I wander up to the front door, side-stepping a couple of the braver birds who aren’t about to get out of my way, and pause. What should I do? Knock? Go straight in? Call out? Deciding on two of the three, I hammer on the open door and shout.
‘Hello? It’s Tori!’
No one appears. Oh, for heaven’s sake.
‘Hello?!’ I yell a bit louder. I can’t just walk in, can I?
There’s a creaking sound behind me followed by a crash that makes me jump in fright. I take a shaky step backwards to see what made the noise and notice that the window to my left has just been thrown open with so much force it bashed straight into the wall and is now swinging on its hinges. Ted’s smiling face appears and regards me with some curiosity.
‘Hello. Can I help?’
I laugh. ‘Oh, thank God, it is the right place!’
Ted raises his eyebrows. ‘Right place for what?’
‘It’s Tori?’ I say slowly. ‘You just picked me up from the bus stop?’
He stares at me blankly. What, does he have amnesia or something?
‘Yes?’ He sounds unconvinced.
‘I’m here for the retreat?’ I say.
‘And what do you want to do that for?’
Good question, Ted. Right now, all I want is to be back in my flat where the world makes sense behind my computer screen. I chew my lip and consider my options for escape.
‘Well?’ Ted asks, watching me closely, as if I might trample his flower beds and steal a chicken or two while I’m at it.
‘I want . . . I want . . .’ Oh shit, what was that line I spotted in the handbook earlier? I wrack my brain. ‘I want to . . . to find inner peace?’ Nope, that wasn’t it. ‘I want to start moving mountains by picking up the small stones in my life.’ Yes . . . that was it.
Ted is beaming at me. ‘That is a good answer. I know because I wrote it . . . Well, actually, Confucius did first and I borrowed it . . . But what’s your answer?’
Oh great. A comedian. I let out a long sigh as it dawns on me in a rush exactly what I’ve let myself in for. I’m actually going to have to share stuff with these people. Personal stuff. The stuff that hurts. Something deep inside me feels like it caves in.
‘I would like to find out what you’re all about here. And if I can learn even one tiny thing that makes my life better, I’ll count it a worthwhile stay.’
‘That is an honest and humble answer, Victoria. Welcome. Come on in.’
I bristle at the use of my full name, but as I go to correct him, I find that the window has closed and the smiling face has disappeared.
Not wanting to be the one to tread inches of crap into my host’s house, I’m just slipping off my borrowed boots in the porch when a figure looms in front of me.
‘I’m sorry about Ted,’ says a soft voice. ‘He can be a tad overly dramatic at times, but I guess that’s why I love him! I’m Lizzie.’
I straighten up and come face to face with a breathtakingly beautiful woman. She has a mass of strawberry-blond hair that tumbles around her face and down her back. Here and there I can see combs in it that appear to be losing a desperate battle to keep the heavy strands in some kind of order. She has clear, blue eyes and is absolutely massive. At least eight months pregnant. So pregnant, in fact, that I find myself holding my breath just in case breathing might set her off.
‘I’m Tori.’ I smile at her. It’s impossible not to, really. I hold out my hand, but Lizzie grabs it and pulls me in for a hug. Unused to random strangers demanding physical contact, I stiffen in the awkward embrace, desperate to avoid the unexploded time-bomb between us.
Lizzie laughs. ‘Sorry, this is getting in the way more and more.’ She pulls away and pats her bump affectionately. ‘Do you have little ones?’
‘No. No. Not really.’ Not really? What kind of answer is that? What, are there imaginary kids following me around? ‘I mean, no. I’ve not met the right man and I’m just not ready and . . .’ This is getting worse. Stop. Talking. ‘Erm, how long . . . ?’ I stare worriedly at the bump.
‘Due any time after the end of next week. Hey, you might be here! That’s so exciting!’
My smile freezes on my face. What? I’m going to be here? Okay . . . I’ll be here. That’s got to be at least thirty miles away from the nearest hospital. That’s a decent distance from all the pain and screaming. Thirty miles should just about muffle the noise.
