by Vikki Patis
Beth has a strange look on her face, one almost of incredulity. Was it a mistake to bring her here? I’ve wanted to attend one of these workshops since I found out about them a few months ago. They’ve always sounded so peaceful and relaxing.
It will do her good, I tell myself, letting my eyes fall closed, and all thoughts of Beth float out of my mind.
Twenty-Three
Beth
A celebration of women. What does that even mean?
Beth opens one eye, slowly moving her head to look around the room. She watches the other women, eyes closed, legs crossed, but that is where the similarities end. We are all different, she thinks, taking in one woman’s tattooed leg, another’s shock of white hair. And yet we are all here.
She turns to look at Isla beside her, curls swept up into a bun on top of her head, a few ringlets escaping. She is sitting in a patch of sun, the brightness picking up the golden highlights in her hair. Her eyes are closed, long eyelashes fluttering gently, her lips parted slightly as she exhales through her mouth. Beth can see a faded bruise on her shoulder, just visible between her bra straps. She wonders at the story Isla’s body could tell, the secrets she holds so close to her.
She lets her gaze wander, and as it reaches Chloe, she notices that the woman is staring straight at her. She feels the breath catch in her throat, a strange, irrational feeling of guilt passing over her. I’m not doing anything wrong, she tells herself as she opens the other eye and stares back. A small smile is playing around Chloe’s lips, and her body is perfectly still, as if she is carved from stone. As their eyes meet, the smile widens for just a second, before Chloe closes her eyes and opens her mouth.
‘Om,’ she chants, her voice low but encompassing, filling the room. Beth glances around; nobody else has moved, no eyes are flying open at the interruption. ‘Om,’ Chloe says again, and as if it were scripted, the others join in, letting the word fly from their lips.
Beth feels an almost irresistible urge to laugh, that childish laughter of people who do not understand, do not belong. She is the outsider here, the only person incapable of closing their eyes and letting go. She has never been able to do that. In a world of total chaos, she fears a lack of control more than almost anything else. She’s had to get used to spontaneity, to dealing with situations as they arise. But her greatest wish is to have a simple life, one where she calls the shots. She’s never had that before.
The chanting stops, and total silence settles over the room. Beth’s eyes are still open, her breathing quick and shallow. Chloe’s gaze falls on her once again.
‘Thank you. We start each session with meditation so we can cleanse our minds and open ourselves up to the universe. We are here to let go, to be calm, to heal.’ She gives a small nod as she speaks, before moving her gaze around the room.
For a split second, Beth wonders if she can read her mind.
Chloe stands then, and the others follow suit. Beth climbs ungracefully to her feet, stumbling on the edge of the mat. Isla’s hand shoots out and grabs her elbow, steadying her, and Beth looks up to see a mask of serenity on her face. Isla has used this time wisely, apparently; taken the opportunity to let go of her thoughts.
Beth, though, is overcome with them. She cannot shake her past, the choices that have led her here, to this very moment. She remembers the words her mum whispered to her at night, her unruly hair slicked back in a tight bun. She remembers her mum’s hands, often red and chapped, the lines around her eyes, the smell of her body lotion, carefully rationed.
‘You can do anything you want to do, Elizabeth. Anything.’
Mum. She pushed Beth at school, encouraged her to visit the library, took her swimming on a Saturday morning. She wanted so much more for her daughter. And what has Beth achieved? Nothing. She is living in a house where she is not wanted, part of a plan that came out of nowhere and is spiralling into something she isn’t sure she can deal with. Kyle is gone, her father is his usual uninterested self. What does Beth have, truly?
Frustrated, she tries to push the thoughts away. Isla looks over at her, her forehead slightly creased, and Beth realises that everyone else has started to stretch their arms overhead. Chloe’s eyes are closed, her lean arms reaching towards the ceiling, but Beth has the feeling she can still see her. She flushes and copies Isla, awkwardly raising her arms.
