“Welcome to Meadow Pines,” Marcia said.
Before them was a meadow of tall grass and wildflowers. A grand, red-brick manor house surrounded by a low stone wall stood on the far side. Emily came to a halt, admiring its sloping roof, pipe-like chimney stacks, and elegant latticed windows. Purple and white blooms of Clematis grew on trellises, covering the lower half of the house and drooping over the arched doorway.
To the right of the building was a large vegetable patch filled with rows of young potato plants, baby carrots and lettuces, and staked vines of beans. An old greenhouse sat just behind, its metal framework speckled with lichen. Tomato vines grew inside, their leaves pressing against the glass.
“It’s incredible!” Emily said. She followed Marcia across the meadow, carefully placing her feet to avoid crushing the flowers. It was as if their journey through the woods had led them a hundred years back through the passages of time.
Marcia looked over her shoulder and offered a slight smile. “It’s quite something isn’t it? The house is Edwardian, built in 1905 as a hunting lodge by some lord or other. It stood empty for the longest time. Pamela acquired it ten years ago. She’s worked hard to transform what was essentially a place built for violence into a place of great peace.”
“What kind of retreat was it before? I mean, ten years ago there were no tablets or smartphones to detox from.”
“We used to run a ten day Vipassanā silent retreat.” Marcia noticed Emily’s blank face. “It’s a type of meditation. Kind of the grandmother of mindfulness. But where mindfulness is about relieving stress and anxiety, Vipassanā is about liberation.”
“From what?”
“From the self. From attachment.”
Behind them, Jerome rolled his eyes.
“How come the changeover to digital detox?” Emily asked.
Marcia shrugged a shoulder. “If you want to stay in business, you have to keep up with the times.”
Up ahead, the front door of the house opened and a woman stepped out. She was tall, perhaps late forties, with cropped silver hair, and she wore loose cotton trousers and a sleeveless, cornflower blouse. As she came to meet them, Emily noted her toned limbs and perfect posture. Her movement was smooth and fluid, as if she were made of water.
“Welcome friends,” she said with a warm, open smile and an extended hand. “I’m Pamela Hardy and this is Meadow Pines. You must be Emily and Jerome.”
Emily nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”
Jerome muttered a half-hearted hello.
“I don’t believe we’ve seen you here before, have we?”
“It’s my first time at any kind of retreat,” Emily said.
“Well, in some ways you might be at an advantage. We run things a little differently here, so you won’t waste valuable time making comparisons. Let’s get you all signed in and sorted, shall we? Then I can give you the grand tour.”
She turned back towards the house, with Marcia trailing behind. Emily and Jerome shared nervous looks, then followed their hosts through the garden. White rose bushes grew in tiny islands throughout a short, well-kept lawn. Emily stopped to admire them, remembering her own garden, which she had lovingly tended back when her life had been so quiet it had bordered on obsolete. Those memories felt foreign to her now, as if they had escaped from someone else’s mind and found their way into her own.
Following mother and daughter inside, she stepped into a large foyer with a high ceiling and wooden panelling on the walls. The temperature was much cooler inside. Emily took a moment to enjoy the tingling sensation on her skin, itching to kick off her shoes and feel the coldness of the stone floor beneath her feet. But Pamela was on the move again, leading them into a small office on the right.
She took a seat at her desk, propped a pair of glasses on the end of her nose, and logged on to her computer.
“This won’t take long,” she said, indicating for her guests to sit down. “Marcia, could you go and speak to Ben and Sylvia? Apparently there was an issue about this morning’s breakfast. Perhaps you could try and smooth things over?”
Marcia shifted her weight from one leg to the other, her expression souring. “Do you know where they are?”
Pamela shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll find them.”
Marcia hovered in the door for a second longer, staring at her mother. Then, she turned and headed back towards the foyer.
