The School Run

By Allison Hay

Shutterstock © School yard Illustration: Shutterstock

Illustration: Shutterstock

BY CAROL PROBYN

You never know who you’ll run into or what they’ve been up to!

“Whoa! Steady on there, sweetheart.”

I nearly collide with a burly fellow as I hurry down the school path. The last time I ran into someone – on my daily jog – it was the man of my dreams.

This one most certainly isn’t – but he does look vaguely familiar.

“Sandra! Well, after all this time!” He looks genuinely pleased and surprised.

“Tony.” I’m surprised but not particularly pleased. We had dated a couple of times as teenagers, but although he was handsome, I couldn’t stand his childish humour and brash ways. We had nothing in common.

He stands back and brazenly appraises me from top to toe…

This gives me a chance to notice that in spite of his trendy sunglasses and floppy fringe, he looks his age with his jowly face and paunch. Instinctively I contract my abs.

“My, you’re looking fit in more ways than one. Ha, ha! Jog a bit?”

“Yes.” The Lycra and trainers obviously give me away. “Sorry, I can’t stop. I’ve forgotten my granddaughter’s lunchbox.”

“So one of your boys has made you a grandmother. I don’t believe it!” He grins a wide, insincere smile. I swear his teeth are too even to be real.

“Yes. Mia stayed over and I’ve just dropped Alfie at nursery. He’s –”

“Two grandkids!”

I sigh. Tony never let you finish a sentence

“And you?” I indicate the nursery door.

“Not me, old girl. I’m on my way to enrol my little boy. I’m starting again.”

I blink, wishing I’d worn my shades.

“Yeah. Remarried five years ago. She’s a doll. Moved back here to manage Frampton’s, the estate agents. Celia, bless her heart, is still in Reading. The divorce was bitter. I haven’t seen my daughter for years.” He looks sad.

Celia, his ex-wife, came from a rich family. She and Tony had moved south to run their own estate agents bankrolled by Celia’s parents.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He shrugs. “One door closes – another opens. I did hear about Steve. That must have been pretty tough.”

I nod, and now I feel sad. My lovely Steve died five years ago. Tony sounds sincere – then spoils it.

Still a bit of mileage on the clock – or should I say Reeboks!

“Still, can’t imagine a fine-looking bird like you being on her own for long. Still a bit of mileage on the clock – or should I say Reeboks!”

Dolls, birds – oh, dear, Tony, you are still such a plonker, as Joe would say.

“Actually –” I was about to tell him a bit a bit about my life, but lost the will as he interrupted again.

“Well, nice to see you, San. Might see you again, eh? Was about to suggest I’d introduce you to my new lady, but I guess you won’t be at parents’ evening?”

At least he called her his lady.

“Sandra!”

I turn and here’s Joe striding up holding Mia’s lunchbox. He’s been on night shift doing his job as a paramedic. He’s jogged here from home and looks gorgeous in his sweats, his finely honed muscles glowing with health, his grin wide and white in his handsome face.

I really did barge into him in the park two years ago. We looked into each other’s eyes and it was love at first sight.

We saved each other. He made me see a future again after the terrible grief of losing Steve. I helped him come to terms with his wife’s desertion which had left him the single parent of one-year-old Alfie.

He’s fifteen years younger than me, so Tony and I do have something in common after all.

“Oh, Joe, what am I like?”