The Kicking the Bucket List

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘I can do the ancient bit,’ Fleur whispered. ‘I feel creaky sitting like this.’

  ‘Shh,’ Rose whispered back. As in any class, she was taking it all seriously, sitting straight backed, the model pupil. Fleur, also reverting to type, pulled a face at her.

  ‘The breath is point of concentration. OK, now we begin proper fantastic. Close eyes. Focus,’ said the swami. ‘Breathe in, hold one … two … three … good, breathe out.’

  We dutifully did as we were told, and for the first five minutes I did manage to concentrate. Breathe in, hold … breathe out.

  I like what the swami said, I thought, the breath is an anchor to the present.

  Focus. Don’t think.

  Breathe in, hold … exhale. Breathe in energy, breathe out anxiety, anger, fear. Woah, that’s going to be a long breath out. I’m going to be here for weeks.

  Breathe in, good, hold one two three, let go of my anger, fear and sadness. There’s a lot of that, Mum dying, missing Lucy, worry about my home, exhale.

  Breathe in, hold … let go of my disappointment, worry, negativity.

  I wonder how everyone else is doing?

  I felt like I might be huffing a little too loudly on the out breath and wondered if that was right? I took a peek. Everyone was sitting with their eyes closed, even Fleur. I glanced over at Daniel. He looked very peaceful, not like he was exorcizing years of negativity.

  Close your eyes, I told myself.

  I closed my eyes but the image of Daniel stayed.

  He has a nice nose. Straight. Noble. I wonder if he’s single.

  I opened my eyes again and tried to see if he had a ring on his finger but couldn’t see from my vantage point.

  Close your eyes Dee, I told myself again.

  I’ve done meditation before when I was in India and at home. I ought to be good at this. I’ve chanted Om and Nam-myoho-renge-kyo with the best of them.

  I wonder where Daniel lives.

  Why am I thinking about him? Focus.

  Breathe in, hold … let go of sadness and worry. Mum suddenly came to mind and, with her image, a wave of grief. Breathe. I didn’t want to cry in a room full of people, exhale, exhale, exhale.

  I need a wee. I wonder if I could sneak out and get back without disturbing anyone. Probably not. I must go beyond it. Beyond my thoughts, beyond wanting to wee.

  My bum hurts.

  I shifted my position.

  Fuck. I’ve got pins and needles. Oo. Agony.

  I shifted again. Phew, that’s better.

  I wonder how Rose and Fleur are getting on. No. Doesn’t matter. Focus.

  Rose looked so smug that she could sit cross-legged. I bet she could go the whole way and do the lotus position if she wanted. I used to be able to. I must get fitter. Go back to Pilates.

  God, I’m thinking a lot.

  I am a mountain, my thoughts are birds. Fly away, fly away birds. Actually what kind of birds? Pigeons pooping? Crows cawing? Chickens clucking? Ducks flying in formation? Or swans? Seagulls? Vultures? They can be violent. I wonder if the swami has accounted for the fact that there are different kinds of birds and some can be a hell of a lot more distracting than others. Mustn’t complicate things. I am a mountain of serenity. Breathe in, hold … exhale. Oops, here comes a flock of sparrows, hundreds of them. Christ, my meditation has turned into Hitchcock’s The Birds. Get out the gun. Shoot the fuckers, that will sort them. Oh dear. That’s not very peace and love, Dee. Oh hell, I am going mad. Breathe in, hold …

  I wonder how long we’ve been doing this? Feels like ages.

  Breathe in, exhale, hold … No, it’s the other way round. Breathe in, hold … exhale. Breathe in, hold … exhale. Yep, getting the hang of it now.

  ‘And now you may open your eyes,’ said the swami. I did as he instructed and he smiled beatifically at us all from the front. ‘Good, no?’

  Exactly. No, I thought. Clearly I am bonkers.

  *

  As we filed out into the corridor, I whispered to Fleur, ‘How was it for you?’

  ‘I dozed off, I’m afraid,’ she said.

  I didn’t get a chance to ask Rose. She was halfway down the stairs on the way to get her room key.

