Reach by Laurence Fearnley

Author:Laurence Fearnley [Fearnley, Laurence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781743486122
Publisher: Penguin Random House New Zealand
Published: 2013-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

Interval Training

Marcus slammed the gate shut with his foot, then gave it a kick. The gate bounced open and Marcus took a step towards it, kicked it once and then once more before turning his back, leaving it to swing open. He had no idea where Tag was: the dog had disappeared while Marcus was tying his running shoes. Quinn was in the studio, working on her exhibition. It would be great to see a whole room of pictures depicting their ‘marriage’ on public display in the gallery. And he couldn’t wait to read the catalogue and talk with his colleagues and students about the artistic success of his ‘wife’. He could volunteer to take guided tours of the show or maybe they should just have a massive party to celebrate. He could see it now: Quinn sitting in a corner breast-feeding the newborn baby while he passed around the canapés and wine. Brilliant.

For the past ten days some slack-arse roadworkers had been digging up the footpath, laying cables. Where they’d been, the pavement was slippery, a mess of mud and clay. As Marcus began to pick up speed the clay stuck to the soles of his shoes, creating giant clumps, weighing heavily as he lifted each foot. It was impossible to go on. It was like running on rockers. Stopping by a lamppost, he banged first one foot and then the other against the wooden pole. Some of the clay fell to the ground but the rest smeared against the post. He kicked again, with the side of his foot, then scraped the edge of his shoe along the footpath. The clay wouldn’t budge. Who, in their right mind, would dig a trench and leave huge piles of mud along the pavement? They’d only just finished the last lot of construction, resealing the road. For weeks the street had been reduced to one lane and now this. He should send them the cleaning bill for the dog treading dirt into the carpet. What the hell were they up to, anyway? As if he didn’t have enough on his plate without having to negotiate a mud bath every time he went out for a run.

Ahead of him was the giant house truck. As usual it was parked in the lay-by, blocking the pedestrian access to the beach. He was sure there was some law against overnight parking along this stretch of the coast. Later, he’d come back and stick a note under the diver’s windscreen. There were a million places to park. Callum didn’t need to obstruct the boardwalk beach access. What if a woman with a pram wanted to get down to the beach? Or some old joker in a wheelchair? How on earth could they manage to squeeze between the truck and the path? Short answer: they couldn’t. Callum was acting like he owned the place. At the end of the day, he was a selfish prick who should go and find a proper camping ground.

Quinn was pregnant.

They made a deal that they wouldn’t have kids.

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