Cathy Hopkins - [Mates, Dates 05]

by Mates, Dates

  A pretty blonde lady in a pink tracksuit came out to meet us, swiftly followed by a boisterous black Labrador. He made a beeline for Mrs Foster as soon as she got out of her Jaguar and stuck his nose straight up her skirt.

  ‘He’s clearly in the Lai camp of thinking,’ I giggled to Izzie as we watched her mum attempt to push the dog down with one hand and struggle with one of her many Louis Vuitton cases with the other.

  ‘Sorry about Digby,’ said the tracksuit lady, grabbing his collar and pulling him away. She put her hand out to Mrs Foster. ‘Hi, I’m Chris Malloy and as you’ve gathered, this is my dog, Digby. He’s still young and tends to get a bit overexcited when we have visitors.’

  ‘She’s not going to like it,’ whispered Izzie as her mum gave Chris a tight smile. ‘You know how she feels about dogs. All those hairs and muddy paws…’

  I laughed. I knew exactly how she felt about dogs. I was never allowed to take ours into the house if ever I visited Izzie when I was out walking them. Mrs Foster has a thing about cleanliness. She’s impeccable, her house is impeccable, her car is impeccable. Izzie always jokes that she doesn’t use perfume, she uses disinfectant instead. This was going to be interesting, I thought, as I watched her totter on high heels round to the back of the car.

  ‘How long does she think this workshop is going to last?’ I asked as Izzie and I helped her unload the boot. She seemed to have brought enough luggage for three months.

  ‘Oh, you know what Mum’s like,’ said Izzie. ‘Has to have the right outfit for every occasion.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be expected to dress for dinner in a place like this. More like tracksuits and T-shirts. And high heels in country lanes?’

  ‘Try telling Mum that,’ sighed Izzie, who like me, was wearing jeans and trainers. ‘Anyone would think we’re going to meet the Queen with the clothes she’s brought down.’

  Chris showed us around the farmhouse and where we were to sleep, and I could see at once that Mrs Foster didn’t approve.

  ‘I assumed that we all had our own private room,’ she said, frowning as Chris showed us a whitewashed dormitory at the back of the house with bunk beds. ‘I mean this is supposed to be a weekend of rest and relaxation.’

  ‘We think it makes for a better atmosphere.’ Chris smiled. ‘Everyone gets to know each other really fast on a course like this. Soon you’ll all be getting along like old friends.’

  ‘And there’s a yeti living in my fridge,’ I whispered to Izzie as I glanced over at the other ladies who were busy unpacking their weekend cases. There were five of them: two old ladies with glasses and long grey hair who looked like sisters and were dressed in the sort of clothes my mum wears, i.e., charity shop cardigans and long hippie skirts; a younger woman with short spiky hair with pink streaks through it and a nose ring; a slim, blonde lady who was sitting on the end of her bed in a meditation pose with her eyes closed; and finally, a very plump lady with big teeth who was helping herself to a sandwich and a flask of tea.They glanced up at us when we walked in and the plump one gave us a wave.

  ‘Hi, I’m Moira,’ she said, then indicated the beds with a sweep of her hand. ‘You got any preferences about where you want to sleep?’

  ‘As far away from here as possible,’ whispered Mrs Foster, turning away. ‘Izzie, I don’t think I can do this.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mum, it’ll be fun. Like a sleepover for adults.’

  ‘Yes… fun,’ said Mrs Foster, unconvinced.

  Izzie and I bagged the bunk bed in the corner, leaving Mrs Foster to take the bunk above Moira. It was hysterical. Everyone stared at her as she unpacked and took over the whole wardrobe with her clothes. When that was full, she hung even more on the board at the end of her bed and the one at the end of our beds.

  After half an hour, Chris popped her head round the door. ‘When you’ve finished, we’ll be serving herbal teas in the dining room, then we’ll all get together for introductions and to go through the schedule.’

  ‘Herbal tea?’ said Mrs Foster, wrinkling her nose up. I’d kill for a decent cup of coffee after that drive.‘

  ‘Caffeine,’ spat the slim, blonde lady. ‘It raises the heart rate and we’ve come to relax.’

  Moira winked at Mrs Foster. ‘Hence the flask,’ she whispered. ‘Sometimes I have to have a proper cuppa. Anyone want an egg and cress sarnie?’

