After twenty minutes, I began to feel like I needed an oxygen tank, and I could see that Fleur was struggling to keep up too. Rose’s attempts were hilarious, like watching an ironing board try to dance, but she was still giving it her best, determined as ever to get the hang of it.
The track changed to African music and Phoebe directed us into what felt like aerobics. ‘Knees up, thump down, turn, turn again, jump, jump, jump, arms up in the air.’
It felt like someone had pressed fast forward, and we were off at an alarming rate.
‘Stomp stomp, turn. Knee up, now the other one, arms up. Shout, Zumba.’
The rhythm was fast, and most of the class seemed to know the moves perfectly. Fleur, Rose and I looked like a special-needs outing, going left when the others went right, right when they went left, forward when they went back and back when they went forward.
At least we’re at the back so no one can see us, I thought as I paused for a moment to catch my breath. Fleur went forward into someone who was turning and almost knocked them flying.
‘And turn!’ called Phoebe, and she ran to the back of the class as all the participants turned to face her. Suddenly we were on the front row.
‘ZumBA,’ called Phoebe.
‘ZumBA,’ the class called back.
As we were now in full view of the class, Fleur, Rose and I went into overdrive to keep up. The pride of the flower girls lives on, I thought, as I battled to overcome my lack of fitness. And up, and down, and to the side two steps, and forward two steps. We were with it, as if someone had given us a shot of adrenalin.
My heart was thumping in my chest and my knees felt like they were going to give way. Please, please ask everyone to turn again, I prayed, and finally Phoebe called, ‘And turn,’ and thankfully we were the back row again.
Fleur leaned against the wall. ‘I’m going to die.’
I stopped, panting for breath. ‘Me too.’
Rose was still giving it her all, but wasn’t quite in time with the others, and soon she too gave up and sagged against the wall next to Fleur.
We staggered through the rest of the class and, at last, we were finished.
‘Happiness is that blooming class being over,’ said Fleur as we limped out.
‘Ow, my back,’ Rose groaned, as we made our way home along the lanes.
‘My knees,’ said Fleur.
‘My hips,’ I added.
‘But we did it,’ said Rose.
‘Yeah, we rocked it or Zumba’d it, or whatever the saying is,’ said Fleur. ‘There’s life in the old girls yet.’
‘Hey, less of the old,’ said Rose, but she was smiling.
‘What we need now is a large glass of wine,’ I suggested.
‘Zumba to that,’ said Fleur. ‘You in, Rose?’
‘Lead the way. We’ve earned it.’
Saturday 12 December
The evening started smoothly enough, with a fire burning in the grate in the front room, a fig and cassis candle filling the house with its soft fragrance. Fleur was sprawled with a glass of wine – and Misty on her lap – on the sofa watching trash TV. Every now and again, I’d hear her groan. ‘I can’t move. My muscles have seized up.’ Rose was tappety-tap on her laptop upstairs, while I was in the kitchen making roast chicken the way Mum used to. I liked having a full house and I enjoyed cooking, and I felt that we’d all relaxed a fraction with each other since the Zumba challenge.
I was just basting roast potatoes when Rose appeared in the kitchen with Tupperware boxes full of what looked like her supper.
‘Now don’t go off on one,’ she said as she found a plate and cutlery, ‘but I’ve brought my own food.’
‘I can see that, and I wasn’t about to go off on one, but I’ve cooked for all of us. Why didn’t you say something before? And if you can’t eat certain things, you could have let me know.’
Rose sat down at the table. ‘I’m not doing gluten or dairy at the moment. I just find it easier to take my own food with me than cause problems.’
‘Why? Are you on some health kick or something?’
‘No. Yes. Sort of. Just cutting out a few things. You know, eat well, stay young and all that.’
‘It wouldn’t have been a problem. I’ve done weeks of no gluten and of no dairy and I’m cooking chicken that has neither of what you’re trying to avoid.’
‘Look, I didn’t want to be a nuisance. I was trying to make things easier.’
‘But you’re my guest. Rose, why don’t you ever let anyone do anything for you? It must be exhausting sorting out the world and everyone in it, like you did before with your call to Hugh about the house – not that I’m not grateful, but don’t you ever want to just let it all go and have someone look after you for a change. Cook you a meal? Bake you a cake?’
