That certain spark, p.10
That Certain Spark, page 10
But to go out there again, to face the world after my shameful behaviour. I don’t know if I can. I don’t think I should.
I twist my rings round and round on my finger. I still haven’t taken them off. I should really take it off.
Maybe he’s hurt.
It’s this last thought that gets me moving. I pull a sweatshirt I’ve been using over the top of my pyjamas and shove my feet into slippers shaped like monster feet. It takes me a good few minutes to locate my keys. With a deep breath, I open my front door and pad down the stairs to Jack’s apartment. I hear Bertie’s claws clicking on the tiled kitchen floor as he scampers about inside. I knock, timidly at first and then a little louder when nothing happens, worrying all the while what I will do if he’s hurt somewhere in the apartment and I can’t get in. Did I give him back his keys? I can’t remember.
There’s the thud and click of someone approaching the door on crutches.
Jack’s not bleeding on the ground then.
The door opens, and he’s there. Looking handsome and whole and – barring the broken leg – healthy. “Claire.” He pauses, sweeping his gaze over me. “Goodness.”
Judging by his slightly stunned expression I must look like shit – I maybe should have thought to look at myself before I came down here.
“Come in,” Jack says, holding the door wider.
I hesitate, before stepping into the now familiar lounge. Bertie runs to greet me, his little tail wagging. Unfortunately, Bertie is not alone. My mother and Nicole follow him out. I take a step away, back towards the front door, but Jack’s blocking my path. I spin, nearly falling over my slippers. “You traitor!”
Jack holds his hands up, looking worried, as if I’m one of the escaped dinosaurs from Jurassic Park. He should be worried; I’m bloody furious. “I’m sorry I got you here under false pretences, but I did want to speak to you.”
I stare at my big green monster feet. I can’t even face looking at him.
“Claire, I want to apologise for my behaviour the other night.”
I can’t help myself; surprise has my eyes lifting if only to check he’s not taking the piss.
Jack runs a hand through his hair. “I was incredibly rude. Your mum explained how Bertie had been crying all night when you tried to leave him, and how he shredded your flat when you left him in your own kitchen overnight. I completely understand why you slept in my bed. It really wasn’t a problem at all. I was in a terrible mood when I got home. Painful leg, and all that. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You didn’t need to buy me all that new linen, let alone the carpet cleaner. I really am sorry.”
Bertie is now trying to ravage my slipper. I shake my foot, hoping to dislodge him, but he’s like a bloody piranha, clinging on as if his life depends on it. “Really, it’s fine, you have nothing to apologise for,” I say, taking a step to go around him, dragging the dog with me as I go. “I’m glad the stuff arrived okay.” Good old Amazon. I’m almost at the door.
“Claire!”
I flinch at my mother’s bark. She’s worse than the bloody dog. Regardless, my back snaps straighter in Pavlovian response.
“Claire, sit yourself down this instant and talk to us. This can’t go on any longer.”
“I have nothing to say.” I raise my voice a little to be heard above Bertie’s growling. He’s still hanging off my damn leg, determined to overcome the beast on my foot.
Nicole snorts. Jack is biting his cheek, looking like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Nicole gives up first and bursts out laughing. I turn to glare at her. “Oh, darling, I’ve missed you so much.” She’s still laughing as she wraps me in her arms and hugs me tight.
Next thing I know, I’m crying. My anger tips straight over into tears. I can’t seem to stop myself. Somehow, they’ve manoeuvred me onto the sofa and I have Nicole one side of me, my mother the other, with Jack feeding us tissues as all the anger, mortification and shame I’ve been feeling erupts.
“It was so embarrassing. I’m so sorry you had to witness me making a show of myself,” I say to Nicole.
“For goodness sake, you’re not the first person to get drunk at a party. I might question your taste in men -”
“Blame the beer goggles.”
