Page 2 of Sweet Dreams at the Forever Home on Muddypuddle Lane (The Forever Home on Muddypuddle Lane #2)

Elijah glared at the blue boot in distaste.

He hated the damned thing and kept taking it off.

Although it provided support to the healing bone, he was concerned that his leg was losing muscle mass and strength.

And since he was rather slim, he didn’t have that much muscle to lose, so he wanted to hang onto what he had.

He’d been tempted to not wear the boot at all today, but he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t.

He kept telling himself he shouldn’t try to run before he could walk, but that’s what he was – a long-distance runner.

Running is what he did, who he was . Okay, he was a baker as well , but baking was for paying the bills and giving him something to do when he wasn’t running.

Running fed his soul, and ever since he’d managed to get a stress fracture and had therefore been unable to run, his soul had been hungry. Starving, in fact.

While he waited for the timer to ding, he checked the RunMad app. It was his favourite thing to do – apart from actually running. The app was his social life and entertainment rolled into one; more so now that he wasn’t able to get out and train.

When he wasn’t out pounding the streets, he was looking at other people’s uploaded routes, times, elevation and distances, or he was watching videos about running, or reading blog posts about running, or drooling over adverts for the latest performance trainers or rehydration drinks.

To say he was obsessed was putting it mildly.

The first account he checked was Cameron’s, and Elijah was both proud and envious to see that his son had done a twenty-mile training run yesterday in a little under two hours forty-five minutes. He noted it was one minute faster than the last twenty miler Cameron had done.

Marathon running was an endurance sport, and a time-consuming one at that. To run the kind of distances Elijah and Cameron ran, you had to be prepared to put in hours and hours of training.

He clicked on the ‘kudos’ button, showing Cameron that he was giving him a virtual pat on the back and a thumbs up for his run, and commented, ‘Nice one.’ Then he scrolled through his feed to see who else had posted runs.

Some people (not many), Elijah knew in real life, having taken part in races with them, but most he only knew as a thumbnail photo and a username.

Still, that didn’t matter. It was the runs they’d done that mattered to him.

After commenting on a few more, he put the phone away, and just in time too, as Andrea, who managed the retail part of the bakery along with supervising the other staff, stuck her head around the door.

She was always teasing him for having his phone in his hand, so he was pleased he’d not given her the opportunity.

‘We’ve had another customer ask for spelt flour bread,’ she said. ‘That’s six in the last week. Do you think there might be a market for it?’

‘Probably.’

‘Can’t you give it a go?’

‘I suppose I could, but not today. For one thing, I don’t have any spelt flour, and for another I’m off to the hospital in an hour.

Fracture clinic,’ he added. To be honest, he really couldn’t be bothered trialling something new, even if there was a call for it.

He preferred to spend his time doing what interested him – running, or thinking about running, or watching videos about running…

‘Ooh, do you think they’ll tell you to leave the boot off?’ Andrea asked.

‘I hope so!’ His reply was heartfelt. ‘I’m already going to miss one marathon; I don’t want to miss any more. And Cameron and I are supposed to be training for the Marathon des Sables.’

‘I thought you said it wasn’t until next year?’

‘It’s not, but it’s a beast. It isn’t called the toughest foot race on earth for nothing!

’ he enthused, warming to his theme even though he’d told her all this before.

‘Six marathons over six days, in desert temperatures of over 40° Celsius,’ he continued.

It gave him goosebumps just thinking about it.

It would be the hardest challenge of his life and he’d be running it with his son. He couldn’t wait!

Andrea shook her head. ‘There’s something wrong with you. How anyone can call that fun is beyond me. I hope, for all our sakes, that they do take your boot off, then perhaps you won’t be so miserable.’

‘I’m not miserable,’ Elijah protested.

She gave him a pointed look. ‘Yes, you are. Do you want me to see if the muffins are done?’ she asked, and he realised the timer had gone off.

