have stopped this depression thing.”
Gina turned Danny to face her. “Don’t you ever think that. What happened was nothing to do with you. Dad wasn’t depressed. He didn’t kill himself!”
Danny looked at her sadly. “Mum says I’m not to listen when you say things like that. She says that you’re not thinking straight.”
“She’s wrong.”
“But, Gina, you’ve spent for ever talking to people and going everywhere. If you were right you would have found something by now.”
Gina hesitated, her breathing suddenly heavy with anxiety. “But I haven’t been everywhere. There’s somewhere I should have gone back to straight away but I haven’t been able to face it and the longer I’ve left it, the more scared I’ve been.” She kissed her brother’s soft curly hair. “But I promise I’ll go there today. I won’t let you and Dad down.”
That afternoon Gina came down the stairs in her running gear. She hadn’t worn it since the evening her dad had died. She hadn’t been able to face running without him, but today, she was going to run for him.
She saw the look of surprise and delight on her mum’s face. “Going for a run?” Her mum smiled encouragingly.
“Yeah, thought I might.”
“Got your new watch on, I see.”
“Yeah.”
Her mum was looking at her like she was a baby who’d just taken her first steps . “That’s fantastic, love. Have a good time.”
Gina limbered up on the pavement, circling her arms, arching her back, stretching her legs against the dwarf wall outside their house. She listened to her bones cracking. She noticed how her athlete’s body looked weak and frail after eight months of neglect, and she wondered if running there was such a good idea after all.
She’d discovered her talent for running a few years earlier during a cross-country competition at school. Gina had only entered it because it meant missing double maths. However, she’d glided around the mud-spattered field, adrenalin surging through her. As she’d sailed past the other competitors she knew she was on her way to victory. At last she’d found something she could shine at.
When Gina had come home with the medal and coyly admitted that she “actually quite enjoyed running”, her dad hadn’t been able to contain his excitement. He’d told her that in the late 1970s, when his family had emigrated from Trinidad, he’d struggled to adjust to life in a grey Britain and running had become his lifeline. He used to love travelling to competitions with the school team in the minibus, having a laugh all the way. During his school days his bedroom shelves had been weighed down with trophies and medals for cross-country events. But then he’d started work at sixteen, married her mum at nineteen and become a father at twenty. There hadn’t been much time for sport after that.
Straight away her dad had appointed himself Gina’s coach, and borrowed money from their Trinidad holiday fund to buy them each a decent pair of running shoes. He’d revelled in recapturing his youth as he worked out their training programme and mapped out routes for their runs through the local parks and across the city.
Becky and the rest of Gina’s friends didn’t share her new-found passion. They warned her, half-jokingly, that no girl could look attractive running – it just gave you sweat patches and made everything wobble.
Gina had tried to explain it to them, speaking with the fervour of a Bible-Belt preacher. “But when you run, something brilliant happens,” she’d said, her eyes shining. “You feel so alive! It’s the challenge of pushing yourself on, especially when your legs feel like lead, your lungs are burning, and you want to collapse – you don’t give up! You push through the pain to the other side until everything starts to flow and you’re completely in the zone, just concentrating on your breathing until you’re almost in a trance! It’s fantastic!” she’d proclaimed, looking
Gina turned Danny to face her. “Don’t you ever think that. What happened was nothing to do with you. Dad wasn’t depressed. He didn’t kill himself!”
Danny looked at her sadly. “Mum says I’m not to listen when you say things like that. She says that you’re not thinking straight.”
“She’s wrong.”
“But, Gina, you’ve spent for ever talking to people and going everywhere. If you were right you would have found something by now.”
Gina hesitated, her breathing suddenly heavy with anxiety. “But I haven’t been everywhere. There’s somewhere I should have gone back to straight away but I haven’t been able to face it and the longer I’ve left it, the more scared I’ve been.” She kissed her brother’s soft curly hair. “But I promise I’ll go there today. I won’t let you and Dad down.”
That afternoon Gina came down the stairs in her running gear. She hadn’t worn it since the evening her dad had died. She hadn’t been able to face running without him, but today, she was going to run for him.
She saw the look of surprise and delight on her mum’s face. “Going for a run?” Her mum smiled encouragingly.
“Yeah, thought I might.”
“Got your new watch on, I see.”
“Yeah.”
Her mum was looking at her like she was a baby who’d just taken her first steps . “That’s fantastic, love. Have a good time.”
Gina limbered up on the pavement, circling her arms, arching her back, stretching her legs against the dwarf wall outside their house. She listened to her bones cracking. She noticed how her athlete’s body looked weak and frail after eight months of neglect, and she wondered if running there was such a good idea after all.
She’d discovered her talent for running a few years earlier during a cross-country competition at school. Gina had only entered it because it meant missing double maths. However, she’d glided around the mud-spattered field, adrenalin surging through her. As she’d sailed past the other competitors she knew she was on her way to victory. At last she’d found something she could shine at.
When Gina had come home with the medal and coyly admitted that she “actually quite enjoyed running”, her dad hadn’t been able to contain his excitement. He’d told her that in the late 1970s, when his family had emigrated from Trinidad, he’d struggled to adjust to life in a grey Britain and running had become his lifeline. He used to love travelling to competitions with the school team in the minibus, having a laugh all the way. During his school days his bedroom shelves had been weighed down with trophies and medals for cross-country events. But then he’d started work at sixteen, married her mum at nineteen and become a father at twenty. There hadn’t been much time for sport after that.
Straight away her dad had appointed himself Gina’s coach, and borrowed money from their Trinidad holiday fund to buy them each a decent pair of running shoes. He’d revelled in recapturing his youth as he worked out their training programme and mapped out routes for their runs through the local parks and across the city.
Becky and the rest of Gina’s friends didn’t share her new-found passion. They warned her, half-jokingly, that no girl could look attractive running – it just gave you sweat patches and made everything wobble.
Gina had tried to explain it to them, speaking with the fervour of a Bible-Belt preacher. “But when you run, something brilliant happens,” she’d said, her eyes shining. “You feel so alive! It’s the challenge of pushing yourself on, especially when your legs feel like lead, your lungs are burning, and you want to collapse – you don’t give up! You push through the pain to the other side until everything starts to flow and you’re completely in the zone, just concentrating on your breathing until you’re almost in a trance! It’s fantastic!” she’d proclaimed, looking
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