As if it’s responding with advanced sympathy pains, my bladder gives an agonizing twitch.
‘Sorry . . . do you mind if I use your bathroom? I’ve been on that coach for what feels like an eternity . . .’
‘Gosh, you poor thing. And then Ted’s driving! I’d have peed myself. I’m in there every five minutes at the moment. When I was pregnant with my first . . .’
Argh, I’m going to have to gag the woman before I find the bloody toilet. ‘I’m kind of desperate,’ I interrupt, mortified, but I guess a puddle would be a lot worse.
‘Sorry! Just at the end of the hall there. Read the instructions!’
I shoot off as fast as my desperate waddle will allow.
‘Come and join us in the kitchen and meet the other guys as soon as you’re done,’ I hear her call after me.
Desperately hoping my bladder hasn’t ruptured, I push my way through the doorway and plonk myself onto the loo with a sigh of relief.
The relief is short-lived, though. I do up my jeans and turn to reach for the flush . . . which isn’t there. What on earth? Lizzie’s words come back to me. ‘Read the instructions.’ Peering around, I spot a hand-painted wooden sign hanging from a nail in the wall. It reads: ‘Lovely visitor, you are relieved. Press the orange button for pee, the red for poo. This system uses rainwater harvested from our roof.’ Orange button . . . orange button . . . Ah, there it is. I press it and an almighty racket of groaning pipes forces me to cover my ears and back away as a torrent of slightly discoloured water pours into the bowl.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror as I carefully wash my hands and sigh at the bedraggled reflection that stares back at me. I hastily pull my hair back into a spare elastic from my pocket.
While I’m here, I may as well let the guys know I’ve arrived safely.
*
WriterTori: Here safe. What a palaver!
Nathalie33: What’s everyone like?
WriterTori: Don’t know. Haven’t met them yet. Currently hiding in the loo. Flushes with rainwater!! ;)
SueSue52: Too cool! Go on then, Tori, get out there and meet all the other weirdos.
WriterTori: Calling me a weirdo?
Nathalie33: Well, if the shoe fits . . .
WriterTori: Don’t talk to me about shoes, I had to borrow a pair of wellies.
SueSue52: I told you to pack some!
WriterTori: You also told me to wear heels to make a good impression, so you don’t get to comment! Wish you guys were here.
SueSue52: We’ll be with you every step of the way.
Nathalie33: Heads up, busy few weeks ahead of me, will be a bit quieter on here than normal.
WriterTori: You’re going to abandon me in my hour of need?!
Nathalie33: Of course not, I’ll be right by your side. Just didn’t want you to worry about me if you notice I’m not online as much :)
WriterTori: Thanks, Nat!
SueSue52: Have fun!
Nathalie33: Good luck, keep us posted!
WriterTori: Catch you later.
*
I slip my phone back in my pocket and unlock the door. Here goes nothing . . .
Chapter 4
Be the Change
‘To make a change, you have to be the change. Do something differently. Take a different route, visit a new coffee shop, speak to someone new. Every little change you make is an opportunity to set your day on a different path.’
©TheBeginnersGuideToLoneliness.com
*
I head back out into the hallway and follow the muffled hum of conversation to what I assume m
ust be the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, an all-too familiar sensation washes over me and settles in my chest: nerves. Horrible, crippling nerves. I swallow down the urge to run and, pushing open the door, step into a large kitchen.
It’s like something straight out of a magazine’s design pages . . . or it would be if it were tarted up a bit. As it stands, its beautiful slate floor is almost entirely covered with old rag-rugs, thrown down higgledy-piggledy between the mismatched furniture. There’s an ancient Aga sandwiched between cupboards topped with different work surfaces, one side marble, the other an offcut of melamine. The cupboard doors have a random assortment of handles, from intricate wrought-iron affairs to small lengths of rope. Here and there, just a bare, rusty screw sticks out.
Over in the corner is a hulking, dark wooden dresser, groaning under the weight of family photographs, thank-you cards and assorted odds and ends.
