by Zoe May
I experience an intense sinking feeling. I thought Paul just needed a change of scenery. A break. I thought he needed time to think. I thought he needed perspective but that he’d come back to me, realizing that what we had was important to him. I thought he’d see that our life together meant something to him. But now I understand that it really is over. He’s moved on. He doesn’t care.
Suddenly, I notice that Amala’s talking, introducing herself and explaining her background. I’ve missed the first part, having been so distracted by Paul, but from what I gather, she gave up a corporate job back home in Germany and has reinvented herself under the guidance of Guru Hridaya, who she says re-named her Amala, meaning, ‘The purest one’.
‘My life is completely different now,’ she says, smiling happily.
I glance at Paul, wondering if this is the life he wants to? Will he change his name? Reinvent himself? Will he be leading a spiritual board game session in a few years’ time too? Meditation Monopoly? Or Believe-in-yourself Buckaroo!
‘Let’s introduce ourselves,’ Amala suggests, turning to Paul’s new squeeze.
‘Hi everyone,’ she says in an American accent. ‘I’m Blossom.’
Blossom? I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I shoot Paul a look, but he ignores it. I wonder if Guru Hridaya named her Blossom? Weed would have been a better choice.
‘I’ve been living here for three years. I came from Wisconsin one summer to volunteer and when I got here, I realized I was home,’ she says with a nauseatingly cheesy smile.
‘That’s wonderful,’ Amala enthuses.
‘I’ve settled here and I’m very happy. I’m a different person now, way more enlightened, and I’m so grateful for all the incredible people who are coming into my life, who I’m making wonderful, fulfilling connections with,’ she says, squeezing Paul’s thigh.
She shoots me a self-satisfied smile. I roll my eyes. For someone so enlightened, she’s certainly petty. I get that she’s with my boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, but does she have to rub it in like this?
Now it’s Paul’s turn to introduce himself.
‘Hi everyone,’ he says, looking around the group, but avoiding eye contact with me.
‘I’m Paul. I’m from London. I came here because I guess I needed a break from the rat race,’ he explains.
I scoff. The rat race?! Is that how he saw his life? He lived in a cozy, terraced house and designed logos and brochures all day in an office with a bean bag break out area, it’s not like he was The Wolf of Wall Street.
‘Are you okay, Rachel?’ Amala turns to me, looking concerned and a little confused.
‘I’m fine!’ I insist.
‘Please continue, Paul,’ Amala insists.
‘Yes, so I was unhappy in London, so I came here to do some self-exploration,’ Paul tells the group, while avoiding eye contact with me.
Self-exploration? I raise an eyebrow. It doesn’t look like it. It looks more like he’s been busy exploring the local totty.
The woman who had been meditating before introduces herself as Madeleine from France and the dreadlock guy tells us in a sleepy, stoned voice that he’s called Silas and he’s on holiday from Amsterdam.
I mumble something vague about being on holiday from London, and with everyone acquainted, Amala begins describing the rules of Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders. I try to focus on what she’s saying, even though I still feel completely rattled.
‘The stairways represent spiritual ascension, growth, escape, dreams and hope. And the snakes are all the things in life that hold us back and prevent us from reaching the higher plane of our being,’ Amala explains.
She picks up the die and rattles them in her hand.
‘Before you throw the die, close your eyes and look inside your soul. Meditate on it. This game is about karma. Our souls will guide us and when you throw the die, your karma will manifest,’ Amala says.
She hands around a dish containing counters
She turns to me. ‘Would you like to start, Rachel?’ she asks, offering me the die.
‘Sure,’ I reply, taking the dice.
‘Close your eyes and look inside your heart,’ Amala advises. ‘Meditate on it before you throw the die.
I close my eyes. I’m still thinking about Paul and Blossom, but I push them out of my mind and try to look inside my heart, whatever that means. I focus, shaking the die in my hand, and breathing deeply. When it feels right, I throw the die.
The die land on a four and a six. I move my counter along the board and land on a ladder, a long ladder that stretches three or four rows up the board.
