‘I’ll have to try that,’ said Polly, thinking it would almost be worth it, to see how bad something could really taste. ‘What flour did you use?’
‘Buckwheat,’ said Chiara with pride. ‘The recipe’s up on the site. You can tell your daughter about my blog. She’d love it.’
‘Sure,’ said Polly, thinking that Clemmie was a much better cook than Chiara seemed to be and actually ate what she made.
‘Well,’ said Chiara, putting the teaspoon down, unlicked, ‘that was great. Thanks so much for organising it, Shirlee, and thanks for having us, Polly. I’m going home to do a post about how great it is to start the New Year with yoga and a clean-food pot-luck brunch. I’ll just do a quick group shot of you all at the table, and then I’d like a picture with you, Polly – it will be great promotion for your yoga classes – and I can say how much you loved the banana bread.’
‘Do you have a lot of followers, then?’ asked Polly.
‘About ninety thousand on Instagram,’ said Chiara casually. She looked down and checked her phone. ‘Ninety-two thousand, three hundred and twelve, it says here.’
Again, Polly hoped she had contained her facial expression.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I think in that case, I’d like to leave the picture this time . . .’
She didn’t want to be associated with that banana bread in any context. There was way too much ‘wellness’ neurosis in the yoga scene. She did her best to stay apart from it.
‘I haven’t washed my hair,’ she added, ‘and with you having such a big following, I don’t want to look bad in the shot . . . it wouldn’t be good for my, er, professional profile.’
Chiara looked crestfallen.
‘Perhaps you’d like to come to another class, as my guest, and we could do it then,’ added Polly. ‘When I’ve got time to make myself look more like the exponent of health and vitality I’m supposed to be.’
‘I think you look amazing,’ said Chiara quietly.
‘Oh, you’re too kind,’ said Polly, feeling guilty. The younger woman really did seem disappointed. ‘Go on, then, a quick shot can’t hurt.’
‘Great!’ said Chiara, her face lighting up. ‘I can get the post up today.’
She pounced on her handbag and pulled out a selfie stick, which she quickly attached to her phone. Polly stood next to her and put her arm round Chiara’s waist – only to find herself being pushed round to the other side and nearly nutted as Chiara gazed at herself in the small screen, tilting her head from side to side.
Polly turned to look at her and saw she had her mouth open, her lips pouting out, her eyes half-closed, like a 1950s starlet. It went on like this for quite a while.
‘Are we done yet?’ asked Polly eventually.
‘Pack it in, Chiara,’ said Shirlee testily. ‘Polly probably has to get her family lunch or something. We all need to get going.’
Polly was very grateful for the lifeline.
‘Yes, I do have quite a lot to do,’ she said quickly, but Chiara didn’t seem to hear. She’d taken her phone off the selfie stick and was studying the pictures intently, tapping the screen with busy fingers.
‘Right, everyone,’ said Shirlee, ‘off you go. I’ll stay to clear up, and Maxine can stay too, because she’s driving me, but the rest of you need to shift it. Who wants to take their food home?’
‘Oh no,’ said Annie, ‘I’m going to leave mine for Polly and her family. You won’t have to cook then.’
‘Really, it’s fine,’ said Polly. ‘Only my son’s here at the moment – he’s home from uni – and he’s more of a steak and chips kind of guy . . .’
‘No, do keep it,’ persisted Annie, and the others agreed. ‘You can have it for breakfast tomorrow. Just keep the jars for me and I’ll grab them next time I come to class.’
‘Well, that’s very kind,’ said Polly, thinking it was interesting they weren’t longing to take their breakfast treats home with them. Maybe the birds would like them. She was sure Digger wouldn’t be interested.
Polly was really pleased that Shirlee and Maxine stayed on after the others left. Even though she did have plenty of work to be getting on with, suddenly the thought of being on her own again was appalling.
She made fresh mugs of tea – more builder’s for her, fresh ginger for Shirlee and rooibos for Maxine – and sat down at the table.
‘Thanks for organising that,’ she said to Shirlee. ‘It was a bright way to start the New Year.’
