To my surprise, I’m one of the first to do it. All of the tutors have their arms outstretched, but it’s not as though they have any choice in the matter, is it? Doreen and Geoff give each other a little nod and follow suit. Than thrusts his hands out and grins across the circle at me. I feel a blush rise from my toes and reach the roots of my hair in seconds. Is it my imagination or is he trying to woo me over to the naughty corner he appears to have singlehandedly started?
Very soon, everyone’s hands are in the circle. Well, all but one pair. Chief Beardy Weirdy, lotus-position plonker himself, is now looking mildly green. Ted turns to him with a questioning look.
Beardy shakes his head. ‘You can’t bind me, man! You can’t make me commit! I’m a free spirit, man!’ He scrambles to his feet and bolts for the doorway. Ted dashes after him.
‘Don’t touch me, man! I’m a free spirit! I am one, not one of a group, man!’ And with that he practically falls out of the door, with Ted in hot pursuit.
There’s complete silence until Doreen breaks it with a nervous giggle, followed very quickly by an apologetic mumble. I’m starting to feel pretty uncomfortable with my arms outstretched.
‘It’s okay.’ Claire gets to her feet and takes hold of the cord. ‘Not everyone is ready, and it’s a big undertaking.’ She starts to work her way around the circle, pausing in front of each person to ask, ‘Sure?’ and waiting for a reply before gently looping the cord around their wrists.
‘Sure?’
She’s standing right in front of me, looking straight into my eyes. I want to look away, but I can’t. I feel Dennis raise his head from my lap to greet her. Great. Just in my moment of need my newfound friend is going to abandon me. I gaze at Claire. What the hell am I doing here? What am I doing full stop? What choice do I have?
‘Sure,’ I whisper. She smiles faintly as she loops the cord around my wrists.
Claire has just completed the circle when Ted returns, looking a little bit pink around the eyes. He’s alone. He takes the cord with a grateful nod and loops it around Claire’s wrists and then his own.
‘Friends’ – Ted’s voice wobbles slightly – ‘we are all one. We have committed. This cord flows between us, symbolizing our connection. Feel and cherish this bond. Learn from each other, help each other and support each other. That way the circle will never be broken.’
I can’t believe it . . . I’ve got an actual lump in my throat.
Whatever they’ve got going on here, it’s very clever. There’s a tiny, cynical part of me that wouldn’t be surprised if the guy who just bailed on us is a ringer that they use every time just for effect, just to make the rest of us feel like we’re being brave because, miraculously, that’s how I’m feeling right now.
Chapter 9
To Boldly Go
‘It’s all well and good looking at the big picture and knowing where you need to get to. But it’s important not to worry about how many steps it will take to get there. Just breathe deep and take that first step.’
©TheBeginnersGuideToLoneliness.com
*
I wake up with a start and shoot bolt upright in my bed. Where the hell am I? Oh yeah, that’s right. Canvas roof and a duo of snores coming from the other side of the yurt. Both master and dog are still dead to the world.
I slump back against my pillows. What time is it? I go to reach for my phone, my usual port of call first thing in the morning, but it’s not there. Of course it’s not. Bloody great. I lift my arm and check Bay’s watch. Old-school, but at least it’ll give me an idea of how long I’ve got left in bed. We’re meeting at seven for a communal breakfast. That gives me . . . oh crap, a full two hours to hang around. Why on earth am I awake so early anyway? I usually struggle into a cold shower at about eight thirty, followed by a litre of tar-strength coffee to kickstart my brain.
For a start, it’s already ridiculously light. Also, the birds are tweeting loudly enough to wake the dead . . . Maybe that’s their plan? And it’s worse than just hanging around for a couple of hours. I need the loo. Pretty desperate too.
I’m going to have to risk the inadequacies of the composting bog.
What a great way to start the day. I don’t know what else I was expecting though. It’s not like I can just turn the tap off for three weeks.
