Chapter 47
Dorothea had cleared away her latest jigsaw and dropped the leaves of the table. Fiona had opened the camp bed and added the bedding. A dining chair acted as a makeshift bedside table, holding an old desk lamp and acting as a resting place for glasses and a book. It was a tight squeeze.
The following morning Fiona was surprised to discover that she had slept well. It may have been the brandy her mother had insisted on as a nightcap.
“I don’t drink alone — because of our genes,” the old lady had said as she set up a couple of small tumblers. “So, when people are here, which is too rare, I take every opportunity.” As soon as their glasses were half-empty, she topped them up and then put the bottle away.
“What do you mean ‘our genes’?”
“I had an uncle with an alcohol problem and another who couldn’t go an hour without a nicotine hit. Lung cancer got him.” Then Dorothea’s voice softened. “And it looks like that same gene, coupled with Rob and the miscarriage, led to your need to be in control all the time.” Her mother put an arm around Fiona and hugged her tight. “But now I’m so proud of the way you’re letting people into your life and helping them: Adele, Meeko, Rob, and even me.” She kissed her daughter. “There was a time you wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving two almost-strangers plus a puking baby alone in your house for a week.”
“You say I’m helping other people, Mum. But it’s actually them, and you, who are helping me.” It really did feel like any aid she’d given was coming back to her in more generous dollops than she had offered.
“Now you’re making me all emotional. Tell me about that big posh wedding.”
Fiona had shown her mum the photos of the happy couple on her phone and the selfies she’d taken at the table early in the evening.
“And did all that romance wrap itself around you and Meeko?”
“I’ve told you, Mum, we’re just good friends.” Maybe they weren’t even that now.
“Hmmm. There is much meaning behind that phrase, ‘just good friends’.”
Fiona said nothing about how everything had gone horribly wrong and that she didn’t know if there was a way back. Then her mother switched to asking about Rose. She got the brandy out again and poured them another glass. By the time Fiona had turned out the desk lamp her anxiety about Meeko had been swept away by the alcohol and her heart was warm from telling Dorothea about the gratitude that both Rose and Adele had expressed in their different ways. Her mother’s face had beamed after learning that she could continue to be a great-grandmother-by-proxy.
“Porridge is ready!” her mother called.
Fiona pulled on her dressing gown and found her mother sitting at the small table in the window alcove of the lounge. Having someone else prepare food for her resurrected that same warm feeling of belonging as she’d had from Adele’s chocolate brownies. Was it small gestures like these that made marriages work? Would mornings with Meeko create a feeling of mutual support or would she tar him with the same brush as Rob and wonder if he was telling the truth about his activities? She was being ridiculous. She had to draw a line under Meeko. They were incompatible — he wouldn’t trust her not to put him in a steel box unless they had rings on their fingers, and she didn’t trust him sufficiently to accept one of those rings and all the ‘jointness’ that went with it.
“Help yourself.” Dorothea pushed the squeezy golden syrup bottle across the table. Fiona was about to ignore it and plough on with a plain but healthy breakfast when her mother spoke again. “You haven’t forgotten it’s Meeko’s first trial yoga class this morning? At ten thirty, so there’s time for this to go down first — we won’t be exercising on a full stomach.”
“We?” She had remembered and had brought biscuits for her mother to take for the refreshments, but she couldn’t face Meeko herself. And it wasn’t fair to throw him off balance by turning up unexpectedly when this was his very first class and he was trying to impress. The manager of the complex might be there and he couldn’t afford to get distracted by any implications, real or in his imagination, of her being there. “I’m not old enough — better to leave the space for someone else.”
“Nonsense. There’s plenty of room in the lounge and Meeko will be grateful for a friendly face. Plus, there are lots of chairs to move out and then put back — he’ll need the help of another able-bodied person.”
“I should really check on Adele and—”
“Nonsense. You’ll be good for Meeko, plus I want to show my daughter off — I get precious little opportunity to do that, even though you’re retired now. Eat your porridge before it gets cold.”
