Chapter 21
21
BLINDED BY THE LIGHT
Niamh
After waking to a silent yurt, and a silent campsite for that matter, Niamh looks at her now contraband phone and sees that she has been asleep for around an hour and a half. She should probably get up and change out of her work clothes, maybe brush her teeth or, even better, get something to eat. Right now, down on the beach, they’ll be enjoying s’mores and hot chocolate and the thought makes her tummy rumble.
She’d absolutely kill for a couple of slices of toast. Surely there will be someone up in the meeting house who can direct her to a toaster. She was sure Becca had told her there was a shared kitchen they could access when they wanted outside of designated mealtimes. There’s no way she can face the myriad sweet snacks they had packed into their cases. Not with her stomach now rebelling strongly against the alcohol she’s consumed. It has to be something plain. And carb loaded. It wouldn’t hurt to walk up to the meeting house and check.
Pulling on her coat, and lifting her phone, she leaves their yurt, listening for any sounds rising from the nearby beach. She wonders if this Fire Starter ceremony has already started the goddess-unleashing process. Maybe her bunking off will mean her inner goddess will forever stay trapped within her, beside her annoying inner child and whatever inner demon voices her self-doubt. Maybe it’s better to leave her where she is.
She’d never admit it to Becca or Laura – the truth is she doesn’t even believe in all this inner goddess mumbo jumbo. Spirituality is not her thing.
Science is her bag. Science, she finds, has an explanation for almost everything. She doesn’t believe that there is anything anyone can do involving dancing around a fire and chanting affirmations that will really make a difference. It’s all just hocus pocus and placebo effects.
We all just cling onto our beliefs because the alternative is too grim. Dear God, she thinks, she might just be in danger of releasing her inner depression demon if she carries on thinking and feeling like this.
Using the torch on her phone to help light the way, she tries to think happy thoughts as she walks. Thoughts of hot toast with melted butter. A nice cup of tea. Then back to bed, and hopefully asleep again before the others return. If she’s lucky, she can sleep through the worst of the impending hangover.
The sound of her name being called on the wind stops her in her tracks.
‘Niamh!’ the voice calls again. It’s not a voice she recognises. It’s neither Becca nor Laura. She knows that for sure. She absolutely does not want to talk to whoever it belongs to. Sadly, whoever it is seems to be more persistent than she gives them credit for and they call again. This time their voice is louder, which means definitely closer.
As she hears the voice a fourth time, louder again, it’s clear she can no longer, believably, continue to ignore the caller – so she stops, turns around and is immediately blinded by the flash of a torch.
‘Jesus!’ she exclaims.
‘Sorry! Sorry! Not Jesus. Just me!’ the faceless voice sputters, lowering their light. Blinking, Niamh slowly sees their face come into focus. It’s Peggy, looking ethereal against the night sky and the soft glow of their torches.
For all Niamh’s cynicism, Peggy looks as if she might just have materialised behind her, like some sort of otherworldly creature. She’s giving off a distinctly Celtic goddess-y vibe with her soft curls falling around her face. Admittedly, Niamh isn’t sure any apparition of a goddess would come wearing a dryrobe and beanie hat but, she supposes, she doesn’t really know. She’s never experienced an apparition before. For all she knows, every apparition since time began involved dryrobes and beanie hats. The angel Gabriel might have appreciated good insulation.
‘Didn’t mean to blind you there,’ Peggy apologises, stepping forward. ‘I just wanted to check in on you and see how you are. We didn’t see you at the beach.’
Niamh notices Peggy’s eyes darting towards her phone, which is impossible to miss given that she is using it as a torch. She blushes, feeling well and truly caught out and embarrassed by her own bad mood.
Looking as if she can read exactly what’s on Niamh’s mind, Peggy adds, ‘There’s nothing wrong with skipping it. This isn’t a prison camp. You’re not the only one who missed out. This Friday-night session can be a bit much for people – especially those with busy jobs who have been at it all week. You’re a teacher, aren’t you?’
Just how much does Peggy know about her, Niamh wonders. Has Becca filled in some sort of crib sheet outlining a potted history of Niamh Cassidy?