She has made her choices. Now she has to live with them.
Later, when the session ends, Beth rushes out of the door and down the stairs, almost tripping in her haste to leave. Isla stays behind, helping Chloe fold away the mats, and Beth wonders what they are talking about.
Outside, she lights a cigarette and inhales deeply, closing her eyes and leaning against the wall behind her. She can see the appeal of yoga, of meditation, and she can’t deny that she feels lighter, if a little sore, but she doubts she could ever stop the thoughts from swirling around in her head. There is too much in there, too many experiences, too much hurt. Regrets, too, she has enough of those. The scene from that night flashes through her mind; the too-loud music, the screech of brakes, the scream cutting through the night. The blood on Isla’s hands as she moved the man, tried to get him breathing again. Beth’s fear, so palpable she could almost taste it.
‘How was it?’ A voice snaps her back to reality. Isla is standing beside her, an apprehensive look in her eyes. ‘Did you have a good time?’ A good time. Those aren’t the words Beth would have used, but she doesn’t have it in her to snap at Isla. Of all people, Isla doesn’t deserve her anger.
‘It was… different,’ she says, flicking her cigarette butt into the road. She gives Isla a smile. ‘But I liked it. And you?’ There is something different about Isla, an almost imperceptible change that anyone who didn’t know her would easily miss. She smiles back at Beth.
‘It was everything I hoped it would be,’ she says simply, reaching out and taking Beth’s arm.
They stop at the supermarket for wine, then make their way home, Isla cooking a simple meal of spicy chicken and vegetables. She seems to almost float around the house, that lightness staying with her for the rest of the day, and Beth feels a wave of envy roll over her.
Twenty-Four
Isla
The peace that descended over me during that class stays with me for several days. One morning, I wake from a dream so vivid I’m surprised to find myself lying in bed. I was standing on a cliff, nothing around but miles of shimmering sea and rugged Cornish cliffs. And Beth. Beth was beside me, her arm linked through mine, her hair blowing in the breeze. The sun was beaming down on us, warming our cheeks, and I felt an overwhelming sense of peace.
I looked down, and saw Jake’s body sprawled on the beach below, his limbs twisted at an unnatural angle, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. He was dead, and yet that peace did not dissipate.
I can still smell the salt in the sea that rushed beneath my feet; hear the seagulls crying above us. And the words that were whispered in my ear, carried on the wind. You’re free.
A wave of nausea suddenly passes over me, and I sit bolt upright, a hand pressed to my mouth. Kicking at the sheets that have tangled themselves around my legs, I run into the en suite, barely making it to the toilet. Hot bile flows out of me; my stomach heaves, my eyes run.
Too much wine, I think, reaching out to flush the toilet. My head is pounding, my vision blurred by tears. My hand pauses on the handle as a memory flashes through my mind. My missing pills. I still haven’t ordered more. Shit.
When was my last period? When did I take that last pill? Frantic, I try to cast my mind back, but I can’t remember. It’s at least a week ago, maybe two. Surely I should have come on by now? I wash my hands and run my wet fingers through my hair, distress bubbling up inside me. How could I have forgotten? How could I have been so stupid?
With an increasing feeling of dread, I open the bathroom cabinet, my fingers easily finding what I’m looking for, the thing I dread doing every month while Jake stands over me, his expectation palpable,
his disappointment like a crushing weight. A pregnancy test.
I won’t be. I can’t be. It’s just a precaution. I remember the sex from that night before Jake left, his gentleness, and I shudder involuntarily. Could it have happened that night?
I open the box with trembling fingers, then fetch the plastic cup specifically kept for this purpose from under the sink and sit down on the toilet, holding the cup beneath me. I wash my hands again, then open the test and dip it in before setting it face-down on the counter.
Two minutes. I stare at myself in the mirror, taking in my bloodshot eyes, my pale skin. Where did that glow from the workshop disappear to? I remember Chloe’s calm yet commanding voice, the serene presence of the women around me. But nothing can calm me now.
