I put my hand to my side and dug in my fingers to relieve a stitch that was threatening, before taking a moment to enjoy the evocative music, with the snowy Glarner Alps as the magnificent backdrop.
Three old men, dressed in traditional black wool jackets intricately embroidered with edelweiss, had carried their bulky instruments up the hill to this idyllic setting. The melancholic music drifted across the fields.
As the music came to an end, a long, hollow, three-pitch harmony fading to silence, I smiled and raised my hands to my mouth in a silent gesture of appreciation. Tears pricked at my eyes, and my throat wobbled with emotion. Kathy broke into a round of applause and one of the men beckoned her over to try the alphorn. After much honking and huffing, we were reduced to girlish giggles, and the musicians shared our amusement.
As they began packing their instruments away in their cases, Kathy said, ‘Race you home,’ though she knew I could beat her on any day. We started off at a jog.
‘Speaking of races, when are we going to get you to run this elusive marathon then?’ I asked.
Kathy snorted.
‘I’m serious,’ I continued. ‘I know you said you didn’t think you’d ever be able to set the distances in training, but I honestly think you can finish a marathon. It would be so much fun to train together.’
‘Well, I was considering running Zürich next April,’ she stated, as though it was something she had never stopped thinking about.
‘Brilliant!’ I said.
‘But, Al, a marathon! You have four under your belt. It will be my first. I’ll be holding you back. You’ve had so much more experience than me. Jeez, you were county champion. How can I compete with that?’
‘It’s not a competition, Kathy. Well, only on a personal level. I’m keen to see if I can get anywhere near my previous personal best time. My PB. And I’m not thinking of April next year. I’m thinking about something closer. Perhaps one of the autumn races.’
She looked at me incredulously.
‘This year? Oh, Al, I don’t know,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’ll talk to Matt about it and let you know.’
‘Come on. If you commit, you must sign up straight away. It’ll give you the incentive to train if you know you have a place waiting for you. I’m going to sign up on Monday. You know Matt would be only too pleased for you to set yourself a big goal.’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘You’re serious. Bossy, but serious.’
Earnest dedication to a training programme was needed for such an event, but a little voice told me to persuade her to make the commitment. Our breath now came easier as we loped downhill side by side.
‘If we start a sixteen-week training programme before the school holidays, it’ll be perfect timing for the October race. We can build a pyramid schedule, training up to a run around the Zug Lake six weeks before the race. That’s about thirty-six kilometres. Perfect for the longest run. We can do a weekly speed session at the Zug Stadium track. It’ll be great to keep each other motivated.’
She sighed. She knew I wasn’t going to let it go. We were approaching the turnoff to our home.
‘Okay, look, I’ll try. I’ll sign up too, and hope I can keep up with you. I’m not going to come in for tea this time, Al. I have a lunch with the library committee at the international school, so have to get spruced up for them.’
My phone buzzed as Kathy unlocked her car. We hugged and I pulled it out of my belt as I walked towards the door. Simon must have forgotten something. I looked at the screen, a number I didn’t recognise. Must be a wrong number. I clicked open the message.
Thank you.
I waved absently as Kathy drove off, with promises to stick to all our run dates as we prepared for our marathon.
Thank you.
I was confused, couldn’t think who would want to thank me. And in English. Could this be Manfred? It made sense if it was. But my automatic relief that he was okay was short-lived as my heart skipped a beat.
How the hell did he get my mobile phone number?
MAY
Leon’s class at school had organised a public presentation about European cultures, and his teacher had asked whether some of the mothers from the Chat Club could help with an English-language exhibit. I was thrilled to be asked, for this was a tiny step closer to being accepted as part of the community.
I was helping Leon’s teacher move a folding table in the foyer of the sports hall when the bell rang for the end of school. Children spilled out of the schoolhouse like marbles from a jar. Some of them dribbled into the exhibition and were joined by their parents later. Leon and a friend of his were in charge of one of the exhibits on the other side of the hall. He hadn’t wanted to participate in the English project and had instead chosen an exhibit on Serbian culture with some friends.
‘It’s nothing to do with you specifically, Mum, but it’s kind of embarrassing to be standing with your own mother at an exhibit all afternoon,’ he said when we initially talked about the project.
I felt out of place, though. Parents stopped to talk easily to my best Chat Club ‘student’, Esther, and the other woman at our stand, but no one was prepared to speak to me in either English or German. I was still the foreigner here. When I caught Leon’s eye across the hall, he looked away guiltily. He must have known it would have been easier for me if he were by my side. He wasn’t aware I simply wanted to hold on to that mother–child connection before he grew into an adult.
As we cleared trestle tables and poster boards away at the end of the day, Leon’s teacher caught up with me, and we crossed the courtyard together.
‘Frau Reed, I didn’t want to talk to you before because we were so busy with the exhibition, but I need to speak to you about Leon.’
My heart sank. Her tone didn’t sound positive.
‘I want to thank you so much for helping with this exhibition. Your input was invaluable.’
She hesitated. I knew immediately she had some bad news for me. The one-minute manager. Praise before the bad news.
‘I don’t know if you are aware, but Leon seems to have lost his way this year at school. His grades are way below the level for his transfer to Gymnasium and he does not seem happy to be at school. He and another boy are being very disruptive in class, and I am afraid they may have been picking on some of the younger students in the primary school during break. I wanted to wait until the end of the school year to see if things improved, but an incident this week means I have to speak to you. This is something the school cannot tolerate, and the school counsellor has asked me on more than one occasion whether we need to address the issue with you, the parents.’
‘Wow, I knew he was behind on some assignments, but… no, I wasn’t aware. I’m stunned.’
I knew I was distracted at the moment, with the Manfred incident and the decision to run a marathon later in the year. But I didn’t think there were signs I had ignored. Or worse, could I be the cause? This was surely every mother’s fear.
Taking a deep breath, I thanked the teacher for making me aware of the situation, and promised to address the issue.
Simon and I lay in bed reading, the silence a comfortable familiarity. I finished a chapter before closing