For a brief moment, Rose looked as though she might cry, but then she took a deep breath. ‘Just leave it, will you? I … Just leave it.’
‘Fine,’ I said. I got a bottle of Chablis out of the fridge. ‘But you’re going to have a glass of wine, aren’t you?’
Rose hesitated. ‘No thanks.’
I was about to say that I’d bought it specially, but remembered what she’d said before when I said I’d baked the cake specially.
‘Of course, alcohol is pretty well pure sugar, and we all know that’s the enemy.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that. I never was a big drinker, so I hardly bother any more.’
I took a deep breath. Breathe in, hold … exhale. Why was it Rose could make me so irritable? I became a different person when she was around. Defensive, quick to snap. I didn’t want to be that person. Kind, kind, must be kind, I reminded myself. ‘Look sorry. Fine. You’re on a special diet. Can’t be weight. You certainly don’t need to lose any.’
‘I … Look sorry, Dee, do you mind if we don’t go into it? It’s just … too boring.’
‘I don’t mind listening. I’d like to know more about how you are.’
Rose sighed. ‘OK. I am on a health kick – to help get through the menopause, stop the hot flushes and all that, so no sugar or wheat, but I don’t want to talk about it. It’s dull when people go on about it.’
‘Fine,’ I said.
‘Is that fine as in fine, or fine as in f for fucked up, i for irritated, n for neurotic and e for exhausted?’
I laughed. Rose being funny, that was rare. ‘Probably the latter.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ said Rose.
‘All the more reason to have a drink.’
‘Actually, fuck it, you don’t happen to have a gin and tonic, do you?’
‘I do. Want one?’
She nodded and for a moment looked vulnerable. ‘Make it a double.’
As I fixed Rose’s drink, I glanced over at her. She was putting her food on her plate, a furrow of concentration on her forehead. I felt a wave of affection for her. My anal elder sister. I realized I had no idea what her life was like, what she thought about, what was really going on. No matter, I thought as I sliced lemon, then put the glass in front of her. For now, we’re all here, as Mum wanted us to be. Rose has always been a private person. Perhaps it’s me who has to change and accept that she is who she is.
15
Rose
Sunday 13 December, 10.30 a.m.
The art exercise
Daniel had arranged for a teacher to come to Dee’s house with materials. I could see that Dee was put out, probably because she taught art and knew the woman, Moon, from the village. She was an odd-looking creature, like a wizened old fairy with long grey dreadlocks, in crushed velvet clothes, Dr. Martens boots and a massive ruby pendant on a chain. She’d have been good on a book cover for the fantasy children’s market. Dee spent ages explaining to her why we were doing the exercise, which I didn’t think was necessary. No apologies, no excuses, that’s my motto.
‘Paint whatever you like,’ said Moon after she’d handed out paper, a palette, brushes and paints. ‘Feelings, a mood, a moment. You can do it in land
scape, portrait or abstract.’
Well that’s clear then, I thought. ‘Aren’t you going to show us some technique?’ I asked.
The fairy crone shook her head. ‘Not today, my lover.’ She spoke in a Cornish accent. ‘Today is about freedom of expression. Slash it on, dab it on, flick it on. Whatever you feel.’
I am not your lover, I thought. I also wondered how much she was being paid to come and basically do nothing, but I kept my mouth shut and tried to appear willing. I’m a rational person and, although I had better things to be doing with my weekend, I’d worked out – six weekends, twelve days. My part of the inheritance divided by twelve meant each day of the kicking the bucket list earned me a lot of money to give to Simon and Laura, so if today’s task meant putting up with Griselda the wrinkly weirdo, then so be it.
Fleur used Dee’s studio. Dee worked in her bedroom and I sat at the kitchen table. Moon sat in the front room smoking roll-ups and making strange, unidentifiable sounds. ‘She likes to do dolphin chants,’ Dee explained when she came down for water for her jar.
I can’t paint. Never could. I chose to do an autumn scene but the result was unrecognizable as anything. All that came out was a red and orange blodge. It looked like an open wound, seeping and oozing.
*
After an hour, Moon reappeared and told us all to bring our work into the kitchen so we could appraise each other’s masterpieces.