Much better than it was at midnight, she thought.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ said Shirlee. ‘I just thought as none of us were partying last night, we should at least do something festive this morning.’
‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘I must admit it was really weird staying in on New Year’s Eve on my own. It was a first for me . . .’
She went on and told them about the Scottish traditions of her childhood, possibly in too much detail, but once she’d started she couldn’t stop herself. It felt good to talk about it.
‘That sounds so great,’ said Shirlee. ‘I’ve heard about those Hogmanay hoo-hahs . . . So how come you were all on your lonesome this year? Where was your family?’
Polly cursed herself mentally for laying herself open to this question.
‘Well, my daughter Clemmie is studying Medicine at Cambridge, so she has a crazy workload and she went straight back after Christmas. Lucas – that’s my son – is here and he went out with old school friends. He’ll roll in sooner or later.’
‘What about your husband?’ asked Shirlee, breaking a piece off yet another slice of her loaf and popping it into her mouth.
Polly froze. She still didn’t have her stock answer off pat. What was she supposed to say? He seems to be having some kind of mid-life freak-out, which means he can’t stand the sight of me, or even the sound of my voice on the telephone?
‘He’s away on quite a, er, long research project. He’s an academic.’
‘What’s his subject?’ asked Maxine.
‘History,’ said Polly, relieved she had a straightforward answer to that one. ‘First World War . . . specifically the role of the British colonies. That’s why he has to travel to do his research – we even lived in Sydney for a couple of years while he was doing a big paper about the ANZACs.’
‘But he didn’t come back for Christmas and New Year?’ asked Shirlee, never one to tread delicately. ‘Where is he? Mars?’
‘Er, Nepal,’ said Polly, hoping Shirlee wouldn’t pursue the subject. She was relieved when there was a loud knock on the door.
She ran to answer it and was delighted to see Lucas standing there.
‘Hey, Mum,’ he said, giving her a big sloppy hug in the doorway. ‘Happy New Year.’
‘Happy New Year, darling!’ said Polly, wrapping her arms round him and kissing his cheek, which she had to reach up to do. He was even taller than David now . . . She batted the thought out of her head as quickly as it had come in.
‘Have you lost your keys, sweetheart?’ she asked him.
‘Couldn’t get them out,’ said Lucas, tripping over the step. ‘Too hard . . .’
‘Not feeling so good, eh?’
He shook his head, reminding her very strongly of the tousle-haired little boy he had once been.
She gave him another hug. ‘I’m sure it was worth it, though, eh?’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said Lucas. ‘Good times.’
‘Have you eaten anything?’
He shook his head, kicking off his boots and dropping his coat on the floor. Polly picked it up, saying nothing. It wasn’t the moment to start nagging him.
‘Have you got any painkillers?’ he asked. ‘Industrial strength.’
‘I’ve got some paracetamol,’ said Polly, ‘but you’ll have to eat something first. I’ve got some friends over, they’re in the kitchen. Come and say hi to them and I’ll fix something for you.’
Polly felt proud to introduce her son, happy that – despite the state he was in – Lucas shook
hands with both of them, looking them in the eye. Then, as usual on arrival in the kitchen, he headed straight for the stereo system in the corner, which David had installed years before to stream music throughout the house. It was one of David’s little quirks, to have it playing all the time, from the moment he got up. Polly really missed it.
‘Got to have some sounds on, Mum,’ Lucas said. ‘It’s weird in here without them.’
‘What about your headache?’ said Polly.
‘Music never hurts my head,’ he said as the distinctive opening chords of ‘Chelsea Morning’ played out.
‘Good choice,’ said Shirlee, holding up a hand to high-five Lucas, as he headed past. ‘Loving me some Joni M.’
Lucas smiled back at her, but as he sat down and took in what was on the table his eyes widened.
‘What’s all this, Mum?’ he asked. ‘Is this breakfast?’
He picked up one of the sweet-potato pancakes, sniffed it cautiously and put it down again quickly. Polly couldn’t help laughing.
‘I taught a yoga class this morning and my lovely students brought this brunch for me.’
