Ash stepped forward and seamlessly took over. I watched as he spoke, his hands punctuating his speech, his occasional steps sure and steady. He exuded charismatic self-confidence and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Despite being dressed in an everyday navy-blue T-shirt and blue jeans, to me he was mouth-watering. Oh yeah, he was back and sexier than ever.
Concentrate, Claire. I forced myself to listen to his words rather than let myself be distracted by thoughts of what was under that T-shirt and just how well his bum filled those jeans.
It had already been agreed amongst us that for the first few months, Ash, Charles, and I would take it in turns to manage the event and rotate the run-director role as this shouldered quite a lot of responsibility. Although, having spoken to the run director at Tring, we hoped that further down the line other people would move up the ranks of the volunteers to take their turn at running the event. The RD was, we’d learned, a big job as this person was in charge of set-up, briefings, health and safety, making sure the course was safe and obstacle-free and ensuring that if there was an accident or anyone was injured that they could be looked after properly. The information pack that had come through from the parkrun organisation itself had been impressive.
After Ash finished, I took to the floor again, thanking everyone for coming and inviting people to fill in their contact details if they were interested in helping or running on the sheets of paper on clipboards with which Poppy, Hilda, Janie, and Penny were now circulating. If anyone was specifically interested in a particular role, they could put their name and number next to the role outlined on the A3 Flipchart.
Elaine, my neighbour, was first to the chart with two other women.
‘That was very good, Claire. You’re very good at public speaking. I was impressed. This is Marsha. She used to be Head of Maths at Churchstone Secondary – we haven’t seen each other for a couple of years – and this is Wendy. She was a science technician in the chemistry labs at the school. Retired like me and Marsha.’
‘Hello,’ I said to the other two ladies, slightly overwhelmed by Elaine’s rapid-fire information dump.
‘We’ve decided to volunteer to be your official timekeepers and token sorters,’ announced Wendy. ‘It’ll be something to do on a Saturday morning and the three of us used to have such a laugh at school. We always organised the school quiz together. I can’t believe we’ve lost touch. And here we are tonight, picking up exactly where we left off.’
‘And it doesn’t seem like five years since our joint retirement do,’ added Marsha. ‘Although that ghastly carriage clock gave up the ghost after five months.’
‘I never liked the bloody thing anyway. Who needs to be reminded of how slowly time goes when you’re not at work?’ Elaine chipped in, the quick smile at odds with the melancholy expression in her eyes. ‘Or how many hours it is until wine o’clock.’
‘Lord, yes. This will give us a reason to get out in the fresh air on a Saturday morning.’
‘And for a weekly meet-up. Sascha makes a damn good cup of coffee. We can sit here putting the world to rights and sort out all your tokens.’ Marsha beamed at me. ‘Can’t wait to get cracking. When do you want us?’
The three of them were as garrulous as each other and, I realised with a sharp pang of guilt as I noticed Elaine’s animated face, just as lonely. A touch of shame nudged my conscience at the way I’d avoided the other woman and had taken so little interest in her. I hadn’t taken the time or the trouble to find out that, once upon a time, she’d had a busy, useful job and was of value to the community. Shame on me. From now on, I would definitely make a lot more effort to be more neighbourly. They were so busy chattering away as they signed up with the big fat marker pens I’d supplied, they didn’t notice that I’d been lost in thought for a moment.
‘Thanks a lot, ladies. I’ll be in touch. Do you do WhatsApp?’ I’d already decided that it might be worth setting up a group.
They all nodded and carried on chirruping away amongst themselves like lively canaries. I worked my way through the busy room. Each member of the clipboard team was engaged in earnest conversation. Plenty of people seemed keen to sign up which was extremely gratifying, as was the energetic buzz in the room. Hilda, busy chatting to a group of three older men and two familiar women, caught my eye and called me over.
‘Claire, come and meet Bert, George and Harry. They used to run the bicycle shop. And Georgina and Grace both work for Sainsbury’s part time and are keen to get involved on their days off.’ No sooner had I chatted to all of them than I was called over by Penny to talk to two other men. ‘Claire, this is Edward Comely, Sascha’s dad, and his neighbour, Adam Fullbanks.’ I recognised Adam as the man who’d offered sponsorship from the local sports shop.
‘Very impressive turn out,’ said Edward. ‘And very well organised. I hear you work for Cunningham, Wilding and Taylor. One of their rising stars.’ He glanced over to where Dave from work sat with Karen and another woman I didn’t recognise. Dave acknowledged us with a brief salute.
‘I’m not sure about that,’ I said blushing slightly. Edward tilted his head as if sceptical of my modesty and I felt his narrow-eyed scrutiny.
‘I’m always interested in good people, if you ever want a change.’
I frowned, trying to think what I knew about him. ‘You’re an accountant.’ I remembered Sascha telling me.
He laughed. ‘Well that’s put me in my place. I run Comely and Mitchell. We’ve got a couple of offices in the area but our main operation is in Churchstone.’
‘I’m so sorry. Of course I’ve heard of you.’ They had offices in most of the nearby market towns and had a reputation for being a good, solid, reliable family business.
‘Why don’t you come and have a coffee with me sometime?’ he suggested with a very direct expression. The man was nobody’s fool and I could see where Sascha got her business acumen.
I smiled at him, savvy enough not to say that I had no intention of leaving CWT; it never did to turn down a contact. ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
I turned to Adam Fullbanks. ‘Thank you for offering to sponsor the event. That’s very generous of you. Have you any particular ideas?’
‘Well, it’s the perfect fit, isn’t it? Obviously, my shop will benefit. We’re the only place for miles that offer advice and expertise on buying trail and running shoes. I was thinking I could offer ten per cent off any purchases in store for anyone who produces a parkrun barcode, same as I offer to the Harriers, and I’d be happy to supply the loud-hailer that you’ll need to buy.’
‘You’ve been to a parkrun before then.’
‘A few around the country. Occasionally I get to the Harrogate one. Unfortunately Saturdays are my busiest days. But if we’re away on holiday I try to get to the nearest one. Last year we did Poole and Edinburgh. But if there’s one on my doorstep, I’d hope to take part a bit more often and I could help with the pre-run set up every now and then – although, with the shop I can’t do much else.’
‘Every little helps, as they say.’
‘I’m no runner,’ declared Edward, ‘but I’d like to help. Sascha is pretty self-sufficient but I could pitch in with the run and then offer her an extra pair of hands. I think she might be a bit busy afterwards if this becomes the designated meeting spot.’