‘Excellent!’ Amala gushes, eyes wide. ‘That’s incredible karma, Rachel!’
She seems genuinely impressed.
‘Thank you!’ I reply, feeling pleased.
I shoot a look at Paul, who looks impassive. Blossom, on the other hand, pouts grumpily.
Silas takes his turn and like me, lands on a ladder. He makes it up the board, but I remain half a dozen spaces ahead.
Madeleine manages to inch along the board, but misses the ladders, and then it’s Blossom’s turn.
She clutches the die in her hand and holds them close to her heart. She frowns, clearly in deep concentration. Moments pass. The candles flicker. The music plays. She breathes in and out. I glance at Silas and he raises an eyebrow. Then finally, Blossom opens her eyes and throws the die.
She gets a one and a two, and moves her counter along the board, missing the ladders.
‘Better luck next time,’ I snipe.
She glares at me.
Paul closes his eyes as he shakes the die, but also fails to land on a ladder. Ha! Go me. I’m the most spiritually enlightened of the group. Amala throws the die too. She lands on a ladder, but even she fails to get as high up on the board as me.
We carry on playing and my luck is in. I keep landing on ladders and within half a dozen throws, I’m just two squares away from reaching the final square, labelled ‘Nirvana’.
It’s clear that I’m going to win. There are no snakes between me and the finishing point. I’m way ahead of everyone else, even Amala. The only person who’s remotely close is Silas, eight squares behind me.
Blossom is sweating, huffing as she takes her turn. She’s still at the bottom of the board, having continually landed on snakes. Paul is somewhere in the middle.
‘Come on,’ Blossom pleads, eyes closed as she shakes the die.
She throws, getting two threes. She moves her counter along the board, but lands on another snake, which drops her right back at the bottom. I can’t help smirking.
‘Don’t be discouraged,’ Amala says, as Blossom sulks.
‘You just need to work on yourself and your personal growth. You’ll get there eventually,’ Amala assures her, but it’s clearly not what Blossom wants to hear and she smiles tightly back at Amala, her eyes daggers.
Eventually, it’s my turn again and I throw the die. I don’t even have to concentrate, because it’s clear I’m going to win. Die thrown, I move my counter to Nirvana. I’ve won!
‘Congratulations, Rachel!’ Amala gushes. ‘Very impressive, especially for your first time. You must be really in tune with your spiritual self.’
‘Thanks, I guess so!’ I gush, feeling pleased with myself.
I may have had a bit of a rubbish few weeks, and Paul may have moved on from me quicker than you can say ‘reincarnation’ but, according to this game, I’m enlightened, and what’s more important than that?
‘Well done,’ Silas remarks. ‘Impressive.’
‘Thank you!’ I smile.
‘Really good! Congratulations,’ Madeleine adds.
I’m about to thank her, when Blossom butts in.
‘I’m sorry, but there must be something wrong with the game,’ she says. ‘Rachel is not spiritual. She’s not!’
Amala looks at her, completely shocked. ‘Excuse me?’
‘She’s not enlightened. Paul told me all about her. She’s a lawyer. All
she cares about it furniture and wallpaper and stuff. She doesn’t care about spirituality,’ Blossom sneers.
I gawp at Paul. So, he’s been bitching about me to his new girlfriend. Really?
Paul looks away.
‘She’s not spiritual. She’s a corporate lawyer!’ Blossom shrieks.
‘This is a divine game,’ Amala tells her, looking genuinely offended. ‘It reflects what’s in your heart. Rachel is clearly more enlightened than you give her credit for.’
I smile at Amala, feeling grateful.
‘Thanks, Amala,’ I say.
She smiles back at me, kindly.
‘But I’m spiritual. I meditate every day! I live here! I do yoga! I’m vegan!’ Blossom protests.
‘I’m sorry, Blossom, but I think you still have some work to do on your spiritual path,’ Amala tells her.
I smile smugly.
‘Maybe she’ll get there one day,’ I comment, unable to help myself.
I get up, thanking Amala for the opportunity to play, but excuse myself, not wanting to be around Blossom and Paul any longer.