“Well, anyway, after you left the same man cracked on with one of Kate’s single friends from work. Julia caught them snogging on the terrace. She poured an entire bowl of fruit punch over their heads and told him to fuck off. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Julia swear before. Kate had an absolute fit about the red wine they trailed back across her cream wool carpet. It quite put your water spilling incident to shame. Really, everyone’s forgotten about you completely.”
My mother dabs my cheeks with a new tissue, the contact of her skin with mine crackling with the usual static. “Now, sweetheart, you can’t keep locking yourself away from the world every time you imagine you’ve done something less than perfectly. Stop trying to hate yourself into being lovable. You seem determined to look for evidence that you’re worthless, whatever we say.”
I do exactly that. Who is this wise woman and what has she done with my mother?
Nicole dabs my cheeks this time, because Mummy’s set my tears off again. “Your mum’s right. Life’s not a competition. I know you feel that, because Ben ran off with that witch, it means there is something wrong with you, but that’s poppycock. You’re better off without both of them.”
I hiccough a little sob, then blow my nose on the tissue Jack hands me.
“I get stuck in my head. I believe all the stuff the voice in there tells me and then I hate myself too much to do anything except sleep or eat ice cream.”
“Well, that’s progress,” my mother says with a sad smile.
“Is it?”
Nicole and Mummy both nod. “At least you’re recognising you’re doing it,” Nicole says. “You just need to remember all the wonderful stuff about yourself too.”
I snort.
“Really. Let alone the talent you have for design, you are kind, loving, generous... need I go on?”
I wave my hand as if I’m trying to bat the words away, toes curling with embarrassment,
“Who came and looked after me the week I had flu?” Mummy says.
“Anyone would do that.”
“No, darling.” Mummy pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear, the same comforting gesture she made when I was little. “I have enough friends who only see their kids at Christmas – if they’re lucky – to know.” She takes a deep breath. “So now I’m going to look after you for a bit. We’re going to Briar Hill for a week.”
“A week! I couldn’t possibly go for that long.”
“Why? Might it get in the way of your daytime television schedule?” Nicole asks, one eyebrow raised. “Really, what have you got to keep you here?”
I think hard for a moment. “Sukie.” It’s the best I can do.
“I’ll feed her,” she volunteers.
“I have to get some designs done, and the content for my web page sent over. And I’ve still got a tonne of marking. I’m already very behind on what I promised.”
“So, take your laptop with you. Simple,” Jack says.
“Not you too.” I glare at him. I’m not sure I’ve quite forgiven him for letting them ambush me. “I’m feeling a little bullied here.”
“Good. We leave in two hours. Just do me a favour, darling, wash your hair before we leave, we could cook chips in that mop. And maybe some clean clothes, eh? And a quick brush of your teeth perhaps? Come along, let’s get cracking.”
I look down at my pyjamas, stained with baked bean residue. My right slipper is now completely mangled, and Bertie has set upon the other foot. I stand and slip them off. Bertie runs away with his prize, delighted.
As I allow Mummy and Nicole to lead me upstairs, Jack shouts, “No, Bertie, drop it!”
I smile to myself, knowing he doesn’t stand a chance.
Chapter 13
Two hours later we’re in my mother’s car, winging our way down the A3, the grey, urban sprawl quickly giving way to green fields. I can’t remember the last time I saw the countryside.
About halfway there I recall why I hate being driven by my mother. She sits in the outside lane of the motorway doing sixty-five, completely unaware of any traffic building up behind her. “So, I’ve booked us both on to the relaxation regimen.” A car flashes us from behind, but my mother’s oblivious. “That way, we get lots of treatments as well as the use of the facilities. I thought it would be good for us to have a complete rest.” She chatters on as a BMW driver swerves around our car, undertaking us and making a wanking hand gesture towards my mother as he passes. Mummy waves back at him, smiling. “People are so much friendlier outside of London.”
I slouch down in my seat, hoping no one can see me. Also praying it’s not much further to go. My phone distracts me from the abuse of fellow drivers, vibrating with an incoming text. It’s Sarah, responding to the message I’d sent earlier apologising for missing group last week and explaining I wouldn’t be there this week either.
