Fen.
She ran effortlessly, like she was gliding, legs muscular yet lean. The lowering sun gilded her in a stream of golden light. Her shoulders were tanned and she wore an expression of easy, full focus. Robyn had recently listened to a podcast about being in a flow state, which was when you were fully present in the moment, pushing your edge, ceasing to be aware of the environment around you. Top athletes, artists and writers could access it – so could everyone – but it was fleeting. Something to be learned. Fen of the flow state.
She watched Fen with a rising sense of nostalgia, remembering the Robyn who was once athletic and strong. When she’d fallen pregnant, her muscular, lithe body had bloomed into an entirely new shape, and she’d felt like a spectator, watching it happen. When she went into labour, she was ready. She had every confidence in her strength, her physicality. She’d read a birthing book about wild women letting themselves roar, moving with the pain, not fearing it. But her body had had other ideas. After labouring for twelve hours, she began to vomit blood. An infection meant she had to be hooked up to a monitor on a hospital bed. She could no longer writhe on the floor – but she could still yell.
‘Honey, not so loud.’ That from Bill.
Not so loud?
She was bringing another human being into the world. ‘I will fucking roar!’ she’d told him, and honestly, it was the coolest thing she’d ever said.
And she had roared. She’d roared and roared – but still her body, with all its animalistic strength, hadn’t done what it was meant to. Thirty-six hours and a hoarse voice later, she agreed to an emergency caesarean.
It shouldn’t have mattered – Jack arrived safe and healthy, with a shock of dark hair and a pink face that she couldn’t stop kissing – but afterwards it mattered, when she realised the surgery involved sawing through five layers of muscle and tissue. An infection extended her stay in hospital, and her once muscular body turned soft, weak. She had no core strength, so her back took the strain – and didn’t like it.
Where she’d once had a six-pack, now there was a gap between her abdominal muscles where the inside of her stomach domed if she tried to engage them. She was doing physio, pathetic little exercises of tilting her pelvis. She’d told the woman, ‘But I used to be able to do chin-ups. From any branch, I could jump up – cling on.’ The physio had nodded patiently. ‘Small steps. You’ve had a baby.’
Yes, but there were other women who had babies – who pushed out three or four of them – and were still strong. Her body had let her down. She didn’t trust it anymore.
But watching Fen, she remembered herself like that. Powerful, fit, capable. She was in awe of Fen’s body, the ripple of muscle.
Suddenly Fen glanced up, noticing Robyn. She smiled.
Robyn felt heat rise in her cheeks. She’d always been a terrible flusher.
Fen slowed her pace, jogging lightly towards her. Tiny puffs of dust rising with each step, her calves muscular and smooth. She came to a stop, hands on hips. She was wearing an old band T-shirt, the sleeves cut off, and was barely out of breath.
‘How’s the trail?’ Robyn asked.
Fen briefly closed her eyes. ‘Beautiful. Everywhere smells of wild rosemary. There’s no one. Not a soul in sight. God, it’s glorious.’
Robyn found herself smiling, too. On the flight, Fen had been hemmed in by Bella and, in truth, Robyn had thought, If she’s Bella’s girlfriend, she won’t be my kind of person. What a ludicrous, judgemental thought. Too long living with her parents, she decided.
She took in Fen fully now. Her nose was pierced, a simple silver stud in her right nostril. Her bleached hair held an undercut on one side. Robyn wouldn’t even know how to ask for it at the hairdresser. The sort of haircut that her parents would call ‘alternative’。 Everything was alternative to them. Tattoos. Body piercings. Dyed hair. Same-sex relationships.
She looked at this woman – drinking in the view, so full of life and vitality and confidence and wonder – and thought, That’s how I want to be.
‘Is there a phone signal?’ Fen asked, looking at the mobile Robyn was gripping.
‘Just about. I was trying to call my little boy. He’d just gone to bed.’ She could feel her voice threatening to crack. What the hell was going on with her today?
‘I’m sorry,’ Fen said. ‘You must be missing him.’
She nodded. ‘First time I’ve left him. He’s only eighteen months.’