My heart flutters uncomfortably as I turn to meet the dozen or so pairs of eyes trained on me from around the long, scrubbed pine table that dominates the centre of the room. This is it then.
I’m not really sure where to look, but I force a smile, painfully aware that it probably looks like I’ve got a bad case of wind.
‘Everyone, this is Victoria,’ says Ted from his perch at the table. ‘Budge up and make room for her so we can get started.’
I flinch. Mum was the only one who ever used my full name, and it still makes my skin prickle. Now’s not the time to start thinking about Mum. I’ve already got enough to deal with. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
‘Hi,’ I squeak, and slip into a chair that has been pulled up to a tiny gap at the table. ‘It’s Tori . . . at least to friends,’ I say. God, I sound like such a knob.
‘Tori it is then,’ says Lizzie, coming up behind me and passing a mug of some kind of strong-smelling herbal tea over my shoulder. ‘We’re all friends here from day one.’
‘Okay, guys,’ Ted says, drawing himself up, his hand-knitted, bobbly brown jumper pulling tight across his rounded stomach. ‘I’m not going to go around and introduce everyone now; we can save that for our welcoming circle this evening. But just so that you’re all aware, we’re still missing one person from our group, but he’ll be here in time for this evening’s session. Oh, and Bay is off sorting out a couple of last-minute errands – but you’ve met him already. He’s done this course so many times that he could recite this little meet-up by heart!
‘Now, I just want to go over a few practicalities about your stay with us. There shouldn’t be too many surprises as it’s all in your handbooks, but there are a couple of things I’d like to clarify.’
I clasp my hands tightly around my mug of tea. Truth time. I wonder how many more little gems I managed to miss during my skim-read earlier.
‘Lizzie,’ continues Ted, ‘why don’t you start, my love, and we’ll take it in turns?’ Ted smiles at his wife and I can see that he’s glad to be at the start of a well-rehearsed routine.
‘Okay then,’ says Lizzie, easing herself down into a chair. ‘Number one. As you know, you won’t be staying in the house with us. This retreat is all about self-discovery and self-acceptance – reconnecting with yourself so that you can move forward in your relationships and forge new, authentic connections. To start to do this, you need to live in the wild with your own thoughts. I know some of you have opted for the camping option, which is lovely. We’ve gone through your course questionnaires and have allocated sites for you. We’ve done our best to match up your location with your personal and emotional needs.’
A buzz of excitement runs around the table. Moth, the long-haired knitter, nudges my elbow and grins at me. I smile back.
I wonder if she can see the pure terror on my face.
‘Sam and Emma,’ Ted smiles at an extremely young couple that exude the kind of shiny, happy beauty that only comes from being in your late teens, ‘as you guys are here on honeymoon, you’ve been given the eco-build. We hope that this special space will help you connect for a long and happy future.’
Emma throws her arm around Sam’s shoulders and snuggles her face into his neck. Sam flushes bright red, looking decidedly uncomfortable at the public display of affection.
‘You three will be in South Wood,’ continues Ted, gesturing to the three guys directly opposite me. All of them have impressive beards, two have dreadlocks, and there’s an awful lot of hemp and leather on display. ‘The materials you need to create your own shelters are there, as requested.’ A cloud of patchouli wafts across the table as all three of them quiver with excitement.
Heart. Now. Hammering. Build our own shelters? Holy crap . . . there’s no way I’m up for that. It’s probably going to be even worse for me, I was so late getting back to them. Ted did mention on the phone that they might need to make some special arrangements. Oh no, it’s going to be sharing a sleeping bag with the chickens, isn’t it?!
‘Tori, I know you don’t have the energy for camping . . .’
They got that from my questionnaire? I bristle a bit as my natural competitive streak starts to kick in, but then I give a little mental shrug. Does it really matter as long as it means I don’t have to build my own earth hut or sleep in a leaky tent?
‘We’ve decided that the best thing for you is to take the yurt in Seven Acre field. You won’t be on your own, though, as we’d already offered the space to one of our regulars, so you’ll be sharing.’
