Chapter 25
25
M onday came and went. Helen’s day had been filled with the usual procession of fever and forms, sprains and sickness. And (not that she had been expecting anything), no word from Christian, or anyone at Stronger Together . The green cardigan had been taken out of the bin and hung back on the hook, and declining Tina’s offer of a Bakewell tart, Helen had escaped on her coffee break to sit in the sun and brood over lost opportunities.
Back home, leaning against the kitchen counter, she ate a Quiche Lorraine straight from the packet, poured a glass of wine and took it out to the balcony. The park was full of families and Helen was full of regret. Thursday evening had been fun, but Friday had been lost to a hangover that had her eating everything in the flat. Including a Christmas pudding, found at the back of the cupboard which she steamed in the microwave and ate with the curtains closed watching Pride and Prejudice for the hundredth time.
And even though she had promised herself not to drink all week, here she was, Monday evening, starting again. But what else was there to do? The landscape of her evenings had changed dramatically. The peaks and troughs of family life, flattening out into this plateau, which she had to accept was probably going to be her home-screen for a long time now. Stronger Together , had obviously decided they were stronger without her (and who could blame them). So, what was she going to do?
‘What Do People Do All Day?’ she said out loud, and just hearing the words made her smile. When Jack was tiny, this had been his favourite book: What Do People Do All Day? It was a story populated by pigs with all the boy pigs wearing uniforms, and all the girl pigs baking pies, and although Helen had hated it, Jack had loved it. Sitting down, she stretched her legs out to the chair opposite and chuckled. She needed the sequel: What Do People Do All Evening? Because when the kids have grown and the pies have been baked and the uniforms put away, what do people do? Join a yoga class in a draughty hall? Join a gym in a windowless building? Light candles and write poetry? In another age, she was thinking, she would have been surrounded by company, generations staying under the same roof. And if that wasn’t the case there would have been company to be had at the end of the street in a local tavern, or at least a chat over the garden fence with a neighbour. The only company she could expect for the next twelve hours was Netflix, or Instagram and the reality of her situation was suddenly so daunting, she put her glass down and leaned forward, chin in hands. This was not what she had envisaged divorce would be. The problem was, beyond vague dreams of a domestic space of her own, she hadn’t envisaged anything. Then again, what would she be doing had she stayed? Drinking wine in the kitchen while she waited for Lawrence to return from his run, or his ride?
She took a sip of wine. It tasted bitter as grapefruit, and in a fit of decision she took the glass to the sink and poured it away, turned and stared at her empty flat. At least Lawrence did things.! He always had. Becoming a father had barely altered the course of his life, whereas motherhood had changed every aspect of hers. And although there was no doubt it had given her a purpose; it had also given her an excuse. All those years of sitting on the beach guarding the sandwiches? They hadn’t been so much about sandwiches, as avoidance. The armchair-sized cushion Lawrence’s wage had provided, had allowed her to let the seasons turn and the years pass. So, what on earth was she going to do with the rest of her life?
‘You can start by unpacking, Helen,’ she said out loud. ‘And then you can stop talking to yourself.’ So, she did. She opened Spotify, connected her speaker and set about unpacking. An hour later, with three boxes emptied and a shelving unit filled, she sat down for a break and an obligatory scroll through Instagram. When she reached an ad for Seasons of Becoming a coaching course for ‘middle-aged women, seeking a new direction’, she paused, reading through. Are you restless in your career? Do you feel curious about what else is possible? Long for change? It was disconcerting to understand how much her phone knew about her, but she was restless and she did long for change, and as she tapped the link and followed through, it was far more disconcerting for Helen to admit that the change she thought she had made, from being married to not being married, had changed the view from her kitchen sink and not much else.
But what had she expected? Backstage hands gliding new scenery into her life? A great package of an answer dropped from the sky? She took her reading glasses off, tapping the arm against her chin. It wasn’t far from the truth to say that she had lived her life this passively, waiting for one scene to end, before another began. And now here she was, more alone than she had been at any stage of her life, centre stage of an empty stage. She opened her phone again and read on. Through guided reflection and honest conversation, Seasons of Becoming, promised to ‘guide her towards who she was now, not ten years ago’. It promised realignment, reinvention, rhythm. She got her bank card out and signed up. One hundred and fifty pounds lighter, but already that bit more, realigned, she followed the link and opened the first module, a video of a serene looking woman wearing neutral-coloured yoga clothing.
‘Find a quiet room ,’ the woman said (serenely). ‘And sit cross-legged on the floor, in a space where you won’t be disturbed.’
Easy-peasy. Helen pressed pause, plumped up the cushion on her armchair, settled back and pressed play.
‘It’s important that you sit on the floor and not a chair so that you can feel grounded in the moment.’
Frowning, she slid to the floor, used the cushion to prop her phone, wrestled her limbs into some kind of crossed leg position, and pressed play.
‘Close your eyes if it helps.’
It didn’t. How could she see the pause/play button?
‘Ask this one simple question.’
She took a deep breath.
‘What am I truly longing for at this time in my life?’
Was that it?
‘Listen without judgement.’
OK. She took another breath. Don’t judge, Helen. Don’t judge.
‘Let whatever comes up rise without judgement. Don’t censor yourself.’
And she tried, she really tried. But what came up was a screaming pain in her inner knee as the ligament stretched beyond memory and endurance. Twisting, her knee clicked and (it felt), fell apart. She grabbed the joint, manoeuvring herself out of hell, back to relief
‘Return to the answer.’
Answer? Helen looked at her phone. She didn’t have one to return to.
‘Ask the same question again. Let more answers unfold. Don’t rush it.’
Don’t rush it? That was a bloody cheek. ‘Can I sit in a chair?’ she said, as she hefted herself back into the armchair.
‘Reflect. What emotions came up during this exercise? How can you honour them? What’s one action you can take next week to start exploring that longing?’
Falling back, Helen pressed pause again and held her phone at her chest. She could start yoga, that’s what she could do. In some draughty hall somewhere, she could honour her knees by starting yoga. Or she could pour another glass of wine? Or, she could go to bed and start again tomorrow, because it didn’t matter how grounded she was, or if her eyes were open or closed, she still would have no idea how to answer such a vague catch-all, ‘what are you longing for’ except with another vague catch -all, ‘I have no idea’.
Frustrated, unrhythmic and not at all aligned, she closed the window, and opened her email, eyes widening in surprise as she read through the subject line of the newly arrived mail:
Admin Director. Stronger Together.
Dear Helen , (she read)
I hope you are well. Forgive this late mail, I had hoped to get round to this earlier, but we had a crisis in our Ecuador clinic that diverted me.
Anyway, I’m mailing to invite you back to meet our chief medical officer, Fiona Chambers. It’s short notice, but could you make Wednesday this week?