“Here we are,” Pamela said, pulling two sets of forms from the printer. “If you could just read through these documents and sign at the bottom. It’s just the usual terms and conditions, disclaimers, that sort of thing—just to make sure we’re all on the same page and everything’s above board.”
Picking up a pen, Jerome cast a lazy eye over the forms, then added his signature in the required boxes. Pamela smiled as she waited for Emily to finish reading every word. That was something she’d picked up from Lewis. Always read the small print, he’d say. You just might be signing your life away. Suddenly, she found herself thinking about the day Lewis had proposed to her. It was Christmas Day. His parents and Emily’s mother were all gathered together for the first time. Lewis had insisted Emily pull the last Christmas cracker with him. He had tucked an engagement ring inside and it had flown across the room, almost knocking over a wine glass. What a lovely surprise that had been. Everyone had been so happy. Even Emily’s mother had been unable to suppress a smile.
“Emily?”
Pamela smiled at her from across the desk. Her eyes drifted down to the papers in Emily’s hand.
“Sorry.” Picking up a pen, Emily signed her name on each page, then handed over the documents.
“Wonderful. Now, if you could please hand over your car keys and, of course, any mobile or electronic devices, then I can show you to your rooms.”
“Excuse me?” Jerome’s mouth fell open an inch.
“I trust you read up on our literature and philosophies before deciding to stay with us? We don’t allow any technology at Meadow Pines.”
“My friend here invited me along at the last minute. It must have slipped her mind to mention that little fact.” Jerome glared at Emily, who was busy avoiding his gaze.
Pamela pulled out two large envelopes and placed them on the desk. “Well, let me explain. Here at Meadow Pines, it’s our belief that living in an age of digital technology does more harm than good. Devices that are supposed to connect us all together, in fact, have the opposite effect. When was the last time you had a conversation that wasn’t interrupted by a text message or a social media update, or a furtive glance to make sure you weren’t missing out on the latest viral video?” She paused, staring at her guests. “Technology is addictive. We spend all of our time staring silently at screens. Our phones all have email applications, which means we now carry our jobs around in our pockets, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Our awareness of the world around us, of the people around us, is becoming less and less.
“For a race of intelligent beings whose instinct has been to socialise for hundreds of thousands of years, we’ve suddenly become a society that’s forgotten how to interact. Just take a moment to look at our younger generation—and you’re both young, so please don’t take what I say as a personal attack. But our children are being born into a world where they expect everything to be given to them right now, at this very second, because if technology can deliver instantly, why shouldn’t everything else? As human beings, as emotional and social creatures, we’ve never been so disconnected—and it’s all because of technology.”
Pamela paused for breath. It was clear this wasn’t the first time she had delivered her speech, and yet Emily could sense her passion had not wavered.
“Here at Meadow Pines,” Pamela went on, “we ask our visitors to surrender their digital devices so that you may give yourselves permission to look up. To reconnect with the natural world, your fellow human beings, and yourself. This computer is the only one on site. This telephone is the only landline. In an ideal world, I wouldn�
�t have them at all, but without them we can’t make a living. It’s an ironic but sad truth.”
“What about the car keys?” Emily asked.
“A simple trick to help remove the temptation to give up. You’d be surprised how quickly some people fall to pieces without the use of their phone.”
Jerome pulled his phone from his pocket and cradled it in his hand. “So no Wi-Fi?”
“I’m afraid not. Even without Wi-Fi you wouldn’t get a signal, not all the way out here.”
“But what will we do instead?” Concern rattled his voice.
“Write, draw, paint, walk, reflect—all those simple and wonderful acts left on the wayside by the digital age. We want you to make Meadow Pines your own space, to do with it what you will. Which is why we don’t believe in a timetable of events. In fact, the only structured activity we deliver is late morning Hatha Yoga. It includes traditional elements such as Pranayama Yoga Breathing for vitality, Yoga Asana for anatomically aligned posture, and non-religious meditation. The sessions aren’t compulsory of course—nothing is at Meadow Pines—but they’re a great way to help channel your focus and to release any pent up stress and anxieties. And don’t worry if you’re a beginner because the sessions work in a way to suit both novices and experts.”
