I manage to devour a fry-up and two cups of coffee before Anna tells us that today is a ‘free roaming’ day, culminating with our final meditation session by the loch at 9pm.
‘As we said last night, use your last day as you wish. Take a nature walk, climb a hill, laugh with each other, have a winter picnic, visualise, script, whatever makes you happy, but most importantly, whatever makes you grateful.’
Climb a hill?I’m unlikely to be found up a hill unless chased there by bears. I think I’ll pass.
‘Massages will be in cabin three, please check the board to confirm your time; as our final meditation will be outdoors this evening, please wrap up well.’
‘Meditating outside at night? In December?’ Patricia questions, looking horrified. ‘No, thank you.’
Meg daintily sips her herbal tea. ‘I’ve read about how cold temperatures can actually help focus you… supposed to be therapeutic.’
Patricia bites into her croissant. ‘Leeches are supposed to be therapeutic, doesn’t mean I want to subject my body to them.’
‘They’ve built a bonfire,’ Nish interjects. ‘By the water. I saw it yesterday before dinner. That might be fun.’
‘I love bonfires!’ Meg exclaims. ‘Like, I once went to an exclusive festival where my boyfriend at the time, Jackson, played his handcrafted ukulele by the bonfire and then—'
‘He was justifiably pushed in?’
She glares at Kenneth while we all snigger. ‘He was extremely talented. My point is that it was a very cosy and intimate occasion… romantic even. Honestly, Kenneth, your generation can be so old-fashioned.’
I finish the last of my breakfast, with my mind wandering to Charlotte as it often does. This time tomorrow I’ll be on my way home and it can’t come quickly enough. Despite my chaotic week, I’ve missed her terribly. I just hope she hasn’t felt the same. She might be my everything, but I shouldn’t be hers. Being here has reminded me that there’s so much more outside my little insular universe and I want Charlie to experience it all, even if that involves heartbreak and handmade ukuleles.
Predictably, no one at our table intends to go on a nature hike or a winter picnic, choosing instead to go back to bed, get massages or relax in their hot tubs. I’m booked in for three o’clock. Will lets me borrow his gloves as we trudge back to our cabins, our bodies full of nitrates and buttered toast.
‘I am going to sleep like the dead until my massage,’ I say, shivering, seemingly unable to keep warm. ‘What are you up to?’
‘I need to get some notes down for the article,’ Will informs me, smirking at my teeth chattering. ‘Unless you need a warm body to heat you up?’
I shake my head. ‘No way. It’s your fault I’m so tired. I need the entire bed to myself. You’ll get all handsy and then I’ll need to zombie my way around this bonfire.’
‘Fair enough,’ he replies. ‘I’ll bring over dinner before the Wicker Man ceremony.’
‘Sounds like a plan. Good luck with the article! Be kind.’
‘The sex lives of the drunk and lonely,’ I hear him yell as I drag myself towards the front door. ‘Or maybe Jacuzzi Floozies?’
I’m too tired to laugh. I assume he’ll write something favourable yet unsentimental, but I secretly hope his time here with me will be imprinted on his memory forever.
I sleep for three hours, and then I drag myself up to cabin three where one of the other life coaches, Lewis, has set up his massage table in the living room. Dressed all in white linen, he looks like a member of a boyband from 1994. It seems that in order to work with Anna, you must have biceps of steel as Lewis is also bursting out of his T-shirt sleeves.
‘You can change in the bedroom,’ he informs me. ‘Underwear on is fine, if it makes you more comfortable.’
I decide it does, having already shown more of my body this week than I have in the past few years. I’ll go bra-less but my knickers stay on. I slip on a robe and return to the living room, where what sounds like Gregorian chants are being played. If he’s standing there, full monk, I’m leaving.
Thankfully Brother Lewis is still dressed in linen and holds up a modesty towel while I disrobe and clamber unceremoniously onto the table. He heats up some oil on his hands and begins with my back, pressing and kneading out knots which have probably been there since Charlie was born. It hurts. Why do people find this part relaxing? After my third yelp, he asks if I’d like less pressure and moves away down my body, towards the most middle-aged pants I own.
I’m sure he’s seen worse than my M&S full cotton briefs, I think while his hands carefully work around the waistband. Maybe Meg will have her tiny, tanned derrière under a thong, but I need everything contained and chafe-free.
By the time Lewis has worked my legs and begins on my arms, I’ve forgotten all about my pants and I’m practically dozing off again. This is one part of getting older that annoys me. In my twenties, I could easily run on four hours of sleep and a can of Red Bull but now I’m planning early nights before I’ve even gotten up in the morning. Still, any worries I had have been rubbed into oblivion and I feel happy. Oily but happy.
I have time to shower before Will arrives with two pizzas. I feel a million times better and eighty percent softer.
He places the boxes on the table and kisses my neck.
‘Damn, you smell of coconut. I’m suddenly not hungry for pizza.’
‘I know,’ I reply, sitting at the table. ‘I smell like cake. I could eat myself. How did you get on with your work?’