I scramble out from under my mound of bedding and get to my feet as quietly as possible. Maybe it’s for the best that I’m awake before anyone else. At least this way I’m going to be able to check out the facilities without being spotted. As I shuffle a pair of trousers on over my pyjamas, one line of snoring comes to a halt. I look over at Bay’s bed just in time to see Dennis open his eyes sleepily. He thumps his tail and lifts his head as soon as he sees that I’m on my feet. I shake my head desperately and point at the bed, hoping against hope that he’ll go back to sleep before he manages to wake Bay up.
Dennis gets to his feet, tail wagging sheepishly. Damn it!
‘No, Dennis, bed!’ I whisper sharply. If it weren’t for my mission, I’d be glad of the company, but the dog is not a welcome addition to this particular party.
Dennis pauses in his tracks. Then he turns and, with a scathing look over his shoulder, makes straight for my recently vacated bed and flops down onto the rumpled pile of blankets.
I roll my eyes. I know that I should chuck him off straight away, otherwise I’m going to lose ground in the turf war we’ve got going on, but I’m so grateful that I’m not going to have an escort to the toilet that I leave him to snooze. I’ll just have to deal with that particular problem later.
Sliding my feet into my loaned wellies, I push the flap of the yurt open. I’m just about to step out when a sound comes from behind me. Now what? But it’s only Dennis snuggling down and starting to snore again.
I stride away from the yurt in the direction of the little hut, following the line of the hedge. I keep my bleary eyes on the ground, watching my step on the slippery grass in my oversized boots. There’s dew on everything, so much in fact that I’m surprised the inside of the yurt didn’t feel damp. There’s a crash directly overhead and I jump and swear as a fat grey pigeon almost falls out of the tree above me.
‘Idiot,’ I grunt at it, heart hammering against my ribs. I watch as a second one joins it, and can’t help but laugh at how it flies at the branch and hopes to stick in an act of faith, rather than trying to make any effort to land gracefully.
I’ve never really seen this time of day before. The light is silvery-blue and the sun’s not quite up yet. The air is chilly and heavy with the dew that’s half on the ground and half hanging in a low mist around me. I shiver as the dampness reaches the bare skin beneath my clothing, reminding me what I’m doing up at this godforsaken hour in the first place. I badly need to pee.
I stride forward, this time keeping my eyes up, half watching out for the little hut I’m making my way towards and half enjoying the novelty of feeling so alone. You never feel like this in London. Lonely, yes, but never this depth of silence. Perhaps that’s the wrong word, considering the racket the birds are making. ‘Stillness’ is probably nearer the mark.
Just thinking about London brings everything I’m trying to escape rushing back. I shake my head impatiently, but it doesn’t dislodge the familiar, icy feeling in my chest. I haven’t always been lonely, so at least I know it’s not something that comes from an in-built part of my character. Or, at least, it never used to be. I had friends. There was a large, sprawling group of us. We went through school together, and then through college. Of course, that was before Mum died. Before things between me and Markus ended. Before everything went so very wrong.
I swallow hard and, giving myself a mental shake, push it all to the back of my mind again. Now isn’t the time or place to start opening that particular mental file.
I spot the small wooden hut in front of me and hurry towards it. There’s a short ramp leading up to the raised doorway. Its base is surrounded by what look to be pieces of old paisley carpet like my grandm
other used to have in her living room. One thing that really takes me by surprise is that it doesn’t smell terrible. There’s an odd, earthy, pine smell, but not the kind of sewer stench I’d expected. It doesn’t make me feel any more comfortable about going up there, but not wanting to puke while I do it is a bonus.
Glancing around me, I check to see that the coast is clear. It doesn’t matter how desperate I am right now; I can’t do this with any kind of audience.
It’s completely still, so I gingerly make my way up the wooden ramp, my hand white-knuckled on the railing. There’s no way I want to be the one found outside the bog in a heap with a broken ankle.
The door is a simple, slatted thing and there’s a little sign hanging from a nail in the frame that reads ‘vacant’ in narrow, charred writing. I flip it over so that it reads ‘busy’ and step inside. I jump as the door bangs shut behind me and hold my breath as I search for the lock. There isn’t one. Damn it! There’s no way I’m going to be able to do my business with just a ‘busy’ sign for protection. I look around for something to wedge in front of the door. There isn’t anything apart from a bucket of sawdust, and that wouldn’t be enough to stop man nor beast. Typical.