No worries, love. Glad you’re okay. Sounds just what you need. Call me when you’re back and keep up with the meditation. Sx
A little happier knowing I haven’t alienated my newest friend, I settle back in my seat again, my eyes drifting back towards the passing landscape. Heavy grey clouds, bulging with unspent rain, wallow above the deep green of the countryside. Here and there I see fields with animals grazing.
The satnav instructs my mother to take the slip road and before long, we’re zipping through a tunnel of trees, their leafless branches stretching across the road to block out the sky. “It’s somewhere near here,” Mummy says, peering at the screen and then at the road ahead. “Keep an eye out for the sign. It should be any minute.”
“There.” I point at the grand structure in front of us. It’s almost impossible to miss. Mummy still manages to take the corner a little fast. We swerve into the driveway with a spray of pea shingle. The golfers playing on the course immediately beside the road look up alarmed, arms covering their heads. “Maybe slow down a touch,” I suggest, when she appears determined to drive at sixty-five along the narrow, unmade driveway too. Golfers scurry away as fast as their club bags will allow.
She taps on the brake. “Yes, sorry, I get a bit heavy-footed when I’m in the car too long.
She swings into a parking space directly outside the front entrance. I suspect it must be a disabled space, but I’m too relieved to have reached our destination alive to say anything. The old place looks grand. Wisteria and ivy cling to the face of the building. I imagine the wisteria dripping with flowers in the warmer months, alive with the hum of bees, but when I open my door, I’m reminded this is not the summer. The cold wind blasts me after the warmth of the car interior. I grab my handbag, zipping up my coat until the collar covers half my face, hunch my shoulders up to my ears, and scurry towards the reception. My mother is hot on my heels.
A suited young man swings the door open. “Ladies, welcome to Briar Hill.” We don’t stop. Instead, we bundle past him into the warmth. I only pause when the door closes behind us.
“Good afternoon, ladies, may I take your names?” An equally smart and handsome young man greets us from behind a vast mahogany reception desk. I assume they must have a secret breeding centre for these men. They’re too good to be true.
In a daze, I let them show us around the facilities; one end consists of sitting room after sitting room centred around a grand marble fireplace and decorated with old leather wingback chairs and nineteenth century antique French sofas. The other end’s a complete contrast; sterile treatment rooms with stark white interiors populated with pseudo-scientific machinery and weighing scales. We’re deposited in our respective rooms – complete with four-poster each.
“There’s an introductory talk about Briar Hill and a group dinner if you’re interested? It’s in the conservatory at eight,” my guide informs me.
I nod, knowing I have absolutely no clue where the conservatory is. Hopefully I’ll find it by eight. Not that I’m in any way hungry. Butterflies have taken up residence in my belly. Excitement and nerves. I’m always anxious meeting new people, worried what they’ll think of me. Funnily enough, the only place I don’t feel that so much now is with the Mindfulness group.
I close down the negative thoughts – now sprouting in my mind like mushrooms after a shower of rain at the end of summer – taking some deep breaths and connecting myself to the here and now. There is nothing I need in this moment. Air fills my chest, rushing into my lungs all the way to the very bottom, before I exhale slowly. I take another. And then one more. I’m calmer by the time I blink my eyes open again. The emotion from my dark thoughts has faded.
I sweep the elegant silk curtains to one side and admire the vast expanse of lawns in front of me. This place is stunning. I’m very grateful to my mother for bringing me here. The flat, Ben, Bella, all the negativity and shame I’ve been so wrapped up in, feel a very long way away. Somehow that makes it all seem a little less important.
I flop down onto the bed, leaning against the cloud of cushions as I read through my programme. Tomorrow is all about relaxation. Two types of massage and a thermal bath. I think I can handle that.
