
She glances at me then, a mixture of concern and curiosity, but she doesn’t ask why the secrecy. I know she won’t. We’re not close enough for that.
‘That would be nice,’ she says after a moment. ‘It’s going to be a long month. Adam’s going to France with his father. I know it will be great for him and everything, and it probably sounds stupid because he exhausts me most of the time and I should want to kill for the chance of a month to myself, but I’m feeling a bit lost already.’ It comes out in a rush. ‘It’s the end of term at lunchtime tomorrow and then his father is picking him up at five thirty. It’s all been organised so fast, I haven’t really got my head around it.’ She sits up suddenly then, eyes wide with a realisation. ‘Oh crap. I meant to ask for a day’s holiday and I totally forgot. I’ll have to call them and beg.’
‘Relax,’ I say. Of course she forgot. She’s had other things on her mind. ‘Call in sick. Why lose a day’s pay?’
Her face clouds over. ‘I’m not sure.’ She glances at me. ‘Your husband was in a foul mood yesterday, I don’t want to add to it.’
I look down at my knees. ‘He can be that way,’ I say, almost awkwardly, before lifting my head and giving her a soft smile. ‘But you calling in sick isn’t going to change that. And it’s one day. It means a lot to you but it won’t mean anything to them.’
‘True,’ she says. ‘Maybe I will.’
We sit quietly for a moment, and then she asks, ‘How long have you been married?’
It’s an innocuous question. In an ordinary friendship she’d have asked it before now, but of course what Louise and I have isn’t ordinary.
‘Ten years,’ I say. ‘Since I was eighteen. I loved him from the moment I set eyes on him. He was the one. I knew it.’
‘That’s very young,’ she says.
‘Maybe. I guess. You know he saved my life?’
‘He did what?’ Despite the drowsy heat, she’s fully attentive now. ‘Are you talking literally or metaphorically?’