  Poor Mrs Foster looked as though she’d landed in a prison camp.

  ‘Come on, Mum, let’s go and meet the others,’ said Izzie, leading her out the door.

  In the dining room, the men had already gathered and were sitting about sipping mugs of tea.

  ‘Bit bare,’ said Mrs Foster, glancing round at the brick walls, long pine tables and benches. ‘When the ad said get back to basics, it really did mean it.’

  ‘Oh… my… god…’ whispered Izzie, looking round at the men. ‘Which one do you want?’

  There were five men including Dad, who was chatting to Chris by a hatch to the kitchen. One of them was bald and very fat, and was sweating profusely in a lime green shell suit. Another had grey grizzly hair, trousers that were too short and open-toed sandals. The third man was wearing a T-shirt and a sarong, and had blond dreadlocks down his back. And the fourth was about six-foot-six, very skinny, and was dressed in Lycra cycling shorts to show off his very knobbly knees.

  Til have one of the wrinklies,‘ I whispered back. ’You can have Mr Dreadlock, so that leaves Cycling Shorts for your mum.‘

  Mrs Foster overheard. ‘Thanks a bunch,’ she said, then giggled. ‘And, ahem… those shorts don’t leave much to the imagination, do they?’

  ‘Muml said Izzie in a stern voice. ‘Behave’ But I could see that she was relieved that her mum was beginning to chill out a bit.

  As we sat down to drink our camomile tea, Chris came over to join us. ‘I know everyone’s a bit older than you,’ she said to Izzie and me, ‘but my son Daniel will be here tomorrow. He’s sixteen, so at least you’ll have some company around your own age.’

  ‘If he’s anything like this lot, I can’t wait to meet him. Not’ whispered Izzie when Chris had moved on to chat to some of the others. ‘Wonder if he’s an open-toed-sandal type or an anorak?’

  ‘As long as he doesn’t wear cycling shorts,’ I joked. But I didn’t really care. I was starting to enjoy myself even though the assorted guests looked like a bunch of weirdos and were all loads older than us. I didn’t feel like I was Single here. I was just Lucy. And Izzie was just Izzie again, not Izzie and Ben.

  After tea and rye biscuits that tasted like cardboard, Chris asked us all to sit in a circle and then threw a beach ball at my dad.

  ‘OK,’ said Chris. ‘Whoever has the ball, say a little about yourself, why you’re here and what you hope to get out of the weekend. When you’ve had your say, throw the ball on.’

  Mrs Foster looked like she was going to throw up.

  ‘I hope we don’t all have to hug each other after this,’ she whispered to Izzie.

  ‘Hi. I’m Peter Lovering,’ said Dad. ‘I’m from London and I run a health shop. I’m here for the rest and relaxation.’

  Everyone murmured their approval as Dad threw the ball at the slim blonde lady who’d been meditating in the bedroom.

  ‘Hi, I’m Sylvia. I’m striving for a pure mind and body and I’m a colonic irrigation specialist.’ More murmurs of approval, but I couldn’t resist.

  ‘That must be a crap job,’ I whispered to Izzie, whose shoulders started to shake with suppressed laughter.

  ‘I’m Moira and I’ve just got divorced so it’s all been rather stressful for me of late… I do Swedish massage.’

  ‘For when you need to be kneaded,’ I said to Izzie.

  ‘I’m Priscilla,’ said one of the grey-haired ladies. ‘I work as a gardener and I need to find myself.’

  I didn’t have to say anything this time as Izzie turned to me and coughed, ‘Doesn’t need to go far, then. She’s right on that chair!’

  ‘I’m
Jonathan, but my friends call me Tabula,’ said Dreadlocks. ‘My third eye was recently opened on a trip to Goa. I need to close it again as I can’t take the inner visions…’

  I couldn’t look at Izzie for fear of bursting out laughing.

  ‘I’m Nigel,’ said Cycling Shorts. ‘I want to get some fresh air.’

  ‘Shouldn’t wear his shorts so tight, then,’ was my comment this time.

  ‘Hi, I’m Grace,’ said Pink Highlights, ‘and I work as a vegetarian cook and wanted some time out for me.’

  She threw the ball to Izzie.