Emily placed her phone and car keys on the desk.
“And your wrist watch, please,” Pamela said. “We want you to be completely free, and that includes from time. You won’t find any clocks at Meadow Pines. Instead, we use a simple electronic bell system to announce meal times and yoga sessions.”
Emily removed her watch and handed it over. Pamela held out the second envelope to Jerome, who regarded it as if he’d been asked to put his hand inside the mouth of a lion.
It was as if his fingers had become fused to the phone casing.
“What about security?” he asked.
“All items are individually sealed and labelled in envelopes and then they’re locked in the cupboard behind me. Your belongings will be protected, Jerome. We are, after all, in the middle of the New Forest, a good handful of miles from the nearest signs of life.”
Shoulders heaving, Jerome let the phone slip from his fingers. He watched it slide to the bottom of the envelope.
***
Now technology-free, Emily and Jerome were led out of the office and up a grand oak staircase, where original paintings of the New Forest and the manor house hung on the walls. Reaching the top floor, they followed Pamela down a long corridor with oak doors on both sides and small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
“Our visitors’ sleeping quarters,” Pamela said. “As Marcia may have told you, we have a full house this weekend. Emily, you’re in Room Eight, just there on the end. And Jerome, you’re opposite in Room Nine. There are two bathrooms—this door in the middle here, and the other at the far end, just to the right of the stairs.”
Pamela opened the door to Emily’s room. It was a simple affair. There was a single bed placed in the centre, headboard pushed up against the wall. A chest of drawers and a small wardrobe were the only other furniture. Sunlight filtered through the latticed window, making patterns on the floorboards.
Emily dumped her bag on the bed and moved over to the window. The view overlooked the front garden and the meadow, and was capped by a vista of treetops and crystalline blue sky.
“It’s perfect,” she said.
“Well, I’ll leave you to get settled in,” Pamela said. “Dinner will be in a few hours. You’ll hear the bell when it’s ready. The menu is strictly vegetarian. Our chef, Sam, is a wonderful cook, and all of the vegetables he uses our grown right here. If you have any more questions, you can find me in the office, or if you happen to see Marcia around, she’ll be happy to help.”
Jerome frowned, confused. “What about the grand tour?”
“That was it. As you’re already learning, we like to keep things as simple as possible. The quicker our guests are left to themselves, the more time they have to reconnect with the world. Besides, it’s always more fun to discover rather than be shown, don’t you think?” Smiling, Pamela turned to leave. “Oh, just one more thing. While we actively encourage our guests to connect with one another, we do ask that you refrain from work talk or using the space as a networking opportunity. This is by no means a silent retreat but some people may be more open to talking than others, so we also ask that you respect the individual’s choice.”
Giving them one last smile, Pamela turned and headed back downstairs. Once they were alone, Emily risked a quick glimpse at Jerome’s scowling face. “What do you think?”
Jerome threw his arms into the air. “What do I think? I think I’m going to kill you! What kind of insane asylum have you brought me to?”
Emily shrugged. “It’s a retreat, not a five star hotel. What were you expecting?”
“To not have my phone confiscated for one thing. Oh, and to not be sleeping in Harry Potter’s dormitory for another.”
“You haven’t even seen your room yet.”
Dragging him by the arm, Emily led Jerome across the corridor and into the opposite room. It was a similar set up as her own, but even smaller. The window looked out on a distant and barren hill that rose up over the forest like the hump of a great whale. A lone tree grew at the top of the hill, its dead branches reaching to the sky like the arms of a dying man.
“Beautiful,” Jerome said.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it your idea to go on a retreat?”
Letting out a deep sigh, Jerome slipped his hand into his pocket, remembered his phone was gone, then threw himself down onto the bed.
