Hard Knocks by Zoe Sharp Read Free Book Online Page A

“Get down and give me ten press-ups.”
     
    Jan’s face mirrored her surprise. She put her hands on her hips. “Or what?” she demanded.
     
    “Or you can pack your bag right now and bugger off back home, love,” Todd said. He gave her a nasty smile. “Better make that fifteen press-ups.”
     
    “You can’t order me about like that,” Jan said, but there was a note of uncertainty in her voice now, underlying the belligerence.
     
    “You didn’t read the small print when you signed up for this, did you?” Todd asked. He raised his voice, speaking to the group of us. “We need hundred per cent effort from you lot. Anyone who isn’t prepared to put the graft in and you’re straight out.” He waved an arm towards the edge of the gravel, where it faded out into the gloom in the direction of the forest track we’d come in on.
     
    He turned back to Jan. “It’s a long walk out of here, but you can use the time to reflect on what a failure you are. On how you haven’t got the guts and the dedication to make it.” He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. So, what’s it to be – twenty press-ups, or the next flight back home?”
     
    They continued to stare each other out for a moment longer, then Jan dropped slowly and reluctantly to the frozen gravel.
     
    Todd watched her complete the first three, then turned away. How many press-ups she actually managed to achieve was immaterial, I realised, it was the capitulation he’d been after.
     
    Oh God, one of those . . .
     
    I’d come across enough of Todd’s type – the control freaks and the macho bullshitters. First in the army, and then in the brief period I’d spent working the doors in a local nightclub. I’d found out early that I didn’t like playing the game their way. Sean had warned me to keep a low profile, but if this was their attitude, it wasn’t going to be easy. Perhaps it was a good job there was someone as bolshie as Jan to do the answering back.
     
    “OK people, listen up,” Todd shouted. “We’re going to start out nice and easy with a straightforward little jog . . .”
     
    His idea of a little jog, we quickly discovered, involved several klicks of rough forest tracks, at a pace he must have known hardly any of us could hope to sustain. The ground was frosted hard enough to concuss your joints with every stride. If it had been wet, the mud would have been impassable.
     
    As it was, within the first kilometre we became widely strung out. I was thankful that I’d spent most of the previous year working at the gym, and so was fit enough to keep up with the middle of the field, at least. I didn’t have to put the brakes on in order to stick to the inconspicuous position Sean had recommended.
     
    Two of the other instructors played sheepdog. Todd showed off his superior stamina by roaming up and down the line, goading us on. Sometimes he fell back almost to the rear and sometimes he’d sprint past to harangue those at the front.
     
    I was surprised to see Blakemore lead off at the head of the group, despite the comments of the big German the night before. Blakemore was quick enough but he moved with a slight awkwardness, compensating for his damaged knee.
     
    Bringing up the rear was the Belfast man, whose name I’d learned was O’Neill. I remembered his unguarded gesture last night at supper and wondered how he’d come by the hurt he was so obviously trying to mask. It surprised me that these two were the ones out running with us. If the Major didn’t even allow for injury time among his instructors, how was he going to treat the rest of us?
     
    Without breakfast, my body had just about used up its available reserves after around five klicks. My thigh muscles were blocky and buzzing and I could feel my pace weakening with every stride. The cold air was murderous as I sucked it down into my lungs, burning my chest from the inside out.
     
    When the man in front of me started to slow, I couldn’t have been more