Fiona squirted the sweet syrup over her breakfast. If she had to face Meeko, she needed energy.
Her running gear was in the small suitcase she’d brought to her mother’s, and those leggings and T-shirt would do for the class. She didn’t have her mat but the room was carpeted and most of the action would take place seated. Dorothea insisted they get to the lounge early to help Meeko arrange things. He was surveying the area when they arrived.
“You tell Fiona what you need moving. She is your slave. I’ll sit and watch.” The old lady took on the role of captain of the ship.
“Fiona. Hi.” It was a half-hearted greeting.
She shrugged at him and inclined her head towards the old lady to convey to him that her presence at the class wasn’t her own idea. Impossible to say whether the message was received.
“There’s not much furniture moving to do,” he said. “I’m focusing on chair yoga today so I can assess the level of fitness and mobility. I don’t want people doing themselves an injury getting down on the floor. But everyone will need to be able to stick their arms out at shoulder height, so we need to space the chairs out appropriately. And we want chairs without arms if possible.”
They worked in silence, elongating the existing rows of chairs, which looked as though they’d last been used for a film show. As they finished, a couple of Dorothea’s fellow residents entered, one on a walking frame and one with a stick. Meeko seemed to be silently assessing them, while her mother rushed over and made introductions, her words falling over each other in her pride. “Barbara, Alice, this is my daughter Fiona and her . . .” there was a slight hesitation before she pronounced the next word with a peculiar emphasis, “. . . friend , Meeko, our new yoga teacher.” Dorothea repeated this exercise until there were eight participants, plus Mrs Fairchild, the manager, and the clock said 10.30 a.m. Not as many as Fiona had hoped — she wondered if Mrs Fairchild had a mental cut-off figure which must be reached before the complex would agree to fund the classes beyond the three trial sessions. Please don’t let another part of Meeko’s future come crashing down — it would be her fault for encouraging him to believe he could improve on the hand that fate had dealt him. Fiona took a seat at the back so she could easily put the kettle on ten minutes before the end and arrange the promised biscuits on a plate.
“Hello and welcome!” An energised Meeko introduced himself with open arms and welcoming smile. “This first session is experimental to find out your baseline starting position with yoga. Going forward, the classes will be adapted to suit you. It will be easier with shoes off. Give me a wave if you need a hand?”
A murmur of conversation as Meeko made sure that everyone who needed help removing their shoes got it. Fiona helped the lady nearest to her.
“Let’s start by sitting tall with our feet on the floor.” There was a general shuffling of bottoms on seats as comfortable positions were found. Meeko was watching carefully. “If you can’t quite get your feet flat on the floor, don’t worry for this week. Next time I’ll bring some blocks you can use as foot rests. Now, inhale and lengthen through the spine. Imagine you are a puppet with piece of string pulling you up from the crown of your head.”
Fiona watched shoulders move back and the women appeared to grow taller in their chairs.
“Inhale deeply as you lift your heart and exhale as you move your shoulders backwards and down. We are going to find mobility in a way that’s soft and gentle. We’ll start by lifting the toes, keeping heels on the floor, and then lowering the toes. Let’s do that a few times.”
Meeko’s words were gentle and soothing as he ran through a range of easy stretches. Fiona imagined the bliss of hearing that voice every day. Stress, bitterness or anger couldn’t thrive in the presence of such calm. The daydream transported her away from the residents’ lounge. When she tuned back in to Meeko’s instructions, he was bringing the ladies into a seated twist. “Bring your right hand to your outer left thigh and, if possible, move your left hand onto the chair back.”
She followed the rest of the movements along with the residents until he talked them into how to fold the top half of their bodies over their knees and to breathe deeply. Fiona glanced at the clock; the session was coming to a close. Meeko was bringing the energy in the room down. She crept over to the lounge’s tiny kitchenette area, put the kettle on and started putting out mugs and arranging the custard creams she’d brought onto a plate. When she looked up, several faces were looking through the glass of the lounge doors, like zoo visitors staring into the lion enclosure. Some ducked when they realised they’d been spotted, others brazenly continued peeping. In the background Meeko was talking the ladies through bringing themselves back up to sitting by placing hands on thighs and gently pushing.