‘And what inspired this?’ asked Moon when she saw my attempt. Personally, I’d have said it like ‘and what inspired this?’ Or ‘what inspired this!?’
‘I wanted it to be a fusion of colour,’ I said. ‘Inspired by the autumn.’
Moon seemed happy with that. I could always bullshit my way out of a mess. ‘It’s wonderful, Rose,’ said Moon. ‘Completely uninhibited.’ Clearly she was pretty good at bullshit herself.
Surprisingly, Dee’s painting wasn’t much better.
‘Not my best,’ she said as we looked at her creation. It was a grey descending mass of what could have been a bird but looked like a nightmare scene from a horror movie. I wonder what goes on in her head behind the serene face she shows the world? I thought as I studied her and then the painting.
Fleur had painted four flowers that didn’t resemble any particular type. They were the kind of flowers a child would draw. ‘They’re meant to be Mum and us,’ she told us.
‘Wonderful,’ said Moon. ‘I love the simplicity of it. You’ve really captured the essence … of a feeling.’ Oh, do go on Moon, I thought. Tell us more. But she didn’t. Clearly Fleur’s work of genius had left her speechless.
Yeah, nice sentiment and that, I thought about Fleur’s flowers, but … I wouldn’t hang it on my wall.
‘Yes, well done,’ said Dee. ‘I’m touched that you wanted to paint us but … is that all you did in the time?’ She picked up the painting and turned it over before Fleur could stop her.
Fleur looked sheepish as Dee examined the work on the back of the flower painting. I went over to have a look. It was covered in scribbles of cartoons. They were mainly of us. One showing Fleur as a Disney princess on a throne, another showing me as an alien with a huge gun. Fleur had written ‘Rose, mutant ninja turtle’ underneath it, and one of Dee as a hippie dancing in a field of flowers. She’d made her cross-eyed.
‘I thought the flower paintings were a bit out of character,’ said Dee.
Hah, you’ve caught out Fleur, I thought.
‘I was just messing,’ she said.
‘Juvenile. Some things never change,’ I said as I placed the paper back on the table, flower side up.
Sunday 13 December, 1.30 p.m.
The singing exercise
Curiously the ancient fairy turned out to be the singing teacher as well.
‘A woman of many talents,’ said Dee, though I got the feeling that Moon wasn’t her favourite person in the village.
She got us all standing in Dee’s front room. She had a long Aborigine pipe with her and blew several deep, resounding notes on it. ‘I want you to mimic the sound,’ she said. ‘Feel it deep within, right down in your solar plexus, then let it out as you exhale, hold it and let the sound vibrations reverberate through you. Hompherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrh. Sound is sacred and can heal as well as bring joy.’
Is that right? I thought. I could see that Fleur and Dee were having a hard time keeping a straight face.
Moon blew another note and looked to me. ‘Go on Rose, feel it.’ I made a sound that came out as a squeak. ‘No, no, Rose. Feel it in your stomach. Inhale. Exhale. Let it out.’ She demonstrated and let out a deep sound that was quite frightening. ‘Hompu-errrrrrrrrrrrrh,’ I tried again. Another squeak.
Moon encouraged Fleur to have a go. She was completely off key but gave it her best. It sounded as if she was about to throw up. If sound can heal, it can also hurt, I thought as I suppressed the urge to cover my ears.
Dee was next. Hers was more of a croak. At least we’re all unique, I thought.
‘It reminds me of when we were little and trying to see who could do the loudest burp,’ said Fleur. ‘Remember?’
Dee and I both looked out of the window as if we’d seen something really interesting happening out there.
‘Now. All together,’ said Moon, and she started with her magnificent burp. ‘Homph-errrrrrrrrrh.’
If you can’t beat them, join them, I thought. I let rip. ‘Hooo-errrrrrrh.’
Dee and Fleur joined in. It was a cacophony. We were all completely out of tune and sounded as if someone was being strangled. Even Moon looked defeated. But hey Mum, this is what you wanted, I thought as I took a deep breath.
‘Next we’re going to open and heal the chakras,’ said Moon, and instructed us to lie on the floor. She lit a joss stick then placed crystals along the middle line of each of our bodies from the middle of the forehead to the groin.