‘Sharing? Oh, okay . . . um . . . okay . . .’ Shit, I wasn’t expecting that. Then again, maybe a bit of company isn’t the worst thing in the world, considering I’m going to be stuck in the middle of nowhere for three weeks.
As Lizzie and Ted continue to dole out the camp sites, I brood on how I’m going to cope with the whole sharing thing. I haven’t lived with anyone since I left home, and I did that as promptly as I possibly could, so you could say that it’s been quite a while since I’ve had to deal with anyone in my space. Markus and I never quite got around to actually living together before everything went tits up.
‘Okay, so that’s everyone!’ Ted smiles. ‘When we’re done here we’ll go for a walk and drop you off at your sites. Then you can make yourselves at home, or, in some cases, make your homes, before we all meet up again this evening.’ I roll my eyes as he beams at his own joke. ‘All food is supplied, and you will be expected to cook together at the outdoor station most evenings. You will not be permitted entry into the house again during your stay, except for in an emergency. There are basic facilities located close to all of your sites, except for those of you in the woods – you will make your own.’ The trio opposite me, whom I promptly dub the Beardy Weirdies, all nod eagerly, clearly excited at the thought of crapping in a hole.
‘We would like to request that you refrain from using any scented deodorant, antiperspirant, perfumes or chemical-based lotions while you’re here. No cosmetics please. These will impede your progress and are disrespectful to the land and to each other.’
No. Nonononononono. Just as I think they can’t get any worse, I feel my nerves ramp up another notch. I guess I could deal with the lack of make- up – after all, it’s not like there’s anyone here who’s going to care what I look like, but moisturizer and deodorant? Surely they are basic human rights?
‘Finally, I need you all to turn in your phones, blackcurrants, laptops . . .’
‘Ted, love, I think you mean BlackBerries,’ Lizzie interrupts, rolling her eyes.
‘Right, right. Well, turn in all electrical gadgets, whether named after fruit or not.’
My eyes widen in shock. What? WHAT?
‘What?’ Damn, one of them has escaped.
Everyone’s eyes swivel in my direction, and I’m pretty sure I spot a few raised eyebrows. I definitely spot a look exchanged between Ted and Lizzie.
‘Sorry, I . . . erm . . . I meant to say, could you tell us a bit more about what made you decide to bring in this rule?’ There. I think I’ve just about managed to cover my behind . . . maybe.
‘First of all, we don’t really do rules. Think of them more as suggestions that we hope you’ll take on board while accepting our hospitality,’ Lizzie says, sounding a lot less earth mother and a lot more like a slightly pissed off librarian. ‘But yes, I can certainly explain the idea,’ she continues, her voice settling back into its honeyed tones. ‘Each of you is here for some form of healing. You all have blocks that are preventing you from connecting fully and authentically to your lives. These might be emotional, creative,’ she looks around the table, ‘or mental,’ she adds, turning back to me.
Way to out us all in one breath! I peep around at the others, and pretty much everyone is fixated on the table in front of them.
‘You have decided to take this retreat from your lives in order to concentrate on your healing. It is our responsibility to remove the uncentring influences of the outside world. We do not want your progress impaired by the constant flow of bile that runs through communications devices. Whether you’re watching the news, talking to work colleagues or being harassed by family members, your thought processes are changed by each interaction. And so we remove this interruption to your healing.’
‘What if we need to check on someone . . . family . . . ?’ asks a woman from across the table. She looks decidedly out of place with her tight perm and fuchsia lipstick, sandwiched in between one of the Beardy Weirdies and Ted. A few of the others shift uncomfortably. Seems I’m not the only one who’s not completely thrilled with the idea of being cut off from civilization.
‘The handbook says to leave the main house number here as your emergency contact,’ says Lizzie smoothly.
‘I did. But my mother’s in a home. She often gets confused. They might need to call us,’ says the woman tremulously.
The Beginner's Guide to Loneliness Page 3