“Thank you, ladies . . . and gentleman.” Meeko gave a respectful nod towards the only man in the room. “It’s been a pleasure to have you here today and I hope you’ve enjoyed it.” There was a smattering of applause among the group, who looked half-asleep after the end-of-class relaxation session. “I will definitely be here for the next two weeks. If those classes are well attended then Mrs Fairchild will consider funding these sessions — unfortunately I do need to pay my rent and buy food. Any questions, please give me a wave and I’ll come and have a word with you.” A couple of hands went up. That had to be a good sign — it meant people were taking an interest in what was going on.
Suddenly there was a throng of people around Fiona and the urn. And the custard cream plate was empty. There were significantly more than eight people now. A lady, who Fiona recognised as her mother’s neighbour, whispered to Fiona, “Didn’t you see them gathering outside the door? Vultures they are whenever the word ‘biscuits’ appears on a poster. They should be banned — they haven’t earned their refreshments like we have.” Fiona thought she’d left petty politics and snide remarks behind when she retired but they obviously existed in all areas of life. From her bag, she retrieved her second ‘in case of a mammoth class attendance’ pack of biscuits and refilled the plate.
“Custard creams.” The voice was derogatory and made Fiona feel like a failed staff member rather than a volunteer giving her own time and biscuits free of charge. The lady was wearing a silky blouse with a bow at the neck and a close-fitting skirt. She had definitely not been in the class. “I was hoping for a dark chocolate digestive. That’s what they put out during the film club interval.”
It was too late to say the refreshments were for yoga participants only, but Fiona wasn’t going to let these hangers-on get away with snaffling biscuits when Meeko was desperate for class members. “Apologies. I am taking biscuit requests from session participants. Let me make a note against your name.” She picked up a piece of A4 paper on which Meeko had jotted the running order of his class. “What name is it?”
Even beneath the woman’s heavy make-up, Fiona could see her cheeks redden. “No need. A custard cream will do just as well.” The woman grabbed a mug and biscuit and disappeared into a huddle of similarly dressed ladies.
The volume of chat in the room was a reward in itself — even if at least half of them hadn’t participated in the yoga. Knowing how lonely and frustrated Dorothea became in the prison of her own four walls, this happy atmosphere, with so many keen to get a slice of the action, would surely please Mrs Fairchild. And the cost to the residential complex could be justified by the myriad of health benefits, both physical and mental, emanating from yoga. Meeko was an expert at explaining those. She could see him now, deep in conversation with the manager, and was tempted to rush over and interrupt to make sure that Mrs Fairchild took on board the additional benefit of the after-class refreshments in reducing social isolation. No. She held back. Meeko’s future was his own. She’d given him a little push, like a teenager leaving for university, and now it was up to him. Neither of them wanted to accept the terms offered for being involved as a partner in the other’s life, and so they each had to go it alone from now on.
Afterwards, when she realised Dorothea had invited Meeko back to her flat for a debrief, Fiona tried to slip away on the pretext of a dental appointment.
“Balderdash! I can read you like a book, Fiona Ormeroyd, and that is a lie.” The old lady opened her front door and ushered them both in ahead of her. “If you check the fridge, you will see that I’m not lying when I say I am out of milk. You two have thirty minutes to slay the elephant in the room while I go to the shop.”
“It’s a ploy on her behalf,” Fiona said when she was alone with Meeko. “Look.” She slid back the door of the cupboard under the sink to reveal a two-litre plastic container of milk, which was almost full. “I remember seeing it at breakfast. And under the sink is where she always used to hide sweets when I was a kid.”