  *

  Half an hour later when I went to check out, the receptionist told me that both of my sisters had gone. No goodbye, no offer to drop me at the station. Meanies, I thought. Rose would go back to her family, secure life, mortgage paid off, Fleur to her glamorous flat in Knightsbridge. Neither had the worries that I had, yet neither even thought to ask how I was getting home.

  And breathe in, hold … exhale, I told myself as I saw Daniel approaching.

  ‘How did you find the session?’ he asked.

  ‘Good. Relaxing.’ I felt that I blushed a little. I was never a good liar and, standing so close to him, looking into his eyes, I felt the pull of chemistry.

  ‘Excellent. You can practise at home too.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Are you heading there now?’

  I nodded. ‘Back to Plymouth.’

  ‘Train?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Me too. Have your sisters gone?’

  I nodded again. I had turned into one of those nodding toy dogs that people put in their cars. Perhaps I could tell him it was another type of meditation – you put your head down, then up, then down then up. Shut up, Dee, try and act like you’re a sane human being, I told myself. ‘Fleur and Rose both drove here,’ I said. ‘Separately.’

  He looked in the direction of the door. ‘You strike me as being very different women.’

  ‘I guess we are, always were.’

  ‘Striking looking too.’

  ‘Fleur was always a beauty and Rose has always had great style.’

  He smiled. ‘I meant all of you.’

  I squirmed. He’s just being kind, I thought, then blushed when I saw that he was staring at me. ‘Middle child,’ he said.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Eclipsed by the other two, you don’t see your own beauty.’ I was about to protest when he pointed at himself. ‘Middle child too. I get it. I have an older brother who’s made a fortune. In worldly terms, he’s a great success. Younger brother who excelled at sports. And then there was me.’ He pulled a face. ‘I never felt I could compete with their achievements. I was the one at home with my books, always looking for answers.’ I smiled in recognition. ‘Anyway. Enough of that. How are you getting to the station?’

  ‘Cab.’

  ‘Want to share?’

  ‘Sure. What about the swami? Or does he beam himself back to wherever he’s come from, like in Star Trek?’

  Daniel laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him. No. He’s staying at the centre in Bristol tonight. I arranged a driver for him.’

  ‘Centre?’

  ‘Yes, there are meditation centres all over the country. I can tell you all about them on our ride to the station.’

  Suddenly the weekend looked a whole lot brighter – a cab journey with a new and attractive man, and not a sister in sight to cramp my style.

  12

  Rose

  Sunday 11 October, evening

  It was only when I was on the motorway, halfway back to London, that I realized I could have offered Dee a lift to the station. Fleur had her car. Maybe she gave her a lift. Hope so. Oh fuck it, there are taxis. Dee’s a grown woman. One weekend down, five more to go, and if they are anything like the last two days, God help us. I know Mum meant well, but Christ Almighty, colonics? I gave the therapist fifty quid to forget the whole idea and keep her mouth shut. I’ve a ton of manuscripts to get through without having a rubber tube shoved up my jacksie in the pursuit of happiness. And the meditation session? Fat chance of me finding peace within with everything that’s going on in my head at the moment. I came out of it feeling agitated and annoyed that I couldn’t do it. Truth be told, I’d like a bit of peace of mind. I bet Fleur and Dee hate me for taking off in a hurry and for not hanging out with them more, bu
t what do they know of my life? Maybe they’d understand if I told them. But I don’t want to talk to them about what’s going on, or anyone else apart from Hugh for that matter – and no, not even God, Mum.

  Fleur

  Sunday 11 October, evening

  Truth be told, I’m lonely. I am. Coming back to my dark, empty flat, I don’t think I have ever felt more so. Boo-hoo. Poor me. Think I’ll have a glass of wine.

  I was pleased to get the chance to reconnect with my sisters – well, Dee anyway. Rose can be a bitch. Dee was always a sweetie. We did have a bit of a laugh yesterday reminiscing about the old days. My sisters. Who else knows me inside out? Have known me since birth? OK, we can wind each other up something rotten, but don’t all siblings do that? I’ve enjoyed seeing them again and hope they’ll become part of my life again. I do. Even Rose.