“I feel like I’ve lost an arm! What the hell are we supposed to do for two days?”
“You heard the woman—walk, paint, reflect.” As insightful as Jerome could be, his occasional adolescent tantrums were always a source of mild amusement. “Now that you’re here and there’s no escape, you may as well try and get into the swing of things.”
“You get into the swing of things,” he said, kicking his shoes off. “I’m going to sleep for two days.”
“Well, I’m going to unpack, then I’m going to take a walk and see what Meadow Pines has to offer. Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”
Jerome answered with a wide-eyed glare. As Emily closed the door behind her, he called out, “See if you can’t find some meat products somewhere. And try not to make friends with the other guests—they’re probably all cult members.”
Sighing, Emily returned to her room and spent the next couple of minutes unpacking her clothes. When she was done, she sat on the edge of the bed. A small wave of anxiety rose in her stomach. She had always been awkward at meeting new people, wishing she could bypass all of those same introductory questions. What’s your name? Where are you from? What do you do? All normal questions with normal answers—if you weren’t Emily Swanson. It wasn’t that she disliked people. It was the attention that made her uncomfortable. People wanted to know things about her, and they would take those things and make judgements. Especially if they’d read about her in the newspapers. What if the guests of Meadow Pines recognised her? What if they asked questions? She had the sudden and inescapable feeling that she had inadvertently trapped herself like a caged bird.
Taking in a deep breath, Emily shook her arms and hands, expelling the paranoia. Then, after taking a minute to centre herself, she stood up, left the room, and quietly made her way downstairs.
CHAPTER FIVE
The first place to explore was the house. Conscious of the silence, Emily tiptoed through the foyer like a child sneaking out of her room after bedtime. It certainly was a grand old building, she thought, staring up at the high ceiling. She made a mental note to find out more about its history.
The first room she came to had been turned into an art studio. Mixed-media creations formed by the hands of past visitors were tacked to the walls and ceiling. Poster paints, oils and watercolours sat in rows on work surfaces, while other craft materia
ls were stacked in trays. The stillness of the room instantly reminded Emily of her old classroom after the children had left for the day. She hung in the doorway, memories stirring, then pulled herself away.
The next open door revealed a carpeted room littered with large cushions. A small altar sat at the far end. The smell of sandalwood hung heavy in the air, along with an overwhelming sense of calm.
Moving towards the rear of the house, Emily came to the dining hall. This was where she imagined Lords and Ladies of the Hunt would have feasted on the game that had been shot and killed that day. In the centre of the room, beneath a large chandelier, two galley-style dining tables had been pushed together, end to end.
A loud clatter of dropped pans rang through the air, startling Emily and pulling her eyes towards a set of swing doors on the other side of the room. A male voice released a string of expletives before silence resumed once more.
Deciding to explore outside, Emily headed back towards the foyer, passing by the closed door of Pamela’s office. Entering the walled garden, she welcomed warm sunlight on her face. The day was still bright, the sky a deep, relentless blue. Cupping a hand over her eyes, she smiled as she watched the wildflowers of the meadow dance in the breeze. Her gaze moved from right to left, resting on the small field of vegetables.
Marcia Hardy was stooped over, busy pulling up baby carrots and placing them into a wooden wheelbarrow. Helping her was a woman who Emily guessed to be in her late forties. She wore a loose cotton tunic over cotton trousers. A colourful kitenge headscarf was wrapped around her long dreadlocks. Sensing eyes upon her, the woman looked up and waved. Emily raised a nervous hand in the air.
Leaving the women behind, she strolled through the meadow, moving in a wide circle until she had passed the house and reached the forest’s edge. Skirting the treeline, she noticed a path winding its way between the trunks. Butterflies flitted in the air. Laughter echoed over the meadow. Emily looked back at the distant figures of the working women. Her eyes came to rest on the house. Meadow Pines really was a beautiful place.
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