I drum my fingers on the edge of the sink, willing time to move faster. When I pick up the test again, flipping it over, the word slams into my mind, shattering the world around me.
Pregnant.
I turn suddenly, dropping the test on the floor, and vomit once more into the toilet. Tears stream down my face, real, shocked tears. I sit for what feels like hours, face against the toilet seat, my throat raw. No. I can’t be. No, no, no.
A door slams downstairs. I slowly lift my head, listening. I hear Beth’s voice call out, then her feet on the stairs. Frantic, I flush the toilet, jamming the test into my pyjama pocket, then wash my hands, splash my face with water. I grip the edge of the sink as I stare into the mirror, taking in the deep purple rings around my eyes, the redness of them, the panic threatening to overwhelm me. I breathe deeply, remembering Chloe’s voice, trying to calm my racing heart. It isn’t working now.
‘Isla?’ Beth is on the landing. I straighten, smooth my hair, and open the door, giving her the brightest smile I can conjure up.
‘Hi.’
Her forehead creases. ‘You okay?’ she asks. I nod, swallowing down the urge to vomit again.
‘I’m fine. You?’ I notice that her eyeliner is smudged, her hair tied back in a messy braid. I should ask what’s wrong, but I don’t have the headspace for Beth’s problems right now. I briefly consider telling her what’s happened. The urge to sink into someone’s arms and have them reassure me that everything’s going to be all right is almost too strong to resist. But I can’t. I have to deal with this alone.
Beth drops her gaze. ‘Yeah,’ she mumbles, and turns to go into her bedroom. The door closes with a click, and I fall back against the wall, breathing hard. A pang of terror hits me with an almost physical force.
What am I going to do? I push my fingers into my hair, my nails digging into my scalp. What the fuck am I going to do?
I spend the day googling my symptoms, desperately searching for another reason for them, but I know deep down what’s going on. When the doorbell rings that afternoon, I jerk my head up, confused for a moment, before I realise what day it is. Sam is standing on the doorstep, laden down with bags.
‘All right, lovely?’ she chirps, bustling past me and into the living room. I follow mutely, considering briefly the state I must be in – unwashed, with messy hair, a bare face – but I can’t bring myself to care. Sam doesn’t seem to notice.
‘How has the gel been?’ she asks, reaching out for my hands. We’re sitting opposite each other at the dining room table, Sam bringing out a towel to cover the surface. ‘Oh, still a nice colour! What are you wanting today?’
I stare into her smiling face, wondering how to get rid of her. Maybe I could plead a stomach bug? No, that wouldn’t be fair. I can’t let her down at such short notice. Maybe I could pay her anyway? But Jake will notice that the gel on my fingers is starting to lift; he always notices my imperfections.
‘I don’t know,’ I say eventually, barely trusting myself to speak.
‘Well, let’s get this off and you can have a think, yeah?’ Sam reaches into one of her bags and pulls out a large bottle of acetone, followed by some cotton pads and tin foil. I obediently hold out my hands while she applies the acetone and wraps each finger in foil.
‘Hubby at work, is he? Anywhere nice?’ Sam asks, as she always does. I have to think for a moment before I remember where Jake is. Jake. Oh God.
‘Nowhere special,’ I say, swallowing hard. ‘It’s usually so last-minute, though, him going away.’
‘Ooh, how exotic!’ Sam exclaims. ‘My ex – my daughter’s father – he never had any ambition. God, that man could make a nun swear. Absolute bastard, ’scuse my French.’ She starts laying out her colour charts for me to choose from. ‘He’s never paid a penny for our Lisa, not once. When she needs a new school jumper or wants an iPhone for Christmas, he pleads poverty. But he’s always got the latest gadget or tickets to some festival.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘He still behaves like a bloody teenager.’
