Page 63 of My Summer of Magic Moments

‘Let’s go, Bella’s Babes,’ Claire shouted. A battle cry. They tore up the sides of the wall, balancing precariously at the top. Thank Christ for the rubber crash mats each side, but you could still break an ankle in a fall, mused Claire as she wobbled at the top. Sal was up and over in a flash – Claire hadn’t realized what a little power pack she had for a sister. It was probably all those years keeping up with three males in the house – but Lou was clinging on warily near the top.

‘Hate heights,’ she shouted nervously.

‘Ah, here, take my hand. I’ll help.’ Claire reached out, reminding herself not to look down. She was feeling a little wobbly too. ‘Don’t look down, Lou. Just concentrate on this bit – hang on and swing a leg over the top.’

‘Okay, ladies.’ The very nice marshal man gripped Lou’s other hand as she mounted the top beam and guided her over. ‘Best to turn at this point,’ he suggested, ‘then go back down facing the wall step by step. You’ll be fine.’

Just like life – step by step, with a guiding hand along the way and a friend or two in tow.

Andrea had already made it over the top and was perched just below Lou, who was still on the net the other side. ‘Come on, let’s beat the fucker,’ Andrea shouted up at both Claire and Lou.

Three other ladies and the marshal stared down from the top looking slightly shocked.

‘Sorry, I’m talking about cancer! Not you lot.’

‘Ah. Right.’ Understanding softened their furrowed brows.

‘Yeah!’ Sal shouted up from the base. ‘Absolutely,’ joined in Claire from the top, and a little cheer rose up from around them.

‘Yay, we did it!’ A couple of minutes later, and they had all reached solid ground on the far side.

There was a click and flash of a camera as they assembled at the bottom. Steve, photographer from the Herald, had caught up with them. ‘Go Claire, go Andrea,’ he cheered. ‘Got a great shot then. Just remember to smile next time,’ he added cheekily.

Andrea grimaced at him.

The team began running once more, though every joint was aching now. They had to have done over two of the three miles now, for sure. They passed another group of four ladies who had decided on walking.

This was becoming hard work as there was yet another hill to run up. Claire was certain there’d been more ups than downs. How did that work?

‘My legs are killing me,’ groaned Andrea.

‘Well, don’t mess about now. Do you realize we’re the first ones in the group? Come on, we might just come in first.’ Lou was getting competitive.

‘Yeah, come on. We can do this this,’ Sal urged.

They pushed on, with plenty of moaning and groaning.

‘Don’t stop now, there’s another group gaining on us,’ Lou shouted, eager to keep the pace.

Not that there were really winners or losers in this. It wasn’t a race where people or teams were placed. It was a challenge against yourself only, and to help others. It was just a matter of Team Bella’s pride, and coming in first out of their section would be the icing on the cake.

They could see the racecourse buildings as they reached the brow of the hill, so they couldn’t be far away from the finish now. Claire looked at her team, already clarted in mud from chest to toes, feeling very proud of them. They turned a corner into a courtyard area, and here it was, the grand finale of obstacles. The mud-wrestling pit.

Wow – a huge tub of mud, probably knee-deep, and you had to lie down in it and crawl, and oh my God, there were Ollie, Mark and Jack sporting plastic shovels, as well as a couple of the marshals. Yes, people were ready to scoop mud all over them. So that was how the other charity runners had it in their hair, their eyes, their mouths. This was the apocalypse scene. And the cameras were flashing away.

‘All in a good cause!’ she shouted to the others as they plunged in. Oh Jeez, it was filling every nook and cranny. Oh good lord, it’d take weeks to clear it out of all the cracks. Her shower was going to have a hard time; she hoped the drains were good in her new flat.

‘Go Mum. Go Auntie Claire.’ Slop. She got a scoop right in the face.

‘I’ll remember this, Ollie,’ she managed to laugh, though the mud was now in her mouth, on her teeth, gritty and earthy to taste. This was so bloody crazy.

‘Thanks, Andrea,’ she shouted ironically across the tub as they were crawling to a stand. Mud glooped off them as they straddled the far end trying to get out.

‘Yes, thanks, Andrea,’ the others joined in.

Danny and a couple of his football mates were standing laughing on the sidelines, and then there was the line-up of schoolchildren seeing them back in. ‘Go, Miss Jones!!’

‘Is that really you Miss Jones?’ a little girl piped up.