  ‘I’m Izzie,’ she said. ‘I’m fourteen. I’m into astrology, crystals, feng shui, aromatherapy, self help. I’ve come with an open mind.’ Murmurs of approval. ‘Oh and I’m also into witchcraft.’ After which the murmurs of approval turned to looks of concern, especially from her mother.

  She threw the ball at her mum. ‘I’m Laura Foster. I work in the financial sector in the City and, as my daughter keeps telling me,’ she smiled at Izzie, ‘I need to find some balance in my life.’

  She threw the ball at me. ‘I’m Lucy. Um…’ I said, turning bright red. I couldn’t say that I’d just come along for the ride and wanted an excuse to spend some time hanging out with my mate. ‘Er, um, I… whatever. Open mind, see what happens. Yes… um, that’s all.’ I threw the ball at the second grey-haired lady but I must have thrown it harder than I intended, as it knocked her glasses off. ‘Ohmigod, sorry, I’m sorry.’ I leapt up. ‘Are you all right?’

  She adjusted her glasses and gave me a filthy look. ‘I’m Prudence. I work in a school library and need to get away from all the noisy kids I have to deal with every day.’

  Oops, I thought. Made a friend for life there, then.

  Next was Hubert, the bearded man. He was an osteopath.

  ‘I bet he knows how to have a cracking good time,’ I said to Izzie.

  Then Eric, the bald man, said he was there because his wife said she’d leave him if he didn’t learn how to relax.

  ‘Well, you’ve all come to the right place,’ said Chris, getting up and handing out a sheet of paper to each of us.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Tonight we’re not going to do much -just let you settle in and relax - then tomorrow, we start. The schedule is there on your paper, so take a quick look and do ask if there are any questions.’

  I glanced at the paper.

  6.00 a.m.: yoga salute to the sun and meditation.

  ‘Six a.m.,’ I said to Izzie. ‘You mean there are two six o’clocks in a day?’

  Izzie punched my arm. ‘And you’ll be up, if I have anything to do with it.’

  ‘But the weekend’s about relaxation. We ought to be having a lie-in.’ I looked back at the paper.

  7.00 a.m.: breakfast

  8.00 a.m.: brisk group walk

  10.00 a.m.: tea

  I got as far as ten-thirty and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from bursting out laughing. It said that there was to be a talk about overcoming dependency and leaning on things that weren’t good for you, like cigarettes and alcohol. It was called Kick Your Crutch in Devon. Izzie had also seen it and I could see she was trying to contain herself as well. Her shoulders were heaving up and down as she continued down the schedule.

  12.30 p.m.: lunch

  2.00 p.m.: massage workshop

  3.30 p.m.: tea

  4.00 p.m.: group counselling session

  6.00 p.m.: group visualisation

  7.00 p.m.: supper

  8.30p.m.: ‘cookery for calm’ demonstration, then a relaxation game and wind down.

  ‘I like the look of the lunch,’ I said to Izzie.

  ‘No. It’s all going to be brilliant,’ she said. ‘Especially when we get to kick our crutch.’

  That set us both off again and I had to leave the room pretending that I was having a coughing fit.

  C h a p t e r 8

  Om Mani Padme Bum

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  Mrs Foster lasted one night.

  While the rest of us were cross-legged in the meditation room the next morning, chanting ‘om mani padme hum’, she was on her mobile, frantically trying to find the nearest five-star hotel with an en-suite bathroom. And Jacuzzi.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Izzie at breakfast. ‘I think Prudence and Priscilla’s synchronised snoring was the last straw. Then when Moira started breaking wind for Britain…’

  ‘I know. Must have been last night’s soya burgers and cabbage. But no biggie. At least you’ll be here most of the time.’

  Izzie looked sheepish. ‘We’re going straight after breakfast. She wants to make sure we have a decent room. I’ll make her come back once we’ve checked in, though. Probably after lunch.’

  And so Izzie and Mrs Foster disappeared down the lane leaving me to kick my crutch on my own.

  We started with the walk, which was fine until Chris made us stop on the outskirts of the village to do stretch exercises. There were a bunch of local kids hanging about near a telephone box and they seemed to find the assorted weirdos straining to reach their toes highly amusing. I wanted the ground to give way and swallow me up.