I remember what Beth has said about her father; how absent he has been all her life. Then I remember my own father, and the memories hit me like a physical blow. No, I can’t go there. Not now. I push away the tears that are threatening to spill over. Sam doesn’t seem to notice. She begins unwrapping the foil and scraping at the flaking gel.
‘I tell you, we don’t hear a peep out of him for weeks, sometimes months. And I’m left to comfort our daughter, of course. Until he turns up again, that is, with a token gift and a promise, and oh! You should see how her eyes light up.’ Sam shakes her head. ‘Shaun, my boyfriend, is great with Lisa. He’s a fab dad to our son, and he’s never treated Lisa any differently. But Lisa knows it isn’t the same.’
I make a noise in the back of my throat that I hope sounds sympathetic. Sam begins buffing my nails into shape with an emery board.
‘And the worst part of it is that Lisa and I, we’re bound to that prat for ever. Or until Lisa is old enough to decide she doesn’t want to know him any more. He’ll always be there, though, on the periphery. A bloody shadow hanging over us.’
The words shoot fear through me like a current. Jake would be the same, I know he would, if I were to have this child. I could run, but he would find me. He would always find me. And what kind of life is that for a child? I remember the dream from last night, the feeling of finally being released from a cage. Having his child would only tighten the chains that bind me to Jake, to this life.
I suppress a shudder. Sam looks up at me. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say, my voice catching on the last word. I clear my throat. ‘He sounds like a right… a right prick.’
Sam laughs then. ‘You’ve got that right!’ She finishes buffing my nails, then smiles. ‘Now, what colour did you want, lovely?’
Later, I am perched on a plastic chair, edging away from the old man sitting beside me, who keeps coughing wetly into a tissue. Across the way is a young woman, a small baby at her breast. I stare at the child, its eyes closed, its tiny fist clenched as it suckles. I can only imagine what Jake would say about this woman breastfeeding in public. I look away, eyes on my freshly painted nails. Black, like the cloud hanging over me.
Jake texted to say he won’t be home for another night. I can’t even remember where he is. It’s hard to keep track sometimes. Relief flooded through me as I read the words, and I quickly made an appointment with the doctor.
A toddler runs through the open door to the waiting room, tripping over the edge of a mat. A harried woman pushing a buggy hurries in after him, and scoops him up just as he begins to wail. The noise cuts through my throbbing head. The younger child in the pushchair begins to cry too, and the woman desperately tries to hush them as she half pushes, half drags the buggy towards a quiet corner. She looks up and catches my eye, and the exhaustion I see there sends a shiver down my spine.
A ding makes me look up at the screen. ISLA WILDE, ROOM 3. I never did get around to changing my surname here. Again Jake invades my mind. I wonder what he’d think about me not updating my records with my new name. His name. I shake him off, his presence, and stand.
I try to walk confidently down the corridor towards Room 3. I raise my hand to knock on the door, but suddenly I
freeze, terror washing over me. What if he finds out? What if the doctor tells him? Does he need to be here with me? He’ll find out, and he’ll kill me. He’ll kill me. This time, he’ll kill me.
Thoughts race through my mind, irrational yet convincing, cementing me to the spot. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. With a gasp, I turn and flee, running out of the door and out, outside, into the fresh air. I unlock the car and throw myself inside, slamming my head down on the steering wheel.
‘Fuck!’ I scream, pounding my fists on the dashboard. ‘Fuck fuck fuck!’
Twenty-Five
Beth
Beth is at work, trying not to yawn through the team meeting her manager is so fond of. She suspects it’s because he likes the sound of his own voice, rather than any real concerns about teamwork. His portly belly protrudes over his too-tight trousers, and Beth can see sweat patches forming in his armpits. She wrinkles her nose at one of her colleagues, a girl fresh out of school, with long dark hair piled on top of her head. She smirks back, rolling her brown eyes.
Beth thinks of Emily, who has been absent from work for weeks now, and shudders. Is she ever coming back? Maybe I should check on her, Beth wonders, her stomach clenching at the idea.