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they broke their leg.’
    I can’t help giggling, and Mum shoots me a glare too.
    ‘You can mock me all you like,’ she says to Frank. ‘But I take my responsibility as a parent seriously. I will
not
let you become a couch potato. I will
not
let your arteries harden. I will
not
let you become a statistic. So come on. We’re running. We’ll start with a warm-up. Follow me.’
    She starts marching, pumping her arms at the same time. I recognize the moves from her Davina exercise DVD. After a moment Frank joins in, waving his arms around and rolling his eyes comically. I have to ball a fist into my mouth to stop laughing.
    ‘Engage your core,’ Mum says to Frank. ‘You should do Pilates. Have you heard of an exercise called “the plank”?’
    ‘Give me a break,’ mutters Frank.
    ‘Now, stretch . . .’
    As they’re bending over to stretch their hamstrings, Felix comes bouncing into the hall.
    ‘Yoga!’ he shouts in his joyous way. ‘I can do yoga. I can do yoga VERY FAST.’
    He lies on his back and kicks his legs in the air.
    ‘Brilliant yoga,’ I tell him. ‘That’s very fast yoga.’
    ‘And STRONG yoga.’ Felix looks at me seriously. ‘I am the strongest yoga.’
    ‘You are the strongest yoga,’ I agree.
    ‘All right.’ Mum lifts her head. ‘So, Frank, we’ll take it easy today, just a nice little run . . .’
    ‘What about press-ups?’ Frank interrupts. ‘Shouldn’t we do some press-ups before we leave?’
    ‘
Press-ups?
’ Mum’s face falls for an instant.
    I’ve seen Mum doing press-ups along with Davina’s DVD. It’s not a pretty sight. She curses and sweats and gives up after about five. ‘Well . . . yes.’ She regains her composure. ‘Good idea, Frank. We could do a couple of press-ups.’
    ‘How about thirty?’
    ‘Thirty?’ Mum looks ashen.
    ‘I’ll start,’ says Frank, and drops to the floor. Before I know it, he’s pumping his arms, lowering his face to the ground, and rising up rhythmically. He’s really good. I mean,
really
good.
    Mum is staring at him as though he’s turned into an elephant.
    ‘Aren’t you going to join in?’ says Frank, barely pausing.
    ‘Right,’ says Mum, getting onto her hands and knees. She does a couple of press-ups, then stops.
    ‘Can’t you keep up?’ says Frank, panting. ‘Twenty-three . . . twenty-four . . .’
    Mum does a few more press-ups, then stops, puffing. She’s really not enjoying this.
    ‘Frank,
where
did you learn to do those?’ she says as Frank finishes. She sounds almost cross, like he’s fooled her.
    ‘School,’ he says succinctly. ‘PE.’ He sits back on his knees and gives her a malicious little smile. ‘I can run too. I’m in the cross-country team.’
    ‘
What?
’ Mum looks faint. ‘You didn’t tell me.’
    ‘Shall we go?’ Frank gets to his feet. ‘Only I don’t want to turn into an obese teenage heart-attack victim.’ As they head for the door, I hear him saying, ‘Did you know that most middle-aged women don’t do enough press-ups? It was in the
Daily Mail
.’

    Forty minutes later they pant back into the hall. I say
pant
. Frank’s barely broken a sweat, whereas Mum looks like she’s going to collapse. Her face is red and her hair is dripping. She clutches onto the banister for support, and breathes in and out like a traction engine.
    ‘How was the running?’ begins Dad, coming into the hall, and stops in alarm as he sees Mum. ‘Anne, are you OK?’
    ‘I’m fine,’ manages Mum. ‘Fine. Frank did very well, in fact.’
    ‘Never mind Frank, what about you?’ Dad is still staring at her. ‘Anne, did you overdo it? I thought you were fit!’
    ‘I am fit!’ she practically yells. ‘He tricked me!’
    Frank is shaking his head sadly. ‘Mum’s cardio could really do with some work,’ he says. ‘Mum, you only get one body. You need to
treasure
it.’
    And, winking at me, he ambles off to the playroom.

I mean, Frank has a point.
    But Mum has a point too.