‘Each chakra has a different vibration and sound,’ explained Moon. ‘For each one, I will lead and you will follow. Starting with the third eye,’ she went into a high-pitched humming.
By the time we reached the fourth chakra, Dee and Fleur were convulsed with laughter and, try as I might to keep it together, I couldn’t help but laugh too.
‘Maybe Mum planned this because she knew we’re all tone deaf,’ said Fleur.
I thought Mum had planned this because she knew we’d have to laugh and, in the end, we did, even Moon.
‘At least this session has got us to agree on something,’ said Fleur after Moon had gone, ‘and that is that we shan’t be auditioning for The Choir any time soon.’
I had to agree. Being creative is not my bag, whether it be art, music or writing. Although I work in a creative field, with authors, I have always known my place. I can appreciate and recognize true talent. I can advise and edit. I will always be Salieri and someone else Amadeus.
Sunday 13 December, 4 p.m.
The writing exercise
‘Just let out your feelings,’ said Arthur, our tutor for the afternoon and, Dee told us, Moon’s partner. He too favoured long grey dreadlocks and wore a grey kaftan top over jeans. The Lord of the Rings look – and expressing your feelings – must be popular in this neck of the woods, I thought. Where did Mum find these people, or had she left it all up to Daniel? And how much is she paying them?
‘Write what’s happening in your life,’ Arthur instructed us as he handed out paper and pens. ‘Your thoughts, your feelings, hopes, fears, whatever comes out. Don’t try to write the perfect piece. Don’t edit, criticize or repress yourself. At the end, you can rip up what you’ve written, burn it or keep it. Your choice.’
This I can do, I thought as I took my papers, retreated to my room and wrote:
I found out that I had cancer the day of the reading of Mum’s will. I didn’t tell Dee or Fleur, partly because we’d hardly seen each other for years, but mainly because we were all struggling with having just lost Mum. They didn’t need to know what I was going through on top of all that. There
were enough emotions flying around as it was: grief, anger, guilt, without adding shock at my news into the mix – plus, back then, I didn’t know the prognosis. I wanted to find out what I was in for before I started telling people. There are many types of cancer, some with a better outlook than others.
I told Hugh, of course, and Simon and Laura know now, and my friend Kate, but no one else. No one at work, I don’t want them treating me differently or thinking I can’t do my job. Treating me as Rose who has cancer. Poor thing. Such a shame. No. I don’t want that. I’m still the same person inside, course I am. I may have to tell people in time though. It depends on how I respond to treatment, but what will I say? Just popping out to the hospital. No, not to visit a friend …
Doctor Campbell texted just as I was coming out of the reading of Mum’s will so I had to dash off. Crap timing. I could see it pissed Fleur or Dee off big time that I didn’t hang around, but the text said urgent and I’m sure they’d have done the same in the circumstances.
It started with a lump in my breast. I didn’t consciously ignore it but I didn’t do anything about it in the beginning. As always, I was busy. More urgent things to do than spend hours sitting in some clinic waiting to be seen, and I didn’t think it was anything to worry about. I’d had a cyst a few years before. No big deal. That’s what I thought when I found the lump. No big deal, another cyst, but some months later I noticed a few more lumps in my armpit. A few alarm bells rang and, this time, I made an appointment to see my doctor. She arranged a mammogram, ultrasound and biopsy of the lump whilst reassuring me that, as I’d thought, it could well be a cyst again, but best to get it checked. Standard procedure. I went to see her, fully expecting to hear that everything was fine. Not this time. I got to the surgery and waited to hear, nothing to worry about; I even remember thinking they could save time and put my results in the post. But when I got in to see my doctor, she didn’t say everything was fine. She said the C word. High grade. Not only that but the biopsy had showed that the lymph nodes were also cancerous. Everything seemed to go into a blur after that. My doctor was mouthing words at me: further scans and tests. I didn’t take it in. Not then. Was sure there had been a mistake. They’d got my results mixed up with someone else’s. Happens all the time. Sadly not, the doctor told me. Anyway, Mum’s programme to find happiness became the last thing on my list of priorities. How to tell Hugh, Simon and Laura? That was all I could think about. And what was I in for?
The Kicking the Bucket List Page 13