Meeko managed a smile. “Mrs Fairchild was pleased with the turnout. Apparently, it needs fifteen to make any activity eligible for funds, but she said we had one of the main resident personalities there. If she enjoyed it then it’s likely she will corral her acolytes into attending next time.”
“That’s good — I wish you well with it. And with the post-natal group — but that will be fine; Adele’s got your back there. If you need help with the refreshments again here, drop me a text — I’m happy to come and boil a kettle and do some washing up.” And at least we will still have some contact with each other, however tenuous.
“I’d love that. Thanks.” Did his swift response mean Meeko wanted to rebuild the ‘best friends’ thing?
“I’ll put the kettle on ready for when Mum gets back.”
“Can we search her shopping to make sure she actually has bought more milk?” Meeko was grinning at her. The dimples that made her toes curl were there but his eyes were missing their dancing feet. She wanted that happiness back for him. For both of them. She missed their camaraderie, his calming supportive nature, the way he was so good with Dorothea and the way he understood her own needs. Everything had been so easy when she’d thought he was out of reach. She’d been able to say to herself that, if she was looking for a committed partnership, she would choose Meeko. Now she knew he was available, she still thought that. And he wanted that. But was she looking for a committed partnership ? Trust. Absolute trust in another person. Her lack of trust was the elephant that Dorothea was talking about. But he’d been the person her mind had flitted to when she’d panicked about her disappearing imaginings of Amber.
“Mum will let you delve in her bag but not me!” They were mildly flirting with each other. It wasn’t what best friends did. She took a breath. “We do need to clear the air, don’t we?”
He nodded. For several moments they looked at each other. Words wouldn’t come and so she touched his hand. The shock of their mutual attraction made her pull away. Trust. Other people managed it. That trust sometimes got broken or misused but they found a way back. She thought about Rose’s ability to weigh up what really mattered to her and then consider starting again with her ex-husband. She thought about Adele and the misplaced trust she’d put in the boyfriend who’d dropped her as soon as she announced her pregnancy. The girl had been shattered but she was coming out of what might be considered a catastrophe, as a stronger, more mature person — with no regrets about bringing baby Natalie into the world. And she thought about Dorothea and that failed attempt at dating — her mother had gone into that knowing she was never going to re- create the closeness of her long marriage with Fiona’s dad, but she still thought it worth the gamble. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all — wasn’t that the old adage?
Fiona was broken when she lost Amber but she didn’t regret having become pregnant with her. She’d been catastrophically bruised by Rob’s abuse of her financial trust, but was that reason never to let anyone else become close to her — ever? Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face? If you looked hard enough, it was possible to find a positive in every experience, no matter how bad it had seemed at the time. In their brief meetings, she’d started to see the old Rob, the one she’d chosen to marry, and now he was intent on giving back to society. And helping him was giving purpose to her post-work life. Their marriage had ended in a bad way but she couldn’t regret taking those vows.
Fiona looked at Meeko. He’d created within her a strength of feeling that she’d never had for any other man. And it frightened her. It was turning out impossible for them to be ‘best friends’ again. It didn’t work because this fierce emotion, now it had been acknowledged, was growing by the day. She had to act or regret it forever.
“I’ve been thinking.” Their words collided in mid-air.
“You first,” he said.
She wanted him to speak first, before she said the wrong thing. Perhaps he’d decided marriage wasn’t an essential backdrop to an intimate relationship between them. Perhaps he’d realised he could trust her not to drop him into a steel compartment. But in either or both of those cases, she knew she was only offering a chunk of herself rather than the whole package, as he was prepared to do. Fiona had too much respect for him to not give equally of herself.
This time it had to be her who went down on one knee. “Michael Woods, please will you do me the honour of becoming my lawful, legally wedded, official, public-facing and non-compartmentalised husband?” From his initial shocked expression, the biggest smile she had ever seen erupted.
“I will.” Then he was on the floor beside her, pulling her into his arms. They were still wrapped in a kiss when Fiona became aware of her mother standing over them.
“I see you chased the elephant away.”