I stand there for a second, torn. It’s just gone five in the morning. The likelihood of anyone else turning up mid-pee is tiny.
I look down at the toilet with some fear. It’s just a wooden plank with an old toilet seat attached to the top of it. Sitting down, I breathe a sigh of relief and look around me. There’s a small slit in the planking to my right- hand side directly at eye level. I peer through it and am met with dancing, golden beams as the sun makes its way above the horizon and peeps through the trees on the other side of the field. The light dapples and flickers as a breeze catches the branches. This view has to be the best I’ve ever had while sitting on the throne. A draft rushes up from under the toilet seat. Eww.
I finally locate a slightly damp, rough roll of loo paper and send up a silent prayer of thanks, having vaguely expected a pile of dried leaves. I look around for some kind of flush, but of course there isn’t anything. My eyes rest on the bucket of shavings. It has a sign attached to the side that I didn’t notice before. It says ‘Sprinkle me. Two cups should do.’
Reaching in, I use the tin mug to throw pine shavings down the recently vacated hole. And that’s that. I feel strangely proud of myself.
There’s a tap attached to a fence post at the bottom of the ramp and I wash my hands with a lump of yellow, gritty soap from a little saucer next to it.
I’m just starting a leisurely stroll back in the direction of the yurt when it occurs to me that this is the perfect time for a little look around down by the farmhouse. No one in their right mind will be awake at this time of the morning – apart from me of course.
I head down the hill, retracing the path I followed yesterday with Dennis and Bay.
The farmhouse looks dark and sleepy. There’s no one here silly enough to let the birds and early morning light cause them to lose sleep. I head past the house to take a proper look around the courtyard we gathered in last night. The room we used for the evening’s ceremony is only a small part of this complex. It’s essentially a courtyard surrounded by various barns and rooms that, I’m guessing, used to be the cow sheds. Now they’re being used for the far more lucrative job of farming people’s souls. I shudder at the image and creep across the silent cobbles.
I try one of the doors. It’s locked. Huh. Maybe not such a caring, sharing and trusting community after all! I peer through the small window set in the wooden framed door, but all I can see are benches and a few other bits of random furniture. Nothing that interesting in there, then.
I retrace my steps back out of the courtyard and wander across the small front garden of the farmhouse, before winding around to the back.
Oh. My. God.
Ted is in the back garden.
And there is a whole lot more of him on display than I saw last night.
I freeze, but that doesn’t stop the blush from starting in my toes and washing up over me like a wave. I go to run, but realize that Ted has his eyes closed. Thank goodness for small mercies.
I turn away and hurtle back around the corner before he has the chance to spot me.
I know it’s lame, but that’s more than enough snooping for one morning. And besides, I’ve learned something very valuable: do not, under any circumstances, go near the back lawn of the farmhouse early in the morning.
*
I arrive back at the yurt panting, having rushed back with my head down all the way. I flip open the flap without a moment’s pause and am treated to my second full frontal of the morning.
Bay is standing right in front of me, stark bollock naked.
Unfortunately, this one doesn’t have his eyes closed.
‘Shit, sorry, I thought you were out!’ Bay quickly grabs a blanket from his bed, fumbles and drops it before managing to secure it tightly around himself.
‘I was. I’m back . . . I—’
‘I’m so sorry!’
I stand and stare at him, the image of his naked body seared into my brain. Two naked men on my first morning is a little bit too much to handle.
‘Don’t you people believe in clothes?’ I huff, trying to cover my pure, unadulterated embarrassment with bluster.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not quite used to sharing—’
‘Well, neither am I, especially with butt-naked men. So please put some clothes on.’
Dennis is cowering on my bed. I stride over to him. ‘Dennis, OFF.’
He scuttles straight off the bed and over to Bay, who promptly bends down to scratch his ears, almost losing his blanket again.
‘Hey, don’t take my nakedness out on Dennis. It’s not his fault.’
