“You’re Not Waving Goodbye To Your mum, you know.” The dark-haired instructor loomed menacingly over Loretta as she lay on her back in a corner of the weights room. The woman—Karen, Kirsty, some name like that—was dressed from neck to ankle in a shiny red bodysuit which would have shown even a centimeter of excess fat, had there been one to see. She extended an imperious right hand. “Where’s your card?” The three-pound weights Loretta had been clutching in her fists hit the floor with a clang. “...Sorry,” she said, sitting up and feeling for her attendance card inside the elasticized neckline of her leotard. She had often wondered why it was impossible to buy a leotard with pockets, an oversight she mentioned as she drew out the wrinkled cardboard rectangle and passed it up. Karen or Kirsty ignored her. “Oh, well, you haven’t been for two, no, three weeks.” She sounded scandalized. “I’d better come round with you, see what else you’re doing wrong.” The next half-hour took Loretta back to her school-days, to Wednesday afternoons in the gym with Miss Poulson, except that Gillingham Grammar had been equipped with a vaulting horse and climbing bars rather than the latest hi-tech exercise machines.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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