Amala thanks me for playing and compliments me once more on my enlightened state. I leave a donation of rupees in a dish by the door, say goodbye, and head back towards the guesthouse.
I may be enlightened, but I still feel like crying. My boyfriend of six years has dumped me and moved on to a stuck-up horrible wannabe hippy called Blossom. I mean, seriously? I wander down the dusty path, feeling rotten. There’s only one thing for it: I’m heading to the gift shop. It’s time to buy cushions.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Wow, do you have enough cushions?!’ Seb jokes, glancing up from his book, as I lug my haul into the guesthouse.
‘Just about!’ I reply, laughing weakly.
Seb’s eyes linger on me. He frowns slightly. He seems to register my downbeat mood.
He springs up, leaving his book on the picnic table in front of him.
‘Let me help,’ he says, coming over.
He’s no longer topless, having donned a t-shirt, a pair of cut-off jeans and a New York Yankees cap.
‘Thanks.’ I smile, handing him a bag of cushions.
We lug the cushions to my treehouse.
‘What’s up? Are you okay?’ Seb asks.
I sigh. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Okay…’ Seb murmurs as we approach my ladder.
I start climbing the ladder, carrying my bag of cushions up with me. Once I’m at the top, I shove the bag through the doorway of my treehouse, before climbing down and reaching for the bag Seb’s holding. I take it back up to the treehouse and deposit it inside, before hesitating. Should I stay here and cocoon amid a pile of cushions or should I chat to Seb for a bit? I’m not feeling particularly sociable and I still feel quite embarrassed that I basically came onto him this morning through a spirit animal chat-up line and he didn’t seem that bothered. I get that he’s doing a year of celibacy, but he has been flirty. Not lots, but there’s clearly something between us. I’m not delusional. It hasn’t totally been in my imagination. He’s been a bit flirtatious and he’s been wanting to spend time with me. He must realize that it will have crossed my mind that the connection between us might be more than platonic? Just because he’s taken a vow of celibacy, it doesn’t mean the rest of the universe has.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Seb suggests as I linger at the top of my ladder.
‘How very English of you,’ I tease, looking down at him.
‘Well, actually I was thinking of making chai. But you look like you could do with a chai.’ Seb smiles.
‘I could,’ I admit. ‘Actually, I could do with a large glass of wine, but a chai will have to do.’
I start climbing down the ladder, feeling heavy-footed and weary. Seeing Paul has really taken it out of me.
‘I can bring it up to you if you want?’ Seb suggests, clearly noting my lethargy.
‘Oh! Thanks,’ I reply. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. No worries,’ Seb says, before heading off to the kitchen.
I watch him go for a moment. I wonder whether he’s thought about what I said this morning. Isn’t it obvious that I fancy him? Maybe we should have a conversation and get things out in the open, dispel the tension, so he can continue with his celibacy and I can focus on getting over Paul. I crawl into my treehouse.
It’s become a total mess. Since there’s no chest of drawers, wardrobe or storage of any kind, I’ve taken to living out of my open suitcase, chucking my laundry into a few carrier bags. But there are clothes all over the place, bottles of sun cream, mosquito repellent, face wipes, make-up, sunglasses, unread books and empty notebooks scattered about. I grab all the bits and pieces and shove them into my suitcase, making sure my Rampant Rabbit is safely stashed away. Then I empty my bags of cushions and arrange them in a corner of my treehouse. It’s a far cry from the homely chic vibe I’m envisaging for my living room back home, but it looks kind of cozy.
Just as I’m rearranging a few of the cushions, I feel the weight of the treehouse shift a little and realize Seb’s coming up. I sit down, making myself comfortable, as he crawls in carrying a steaming mug of chai. He hands it to me.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, smelling the chai, as he checks out my cushions.
‘Very nice,’ he comments.
I laugh. ‘Thanks!’
‘I’m just going to get the other mug,’ Seb says, disappearing back down the ladder.
A few moments later, he comes back up, with another mug of chai. He settles into the cushions and takes a sip. Despite my low mood, I feel immediately better at having personalized my treehouse a bit, making it a little more homely. And having a cup of chai helps too.
