Grace in the Shadows

Chapter 3

3

Rachel had pushed herself tonight. An extra ten star jumps. An extra round of weights. An extra series of burpees. An added half kilogram weight for her triceps. An added kilo for her biceps. This was one battle she was going to win. No, not merely win. She was out to conquer and beat her body into submission. To not give Mike any reason to comment on her weight.

Arms and shoulders. Abs and back. Buttocks and thighs. Her muscles burned. Good. She was working hard.

Half the men in the gym were pretending not to watch her. She ignored them. She wasn’t in the market.

Rachel wiped her head and neck with her already sopping towel. She gulped down half a bottle of water, then moved to a room where she unrolled her exercise mat. The mat would get sweaty, but it would be all her own sweat.

Sit-ups, push-ups, squats. Rachel concentrated on her breathing. Forty-six, forty-seven. Her legs burned. Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. She straightened and jiggled her legs before picking up the medicine ball. Holding it out in front of her, Rachel lifted her knees and counted her repetitions.

She snatched a quick break to drink, rolled up her mat, and headed for the treadmills.

“What’s with all the extra sessions this week?” one of the fitness trainers asked as she passed. “In training for a competition?”

Rachel shook her head.

“Rather you than me. You’re wearing me out watching you.”

What did he know with his twenty-something body? Hers was on the long downhill slope already, even if the slide wasn’t yet visible to anyone without her x-ray eyes. To most people, her legs and abs were taut and her skin evenly tanned. Bottled tans did the job. No way was she letting the sun age her. Her looks were her greatest asset and she paid top dollar to keep them that way.

Good. Her favourite treadmill was available. The one tucked out of the way.

Rachel walked towards it and then stopped. A young woman was sitting cross-legged on the floor, breastfeeding her baby. The last thing Rachel wanted to see. Her stomach knotted. It shouldn’t be allowed. This was why she never came to the gym in the mornings, even on her days off. The woman had a piece of material draped over herself, and she wasn’t disturbing anyone. Except Rachel. Making a fuss would only lead to questions she didn’t want to answer.

Rachel backed up and found another machine. Normally she enjoyed the treadmill, because her mind could float along without counting repetitions. Today, that was dangerous. The breastfeeding woman had unsettled her, and now the hum of the treadmill made her mind slither down the slippery-dip of memory. She clenched her teeth and concentrated on the control panel in front of her.

The treadmill coursed along. Wide circles of sweat soaked Rachel’s shorts and shirt. The sweat bands around her forehead and wrists were almost useless.

She stumbled and put her hand out to the bar to support herself. If only she could shut off the passing of time as easily as she could adjust the speed of a treadmill. Had Mike thought the added weight was a good thing, or were his words a warning? Did he already have a younger woman in the wings?

The treadmill timer clicked. Now for a series of faster intervals. She cranked the speed up a notch and increased the incline.

Running outside would be more interesting, but gym machines allowed her to sculpt all her muscles without having to think about it. This upmarket gym had proven to be the best place to find the right kind of male friends. Rich ones. She was too fastidious for sleazy bars.

Her lungs sucked at the air and she swiped the towel across her forehead and cheeks. The best thing about speed intervals were that they left no energy for thinking. Thinking was a bad idea. There were too many alleys she didn’t want her mind to wander down. It was better to skate past the entrances than explore.

Her feet pounded along, her speed dictated by the machine. Like her life. Things happened and she reacted. She liked to think she was in control but she wasn’t. Life was a never-ending sequence of work, gym, and counting calories. Interspersed with beauty treatments and monthly haircuts.

One of her friends in primary school had owned a mouse. It was amusing to watch it running in its wheel. Running, running, running, but never getting anywhere. Sometimes, with a supreme effort, the mouse would get a little ahead but he’d slip back a millisecond later, more exhausted than ever. What would the mouse think of her treadmill? Of her life? Would he question why she did it?

Rachel adjusted the dials for the rest interval. It wasn’t what anyone else would call a rest, but it was no longer a sprint. Rachel took a deep breath and focused on expanding her chest and feeling the muscles in her neck, back, and shoulders.

The slower speed allowed her mind to drift. Today it drifted back to her first boyfriend. She shook her head as though to shake the memories out of her ears. He refused to disappear. Her stomach clenched like someone was wringing out a wet shirt. She must not think about him. Must not think about what happened afterwards.

She took another deep breath and forced her mind past the darkness. Instead, she remembered what happened after he’d gone for good. That was a little safer. Back then, her hair and skin reeked of hot oil and fried onions. There weren’t many job options for sixteen-year-olds. His leaving had forced her to think again. Had led to her job at David Jones.

When she’d left home, she’d taken all her clothes. A rich girl’s wardrobe wasn’t to be sneered at. She tried everything on and sorted them into three piles. Clothes that were keepers, clothes that needed to be adapted, and clothes that were irredeemable. The last pile had made her think. They were too good for rags.

Rachel wiped the sweat off her cheeks and nose.

It hadn’t taken her long to work out that there was no point giving quality clothes to second-hand shops in her area. It was the shops in rich areas who would appreciate them. And those were the shops where she found stuff to fill the gaps in her cupboard. For fifty dollars, she’d come away with a whole new mix-and-match wardrobe.

One minute to go. She kept running. Running, running, running. Three, two, one. Made it. She reached forward to slow the machine down for the final cool down. She must have worked off that cheesecake by now. She didn’t plan to become one of those bimbos who forced themselves to vomit after meals. She was healthy, not crazy.

Rachel switched the machine off, grabbed the towel, and mopped her head. Whew. She’d pushed it tonight.

Now for a shower and an early night to catch up on beauty sleep. Sleep washed away all the stress toxins in her system. Tomorrow was a day off. Maybe she’d sleep all day. Allow herself to forget that the tide of time was already lapping hungrily at the base of the cliff.