Chapter Seven Pole Position
Chapter Seven
Pole Position
. . . but Bryan and Delta should be able to help me with that, though, shouldn’t they?
Yes, yes.
They can help me understand Why.
They can help me sort myself out – so that I don’t lose my lovely, patient girlfriend.
They’ve got to.
Otherwise, my already difficult life is going to get a hell of a lot worse.
Bryan and Delta should be able to help me out a treat – along with helping my two best friends, into the bargain.
I know Jack and Leo very well, and I know that if I’d come up with another therapeutic session idea too soon after the mushrooms they would have had none of it.
Timing is everything in life, and while I feel like I’ve lost my mojo in a lot of ways, I don’t think my ability to time things right is one of them.
Two months is more than long enough for my best friends to reflect on their experiences while on the magic mushrooms, and reach some conclusions.
Mainly that they are both carrying some deeply rooted anxieties around with them – probably even more than they realised before that night in Gormley.
On the four occasions I see them in that eight-week period, the conversation often returns to what the mushrooms highlighted for each of us. It’s playing on their minds as much as it is on mine.
And at no point in these conversations do I mention anything about Bryan and Delta.
Not until I know Jack and Leo are ready to hear it.
Bryan and Delta O’Dowd are a couple whose business I helped get off the ground a while back.
I didn’t end up doing a whole lot of work with them, as they only needed some guidance about what kinds of events they should hold to drum up business, and who to target for attendance – but I enjoyed my short time with them, nonetheless.
I never actually thought I’d be in a situation where I’d want to take them up on their services – but the same could be said for Zitana, and look what happened there.
Bryan and Delta are the owners and runners of Motive888, a company dedicated to giving clients a good kick up the arse.
Proverbially speaking, of course.
Both ex-soldiers, they are the kinds of healthy, attractive, forthright people that are built to motivate others – usually through the mediums of shouting, activewear and a complete intolerance of negativity.
They run one-, three- and seven-day boot camps out of their rather lovely farm, buried deep in the countryside – where they can scream positivity at their clients as loudly as they like without upsetting anyone.
I know for a fact (because I used it in the promotional material I designed for them) that these boot camps have helped people motivate themselves out of the kinds of rut I currently find myself in.
Unlike Nautilus and his bloody mushrooms, Bryan and Delta have multiple testimonials from customers that prove they know what they’re doing.
And they’re genuine reviews as well. I know, because I’ve done my due diligence on this one to an almost paranoid degree. Not making the same mistake twice.
And I’m not making the mistake of suggesting a day-long boot camp at the Motive888 farm to Jack and Leo until I’m fairly sure they’ll agree to it.
Which they do, after a trip down the pub, where I get them both good and drunk before suggesting it.
‘Oh, screw it, why not,’ Jack says, rocking back and forth on his bar stool a little. ‘I could do with a bit of motivation in my life.’ He slaps his stomach. ‘And losing a few pounds. They do that, don’t they? These people you’re on about?’
I nod enthusiastically. ‘Yes. They have a long record of helping people lose weight and rediscover their sense of self-worth.’
‘The stuff it says here about how they help people with their phobias is interesting,’ Leo pipes up, looking up from his phone.
He’s less drunk than Jack, but still susceptible to a bit of light cajoling.
Especially when Bryan and Delta’s website is so well put together and informative.
I like to think I had a hand in that when I helped them get the business kickstarted.
‘It certainly is!’ I agree.
Jack nods approvingly. As well he might. Agoraphobia is specifically mentioned as a phobia that Bryan and Delta have tackled in the past, with a great deal of success for those suffering from it.
‘I can’t do it for another couple of weeks,’ Leo says. ‘The paper is way too busy for me to have a day off. It’s the council elections next week as well, which will mean things will get even busier.’
‘No problem,’ I assure him. ‘I can book us in for next month.’ And then I drop the bombshell that should head off any last objections. ‘My treat,’ I tell them with a smile.
‘Are you sure?’ Leo asks, a bit doubtful.
‘Of course. It’s my idea.’
‘Alright, I’m in,’ Jack announces confidently.
‘Should be a nice day out in the country, if nothing else.’ He smiles broadly, but I know that underneath that smile is a broad vein of anxiety that has come to the surface more and more since the night of the mushrooms. This will do him a power of good, I just know it.
