Chapter Six
Six
Dear Mrs Pearson,
This is confirmation of your booking with us at the Firefly Forest retreat:
You have been enrolled in our mind and body transformation programme for four weeks and I have attached a flipbook of information, so you know how we operate and what to expect. I hope this answers any questions you have, but please don’t hesitate to email me if you need anything else.
As it is less than a week until arrival, your booking is non-refundable.
We look forward to welcoming you.
All the best,
Tore Nilsen
I read the email with one eye open, then turned the light on and read it again as a text came through from the bank:
A payment of ￡4,010.24 has been made to Firefly Forest Retreat, Norway.
Oh, fuck. It all came flooding back as my brain woke up. Shit, shit, shit.
What a ridiculous thing to do. Four grand? My post-wine head was thumping. When was I supposed to be going again? Monday?! For fuck’s sake.
My phone started ringing and Mum’s sunny smile appeared on screen, her ginger hair in rollers.
‘Morning darling, how are you feeling?’
‘Tired and hungover.’
‘What? Dr. Fielding said no booze!’
‘I know, I know, but I ran into Mark on a date – can you believe it, Mum? Right under my nose.’ My voice cracked. ‘He didn’t know I was back in the flat, but still.’
‘A date?’ Mum’s jaw dropped. ‘The cheeky shit! You’re not even divorced yet! That boy needs to stay single for a few years and think about what he’s done before breaking anyone else’s heart.’
‘It won’t last – she’s allergic to dogs – but I went rage-shopping when I got home, and now I’ve got buyer’s remorse.’
‘Don’t worry, darling, I do it all the time. Your father nearly lost it when the half-price Christmas hampers started arriving in January. He wouldn’t know a bargain if one bopped him on the head.’
‘I wish it was just a hamper.’
‘Anything you buy online can be sent back within seven days for a full refund. Nothing to stress about. I’ll help you with it if you’re worried, darling. I know my rights.’
‘It’s not really something I can send back,’ I sighed. ‘I’ve booked onto a retreat in Norway for a month. Leaving on Monday.’
Mum stopped at that and frowned into her phone. ‘Okaaay… that’s a new one. Tell me more.’
‘It’s this cool celeb haunt that Abi recommended.
Scandi heaven apparently. I’m sure it’ll be amazing, but I haven’t really thought it through properly.
I’m going to need a new bikini and some furry boots and a yoga outfit.
And I know it’s cheeky, but I kind of assumed you guys would be OK to cover my weeks with the dogs while I’m away? ’
‘Doesn’t sound like we have much choice,’ she tutted. ‘Not that I can prise your father away from them, anyway. That man’s a sucker for a waggy tail. He’s been throwing the ball for over an hour now.’
‘Amazing, thanks Mum. I better get shopping then; I can’t downward dog next to Jennifer Lawrence in my current get-up.’
‘Will J-Law be there?’ Mum asked, excited.
I laughed. ‘I doubt it, but there should be some celebs – it’s that kind of place.’
‘Maybe I can book in too and leave your dad to it?’
‘There was only one space left – sorry Mum. And it’s quite pricey.’
‘I dread to think. You’ve lost all touch with reality when it comes to money. Your teenage self wouldn’t recognise you.’
I felt slightly ashamed. Fancy moaning because I was off to an expensive spa.
I thought of Ron outside in the cold, selling Big Issues and coping with actual life issues.
‘I know. I think with all the promotion disappointment and then this health scare, I wanted to treat myself. I’ve used my bonus to pay for it. ’
Mum shook her head in despair. ‘Money’s money, Sara. Just because it’s a bonus, doesn’t mean it doesn’t count. I suppose you work hard enough, though. You deserve to enjoy it.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘It’s not really me, anyway, that type of thing.
I can’t relax when holidays are too expensive.
I’d know exactly how much each minute had cost me and be messaging your dad non-stop to see if he thought it was worth it.
’ I laughed. ‘No. There’s a perfectly good jacuzzi at Enfield swimming baths that does me fine. ’
‘If you don’t mind sharing it with five men.’
‘Of course I don’t!’ Mum chuckled. ‘Why do you think I go there? You’ve got to get your kicks where you can at my age.’
‘Eww, Mum.’
