Just Breathe

by Janette Paul

‘Down the stairs,’ Lucy instructed.

  Dee glanced over a railing and saw a table of dinner guests peering up at her from below. She took in the half-dozen empty wine bottles and little glasses filled with amber liquid and thought: hungry, tired, irritated – and sober.

  ‘Hi, Dee!’ came the alcohol-charged chorus as she walked down the spiral staircase.

  She stood at the bottom, mat, straw basket and pillow in hand: yoga-teacher-cum-bag-lady.

  ‘Just dump your stuff over there for now,’ Lucy told her, waving her arms around. ‘Have a drink, join the discussion. Bart thinks Shakespeare would’ve loved Eminem.’

  ‘The chocolate or peanut?’ Dee asked and they laughed raucously. Way too sober.

  A chair was pulled up to the table, a glass set in front of her.

  ‘Let me introduce everyone.’ Lucy reeled off names like a class roll. There was Rob and Len – or maybe it was Glen – and a woman with perfectly rounded breasts (could have trouble lying facedown on the floor). She was relieved to see a couple of familiar faces – Lucy’s husband, John, Gina of the fabulous dresses, and Trish, whom she also taught at the school. Then there was Bart, who knew Shakespeare and Eminem, and another woman whose name she missed when Bart started quoting Shakespeare – or maybe it was Eminem.

  Dee raised her glass to their toast and took a gulp she hoped might start to close the sobriety gap.

  The guy opposite – Len or Glen or maybe Rob – leaned heavily across the table. ‘So you’re the TV yoga girl?’ He smiled with teeth stained red from the wine. ‘Are you going to be wearing the same hot little number from the ad when you teach us?’

  She ordered her eyes not to roll back in her head. Inspiring is what pays the bucks, Dee. ‘No, I wouldn’t want it to distract you from the yoga.’

  ‘That kind of distraction would hold my attention, if you get my drift.’ He managed to wink and leer at the same time.

  Dee’s face screwed up slowly. ‘Lucy, is there any food left?’

  ‘You were so late, I thought you must’ve eaten already. In the kitchen. Let me show you.’

  ‘No, no. Don’t get up. I’ll help myself.’ Dee followed the smell of food, sunk her teeth into a hunk of garlic bread as she dished up a plate of gnocchi and tried not to moan too loudly as she gobbled it down. With a slice of leftover mud cake, she went back to the table.

  ‘The Porsche might not handle quite as well as the Merc but it’s so much more fun to drive.’ It was Bart again, definitely not doing Shakespeare but possibly Eminem.

  Dee smiled politely, having nothing to say about cars that didn’t relate to replacing something.

  ‘So, are you giving private lessons this weekend?’ Len/Glen or maybe Rob asked with a suggestive waggle of his brows.

  Yeww. Not for you, buddy. ‘No, sorry.’ It wouldn’t matter how much she drank tonight, she’d always be a bottle and a half behind. She made a show of yawning to attract Lucy’s attention. ‘Sorry to be boring but I want to be fresh for our morning class so would you mind if I went to bed?’

  ‘Sure.’ Lucy’s eyes swam alcoholically. ‘Don’t make it too early.’

  ‘Seven okay?’

  There were groans around the table.

  ‘How about eight then?’

  ‘Eight it is.’

  Len/Glen or maybe Rob slid a hand over hers, his wedding ring scraping across her knuckles. ‘Need a hand unpacking your yoga mat?’

  There was not enough wine in the Hunter Valley.

  She had no idea how long she’d been asleep but the house was quiet, the bedroom was as black as the inside of her eyelids and Dee could tell she wasn’t alone. There was a shooshing on the carpet and the unmistakable smell of old wine and impending hangover.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she whispered.

  One side of the double bed sank under a weight and she was on her haunches in an instant, backed up against the wall, heart in her mouth, pillow in her hand. It was unlikely the intruder would challenge her to a pillow fight but she was ready anyway.

  The voice was slurred and groggy. ‘Where’s my swami?’

  Shit. It was Len/Glen or maybe Rob. What a pig. He’d left his wife sleeping somewhere nearby to chase up a bit of flexible sex.