‘Do you ever miss your home comforts?’ I ask Seb.
‘A bit.’ Seb shrugs. ‘But you get used to it.’
He picks up a cushion emblazoned with an elephant.
‘These are nice,’ he says, admiring the stitching.
‘Yeah, they’re lovely,’ I reply, somewhat sadly. ‘Paul never really appreciated my love of home furnishings. It was one of the reasons he ended things.’
I take a sip of my chai.
‘What? He ended your relationship because you like cushions?’ Seb balks.
‘Well, not just because I like cushions,’ I explain. ‘We used to be fun and adventurous and then we just started shopping at homeware stores every weekend and I’d spend my evenings scrolling through Instagram checking the #myhousebeautiful hashtag.’
Seb laughs. ‘Really?’ he asks, almost disbelieving.
‘Yeah! I got really into it,’ I admit, realizing that since I got to India, it’s been the longest time in months that I haven’t hit ‘like’ on an interior décor snap on the gram.
‘So how come you guys stopped being so adventurous then?’ Seb asks, taking a sip of his chai.
I smile to myself, realizing just how little Seb bothers with small talk. It just doesn’t seem to be his style. He says exactly what he wants to say and somehow, over the past few days, I’ve opened up to him more than I’d ever open up to a stranger back home. People become so closed off in London, but with Seb it hasn’t been like that; we’ve been open around each other since day one. Maybe it’s because we’re here, in this strange place, and normal rules don’t really apply.
I consider Seb’s question. Why did Paul and I stop being so adventurous? It’s the question I’ve been unpicking ever since we broke up, and it’s rooted not only in my busy work schedule, but in my genuine obsession with our house. I allowed that to overtake my old interests and my old self, and I had no idea how insufferable Paul found it.
‘We bought a house together and I just really wanted to make it nice,’ I tell Seb. ‘I know that sounds really sad. I know there’s more to life than cushions and wallpaper and nice furniture, but I somehow got really into it.’
‘Hmm…’ Seb frowns slightly, taking another sip of his chai, as though he’s not quite satisfied with my response
.
I feel like he expects more, and of course, there is more to it. There’s my childhood and all the moving around and not having a stable home. It’s pretty personal, but I find myself opening up and telling Seb all about it as we drink our chai. Our mugs are empty by the time I get to the end of the story. Seb’s reclining in the cushions, sprawling out to make himself more comfortable and I’ve relaxed a bit too, lying back, as I cast my mind down memory lane.
‘So, you were homeless as a teen,’ Seb observes.
‘Not homeless!’ I bristle. ‘I always had a roof over my head.’
‘But you didn’t have a stable home for quite a long time,’ Seb says.
‘No, we didn’t,’ I admit.
Seb’s comment about being homeless jogs a memory of my mum crying on my Aunt Jill’s shoulder in her kitchen. She’d been in the changing room at the swimming pool, and while getting changed in a cubicle, she’d overheard a couple of her swimming pals talking, and one of them, not realizing my mum was there, commented how she wasn’t inviting ‘that homeless couple’ to her dinner party. My mum was devastated that her friend saw her and my dad that way. Even though we didn’t have a permanent home, my mum couldn’t accept that we were homeless, even though we were, technically, or the council would never have come to our rescue and found us a home.
I’ve never wanted to accept that we were homeless either. I’ve always carried some of my mum’s shame. It’s why I’m so obsessed with having a home these days.
‘Does Paul know about all this?’ Seb places his empty mug down.
I shake my head.
‘Really?’ Seb balks. ‘But you were together for ages, weren’t you?’
‘Six years,’ I confirm.
‘And you never told him?’ Seb asks incredulously.
‘No. His dad died when he was a kid. I always just felt it wasn’t important, you know? I felt like what I went through was nowhere near as bad, so I just didn’t talk about it,’ I tell him. ‘Also, I didn’t really know there was an issue until he broke up with me.’
Seb nods. ‘Maybe you should talk to Paul,’ he suggests.