‘You did yoga on New Year’s Day?’ he said, pushing Chiara’s barely touched jar of chia porridge away from him with a grimace. ‘In the morning?’
‘Sure,’ said Shirlee. ‘No better time. When your mom said she was staying in last night, I suggested we all did a class.’
‘You stayed in?’ asked Lucas, looking at Polly. ‘Who with?’
‘Um, on my own,’ she said.
‘What?’ said Lucas, incredulous. ‘But you always celebrate New Year. You told me you were going to a party . . .’
‘Well, I changed my mind,’ said Polly, ‘and when Shirlee suggested doing a class today, I thought it was a great idea, and then she made it even better by organising this lovely surprise brunch for me.’
‘It’s because of Dad, isn’t it?’ said Lucas, looking upset.
‘No,’ said Polly, alarmed at the turn of the conversation. ‘I just felt like having a quiet one for a change. Now, would you like some bacon and eggs?’
He looked up at her and she widened her eyes at him, indicating Shirlee and Maxine by inclining her head slightly.
He seemed to get the message. Not the time to talk about his father.
‘I’d love some, please, Mum,’ he said. ‘And can I have a hot chocolate?’
‘Of course you can!’ said Polly, ruffling his hair. ‘You know what? I think I’m going to have some bacon and eggs too. Would anyone else like some?’
‘I’d love some,’ said Maxine, ‘if you’re sure you’ve got enough.’
‘I stocked up,’ said Polly, laughing. ‘I knew what Lucas would need today. How about you, Shirlee?’
‘I don’t eat eggs,’ she said, ‘or bacon. I’m good.’
‘You can have some of Chiara’s cinnamon banana bread, then,’ said Polly, on her way to the fridge. ‘Go on, try it.’
Shirlee picked up the bread knife and started sawing.
‘Jeez, it’s a bit tough, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Wait till you try chewing it,’ said Polly.
Shirlee broke a piece off and put it in her mouth.
‘Holy shit!’ she said, pulling a face. ‘That is disgusting.’
Polly passed her a piece of kitchen roll to spit it out into, laughing. ‘See why I developed a sudden cinnamon allergy?’ she said.
‘Oh, that’s bad,’ said Shirlee, taking a sip of the thick green juice that was still in a glass next to her, then looking down at it ruefully. ‘And you know what? That’s not so great either . . .’
‘Shall I make you some coffee, Shirlee?’ said Polly.
‘That’d be nice,’ she said.
‘I’ll make it,’ said Maxine, standing up. ‘I could do with one too.’
Lucas was sniffing the banana bread.
‘That is seriously rank,’ he said, then looked up at Shirlee and Maxine, alarmed. ‘Neither of you made it, right?’
‘No, it wasn’t us,’ said Shirlee, ‘although I do admit to bringing that other loaf there, which isn’t all that great either. I can only eat it if I pile that jam stuff on it, and that’s pretty awful, if you really want to know.’
‘Why do you do this to yourself, Shirlee?’ asked Polly, from the stove.
‘Supposed to be good for you,’ said Shirlee. She put her hand to her mouth and belched. ‘Excuse me. I thought you’d be into all that stuff too, being a yoga teacher and beautiful and everything. I thought if I ate that shit I might start looking like you.’
She laughed loudly.
‘There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, Shirlee,’ said Polly. ‘And you’re the best in any of my classes. Best balance, best symmetry, all of it.’
‘Aw shucks, Poll,’ said Shirlee. ‘You’re too kind. Don’t stop.’
‘Do you eat “clean”, Maxine?’ asked Polly.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I try to eat normally. Not rubbish – but not wallpaper paste and sawdust, like this. And I have to confess that the blueberries I brought were actually from Aldi . . . but I did wash them!’
Polly laughed.
‘So who did make this so-called banana bread?’ asked Lucas.
Polly told him about Chiara’s blog and huge Instagram following and Lucas picked up his phone to investigate.
‘Hey, look, Mum!’ he said. ‘She’s posted a picture of you. Are you sure you’re not hung over? You look terrible in this shot.’