  Mum’s death hit me hard. Hit us all hard. While she was alive, wherever she was, was my true home to go back to, even in the retirement village, my port in a storm and all that. I have nowhere else like that in my life now. No one else. No husband, no boyfriend, no great network of friends, partly due to travelling and living in different countries. Made a bit of a mess of things really. Boo. I’m feeling sorry for myself. Why not? Self-obsessed, Rose said I was. Cow. Probably true though.

  It’s so lovely that Mum left her list for us, caring from beyond the grave. Seeing the recording of her yesterday morning – woo, it was like she hadn’t really gone. Not really. And five more to go. Hah. How many parents attempt something like that? She was a rare gem. I’ll look forward to seeing her familiar face every other month and hearing what she’s thought up. It’s a precious legacy she’s left us, if a little off beam. That’s probably where I get it from. Fleur Crazy Parker, that’s me. But where has she gone? I keep asking myself, over and over. And Dad? Where did he go? Why didn’t they get just one phone call to say, hey I’ve landed on the other side. I’m fine.

  People look at me and imagine that I have it all, and yes, I have money, the fancy car, my portfolio of properties, a new flat in Knightsbridge, but no one to share it all with. Yes, I know a ton of people, but there’s a difference between acquaintances and true friends. I long for someone to be there on a Friday night, at the end of the week, to pour me a glass of wine, ask how my day went. Someone who really knows and accepts me. It’s not easy meeting men at my age, and without a circle of friends to introduce me to their single friends, how am I going to meet anyone? I tried Internet dating for a nanosecond. Too depressing. Arabella, my neighbour, tells me that you’re supposed to treat it like a job, put in the hours, but I’m not that desperate. Or am I? I used to be able to pull men with a glance. Not so sure I can any more.

  Really I just want someone who is there for me, who loves me. Mum was that person, but she’s gone, leaving a great fat empty hole. But seeing Rose and Dee again, I see Mum in them, in gestures, mannerisms, in phrases we all use without realizing; they are such a part of us. Rose has Mum’s petite slim shape and her bird-like eyes, taking it all in. Dee has her nose and her wide, smiling mouth. They ought to give them back. Ha-ha. Old joke, Fleur. Dee’s looking good, but I think the dark hair needs a change. She dyes it. I can tell. Highlights and a good cut, that’s what she needs. Three inches off to bring it to her shoulders. Would take years off her. After a certain age, a woman needs a softer hair colour. Blonde, honey, fudge. Opinionated. Moi? Never. Hah. Dee and Rose missed that word when asked to describe me.

  But Rose and Dee are family. My family. All that I have left, apart from distant cousins I hardly know and never will. That stupid fall-out. We let it go on too long. While Mum was here, I felt connected to my sisters in a way. I always knew where they were, how they were, what they were doing. Mum always told me their latest news, so it didn’t actually matter too much that we didn’t speak in person. I knew they were there somewhere in the background. So yes, Mum’s mad programme to teach us the way of happiness. I could do with a bit of that, and companionship, so I’m in for the duration, whatever she has planned, colonics and all. Bring it on.

  Dee

  Sunday 11 October, late evening

  As soon as I got back to Kingsand, I headed over to Anna’s to tell her the latest. I could see her bedroom light was on at the front of her house, and knew she’d probably be up reading as she did most nights, probably with a cup of cocoa. Anna and I pride ourselves on being the last of the great ravers and sometimes go really wild and read past midnight.

  I had a key to her house so I let myself in and headed up the stairs.

  ‘Only me,’ I called.

  She didn’t reply, but I heard a strange muffled sound coming from her bedroom. Something sounded wrong. I opened her door and gasped. ‘Anna! What happened?’ I said as I ran over to the bed.

  Anna was in her nightdress and had been gagged and tied to the bed. She was moving her head as though trying to say something, so I quickly undid the gag.

  ‘Who did this to you? Are you all right?’ I began to undo the ties holding her to her bed. ‘Are you hurt? Are they still in the house?’

  Anna’s shoulders were heaving and a strange noise came from her throat, a strangulated cry. It took me a few seconds to realize that she was laughing.