Niamh Cassidy. Married. Four kids. Stressed teacher. Not quite right in the head these days. Has watched Schitt’s Creek all the way through four times and sometimes has to stop herself from speaking like Moira Rose.
That kind of thing.
‘I am, yeah. Secondary school. Science. It’s…’ She wants to say it’s challenging but she loves it, but something stops her. Probably the fact that she doesn’t love it at the moment. In fact, at this twenty-five-years-in-the-classroom mark, she feels really rather fed up with it all. It has changed. The rules have changed. The admin has changed. The kids have changed. God, the whole damn world has changed, especially in the wake of the pandemic. She’s just not sure she has the energy for it any more. Not enough energy to be the kind of teacher her pupils deserve. Even her Year 11s.
‘I imagine it’s not easy,’ Peggy interrupts, saving Niamh the trouble of putting her moment of self-discovery into words. Even though she senses that Peggy might be a safe pair of ears to talk to.
‘It’s not,’ Niamh says, feeling her chest tighten. She is not a person who blurts her life story to others. These days she can’t even seem to spill her guts to her nearest and dearest.
‘Were you just heading up to the meeting house?’ Peggy asks, before linking her arm through Niamh’s and starting to walk.
‘Yeah, I just… well, I was going to get something to eat. Some toast maybe. Becca said it was okay.’
Peggy laughs. ‘And it is. Kitchen is always open and snacks are available. I’ll even let you have some of my real butter if you want. We only keep it for special people.’
In other circumstances, Niamh might have felt as if she was being patronised by Peggy’s soothing tone, but right now it is exactly what she needs.
‘That would be lovely,’ she says.
‘These types of weekends can seem a little strange to people,’ Peggy continues. ‘If you want my honest take on it – they feel particularly strange to the kind of people, and by people I of course mean women, who spend their lives taking care of everyone else and not so much themselves.’
‘I do yoga,’ Niamh says, defensively. ‘Two classes a week.’
‘That’s a great start,’ Peggy says. ‘We’ve a yoga session tomorrow morning, if you fancy it.’ There’s a pause before Peggy speaks again. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being sarcastic when I say yoga is a great start. It really is. It’s better than a lot of people do. But maybe, if you’re feeling a little burned out, you might want to look at other things too. Sometimes we need to look at the big picture.’
‘I didn’t say I was…’ Niamh begins before she trails off. No, she did not say she was burned out but it’s now increasingly clear to her it must be written all over her face.
‘I know,’ Peggy says sagely. ‘It’s just something to think about.’
They come to the turn-off to the meeting house and while Niamh expects Peggy to turn and leave at this point, she feels comforted by the other woman continuing to walk with her. ‘I know it can be very, very overwhelming when there is so much going on in your life. It’s very easy to want to hide away and sleep it all off. I’ve been there. I’ve lived that version of life and it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. All I want to suggest to you, Niamh, is that you keep an open mind to what this weekend might bring. Approach it with an open, grateful heart. There’s nothing to lose here.’ Peggy’s smile is soft and warm, as she opens the door to the meeting house and guides Niamh in.
‘So I should probably hand over my phone, then?’ Niamh asks, red-faced.
‘Only if you want to,’ Peggy assures her. ‘As I’ve said, it’s not a prison camp.’
Peggy’s words about people who find it hard to care for themselves and spend all their time worrying about others play again in her mind.
What she knows she will end up doing if she holds on to her phone is that she will no doubt end up piling more worry on her shoulders. Paul is unlikely to have suddenly found peace with their newfound situation in the hours she has been away. She’s not sure she wants to listen to him go over his notes about it all. Again. Either that or she will listen to Fiadh crying that she misses her – that child is a dote and a darling but a master of emotional blackmail. The boys will be in touch but only to beg for money for Robux, or FIFA points or… God knows… hard drugs.
If Jodie, and her raging hormones, comes on the line Niamh knows she will likely pack her bags and head back home, the guilt having got the better of her. Even though her own hormones are raging and she wants someone – anyone – to step in and help her instead.
‘I think it might be for the best,’ she says, handing her phone over.
Peggy takes it with a smile.