‘It’s not stupid,’ Cleo said softly. ‘Anyone can have one. Have you ever thought of CBT, or joining a support group, maybe? It might help.’
Tash cleared her throat. ‘I did have some CBT, ages ago and found it quite useful. I should probably book some more sessions when I’m back home.’
She shivered. ‘It’s getting cold now.’
‘Do you think you can walk back to the villa?’ Cleo asked, remembering Tash was only in a short cotton skirt and T-shirt. She realised she was chilly, too, in her skimpy summer dress.
She rose and offered Tash a hand, which she took, before pulling her up to standing. Tash was a bit wobbly on her feet at first, so Cleo tucked the hand under her arm for support. She’d collect the empty tea mugs in the morning.
They didn’t see anyone else in the garden when they made their way slowly back to Villa Ariadne together. However, Mark was still in the kitchen clearing away the dishes and, presumably, prepping for breakfast.
After the soft darkness outside, the kitchen’s bright lights made Cleo squint and it took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust.
‘Nice stroll?’ Mark asked with a friendly smile. ‘You weren’t tempted to swim?’
His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he was in a navy butcher’s apron. He wiped his damp hands on a tea towel. Cleo found his pleasant, solid presence reassuring.
‘The pool did look tempting,’ she replied, ‘but it was a bit too cold. Tomorrow, for sure.’
Tash was subdued beside her, but Mark didn’t seem to notice.
When Cleo yawned, he had to stifle a yawn himself. It had been a long day for him as well.
‘God, I’m tired. I expect you are too. I hope you get a good night’s sleep,’ he added with watery eyes, smiling at them both in turn. ‘See you two ladies in the morning.’
Cleo feared replaying what had just happened would keep her awake; that, and fretting about Erica and her earlier text. But in fact, having resolved not to reply to her daughter that night, she slept soundly, worn out by her early start and all the travelling, plus the emotional strain of dealing with Tash’s episode.
She was so worried about waking up late and missing morning yoga, she set her alarm for ten-minute intervals and forced herself out of bed on the second to last ring.
Her heart sprang when she opened the window shutters and was greeted by bright sunshine and a perfectly blue sky, which seemed to blend in the distance into the vivid cobalt sea.
For a short while, she completely forgot about her problems and the day ahead seemed packed with promise. Rootling in her chest of drawers, she pulled out a pair of brownish, leopard print leggings, a black vest top and her grey sweatshirt, which she didn’t think she’d need. Then she splashed her face with cold water, dabbed on a little sun-protective moisturiser and twisted her long, chestnut hair into a messy sort of bun.
The leggings, which she’d bought in a sale specially for the trip, felt tight round the waist and it occurred to her she should have got the larger size. She wasn’t fat, but wished the stubborn roll round her stomach, which had mysteriously appeared in her late forties, would melt away.
She tried to wiggle the top of the leggings up beneath her ribs, where she was thinner, but it hurt her crotch and she fretted about the dreaded camel toe.
Luckily, there was no full-length mirror in the room, or she might have got cold feet about wearing her new purchase at all. As it was, she could just about convince herself she looked OK and no one would care anyway.
A few people were already on the lawn beyond the trellised archway when Cleo arrived, sitting or lying on rubbery yoga mats in assorted bright colours, which had been placed in a big circle.
She spotted Maya first, all in black like last night but with a neon yellow sweatband on her head. She was on her back, windscreen wiping her legs from side to side, her arms outstretched and eyes closed.
Tash, meanwhile, was sitting cross-legged with her hands resting on her knees, breathing deeply while she seemed to gaze, head slightly bowed, at a particular spot on the grass in front.
Ingrid and Frida were kneeling side by side, chatting to the sixty-something woman with dark hair, flecked with grey, who’d worn the pink-and-blue cheesecloth smock last night. Cleo hadn’t managed to speak to her yet.
Picking the empty pale purple mat beside Tash’s green one, she put her water bottle on the ground and sat down quietly.
Ima, the tiny Spanish teacher, was busy sorting through a pile of blue-and-orange yoga stretch straps, rolling them up before putting them back in a wicker basket and checking her watch.
Large and distinctive-looking, with a round face and several buttons on the side which flashed periodically, the watch seemed to do a lot more than just tell the time. It probably tracked Ima’s heartbeat, sleep, step count, oxygen levels and much more besides, Cleo thought. Perhaps she should save up for one herself.
‘There are still two more people to come,’ Ima announced. ‘We can wait another a couple of minutes for them, then we’ll have to start.’
So, Lesley and Fran were late! Cleo smiled inwardly. Lesley, who’d slagged off the entire Greek population for their lack of punctuality, was now making the rest of the group hang about. Cleo couldn’t wait to discuss it with Tash.
Soon, Ima took her place at the top of her mat, which she’d put just a short distance outside the circle so everyone could see her.