  Shit. His wife was sleeping somewhere nearby. The same wife she was meant to teach tomorrow. The one who’d be paying her lots of money to teach. The one who was friends with all the others who would be paying her lots of money.

  Len/Glen or maybe Rob pulled the sheet back and slid under the covers. ‘Let’s play, swami.’ His voice was more sleepy than slurred as he rolled towards her, his arm reaching across the bed and patting around to find her.

  Dee pressed into the wall. House parties were a pain in the arse.

  The body in the bed went still. Now what? Dee felt around in the dark, rapped a knuckle against him, shook him hard, tried rolling him over. Damn he was heavy.

  She slid off the mattress and went around the other side. By then he was flat on his face, snoring in a continuous stream. Great. Terrific. If she did manage to move him, what then? She’d never drag him across the floor and where would she put him? Outside her door? She shuffled around in the gloom till she found a pillow and tip-toed out of the room.

  The house was silent and a huge moon lit the sky like a street lamp. In the kitchen, the microwave said 1.45 a.m. Did that make it too early or too late? She opened the fridge, scooped out more gnocchi, took her midnight snack to the sitting room and curled up in an armchair.

  It seemed like a long time later that she heard someone calling her name. She wanted to open her eyes but they were glued shut. Anxiety stirred in her chest.

  The voice was close now. And familiar. Ethan Roxburgh floated into her head. She was dancing in his arms, her nipple pressed against his button, his hand on her lower back.

  Fingertips caressed her face.

  ‘Dee.’

  The word was whispered but went off in her head like a bomb.

  Her eyes flew open. She sat bolt upright. Gasped.

  She sensed movement, twisted her head, gasped again and shot out of the chair. Ethan Roxburgh was standing beside her. Creased shirt, no tie. What the …? She rubbed her eyes, tried to breathe. ‘I … um … what …?

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just got here. I thought you might want to go to bed.’

  ‘Yes. No. I mean no.’ She remembered the caress on her face. Had she groaned? Had he guessed? Not that going to bed with him was on her mind. Just the dancing. And his fingers. Breathe, Dee.

  ‘I mean, you looked so uncomfortable in the chair. All kinked up.’

  ‘Oh. Oh yeah. Course.’ Her face burned. She turned to leave then looked back at him ‘I can’t. There’s a man in my bed.’

  ‘Is that bad?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know who it is. It’s Len or Glen or maybe Rob. He just kind of climbed in and went to sleep. Passed out, I think. And I couldn’t wake him up or get him out, so …’ She shrugged.

  His mouth curled just a touch. ‘Which room are you in?’

  He followed her finger down the hall, disappeared through her door, reappeared a few moments later half-carrying a sleeping man. ‘Dee, meet Glen.’ He deposited him in a heap on the lounge. ‘You should be safe now.’

  As if to confirm it, Glen released an enthusiastic snore. Dee’s eyes met Ethan’s and they laughed quietly.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming this weekend,’ Dee whispered.

  ‘Then it’s just as well you didn’t look for another bed or I’d have been climbing in with you.’

  Her mouth went dry at the thought. ‘I would have offered you a place on my very comfy chair.’

  ‘I’d be much better company than Glen.’

  Without a doubt. Beside them, Glen knocked a cushion to the floor and grunted loudly. ‘Hmm, I don’t know. He’s got such a lot going for him.’

  Ethan’s shoulders rose and fell with suppressed laughter. ‘’Night, Dee,’ he said.

  �
��’Night,’ she replied. ‘And thanks.’

  At her door, she glanced back down the hall. Ethan was still standing by the chair, watching her with that bemused look of his.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Stand at the front of your mat, palms pressed together in front of your chest. Good. Taking a deep breath, stretch your arms above your head and feel the sun on your face.’ Dee watched her five students cast crisp, black shadows along the timber decking as she took them through the Sun Salutation.

  They were on the back deck of the Roxburghs’ humble holiday cottage, water lapping restfully nearby, the early morning sun gentle on their faces, warming the yoga mats under their bare feet. If there was ever a right moment to salute the sun, this was it.

