Chapter Ten
Ten
How? How had this happened? I was a good person and didn’t deserve this on my holidays.
I’d walked with Henrik to the Sun Hut and was now crossed-legged on the floor in some kind of ‘let’s all have a breakdown together’ circle.
A pile of shoes had been left at the door, and there was a sour, sweaty smell about the place.
It was the first time I’d encountered the other guests and there were twelve of us in the circle.
Will and Celeste were to my right, a shiny Canadian couple on a gap year who were bursting at the seams with youth and positivity.
All nut-brown hair and dewy skin. Lucky bastards.
Ethel was on my left, a woman who was well into her seventies and walked with a gold cane.
Her chunky, mustard cardigan looked handmade, and her silver necklaces jangled as she told me about her drive over from Oslo.
Ethel had been to Firefly every year since she’d retired and was looking forward to her annual zen top-up.
I didn’t get chance to meet the others, but we were all embarking on this ‘transformational experience’ together, so no doubt I would. Although it would just be the three days of transformation for me. Which would be plenty.
‘Good morning!’ Henrik called. ‘I will be running the laughter workshop today.’ He flipped his hair into a bun and slipped off his shoes.
‘Good morrrrn-ing, Hen-rik!’ the group parroted back like cheeky schoolchildren.
I started to worry that this might be an interactive session. Would I be expected to explain why I couldn’t laugh anymore? To sit and think about where my giggle had gone?
Henrik stood in the centre of the circle, slowly turning to look each of us in the eye.
‘The aim of today is to have fun and let ourselves go,’ he said, lingering a second longer than necessary when he got to me.
His gaze was so intense it made me flutter.
‘There is no pressure here. Simply go with the flow and let’s see what comes.
The only thing I ask is that you try not to block your feelings. OK?’
There was a collective exhalation as we nervously smiled at each other.
‘Right. Are we ready? Everyone up,’ Henrik said, stretching out his hamstrings. We stayed in the circle, mirroring his moves as if he were an aerobics instructor. ‘Now, I want you to breathe into your feet. Feel the ground holding you up. No one is judging you here.’
Celeste nodded emphatically, gripping the mat with her bare finger-like toes.
I was totally judging her. I’d planned to have a pedicure when I got here, so my feet weren’t really fit for public viewing, and from what I could see, neither were Ethel’s.
Foot Finder would have a field day. I stood strong in my socks as Henrik moved on to some vigorous all over body shaking to expel the bad energy. I didn’t need bare feet to laugh.
‘We’ll start with some simple ha, ha, ha, hee, hee, hee,’ Henrik said, completely straight faced. Wizbit himself. I willed myself to join in with enthusiasm and vim, but I just couldn’t do it, so I silently mouthed along with the others and tried to get away with it.
‘And now an evil laugh. Mwah, ha, ha, ha, haaa.’ Tongues lolled about all over the place and there was a whiff of stale coffee breath in the air as everyone copied Henrik, panting like a pack of dehydrated dogs.
The Japanese couple opposite were already giggling away.
‘And clap in time!’ Henrik called. ‘HO. HO. Ha-ha-ha. HO. HO. Ha-ha-ha.’
I couldn’t pretend to clap, so I surrendered to the process and got involved with ho-ing and ha-ing. It was strangely liberating to go all in – and much easier than faking it. And once I relaxed and let myself go, I felt something inside me shift.
‘Now walk in a circle.’ Henrik’s eyes were twinkling again. Was this a wind up?
I followed Will, who marched behind a skipping Celeste, and the repetition of sounds punctuated the air like a drumbeat as we moved. The chanting felt almost meditational to start with, but once Henrik added in the walking, it was like being in a zombie apocalypse.
I stifled a snigger, and Henrik caught my eye.
‘Don’t hold it back, Sara,’ he shouted across the room.
Ethel snorted in my ear, and I lost my composure.
A guttural guffaw started rumbling in my chest as a happier version of myself tried to get out.
It didn’t really sound like me, but it had been a while since anything had properly cracked me up – maybe I didn’t recognise it anymore.
Whatever it was, I couldn’t hold it back.
The sight of this mad, gurning circle of strangers and the ludicrousness of even being in this situation was too much.
My snigger turned into a chuckle and then I got the giggles, until I was double chin laughing with my whole body.
My cheeks pushed into my eyes as I shrieked at the hilariousness of it all and I couldn’t breathe.
We took it in turns to be the person losing control of our faculties.
The hysteria was infectious, and by the end of the session, tears were rolling down my cheeks and I couldn’t really remember what it was that had tickled me so much in the first place.
The laughter stopped in the same way it had started, gradually going back down to silence.
Bubbles of excitement filled my stomach, and I felt elated.
Was this another gratis way the Norwegians got their kicks?
‘Amazing work,’ Henrik said, beaming around at us all. ‘Enjoy all those endorphins coursing through your veins. People forget to laugh when they become adults. Children laugh all the time. Loud and without fear. It’s incredibly good for you.’
‘Kinda cool,’ Will said with a smile.
‘Better than sex!’ Celeste added and everyone cheered. Except Will. ‘Not really,’ she said, giving him a hug.
Maybe I didn’t need a box of wine, after all. Not for the next few hours anyway. Although realistically, how often were we going to stand in a circle, laughing for no reason? I’d be needing a drink in between times.