  ‘Jesus, Anna. What’s going on? What’s so funny?’

  Anna sat up. ‘Ian. He’s been reading Fifty Shades of Grey and thought we should try and spice up our sex life.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. So where is he?’

  ‘In the bathroom. He went in there to get some massage oil. He’ll be back in a sec.’

  ‘No. God. Sorry. I … I just came to tell you how the weekend went. I’ll go …’

  As I headed for the door, I heard the toilet flush across the corridor and a moment later, Ian appeared. ‘Oh. Company,’ he said when he saw me. He didn’t seem fazed at all by the fact he was stark naked.

  ‘Woah! Just leaving. Sorry for the intrusion,’ I mumbled as I averted my eyes. ‘See you later. Oh god. Sorry, sorry.’

  Ian and Anna cracked up laughing. ‘You can stay if you like. I think the moment here might have gone,’ called Anna.

  ‘No no, not at all. As you were. Sorry. Carry on,’ I called back as I hotfooted it down the stairs. ‘Coffee tomorrow?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Anna called back. ‘I’ll come to you.’

  Well, she’s a dark horse, I thought as I crossed the road and let myself into my house, where I went straight to the fridge, found a bottle of white wine and poured myself a large glass.

  Monday 12 October, 11 a.m

  ‘So tell me more about this Daniel character,’ Anna asked after I’d filled her in on my weekend. She’d come over for breakfast, so I’d made us scrambled eggs on toast and a pot of tea.

  I shrugged. ‘Not a lot to tell.’ I was glad I’d had the night to sleep on it. I’d been on a high when I went running into Anna’s the previous night, but in the harsh light of the day, I was seeing things more clearly. I’d got on with Daniel. He’d listened as well as talked and laughed easily too. I liked that. He asked about my art, my life, Lucy, and it was only on the train home that I realized I still knew very little about him, apart from the fact that he had two brothers, lived in London, organized events for Swami Muktanand as well as worked as an executive behind the Heaven on Earth centres that taught meditation. He was currently single.

  ‘So you shared a cab and then went for a drink?’

  ‘We both had over half an hour to wait.’

  Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘Fate. It’s like Brief Encounter.’

  ‘Oh stop it. In Brief Encounter, Celia Johnson’s character was married. I’m not married and neither is he.’

  ‘Ah, so you established that much.’

  ‘I did, but I bet he has a lot of women after him.’

  ‘So? No reason he wouldn’t pick you. You look great. You are great.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence but … I don’t want to get involved with anyone. I’m quite happy on my own. I ju
st can’t go there again – all that wondering if he’ll call. Can I trust him? Worrying about taking my clothes off in front of a stranger. The years it takes to get to the comfy silences. Anyway, there’s bound to be something wrong with him. If men aren’t unfaithful, they’re alcoholic, sportaholic, workaholic or just plain dull.’

  Anna put down her fork and stopped eating. ‘Oh Dee. It’s not like you to be so negative about men. You’ve talked yourself out of anything happening before you’ve even got to know him. And what about my Ian? He’s none of those “holic” types.’

  ‘Sexaholic,’ I said and she laughed. I didn’t comment on her saying that I was negative. The truth of it was that I didn’t want to get hurt or disappointed and it was easier to just stay away from men and any involvement. John had done a lot of damage when I was with him; he’d slowly worn away my confidence with his criticism, then later lack of interest in me sexually. I did therapy for a while after we’d split up and, of course, the therapist said that I had to own my part in the breakdown of our relationship. When I did, I learnt that, deep down, part of me felt that men don’t stay around. Maybe this had come from Dad dying so young, and so I attracted men to me who would fulfil that belief. After one session, when I came out feeling miserable, I decided that therapy was like picking at scabs, and that in order to move forward, I had to stop poking away at my past and any hurt therein and leave it to heal. The session with Beverly hadn’t done much to change my mind either. Leaving the past in the past had worked well since I’d stopped therapy. I had my cats. I had my work. I had Anna and, until recently, I had my home. It was enough, and I’d chosen not to think too deeply about my choices.