Page 6 of Common People

‘Bethan said before that everyone here has a story. Is that true?’

‘She’s not wrong. It’s one part run club, one part therapy.’

‘Is that why you started it?’

Max and Hope slowly ran beside each other, as they made their way along the pathway that snaked through Clapham Common. As they ran, Hope looked across at Max.

‘I almost died, Max. I was a raging alcoholic in my twenties. I’m still an alcoholic, that doesn’t ever bloody leave you, and I’ve been going to AA for years now.’

‘Oh, right, shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

‘No, no, it’s all right. No worries. I was at my lowest ebb when I found running. It literally saved my life, and I wanted to share that with other people. There’s just something about exercise and community that changes us, you know? So yeah, people tend to have a story, and maybe in time, they’ll all share their stories with you, and maybe one day, you’ll share yours with us. Whatever it is.’

‘What makes you think I have a story?’ asked Max, and when he looked at Hope, she smiled.

‘Everyone’s got a story. Some are worse than others, bigger than others, they’re all different, but we’ve all got one,’ said Hope, and they kept running, stepping one foot in front of the other, and he couldn’t stop thinking about what she had said.Everyone’s got a story.He would never have imagined her being an alcoholic. She seemed so fit, so happy and energised by life, and yet she had almost died. Max wasn’t ready to share what hadhappened to him yet, but he was eager to hear all their stories. Bethan, Charlie, Joe, Anita and Eve, they all had their own heartache, their own pain, and they were out there on Clapham Common, trying their best to run it off.

For the first time since he had seen the flyer at the coffee shop, Max was excited about the possibilities of Common People. Maybe it was just what he needed to move on. He felt his legs getting a little stronger as the pace picked up. He was inspired by everyone around him, especially Hope. Maybe he could do this. Perhaps he was a runner, after all.

Thirty minutes later …

‘There you go, mate, get it all up!’ said Charlie, patting Max heavily on his back, as he puked up into the grass by the side of the pathway, as everyone else in the group watched on with varying degrees of horror. ‘This is the sort of growth I was talking about. Good bloke!’

‘Sorry, I don’t know what happened,’ mumbled Max, coming up for air, before he felt his stomach convulse again, and he vomited all over the grass in front of everyone.

Everyday life before the accident

Max was sitting on the train next to Emma and they were heading to St Albans. This was a big deal, and they both knew it because Emma was going to meet his parents for the first time. She had made a real effort with her outfit, spending hours in her bedroom before they left, switching out outfits, doing her hair and make-up because she wanted to look her best, but Max knew his parents wouldn't mind how she looked. All they cared about was whether she made him happy. Max reached down and held her hand as the train slowly pulled into St Albans Station on that bright but cold Sunday afternoon.

‘It’s going to be fine, you know. My parents are going to love you,’ said Max with a smile, but he could feel the warmth in her hand, see the tension in her face, and the mild panic in her eyes. The problem was that Max had explained to her numerous times since they had started dating just how important his parents were to him and how much he respected their opinion, so Emma knew that if she blew it, it would put a serious dent in their relationship. They stood up as the train came to a gradual stop, and then waited for the doors to open with a sharp ping.

‘But what if they don’t?’ said Emma, stepping off the train, and they walked along the platform. ‘What if they don’t think I’m good enough for you.’

‘Why would they think that?’ said Max, as they walked through the barriers, leaving the train station, before the ten-minute walk to his parents’ house.

‘Oh, I don’t know because no-one is good enough for their perfect little boy,’ said Emma. ‘And yes, I know I’m beingfacetious, but since we met, all you’ve told me about your parents is just how close you all are. It feels like I’m walking into a trap.’

‘We’re close because I’m an only child,’ replied Max, turning onto the main road that led into St Albans.

‘But don’t you see, Max. It’s a lot of pressure,’ said Emma, and Max stopped walking, took hold of Emma by the shoulders, and gently turned her towards him.

‘Em, my parents are going to love you because I love you. They’re going to think you’re perfect for me because I think you’re perfect for me. I know my parents, Em, and trust me when I say that you have nothing to worry about. OK?’

Emma looked at him, and then she smiled, letting out a deep breath she didn’t even realise she was holding in. ‘OK, and thank you.’

‘Right, let’s go and enjoy Mum’s Sunday roast because trust me, it’s one of the best you’re ever going to have. She does some sort of magic with the roast potatoes that doesn’t even make sense. They’re out of this world!’

Max held Emma’s hand as they walked to his parents’ house. The same walk that Max had done hundreds of times before as a boy and then as a young man returning home from university and then London. The walk along Victoria Street, past the church on the right-hand side, Iceland on the left, the Robin Hoodpub, which he had been in many times over the years, and towards the town centre. Then it was a right, a left, another right, and two more lefts until finally they were standing outside his parents' 1930s semi-detached house where Max had grown up. Every time Max stood outside of that house, a million memories flooded through him, like he was all the versions of himself all at once.

‘Ready?’ he asked Emma.

‘What if I say no?’

‘I think it might already be too late for that,’ said Max as the front door opened and standing there with effervescent smiles on their faces, were Phillip and Susan Lawson, ready to greet the first girlfriend Max had brought home in years.

Emma was greeted like a returning Olympian to British shores with warm hugs, platitudes galore, and with the promise of refreshments and a slap-up roast with all the trimmings. As they walked inside, Max couldn’t help notice that his mum had clearly had a real tidy-up for their arrival. Not that the house wasn’t always spotless because it was, but there had been an extra level of care. A new air freshener had been deployed that had top notes of something floral and base notes of something deeply woody. All the clutter had been removed from the entranceway, and as they walked along the hallway, past the living room and then into the kitchen, it was clear that there had been a deep clean. The kitchen, despite a roast being cooked, was spotless. Max imagined his Mum whizzing around the house all morning making sure that everything was spick and span, while his father got out of her way. He probably had a round of golf, and then was instructed to head to Waitrose to pick up something that Mum had forgotten.

‘Come in,’ said Susan. ‘Welcome to our home, Emma.’