11. April
Chapter 11
April
G emma pulls up in the middle of nowhere—proper bumfuck territory—just outside Hereford, a small town about three hours northwest of London. I’ve barely said a word the entire drive, letting the hum of the engine and Gemma and Anna’s conversation fill the space. And, as happy as they sounded, I couldn’t bring myself to join in. My mind goes back to Lucas and how his younger brother was just in my house. I tried to focus on the scenery, the Tudor-style buildings, winding canals, and postcard-perfect gardens, but none of it registers. There was no flicker of joy or any sense of appreciation, when usually I enjoy road trips.
Now, we’re parked in the middle of a muddy patch, surrounded by sad, drooping trees and a dodgy-looking dam—where I wouldn’t be surprised if a body or two had been dumped. A few weathered tin cabins dot the area and, to be honest, the place gives off an unsettling vibe that screams horror movie .
“Well, if I wasn’t depressed before, I sure as hell am now,” I mutter, eyeing the bleak landscape.
“Excuse me,” Anna says. “Positivity only, please.” She throws me an encouraging look.
“Seriously, what is this place?” I ask as I scan the grim, wet surroundings. Before Gemma can respond, the faint rhythm of bongo drums drifts through the air, growing louder and louder. I frown. Where the fuck are we?
“Where the fuck is that drumming coming from?” I ask as I look around. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve accidentally signed up for a cult retreat instead of whatever this is supposed to be.
Suddenly, a man emerges from behind one of the cabins, catching all three of us off guard. We gasp in unison, and Gemma clutches her chest as if she might keel over from a heart attack. He’s brandishing what I assume is a smudge stick.
“Welcome!” he booms, far too enthusiastically for this depressing setting.
Is he missing teeth? Jesus Christ.
He’s tall, has leathery tanned skin, and is worryingly thin. He’s draped in a set of moonstone beads and a feather tied to a leather strap around his neck. His arms are covered in tribal tattoos, and his clothes are threadbare. I know Gemma found him through TikTok, but he doesn’t look like he can even afford a phone. Nor does he seem the type to believe in 5G. I half expect him to communicate through an empty can and a piece of string.
Before we can react, he steps in front of us and waves the sage stick in wide circles, wafting smoke over us. I glance at Anna and Gemma, silently pleading for one of them to explain what fresh hell they’ve dragged me into.
“Hi!” Gemma says brightly as a short, voluptuous woman steps into view. She’s dressed in a flowing boho-style dress with a blue paisley pattern. She’s wearing Jesus sandals and rhythmically banging a small cowhide drum.
“What’s with the drum?” I ask, nodding my head towards the woman.
“It’s for your energy,” the skinny man replies, as if it’s obvious.
“Of course,” I deadpan.
I shoot Gemma a look, wondering how she’s this enthusiastic.
“Where are we?” I whisper-shout at Anna.
“Welcome to our Solstice Retreat,” the woman announces. At least she’s finally stopped banging the bloody drum. “Your friend Gemma here has told me someone’s in need of healing.”
“I think I might start crying again,” I say.
Anna loops an arm over my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug. “Ignore her. She’s just a little fragile at the moment.”
“Come, I’ll show you to your cabin, and then we can join the rest of the guests. We’re so pleased to have you here,” the woman continues, gesturing to herself with a smile. “I’m Rose, and this,” she says, nodding towards the hippy beanpole who is now spinning in circles with his smudge stick, “is my husband, Gary.”
We’re led to our cabin, which features a linoleum kitchen, laminate flooring, and a shared bedroom with three single beds squeezed together. The bathroom, however, is surprisingly large, with a full-sized bathtub, a single sink, and a spacious shower.
“I hope you didn’t pay too much for this,” I say to the girls, dropping my bag onto one of the beds.
“Just try to enjoy it. At least we’re together,” Gemma says, hopeful.
I nod, forcing a small smile. She’s right. This is a thoughtful gesture—they meant well. I shouldn’t be ungrateful. If it weren’t for them, I’d be at home, alone, crying into a carton of ice cream. They’ve gone to the effort of organising and paying for this weekend, so the least I can do is try to appreciate it.
If this were any other time, I’d probably be laughing with them, enjoying the absurdity of it all. But I can’t. My mind is trapped in a constant state of missing Lucas. My heart is so broken, it physically hurts. No matter how much I sleep, I remain exhausted. I’m not sure I remember feeling anything but this anymore.
“Come on, we better meet with the others,” Gemma says, holding my hand and leading me to the central deck.
Twelve other guests are seated around a large, square table, chatting amongst themselves. Eleven women, all older, and one man who, from what I can tell, has a thick Canadian accent. Friendly chatter fills the air as Gary emerges from a nearby cabin, balancing three large mugs on a tray. He hands each of us a cup of tea and I offer him a polite smile in return, reluctantly accepting the mug.
Please, for the love of God, let this not be laced with LSD.
As I sip the tea quietly, the others begin introducing themselves to the group. Their voices blur together as I half listen, not quite ready to engage.
I’m extracted from my thoughts when the space falls silent. I blink, realising the everyone is expectantly staring at me.
Anna nudges me with her elbow. “This is April,” she announces. I force a small smile and give a brief nod. That’s all they’re getting from me.
A small, pale, middle-aged woman leans over to me.