He passed the phone across the table to Shirlee, who had a look, hooted with laughter and passed it to Polly.
She glanced at the picture, then brought it closer to be sure it was as bad as it seemed. It was. She looked like a half-dead zombie, desiccated and haggard, next to Chiara, who had her head back, laughing, as though lit from within.
‘With my wonderful yoga teacher Polly Masterson-Mackay’, said the caption. ‘At her New Year’s clean-food brunch. Polly adores my new banana bread – check it out at cleanchia-ra.com’
Polly was staring at the screen in a mix of disbelief and horror that someone might cook that terrible recipe and blame her for it – which was likely, considering Chiara had all those followers – when she noticed Shirlee getting up from the table. Polly looked round to see her opening the crockery cupboard and taking out a plate.
She sat down again and smiled sheepishly back at Polly.
‘I’m gonna have some of that bacon,’ she said. ‘Don’t tell my rabbi.’
FragrantCloud.net
The scent of . . . yoga
I’ve been doing yoga since I was a teenager in Cambridge, where my dad was a Professor of History. I went along to a class with a friend out of curiosity and was immediately hooked. I loved the way it seemed to have mental benefits as well as the physical workout. Friends rave about the endorphin hit they get from running, but that slow, quiet yoga buzz really works for me.
I learned the discipline of daily solo practice when I went to university in a small town in Scotland, where there were no yoga classes at all. When I moved to London to do a PhD, I trained as a yoga teacher as a handy way to make some cash while studying, but then quite unexpectedly it became my career. It fitted in brilliantly with being a mum, and I used to do classes at my kids’ primary school, which were hilarious.
I’ve taught in all kinds of places, from cold and draughty church halls to health clubs so swishy the parquet floors in the yoga studio probably cost more than my whole house, and one of the things I’ve loved about it is meeting so many different kinds of people. As well as the seriously yummy-mummy set, I’ve worked with pensioners and young offenders, which I found really rewarding.
These days I’m very happy teaching just five morning classes a week in what was the dining room at home. I have a lovely group of regulars, with drops-ins welcome, and sometimes we have brunch together after the class, which is really nice for me, now both my kids are away at uni.
But I must confess they’re not the kind of ‘clean eating
’ events you might expect from a yoga teacher. I do love porridge – my Scottish blood – but I’m also a bacon-and-eggs girl and I do like a morning hit of fatty protein. It keeps me full for hours.
So chia seeds and goji berries are not for me and I was very glad to find some friends who feel the same.
The smells I associate with yoga are contradictory. Freshly showered bodies and sweat. Sandalwood from a scented candle mixed with hot feet on rubber mats.
Head-clearing pure air, ozonic freshness – and deep oriental mystery. Stillness and invigorating renewal. Feminine grace and masculine strength. Anima and animus.
My scents of yoga are:
Madagascan Jasmine by Grandiflora
Lime Basil and Mandarin Cologne by Jo Malone London
Exhale by B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful
Pour Monsieur by Chanel
Oud by Maison Francis Kurkdjian
New West for Her by Aramis
Black Lapsang by Bodhidharma
Santal by Diptyque (my favourite candle for the yoga studio)
COMMENTS
AgathaF: In Germany we always eat protein for breakfast. It is good nutrition. Today I had Black Forest Ham.
FragrantCloud: Hi, Agatha – sounds delish! Polly x
LuxuryGal: Next time I’m in London, I’d love to come to one of your classes. Can anyone come?
FragrantCloud: Of course. Just email me via the address on the main menu. It would be great to meet you.
PerfumedWorld: I’m so happy to see you reference New West for Her! That was the first perfume I ever bought for myself. I still love it and it’s so sad that you can’t get the original any more. I can still remember the first time I smelled that amazing ozonic top note. It was so new and exciting.
FragrantCloud: I loved New West too.
WhirlyShirlee: Chia berries are for the birds! As sure as eggs is eggs!
FragrantCloud: Ha ha, see you on the mat in the morning. I’ve got the eggs in! x
The Scent of You Page 3