Forty Things To Do Before You're Forty. Alice Ross

am I.’ Annie set down her cup with great purpose.

      Portia began circling things on the list. ‘Oh no?’ she asked, without looking up. ‘When was the last time you had a proper night out? Met someone new? Did something … exciting?’

      Pushing back her chair from the table, Annie stood up and took the four steps necessary to reach the kitchen sink. ‘I don’t want to do anything exciting,’ she said, turning on the tap and squirting washing-up liquid over the dishes in the bowl. ‘I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is.’

      ‘So you keep saying. But it’s not normal for a gorgeous woman in her prime to sit in every evening watching TV and playing with Lego®.’

      ‘Um, in case you had forgotten,’ pointed out Annie, frothing the bubbles in the bowl with her hand, ‘I am a single mother with a five year old child. And I think you’re overegging it with the “gorgeous”.’

      ‘No I’m not. You are gorgeous. Or at least you would be if you made more of an effort; wore some make-up every now and again. There are lots of yummy mummies around these days. The celeb mags are full of them. .’

      ‘Those mummies have wall-to-wall hairdressers, wardrobes full of designer clothes and a squadron of personal trainers. This one owns a tiny cake shop which just about funds a bi-monthly cut-and-blow and her daughter’s shoes.’

      ‘Well, it’s not right,’ huffed Portia, putting down her pen and taking another slug of coffee. ‘You’re always putting yourself last. It’s time you did something for you.’

      Annie rolled her eyes. Honestly, as much as she loved her best friend, it was glaringly obvious sometimes that they inhabited completely different worlds. ‘And when do you suggest I find time to do that?’ she asked archly.

      ‘You could leave Sophie with your parents for a couple of weeks and fly over to Majorca. Stay at the villa. You’d have a great time. And … you might even find a sexy rich man.’

      Annie turned off the tap and spun around to face her friend. ‘You know I can’t leave Sophie with my parents. They’re far too old to cope with an energetic five year old, who, incidentally, now has to go to school. Besides, I don’t want a sexy rich man. Or a man of any description. Do I need to remind you how my last relationship ended?’

      Portia sniffed derisively. ‘That’s because Lance is a louse. They’re not all like that. I know you find it hard to believe but there actually are some decent men out there. You’ve just got to give them a chance. Look here – number thirty-eight on this list: fall madly in love.’

      ‘Written by a deluded romantic,’ tutted Annie. ‘I’d rather trust a funnel-web spider than another man. Life is much more straightforward without them. Now, what else is on that list?’

      ‘Run a marathon.’

      ‘Now that –’ Annie chuckled, ‘– is a much more tempting proposition.’

      And so Annie had seized that last challenge and ran with it – literally. Given that anything remotely resembling aerobic activity until that day had been a trot around her bijou lounge with the vacuum cleaner, she was building up gradually, starting with the 10k. Needless to say, the first sightings of her in her running shorts, puce-faced and dripping with sweat, caused much consternation amongst the village residents, several of whom questioned her sanity. But Annie was relishing the challenge. It was a long time since she’d set a goal and thrown herself into achieving it. All goal setting belonged to a former life, one which now seemed a million light years away. Things had changed dramatically since then. She had changed dramatically since then. Yet, despite these dramatic changes, she was determined to complete this race – even if they had to carry her over the finish line – which, given her stitch, blister and aching limbs, was more than a remote possibility.

      The glorious sunshine, dazzling blue sky and stunning Yorkshire countryside still abounded but Jake’s appreciation was waning. Rapidly. It felt as though he’d been driving for days – weeks even – instead of the six hours it actually was. He drove so rarely these days, he wasn’t used to it. Nor was it an activity he enjoyed, which was hardly surprising given what had happened five years ago. And on roads just like these - apparently innocuous, idyllic country roads where fatal disaster seemed unimaginable. Yet Jake could imagine it all too well – even now, years on. Still, now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. He shook his head in an attempt to temporarily dislodge the memory of that fateful day. He would never erase it permanently. It was etched on his mind like the words on Nina’s marble headstone – something else he did not want to think about just now. He took a deep breath in and concentrated on his driving. Tension gripped his shoulders and his back ached. All the roads were beginning to look the same and he hadn’t seen a signpost for miles. He desperately needed a pint and something to eat. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Almost two o’clock. No wonder he was starving. At this rate he may have to resort to boy scout tactics and go and catch a fish or something. But no – there was hope. He pushed his sunglasses a shade higher up the bridge of his nose. He could see a runner in the distance. There was life out there after all. His spirits lifted as he applied a little more pressure to the accelerator.

      A serious stitch pierced Annie’s left side. But she couldn’t stop running. She only had a mile to go. That should take her approximately ten minutes. Ten minutes before she could kick off her trainers and sink into a steaming hot bubble bath. She attempted to visualise that scenario but failed. The stitch was too bad. Instead, she turned up the volume on her iPod. Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk flooded her ears – the perfect tune to spur her on. Taking a deep inhalation, she gritted her teeth and continued running.

      Jake eased off the accelerator as he approached the runner. It was a girl, with a ponytail of honey-blonde curls swinging from the back of a pink baseball cap. Courtesy of her black running shorts, though, it was her legs that really caught his attention – long, toned and tanned legs, moving at an impressive rate. Manoeuvring the jeep parallel to her, he pressed the button to lower the passenger-side window.

      ‘Excuse me,’ he ventured, one hand on the steering wheel as he leaned towards the open window.

      The girl appeared not to notice him. Jake could see that she had earphones in. He rolled the car a little further ahead. As it hit her eye-line, she started slightly and turned to face him, still running. He could just make out the lower part of her face, the rest obscured by the rim of her cap.

      ‘Excuse me, but I’m looking for Buttersley. You couldn’t point me in the right direction could you?’

      She pulled out her right earphone. Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk drifted out. ‘Sorry,’ she puffed, holding out the earphone to indicate she hadn’t heard him.

      ‘Buttersley?’ repeated Jake, raising his eyebrows optimistically.

      ‘Left at the junction and you’re there,’ she replied, tossing him a cursory smile.

      ‘Great. Thanks.’

      She didn’t look at him again, but held up her hand in reply, before stuffing the earphone back in.

      Well, thank goodness for that, mused Jake. He was on the right road – at long last. He glanced in his rear-view mirror as he drove away. The girl was still running – with those legs. He swiped a bead of sweat from his brow and suddenly felt quite peculiar.

      An hour later, eventually arriving at his destination via the village pub where he’d tucked into a hearty portion of fish and chips followed by apple pie and custard, Jake almost had to pinch himself. Fate had definitely shone on him the day he bumped into Jasper Pinkington-Smythe at the London airport a few weeks ago. Jake was flying home to Scotland after a meeting with his literary agent. Jasper had been en route to his family’s villa in Majorca. He asked Jake what he was up to and Jake muttered something about having a stab at writing a book. The predictable ‘what about?’ followed. Never comfortable talking about his writing, Jake mumbled something vague about a murder-mystery set in a medieval castle.

      ‘If you’re looking for