‘Okay, let’s do it,’ Leo agrees. He isn’t trying to hide his anxiety at all. It’s writ large across his face – and has been for a long time.
I’m afraid to say I see much the same expression when I look in the mirror these days.
But Bryan and Delta O’Dowd should have some help for all of that!
With my friends convinced into joining me, all I have to do now is book us on the course, and buy myself some new activewear that won’t make me look too fat.
Or too skinny.
I have one of those physiques that can go either way.
Ring ring.
Ring ring.
‘Are you going to answer that?’ Jack asks, glancing over at me with a look of annoyance on his face. ‘Could be Annie? Or some work for you?’
No. I’m not going to answer it. Not even if it is work. Or Annie.
I’m not going to answer my phone because right now I’m having too much of a hard time processing what’s in this bloody waiver I’m being asked to sign.
It’s making me sweat.
And it’s not even hot in here.
Even my heart is racing a little, reading all about what may or may not be likely to happen to me in the next eight hours of my life.
I send the call to my answering service, allowing me to fully concentrate on what I’m about to let myself in for.
When you hear ‘boot camp’, you think of people dressed in army fatigues making you do jumping jacks and press-ups, don’t you?
And I’m sure those will be part of today’s fun and games, but I’m not sure they would, and I quote: cause strain to the human body that only those with a decent level of physical fitness should take part in.
What else have these people got in store for us?
Enough to require an entire A4 sheet’s worth of tiny writing, that’s what.
‘You going to sign that, or what?’ Jack asks, impatient. ‘My biro’s out of ink.’
‘Have you read this?’ I reply, pointing at the offending page.
He shrugs. ‘Eh. All these are the same when you do one of these outdoor physical-activity-type things. They have to cover themselves legally, don’t they?’
‘It is pretty thorough, though,’ Leo remarks. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of group activities that could cause injury if instructions are not listened to, and may still result in injury, however unlikely.’
Nor do I. I don’t like the sound of it at all.
‘And what does participants may be exposed to emotional and mental thought processes that could affect them in a profound manner mean exactly?’ Leo continues.
Jack snatches the pen out of his hand. ‘Stop worrying so much. It’s just all legal stuff.’ He signs his sheet with a flourish, and hands Leo back the pen, before exiting the small cabin we’re stood in to go and join the small crowd of other boot campers.
Leo signs his sheet as well, with a lot more reluctance, and makes the same move outside, offering me a tight grin as he does so.
I stand there hovering over the damned thing, in an agony of indecision.
Why am I so reluctant? This was my idea, after all.
But I never expected this kind of warning prior to doing it. It’s . . . rather confronting.
I never felt like I’ve had a problem with confronting things before the accident. I’ve always taken Jack’s path, rather than Leo’s. But these days, that’s changed. For reasons I still can’t fathom.
My heart is racing as I look down at the sheet of paper, the pen a mere inch from it.
And then, my poor old heart nearly jumps out of my chest when my phone starts ringing again.
‘No!’ I wail, and thrust a hand into my pocket. I pull the stupid phone out, and hit the red button again without even looking at who’s calling.
I can feel the beginnings of a panic attack.
The hot flush. The throbbing face. The hitching breath.
It’s a feeling I’ve become all too familiar with.
I think I’m up to at least nine or ten of them since the bowling alley.
No. No. This is not going to happen, I order myself, taking a long series of slow, deep breaths. That’s what Google told me to do.
I’d be up to well over a dozen panic attacks without this helpful breathing method – and sure enough, it does the job now as well, calming me down again.
Sign the stupid sheet, and let’s get outside into some fresh air.
I scrawl my signature at the bottom, and go to join my friends. By the time I’m standing by their side, the panic attack signals have completely disappeared, thank God. Maybe just getting past the hurdle of signing the waiver was all I really needed to do.
‘Good morning, everybody!’ Bryan O’Dowd says in a voice that entertains not a jot of doubt. It is a good morning as far as Bryan O’Dowd is concerned. And therefore, it must objectively be a good morning to everybody, because his tone of voice demands it.
As does his clipped and extremely neat ginger beard. Bryan O’Dowd is a man very concerned with his own appearance. The clipped beard and all-over suntan convince me of that.