‘Don’t you eww me, young lady, your time will come,’ she said. ‘You better get yourself in gear if you’re flying on Monday. Get shopping and packing. Don’t stress and don’t drink. Love you.’
After Mum hung up, I dragged my Louis Vuitton suitcase off the top of the wardrobe and flung it open.
Presumably I’d be in my swimming costume with a fluffy spa robe on most of the time, so I wouldn’t need too many clothes.
A couple of sparkly numbers for dinner and a few jumpers.
If ever there was a time for the Jimmy Choos, it was now.
I put them in the case, still in their shoeboxes, and there wasn’t much room for anything else, so I grabbed Louis’ little brother and made a matching pair.
Uggs, oversized angora jumpers in pink, yellow and black, three pairs of jeans.
Forty pairs of knickers and forty pairs of socks.
Biblical. Three bikinis, one tankini, one wetsuit, my kimono, karate outfit and skiing thermals. A solid baseline pack.
Trainers? Hmm. Three dresses or four? Shorts?
I pulled out hanger after hanger. An embarrassing number of garments still had their labels in.
Maybe I didn’t need to go shopping after all.
Crisp white T-shirts, tulip jeans, a leather jacket.
I performed a one-woman fashion show, trying on everything I owned and rediscovering treasures I’d long forgotten.
It’s the sort of thing Mark would have enjoyed when we first got together.
Slowly dressing up for him then taking it all off.
Lacy underwear in black and red, with a low-cut silky dress, a feather boa and a faux-fur coat – the more glamorous and outrageous, the more he liked it.
I’d dance for him while he’d sit and watch, peeling off layer after layer until there was nothing left.
Packing to go away without him didn’t feel right.
We’d travelled as a team for such a long time.
I always organised the sun creams and liquids, and he’d take care of the tech.
Chargers, adapters, speakers. Anything with a plug.
And now I had to think of everything myself again, having trained my brain away from it.
I’d never been on holiday on my own before and I couldn’t decide if it was terrifying or liberating.
What if I got lost? Or went missing? Would anyone care?
Would anyone realise? I pulled out a notepad and wrote down where I was staying, then took a photo and sent it to Mum and the HIIT Group Chat.
My friends and family could consider themselves briefed, whether they liked it or not.
The doorbell rang, interrupting my thoughts.
‘Alreet? Sara? It’s Jimbo about the decorating job.
’ A deep Geordie voice boomed through the speaker, and I buzzed him up.
I did a quick sweep around the flat to make sure there weren’t any knickers on the radiators.
My electric candles looked barely on as they glowed faintly in lines along the windowsills and dotted across the mantelpiece.
They needed new batteries. Another thing Mark was always in charge of. He had all the tiny screwdrivers.
I swallowed down a sob and opened the door.
‘Jimbo! How are you? Thanks for coming over on a school night.’
‘No problem, pet. Every night’s a school night for me, like.’
‘OK, well, I won’t keep you long. As you can see, it’s all on one level. Entrance hall, two bedrooms, the bathroom and this open-plan living space.’
‘Lovely. The walls and the woodwork, is it?’
‘Yes, the whole lot please. Mole’s Breath in the kitchen and bedrooms, White Swans in the bathroom and Green Goose everywhere else.’ I handed him the colour chart with the numbers circled.
‘Thinking of starting an ark?’ he chuckled. ‘Yep, nay problem. I can pick the paint up on Monday and be here for ten if you like?’
‘Anytime is fine. I’m away next week, so you’ll have the place to yourself. Let me grab you a key.’
I rummaged around in the kitchen drawer of doom, where the tenants had left the instruction manuals, the meter readings, three boxes of matches and all the keys.
Mark’s set were on his precious Chelsea keyring.
It felt strange handing them over to another man, knowing Mark would never need them again.
These daily reminders of our split were torture.
Each one another tiny link in the divorce chain.
‘Here you go. Help yourself to anything you need and call me if there’s a problem.’
‘Champion.’ Jimbo pocketed the keys with a nod. ‘I’ll text you some photos once it’s done.’
The flat was virtually empty apart from the clothes explosion in my bedroom, just those few half-dead candles and my plastic plants. A fresh lick of paint would make a world of difference; I’d get the carpets replaced and new furniture after Christmas, and start single life again in the new year.