“Hi, I’m Moira,” she offers with a sprightly smile. “Is this your first time?”
I nod silently.
“This is my third retreat with Rose and Gary. They’re amazing. It’s a real awakening journey…”
I nod along, feigning interest while my mind drifts. Her words fade into background noise, just like everything else around me.
Rose joins us at the table, clapping her hands and rubbing them excitedly. “Alright, team! We’re going to start with some sound healing before giving you a short break. Tonight, we’ll commence the fire ritual, and tomorrow morning we’ll dive into breathwork. Who’s excited?”
What the fuck is a fire ritual?
The guests nod and murmur their enthusiasm, offering enthusiastic smiles. Moira looks like she’s about to come in her pants. I glance sideways at Anna and Gemma, both of whom are beaming. Without excusing myself, I stand and slip away. I head inside the cabin where I crawl into the small bed, pulling the covers over me. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I fade into sleep.
I wake to wan daylight. Rolling over, I tap my phone screen, checking Instagram, DMs, message requests, emails—anything. Desperately hoping that somehow, Lucas has sent me a message, some small sign that he’s thinking of me. But nothing.
Needing to distract myself, I decide on a long soak while the girls are still at their sound healing. I trudge into the bathroom, open a pink bath bomb, and fill the tub. Dropping it in, I watch as it fizzes, releasing ripples of pink and glitter across the surface. I strip off my clothes, the scent of raspberry floating through the warm room. I dip my toe in to check the temperature before I immerse myself.
Reaching over to my phone, I press play on the audiobook I started weeks ago, hoping the soothing voices will drown out any loitering thoughts of Lucas. I close my eyes and tip my head back to let the audiobook lull me into relaxation, when suddenly, the front sliding door flies open, groaning on its tracks as a metallic hiss reverberates through the cabin.
The girls are back.
Anna strides into the bathroom, unfazed by the fact I’m naked and covered in pink glitter. She raises her eyebrows at me, surprised. “Hey! You’re out of bed.”
“Obviously,” I say, pulling the bubbles higher over my chest so I don’t flash her my nipples. “I’ve seen your tits, April. Don’t be shy. They’re great,” she says, waving her hand in front of her. I stare at her, waiting for her to explain why she’s barged in, but she just stands there as a few seconds pass before she speaks again.
“How did you sleep?”
“Well. I think,” I say.
“Good.” She nods. “So, sound healing was fucked.”
“What?” I sit up a bit too fast, sending bubbles sliding off me, nipples now making their grand appearance.
Before I can cover myself, Gemma barges in, leaning against the door-frame with a grin. “You’re up!” she says.
“I was just telling April about sound healing,” Anna says.
“Oh God. That was not sound healing,” Gemma replies, rolling her eyes.
Curiosity gets the better of me. “Why? What happened?”
My audiobook pipes up in the background.
“Oh, Damian. Yes. Right there. Fuck, I love it when you fuck my tits with your big, throbbing cock.”
The three of us freeze.
“Nice choice in relaxation material,” Anna says, raising an eyebrow and looking impressed.
“Please, continue,” I say, face burning.
“So,” Anna says, “they had us lying on freezing bloody tiles for two fucking hours! There was this woman making sounds with a bunch of bowls, and at first, the music was alright, quite relaxing even. But then, out of nowhere, I felt this sharp jab in the middle of my forehead.”
“What was it?” I ask, eyes wide.
“Gary skewered me with a bloody acupuncture stick. Right in the middle of my forehead!” she says. “I’m certain that wasn’t to code. But that’s not the worst of it. Just as I’m starting to get over the whole unsolicited acupuncture trauma, the woman playing the bowls starts screaming hymns right into my ear. Screaming! ”
“That’s not even the half of it,” Gemma says, crossing her arms. “I had that Moira woman lying next to me bawling her eyes out, and I’m pretty sure someone farted. It stank.”
“I assumed that was you,” Anna says, looking at Gemma.
“I don’t fart!”
Gemma definitely farts.
Anna scoffs, then looks at me. “Oh, by the way, Rose said you need to get out of the bath. We’re doing the fire ritual.”
“Right now?”
“Like, right now. She sounded pissed .”
I glance down at my naked, glitter-covered self, and just as I’m about to argue, there’s a knock at the door. Jesus Christ , can’t a heartbroken woman just take a fucking bath? My eyes widen as Rose ducks her head through the doorway.
“The fire ritual is about to start. It would be nice if you actually participated in this activity, April.” She shoots me a scolding look. She’s waiting for my response when the audiobook pipes up again, “Yeah, baby, you like me fucking these juicy tits? I’m gonna come all over them. Then I’m going to rub it all over you before I fuck your mouth and come in there as well.”
Rose’s mouth pops open, horrified.
Fabulous.
Well, the fire ritual was a fucking disaster. What was meant to be some sort of profound, spiritual experience—writing down our fears and judgments, sharing them with the group, and ceremoniously burning them to let go—devolved into utter chaos. Gary couldn’t even light the fire, Rose’s speech made it sound like we were summoning Gods, and Anna turned her moment into a full-blown self-love ode to her tits. To top it all off, the skies opened, drenching everything.
I’m surprised we didn’t drink each others blood or join hands and sing “Kumbaya.”
Thank fuck we’re going home tomorrow.