  Bart was the only male who’d braved his hangover to turn up for class. The woman with the perfectly round breasts hadn’t shown either but the others, in various stages of recovery, had arrived more or less eager to yoga themselves into better spirits. Dee had taken pity and was easing them very slowly through the early warm-up postures, conscious of the whimpers from the mats.

  ‘Breathe out slowly as you move your left leg back and ease into Mountain Pose.’ At this rate, we may never get past the warm-up, Dee thought.

  She put a finger on Gina’s shoulder to adjust her position then stood back to watch her. A movement inside the house made her lift her eyes. Ethan was watching the class from the giant window. A different Ethan – no suit or tie or businesslike intenseness. His hair was tousled like he’d just got out of bed in the crumpled green t-shirt and baggy trousers he was wearing.

  Something inside Dee dropped and clanged around in the pit of her belly. He raised a coffee cup to her in a wave. She put up a hand, waggled her fingers, the thing clanging about some more.

  There was a grunt from the mats and she realised she’d left her students in a communal lunge that was starting to wobble. ‘Breathe in as you bring your, ah’ – was it the left or right foot? – ‘other foot in.’

  She looked back to the glass. Ethan was gone. So was the clanging. Just as well – very distracting.

  The class wound up with a long meditation, during which she suspected at least one of them fell asleep. As they disappeared for breakfast and showers, Dee found a newspaper and a comfy seat in the sun and an hour later she had the house to herself, relieved the job so far was more paid vacation than the Hindenberg. She lifted her mug. Mmm, the Roxburgh holiday house had great coffee.

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  Ethan’s voice in the quiet stillness startled her. With a sudden, involuntary full body jolt, her head flew up, the cup jerked in her hand and a stream of coffee formed an arc of brown in the air before depositing itself down the front of her t-shirt.

  The hot liquid landed like a bucket of fire. She leaped to her feet, yanking at the front of her top. ‘Ow, ow!’ But the fit was snug and the fabric clung to her and the coffee burned all the way down as it ran into the top of her tights. She finally managed to haul the shirt over her head and flung it to the ground.

  Ethan unfurled a tea-towel from his shoulder, dipped it in the glass of water he was holding and held them both out to her. ‘Here. Use this.’

  Dee grabbed the glass, threw the water over her chest and gasped as ice cubes dropped like hailstones to the deck. She looked up at Ethan, saw he was teetering between alarm and laughter, and helped tip him over with a gusty hoot. ‘Wow, that was cold.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to drown yourself in it. Are you okay?’

  She glanced down. The coffee-stained cups of her ugly, old sports bra formed sentinels either side of a fat, pink trail of scorched skin that ran from her throat to the top of her tights. Below that, little rivulets of espresso dribbled down her bare calves and pooled around her feet on the deck.

  ‘I’m fine, I think. No serious damage.’

  He stepped closer, holding the towel to her belly. Dee closed her lips over a groan of pleasure. She could smell his pine-fresh shampoo, feel his breath on her bare shoulder, his thigh against her hip. She watched in fascination as her skin went all goosebumpy under the pressure of his palm, felt it tingle sweetly all the way down her legs. Still holding the cloth to her burn, he took one of her hands and gently pressed it to his, letting his fingers slide out from underneath so she could hold it herself. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you knew I was there.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘No, I thought everyone had gone to the vineyards.’ She’d been relieved when Lucy hadn’t insisted she join the excursion – she was meant to be earning money, not spending it on pricey lunches and wine.

  ‘Let me make you brunch while you clean yourself up. Do you need more ice?’

  Some more of that bandage holding might be nice. ‘No, I’ll just stand under a cold shower. And food sounds great, thanks.’

  By the time she’d changed, rinsed her clothes and hung them out to dry, Ethan had cleaned up the coffee mess, set the table and found another newspaper. Over scrambled eggs and toast, they passed the time of day briefly then settled into silence over the weekend news.

  Probably relieved he doesn’t have to talk, Dee thought. He must think she was a complete idiot. He was so sensible and professional and she was a walking disaster whenever he was around. The tally was growing longer – cheesecakes in the face, escaping breasts, falling down, throwing coffee at herself. And why was she still hungry?