There’s a second sheet in my pack listing all the exercise classes available. I’m not planning to kill myself, but there are a couple I fancy the look of. As I’m here. I might as well, mightn’t I? It might make me feel better – they say exercise does that. Gives you lots of endorphins that make you feel great afterwards. I could do with some of those. I haven’t done any exercise in... When the hell did I last do any exercise? The only thing that comes to mind is the time Nicole dragged me to a spin class not long after she’d given birth to Betty. She’d been fine but I’d had to stop halfway through because I thought I was going to vomit. I’m starting from a low base then. What I need is something to ease me into it. Maybe the power walk, for starters? The countryside around here is certainly beautiful enough to warrant wanting to get outside into it.
I spend the rest of the afternoon humming to myself as I unpack my case and put all my things into the cupboards before clearing some of my marking. After a quick check-in with Nicole – Sukie is fine – I make my way downstairs for the introduction and supper. Mummy is already sitting at the table, chatting to three other women. They all look up at me with sympathetic eyes as I pull out my chair. I do sometimes wish my mother wouldn’t share every detail of my life and medical history with complete strangers.
“Good evening.” I smile at each person in turn, then whisper to my mother, “What have you been telling them.”
“Oh, nothing, darling. Just how much you’ve been enjoying the Mindfulness classes. How they’ve helped with the panic attacks you’ve been suffering since Ben left.”
Everything then.
I look around for the wine but find only water. It dents my optimism a little.
A woman wearing a white coat launches into a lecture on healthy eating for wellness. I pick up the pen on the pad they’ve provided, trying to appear interested. After about ten minutes the woman beside me reaches over and pats my hand. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s not as grim as they make it sound. The food is really quite delicious.” I look down at my notepad. I’ve drawn my own version of Edvard Munch’s The Scream. Repeatedly. At least twenty of the little faces staring out at me all over the page.
It certainly sounds bad. The food they serve here is no sugar and low carbs. I’m doomed. Those are my major food groups. Along with alcohol. Oh, and caffeine. Both of which are also on the not recommended list. I’m not sure I’m going to survive a whole week of this.
“It would all be much easier if I looked like Kate Middleton,” I say, pointing towards the cover of the Hello! magazine left in the middle of the table.
“But you know, not one of us is perfect. Not even Kate, I’m sure. The sooner we can learn to accept that about ourselves, the happier we’ll be in the long run.”
I rock back in my seat. “Mummy, where did you learn all this? And why are you only telling me now?”
“Life, darling. And you didn’t need to hear it before. Or maybe you just weren’t listening to me. Anyway, as you get older you realise most of what you spend your youth obsessing about is really very pointless. Being happy and healthy is all that matters in the end.”
“Hear, hear,” a couple of the other guests echo around the table.
“Which is why we’re here, of course.” Mummy beams at me and I can’t help smiling back at her. I reach for my glass and only remember it’s water, not wine, when I take a big sip.
Having woken early, I’m determined to start the day the right way with some exercise. This is the first day of the rest of my life, I’ve decided. So today it starts with a power walk. It’s a walk. How bad can that be? The morning is overcast, heavy grey clouds once again blocking any sign of the sun, but it is at least dry for the first time in days. I figure this walk should help me get into a more positive mindset before I face whatever they serve for breakfast. I’m not very hopeful based on the food talk last night.
There are only two other women waiting on the wooden benches outside the reception area, both decked out in very sporty leggings and tops, over bodies that look well-exercised and toned. They look like the sort of women Bella would be friends with. I tug at my own tracksuit bottoms, grabbed from Primark for less than a tenner, and pull my oversized t-shirt down to cover my bottom. The first jangle of alarm tingles through my arms and legs.
I can walk, I’m just being silly.
The girls start warming up when the instructor approaches. “Hi!” He beams at me, showing off a set of very bright, very white teeth. They co-ordinate with his trainers. “I’m Carl.” He sticks out his hand, and I take it reluctantly, wondering if it’s too late to back out of this. “Have you ever done any power walking before?”