‘I’ll do it.’ He’d given his leg a bit of a rest, so it was time he used it again. It wasn’t going to get stronger by molly coddling it. He needed to use it as much as possible.

Gritting his teeth, he got off the stool and hobbled to the oven. The muffins looked absolutely delicious, and in the interests of making sure they tasted as good as they looked, he broke a piece off and popped it in his mouth, offering the other half to Andrea.

‘Not for me, thanks. If I tasted everything you baked, I’d never eat any proper food.’

‘Are you saying my baking isn’t proper food?’ he asked, putting the other half in his mouth and chewing appreciatively.

‘You know what I mean,’ she scolded. ‘It’s alright for you, you’re as skinny as a whippet.’

‘That’s because I exercise a lot.’

‘Yes, well, some of us don’t have time to go running for three or four hours a day, seven days a week.’

‘Four days,’ he corrected. ‘I don’t exercise seven days a week.’

She put her hands on her hips. ‘You go for a “jog”, but not a normal jog. People jog around the park. Your version of a jog is to go to Thornbury and back. That’s nine miles each way. As I said, you’re not normal.’ She huffed out of the room, and his rueful smile followed her.

Maybe he did take his running a smidge too seriously, but he enjoyed it.

It got him out of the house, gave him exercise, and kept him fit.

And compared to other hobbies, like golf, for instance, it was relatively cheap.

All it cost him was a new pair of trainers every few months, and he usually bought those whenever the sports shop had a sale on.

Elijah put the muffins to cool, then checked the time. He needed to make a move if he didn’t want to be late for his appointment at the clinic.

Elijah sat in the waiting room tapping his feet. Correction: tapping his foot. The one without the boot. The fractured one was aching like the devil, so he was keen not to move it too much.

When he heard his name called, he levered himself up with the crutches that he’d been given but hated using.

For one thing, he didn’t want to get told off for not using them, not with being so close to being able to leave his boot off completely, and two, because he didn’t think he could reach the consulting room without them.

The nurse slowed down to allow him to catch up. ‘It looks a lovely day out there,’ she said conversationally.

‘It is, and I hope it’ll be a lovely day in here .’ He pointed to his boot. ‘I’m hoping this will come off.’

She opened a door to a small room containing a desk, a computer, and a woman sitting at it studying the screen.

‘Mr Grant?’ the doctor said.

‘Call me Elijah.’

‘Okay, Elijah, I’m just going to run through a couple of checks to make sure we’ve got the right person, then we’ll see what’s what, okay?’

Impatient to get on with it, Elijah rattled through the answers.

Satisfied, the doctor told him, ‘I’m pleased to say the fracture has healed nicely.’

‘Does that mean I can take this off?’ He was beaming.

‘You may.’

‘Thank the Lord for that!’

‘I’ll arrange for some physio for you, to help strengthen the muscles around—’

‘No need, doctor. I know the exercises I have to do.’

‘Ah, yes, this is the second tibial stress fracture you’ve had on this leg, isn’t it? It says in your notes that you’re a marathon runner.’

‘That’s me – I run marathons. I’ve managed to get into the Marathon de Sable next year. Me and my son.’

She looked at him blankly, so he went on to explain what it was, ending with, ‘I can’t wait to start running again.’

‘How often do you train? And for how long?’

‘Four or five times a week for the longer distances, and in between, I do shorter runs, around fifteen or twenty miles.’

‘That’s a shorter run? ’ Her expression was incredulous.

‘Of course, I know I’ll have to take it easy for a bit, and—’

‘Mr Grant – Elijah – I don’t think you understand. This is the second stress fracture you’ve had on this leg. If you continue with the same level of activity, there will be more. I am strongly advising you to hang up your trainers for fear of doing yourself permanent damage.’

Elijah gawked at her, stunned, unable to believe what he was hearing. ‘Could you say that again?’ he stammered.

The doctor’s face was sympathetic, but her tone brooked no argument as she told him in no uncertain terms, ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to accept that your running days are over.’