  After that, it was the talk about kicking your crutch. It was interesting in the end, but it wasn’t half as much fun as it would have been if Izzie was there to sit at the back and giggle with. The lecturer talked about time management then gave all sorts of alternatives to having a gin and tonic and a cigarette after work or stuffing yourself with food when you feel miserable. I suppose chocolate and ice cream are my crutches when I’m low, but I reckon that if you don’t overdo it, sometimes a crutch can help, especially if it’s made of double pecan fudge.

  After an uninspiring lunch of nut roast and lentils, there was still no sign of Izzie or her mum so I went back to the dorm and rang her on my mobile.

  ‘When are you coming back?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh Lucy, I’m so sorry. Mum loves it here and I have to say it is pretty cool. Huge beds, ginormous bathroom, comfy sofas everywhere with all the latest magazines. You’d love it - all the glossies, Vogue, Taller and Harpers and…‘

  ‘Yes, but when are you coming back to the prison camp?’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Izzie. ‘They have a beauty salon here and Mum’s booked herself in for a pampering afternoon. She says this is more the kind of weekend she had in mind. Total indulgence and lying about being waited on. I am sorry. You know I’d love to be there with you, but she’s booked me in for a manicure this afternoon.’

  I looked around at our sparse dorm that now smelt of Moira’s egg and cress sandwiches. I couldn’t help wishing that Mrs Foster had taken me as well. In fact, I was beginning to wish I hadn’t come at all, considering it was Izzie’s idea in the first place.

  ‘Look,’ said Izzie reading my thoughts, ‘you have to come and see this place. Why don’t you skip the session after tea and come down here. It’s not far. Just left of the village that you can see at the bottom of the hill. Ask for Montbury Lodge if you get lost. Big old hotel overlooking the bay.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said, my spirits starting to rise again. ‘I’ll be there.’

  Maybe I could have tea and scones and Devonshire clotted cream. Lie back on a big squashy sofa and read the new Vogue. The weekend was looking up after all.

  I trooped along with all the others into the meditation room for the massage session, thinking that at least this should be enjoyable. Maybe not as luxurious as the hotel, but it would be a massage nonetheless.

  After the teacher gave us a demonstration, we put mats out on the floor and I got paired with Prudence. It was my turn to massage first, so I held up the towel so that she could get undressed in privacy. She lay on the mat and I gave her a gentle massage. Nesta would have had a fit if she’d seen her, I thought, as I rubbed her legs. She hadn’t shaved or waxed in years and her calves were as hairy as a man’s.

  Then it was her turn to do me. I lay on the mat and closed my eyes, ready for a nice relaxing massage. Unfortunately, ho
wever, Prudence clearly saw it as a way to get revenge for me knocking her glasses off last night. Or maybe even revenge on all the kids that had ever annoyed her in the library. She was of the builder’s school of massage. Slap, whack, hammer, as hard as she could.

  This is not my idea of fun, I thought, as I lay there with my neck twisted to one side while some mad woman with hairy armpits used me as a way to vent her anger.

  Dad didn’t seem to be enjoying it much either, as he had the bald man massaging him and he appeared to have studied at the same massage school as Prudence.

  It seemed that everyone had taken great care to make sure that not too much flesh was exposed and that they were warm and covered in towels. Except Cycling Shorts, that is. He seemed to have no inhibitions at all and was walking about in a pair of faded blue Y-fronts. I quickly closed my eyes and couldn’t help but think once again what a laugh we’d have had if Izzie had been there. As Prudence yanked my leg out of my hip, I twisted my neck the other way and looked at my watch. Twenty minutes to go. Argh argh arrghhh.

  Dad had no objection to my opting out of the group counselling session when I told him I wanted to go to find Izzie.

  ‘I guess you get enough psycho babble round the kitchen table at home, so fine, go,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’ll give you a lift down there.’

  When we got down to the village, we asked where the hotel was and he dropped me in a small square in front of a drive lined with rhododendron bushes that led up to the hotel.

  ‘There it is,’ he said, pointing at a gate with a brass sign that said ‘Montbury Lodge’. ‘Can you make your own way back or ask Mrs Foster to drop you? Any problems, call me on your mobile. I… um… have a few things I have to do before I go back.’

  As I made my way up to the hotel, I turned back to wave him off, but he’d already parked the car and was heading with a determined walk to a building on the left of the square. I had to laugh when I saw what it was. The King’s Arms, the local pub.