I joined a gym when not only could I not zip up my favourite jeans any more, but I’d started wondering if I might be too middle-aged to wear jeans anyway. Getting old. Getting fat. And the scene is not forgiving of physical imperfection. I’m alone and it’s been a year since Bill died. It’s time.

I say scene, but we don’t exactly have much of a scene in this town. There’s the Queen’s Head—don’t get ideas, it been called that since 1582—our friendly local gay pub. And we have a couple of nightclubs in the middle of town, but I don’t go the clubs. I always fear that they’ll check my I.D. and refuse me entrance for being too old. Forty-three? Get out of here, granddad!

Then there’s this gym. It’s not exactly part of the scene, but according to Jess, the landlady of the Queen’s Head, it’s gay friendly. No shenanigans in the sauna, though—it’s not thatfriendly.

“Daniel,” Jess said to me. “Get your arse into Temple and see who you meet on the next treadmill.”

That’s what this gym is called—Temple, because it’s in a converted church. I suppose the joker who named it considered that funny; a temple of the body. Whatever. It’s only five minutes’ walk away from home and practically next door to the Queen’s Head.

The first day in, the person on the next treadmill was a woman my age who looked like she was feeling the weight of the years same as me. I wasn't there to meet someone, though, I swear. I wasn't so desperate. I came to get in shape and a better chance of meeting someone elsewhere. Or at least a better chance of not being laughed at or pitied when I start trying.

But, as usual when you have no plans for something, it happens. I’d been jogging or—walking pretty fast anyway—on the treadmill when I saw him. Not on the next treadmill, but walking across the gym floor towards the studio they hold the exercise classes in. He wore the uniform of the gym staff and, though they all wore it well, he was the one who filled it out most impressively. Older than any of them, closer to my age, with magnificent arms, a great big chest, and light brown hair cut short and neat.

When he gave me a flash of a nice smile, along with a nod, I almost tripped over my feet. Okay, don’t get carried away,I told myself. He’s just a staff member being friendly to a customer. Don’t get excited.He passed by, and I turned around to watch him go into the studio. Nice arse. I wondered what shifts he did and what classes he led. I heard him say “Hello, ladies,” as he closed the door of the studio. Would I have the nerve to go to a class full of women to get another look at him?

Oh great. I’d been a member for two minutes and I was already making plans to stalk one of the instructors. This whole dating thing was complicated. It’s changed in the fifteen years since I last had to think about it. Bill and me broke up a couple of times, but I always knew we’d get back together.

That wasn’t happening this time. Not now that Bill was in a graveyard in Yorkshire under a headstone which didn’t mention me anywhere. Beloved son and brother, that’s all. I’d been made to feel I was being granted an enormous favour by being allowed to go to the funeral.

I jogged on, moving the speed of the treadmill up a little. The woman beside me finished her run and moved on to a rowing machine. I barely noticed her leave. I shouldn’t have thought about Bill. All these months and the thought of him still had the power to make my throat tight and my eyes burn.

I tried to think about the hot gym instructor instead. And all I could think of was how different he was from Bill physically. Bill was thin as a whip, whatever he ate; something I complained about bitterly to him on a regular basis, I can tell you. And he had fine blond hair, barely thinning or receding at all, even though his fiftieth birthday was rapidly disappearing in the rear view mirror behind him. Add good bone structure and intelligent blue eyes and you get the picture. No wonder even the young guys still went after him.

I realised at least twenty minutes had passed, and my legs were feeling like someone filled my socks with lead. Better get out of here. They say you should start slow, don’t push too hard. My chest felt kind of tight, too. That might have been from thinking about Bill, though.