Niven Govinden - Graffiti My Soul

Winning my last races meant something. Kept me on the road to receiving a tin cup at the end of the season, as well as rubbing Brendan’s nose in the shit. This next race doesn’t have the same kudos. You don’t even get a certificate. But if it gives me another chance to piss all over Harriers, I’m there.

I’ve still trained like a mother, friendly trial or not. Stopped daydreaming and started knuckling down. Putting in mornings and afternoons. Clearing my mind of the bullshit happening at school or anywhere else. Who cares who Moon’s going out with? Doesn’t matter that the trials have nothing to do with the national championships. Once I’m on the track, there’s no such thing as being friendly.

Mum should be coming to wave a flag and cough up the traditional post-win KFC, but is having another date with whatsisname, the man I haven’t met yet. He’s taking her to some stupid event at Silverstone. Mum has absolutely no interest in cars, but is acting like she’s the one who’s driving or something.

‘I’m going the see some of the best racers in the world,’ she goes. ‘Mike’s really gone to a lot of trouble to get these tickets.’

They’re also non-refundable, and whatsisname sounds too dopey to have ever heard of eBay. Loser!

‘Go. Have fun,’ I tell her, seeing how she’s bought a new leather jacket and got the hair straighteners out again. ‘Just make sure he treats you like a queen.’

She laughs like she knows something I don’t.

‘My hopes aren’t as lofty as yours, kiddo. As long as he treats me better than your lovely father, then that’s good enough for me.’

The bonus result of not having Mum around for the race means that I can get touchy-feely with Kelly, all in the name of celebration, on the way home. But Kel blows me out as she has to work the stall at the weekend. It has to be something major for her parents to give her a day off — none of them think that this is it.

Location-wise, the trial is a Guildford special. Thirty minutes on a train each way. Moon and Jason come for company. Mum gives me the money for all three tickets and says ‘that’s that’. Looks happy at the prospect of a teen-free day, of having her eardrums blownout all in the name of romance; but guiltily so, because she can’t be happy unless there’s some kind of baggage attached. If I ever bothered to ask her why that was, she’d say ‘It’s because I’m a mother.’ At least, that’s what I’d imagine she’d say.

She coughs up another twenty quid.

Need to spend the next couple of days settling my head for the run. Physically everything’s great, but something about the way Pearson looked at me the other day in the school caff has ruined all my mind-work over the last couple of weeks. I go to sleep thinking of that face, it’s that bad. Puts me nearly back at square one.

I try and make arrangements for Casey to come down to Guildford and watch from the sidelines. It’s a big-enough track, so he could quite possibly slip into the upper stands without attracting any attention, but like Mum, and Kel, he seems to have other plans. He has no obligation to me, other than training me for races that he never gets to see. It’s the kind of half-arsed job I want to have when I grow up.

He calls up as I’m packing up my kit ready to go, saying he has flu in the clearest, most non-congested voice I’ve ever heard. Doesn’t even sound remotely sorry. Says there’ll be another time. Like in another twelve months! It makes me feel all reactionary. Start wondering if he’s taking that kid out instead. That he’s lucked out. Bonding over Britney, stars in everyone’s eyes. Bet the kid will go anywhere with him after that. It’s obvious.

On the train it’s like everything’s the same as normal, except we’re all wearing each other’s clothes, or something. Moon and Jason act like they’re the best friends in the world, which isn’t helping any. Yacking way too much. Every approaching promise of a silent vacuum extinguished; filled, filled, filled. And they’re not even saying anything interesting, it’s all nonsense.

‘Can both of you keep your traps shut for just a minute?’ I go. ‘I’m meant to be visualising.’

‘OK,’ they say, and carry on talking.

This puts me in a really bad mood. They don’t even think to ask about Kelly. By the time we get to Guildford, I’m ready to explode.

It’s an indoor track, which I hate, big time. Running outdoors feels more real somehow, less poncey. I like things to be natural, to feel the sun on my face. I like it that you can see the sky. Enclosed tracks give me claustrophobia. I become a caged rat, anxious and scratchy, something that works wonders for my running. I get revved up good and proper. If anything, I run faster in these places. This isn’t reverse psychology, no matter how many times Casey tells me it is. It’s just fucked-up.

Brendan meets us in the foyer. He’s the closet thing we have to a guardian this afternoon. We’re stuck with him for the duration, being his sole charges, since none of his precious Harriers even qualified for this thing, they’re so crap.

‘Welcome to Guildford,’ he goes, big smile and flaky arms wide open, like he’s the Ambassador for Guildford or something. Dryskinned freak.

We all nod. No one makes any attempt to shake his hand.

‘How are we all feeling? Has everyone eaten?’

‘We’re feeling great !’ says Moon brightly.

‘Yup. Really excited for V’s chances,’ goes Jase.

Brendan has no children of his own, and it shows. He’s nodding his head like he’s taking them seriously.

‘That’s excellent. Verrapen, you have some really supportive friends here.’

‘It’s Veerapen,’ I go, for the five thousandth time.

‘Well, look, Veerapen , why don’t I take your friends up to the seating area, whilst you get changed and get yourself ready? It’s an hour until you’ll be called, so if you’re going to eat anything, make sure it’s something very light, like a piece of fruit. Though it may be better if you don’t eat anything at all.’

I touch his arm. It’s safe, he’s wearing his trackie top, so there’s no danger of any skin flaking off on me.

‘It’s alright, Brendan, I’ve done a few of these before. I’ll steer clear of the steak and kidney pies.’

Moon gets a call on her cell and starts looking all shifty. Jason too, as their mutual friend checks in. But Brendan’s whisked them away before I can think any more about it.

I hit the showers as soon as everyone’s out of my face. Can’t be going on the track smelling like a used Astra. The changing rooms are posh, ’cos we’re in Guildford. My shower cubicle has it’s own private changing area and door. It’s like being in the Ritz, but without having to be old or wear a shirt and tie to get in. Proper posh.

I’m steaming in the shower for a good twenty minutes. Let all the irritation and niggles escape from my pores.

When I make my entrance into the main changing room proper, hair slicked back, towel wrapped low around my hip bone, a thin line of pube just about visible above the yellow terry cloth, the room is empty, aside from a couple of fatties (they’d call themselves muscular distance runners ’cos they’ve done weights, but they’re fatties to anyone else). Peter Platinum, Under 17s champ, also passes through, or should that be prances through. Runs like a woman on and off the track. All the real dudes are on trackside starting their warm-up. Major disappointment. I look fit when I’m wet. The two fatties aren’t interested. They take one look and go to the showers, where they’re probably going to bum each other furiously.

Brendan’s back by the time I’m dressed. Chucks me a bottle of water, and makes himself at home.