  ‘Do you mind if I have the last piece of toast?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure.’ He watched her with an amused tweak of the brow as she spread the jam. ‘You can really pack it away. I thought someone like you would eat like a bird.’

  She bristled. ‘What do you mean someone like me?’

  ‘You’re tiny. Most women I know starve themselves to look like that.’

  ‘Actually, it takes some talent to keep this much weight on. I’ve got to eat enough to maintain my energy level but not so much that I throw up on a student’s carpet. Basically, I can’t eat a meal before a class, which makes it pretty hard when I teach all day.’

  ‘You must be famished by the time you get home at night.’

  ‘You’re not kidding. Mostly I survive on snacks and coffee then try to stock up on weekends.’

  ‘If I’d known, I would have cooked more.’ Ethan opened out his half of the newspaper. ‘Would you like the social pages?’

  ‘No, thanks. Not really my thing. I’ve got the sport. Do you want it?’

  ‘Maybe later. I’m still reading the travel section.’

  Travel? That was Dee’s favourite. They looked quizzically at each other, then went back to the paper. Ten minutes later, Ethan folded his over and slapped it on the table. ‘So, Dee, do you know how to sail?’

  She looked up, a limp, please-don’t-ask-me smile on her face. ‘No.’

  ‘Then it’s time you learned.’

  Dee watched him with horror. ‘That’s not a boat. It’s a bathtub.’

  She was standing on a small pier below the Roxburghs’ holiday house in someone else’s wetsuit, a fluoro-yellow life jacket and with a large glob of anxiety in her belly. She was pretty sure this wasn’t a step along Security Road and it had absolutely nothing to do with being assertive. Ethan had blackmailed her into it. Told her that since he’d saved her from Glen, cooked her brunch and cleaned up the coffee, it was her turn to help out.’

  ‘You won’t have to do anything. I just need you for ballast.’

  That didn’t sound too bad. It wasn’t that she was scared of sitting on a scrap of fibreglass on a big, deep lake – it was the thought she might fall off. There were fish in there – big fish, sharks probably. Or the teeny-tiny boat might flip over, trap her underneath and she’d drown. It just wasn’t safe.

  Ethan reached out a hand to her. He was standing in the water, holding the boat against the dock, seaweed swirling around his legs. ‘Come on. You’ll be fine.’

  Dee stepped in, felt it rock back and forth and glanced doubtfully at him. Up close in the sun, his eyes wer
e the colour of rich, dark espresso with little flecks of honeycomb dancing on the surface. Under his sleeveless wetsuit, his shoulders were broad and tanned. There was no collar, no tie, just cool assurance. He hoisted himself aboard and began guiding the boat out to the green depths of the lake.

  ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ he asked.

  ‘We could capsize.’ Wasn’t it obvious?

  ‘If that’s what you’re worried about, let’s do it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just to show you it’s not as scary as you think.’ He stood up. The boat pitched precariously.

  ‘No! Wait!’ Dee yelled. ‘Isn’t that dangerous? What if we get trapped under the sail?’

  ‘If you come up under the sheet, take a deep breath and swim out. Easy. The good thing about the lake is that the shore is never very far away. If anything happens, you can always swim back.’ As he was talking, he slowly tipped the boat to one side. ‘Time to jump, Dee.’

  ‘No!’ Half-falling, half-launching, she splashed into the lake, thrashing around, kicking wildly to fend off sharks. She came up under the sail, took a deep breath and swam underwater. When she surfaced again, she was alone. Just her, the upturned vessel and a lot of water. ‘Ethan?’ she called. ‘Ethan!’

  His voice from the other side sounded thin and hollow. ‘Swim around.’

  With quick strokes, she rounded the boat, relieved to find him treading water in the shadow of the hull. She wanted to paddle right up to him, hug him for not drowning.

  ‘We have to pull it up,’ he said. ‘Hang on to the side and we’ll use our weight to right it.’

  As she reached up to grip the side, something slid past her leg – something slimy and slow. She gasped, threw herself back, stared into the depths of the lake. It was murky down there; she couldn’t even see the rubber shoes that Ethan had made her wear. There it was again – slimy and slow and very fish-like. She snapped her legs back, keeping them high, hoping whatever was prowling about was dumb enough not to look up.