‘Unless you also smell of dog, I’m taking it out on the right man.’
‘Well, you’re pretty hideous first thing in the morning, aren’t you? Good thing I learned this early on.’
‘You don’t look that great yourself, you know,’ I mutter.
Lies! All lies. He actually looks toned and tanned, and kind of cute in his rumpled, early morning state. But that’s beside the point.
‘I didn’t mean how you look . . . I mean . . . well . . . you!’ says Bay.
I do a great impression of a landed goldfish for a couple of seconds before shooting back: ‘Okay, try being me. I’ve got a coffee habit and I haven’t had a coffee. I’m not even allowed to get a coffee because it’s on the banned list for some reason. I’ve seen two naked men, and there’s a bloody great big dog in my bed! All this before six in the morning!’
Bay smiles at me. ‘Well, turn away for a minute or you’re going to get another eyeful.’
I groan and throw myself face down on my bed. EWW! It smells of warm dog. I fume silently into my pillow, listening to Bay rustling around on the other side of the yurt. Seriously, this guy takes longer to get dressed than anyone I’ve ever met.
‘Are you done yet?’ I mutter. It comes out slightly muffled by my pillow.
‘Hang on,’ he calls.
For goodness sake, how long does he expect me to stay like this? And what is that noise? What’s he doing now? Having a complete strip wash while I suffocate in the aroma of dog?
‘Oi!’
I get a nudge in my ribcage. Swinging around, I come face to face with Bay, who is now fully clothed and proffering a cup of something that smells suspiciously like coffee. ‘For you. To help you get over the shock.’
‘Oh. Thanks,’ I grunt, taking the cup from him and sniffing it. He gets up and retrieves his own mug from the table.
‘Hang on,’ I say suspiciously. ‘I thought we weren’t meant to “alter our pathways” with mind-enhancing caffeine? Don’t tell me this is made from sheep poo?’
‘Nope. Not sheep poo. You have the very fortunate luck of landing yourself in a tent with another hard-core caffeine addict. This is purest Columbian. Should set you up for the day!’ he smiles at me. ‘And I
was on the course the year that convinced Ted and Lizzie to add coffee to the banned list . . . Turns out that having a bunch of people working through their issues while they’re souped-up on enough coffee to keep an entire city running can be a pretty explosive mixture. They decided they’d be better off dealing with a bunch of caffeine-withdrawal headaches than vulnerable people at exploding point.’
I take a tentative sip and groan in ecstasy. Coffee, my old friend!
‘Thank you for breaking the rules,’ I say gratefully, and carefully transfer the cup to my other hand so that I can sit up.
‘Pleasure’s all mine,’ smiles Bay, taking a sip from his own cup. ‘Can’t leave a fellow addict to suffer now, can I? There’s a price though . . .’
Oh great. Mind you, I’ll happily pay just about anything right now for the few precious sips I’ve already had. I can feel myself becoming more human by the second.
‘Give me the gossip!’ Bay grins, watching me intently.
‘What gossip? I only just got here.’
‘Exactly. You were here when I went to sleep and gone when I woke up. And you’ve seen two naked men today. I’ve clearly got the dubious pleasure of being number two. Who else?’ He waggles his eyebrows at me.
I shake my head. I’ve always suspected that men are worse gossips than women, but this is ridiculous. ‘It was Ted. I went for a walk. He was naked in his garden.’ I cringe at the memory.
Bay chuckles. ‘That sounds about right. Damn, I thought there was some juicy gossip to be had, but Ted gets his kit off all the time. He likes to greet the day that way.’
‘Can’t he just put some boxers on before he pokes someone’s eye out?’
‘In his own back garden?’
‘I was lost,’ I say defensively.
‘At five thirty in the morning?’
‘I went to explore. I found the loo – got that sussed. Then I found Ted and Lizzie’s back garden. Trust me, I don’t much fancy revisiting either place.’
‘Hey! I can understand you not wanting to get a second eyeful of Ted, but I’ll not have you say a word against my shitter. I put blood, sweat and tears into building that.’
The Beginner's Guide to Loneliness Page 7