‘Lunch is being served in the Orangery if you’d like to make your way over,’ Henrik hollered over the chatter as everyone came down from their natural high.
The mention of food had my stomach grumbling. It had been quite a morning.
‘I’m so hungry,’ I said, falling into step with Ethel. ‘I could eat a horse.’
‘The food here is fabulous. Are you a practising vegan?’ she asked, raising her eyebrow at my phrasing.
‘Ugh, no,’ I said, aghast. ‘I don’t know how they do it, do you? What is life without a bacon and egg buttie on a Sunday morning? And milk and cream – and butter! No, it’s not for me. I’ll be having the carnivore menu.’
Will stopped suddenly and turned. ‘You’ll be having the what?’ he snapped. ‘Celeste! You told me there was “no meat at the retreat”?’
‘There isn’t!’ Celeste replied wide-eyed. ‘It’s one of their slogans.’
‘Is it?’ I said, equally surprised.
‘What have you heard?’ Will whispered, clearly desperate. ‘How do I get it?’
‘I don’t know! Sorry, I assumed…’
‘It’s her first day, remember,’ Ethel said with a chuckle as the restaurant came into view. It was a huge, wooden building, festooned with dotty bunting and fairy lights.
Tore stood in the doorway and welcomed us in one by one.
He nodded, then I nodded, although I was slightly freaked out by his overenthusiastic smile.
Weird. The dining area looked set for Valentine’s Day, with candlelit tables for two dotted between the fir trees, each one made from a different type of rustic wood and decorated with jars of dahlias.
The air felt fresh and green, yet cosy at the same time.
It reminded me of Dad’s old greenhouse, a labyrinth of leaves decorated with shiny, red tomatoes.
He’d slice them up and sprinkle them with salt, and we’d eat them with crusty bread and butter.
A hush descended as I followed Ethel up to the buffet. ‘Am I missing something?’ I whispered.
She put her finger to her lips and pointed to a handwritten sign next to the cauliflower rice.
Please observe silence during lunchtime.
I looked around and realised everyone had gone quiet.
Only the clinkety-clank of cutlery and the shuffling of chairs could be heard.
It was stifling. It took me back to a failed twenty-four-hour sponsored silence in high school, which I’d accidentally cocked up by answering my phone.
My brain wanted to run outside and shout into the sky, but my stomach was gurgling away and talking a lot of sense, so I decided to zip my mouth and grab a quick bite.
I moved along the line like the Little Mermaid, using my body to communicate.
Big, excited eyes at the man spooning out jacket potatoes, and after several encouraging nods from my side, he eventually gave me a second.
I wrinkled my nose at the aubergine lady and smiled at the bean chilli girl, then took a seat at an empty table and looked around.
Would it be frowned upon to get my phone out?
Nobody else had, so probably. Although I couldn’t do much on it without any Wi-Fi.
Flick through photos and reread old messages.
What was the point of that? I’d just have to sit and eat quietly, with nothing to distract me.
Like a sociopath. I smiled at Celeste and rolled my eyes – like what the helll, gurlll?
– but she stared straight through me, then turned away.
Ethel was far too busy with her broccoli to notice me trying to make eye contact, so I gave up and ate my food instead.
Celeste was right – no meat at the retreat – and my potato was devoid of dairy.
I’d have liked it slathered in butter and cheese, but my churning mime hadn’t resonated with the chefs.
Instead, they’d given me an onion stuffed with jackfruit, and a pepper sauce.
I was determined to hate it, but it was annoyingly delicious.
Meaty, even. Maybe I was hallucinating because I was so hungry.
Or maybe they knew what they were doing in that kitchen.
The sound of my own chewing rang through my ears, and I felt overly conscious as I swallowed each mouthful.
As if everyone could hear the gulps. Scoffing sushi in the work loos had become my norm, and being so far down the other side of the spectrum felt very weird.
I’d never had so much time and space to consider my food.
Once we’d all finished our beetroot brownies, Tore wandered through the restaurant like an exam invigilator, silently putting a note on each table as some soft piano music started to play. We were being gently woken from our tranquillity, and it was a relief to have something to focus on again.
We hope you enjoyed your lunch, proudly vegan and cooked from organic ingredients grown in Firefly Forest. This afternoon we meet at the sauna pods at 4 p.m. Please wrap up warm and bring swimwear and towels.
Tore, Henrik and Jonas
Yes. Time for some luxury. A sauna would warm me up, if nothing else.
I trudged back to my cabin through the snowstorm, knowing it would be almost as cold inside as it was outside.
I’d have to get the feeling back in my fingers before I could attempt another fire.
I braced myself, but I was hit by a delicious heat as soon as I opened the door.
Bizarrely, the fire was still going strong.
But it was more than that – the cabin felt homely and welcoming, and I was warm enough to take off my coat and bobble hat.
In fact, I was suddenly desperate to get them off.
The wood burner was roaring wildly, like a mini bonfire in the middle of the room, and there was a note under a stone on the hearth:
Sara,
Apologies – there was a problem with the heater in your cabin, which is why it was so cold.
I’ve fixed it and built another fire, so it should be plenty hot from now.
Henrik :)
Amazing. I had not been looking forward to shivering in my PJs and burying myself in blankets. The hot air thawed out my bones, starting with my toes and working its way up. I was a real-life Ready Brek kid glowing warm from the inside out.
I had a few hours to kill before my sauna session, so I made one of Henrik’s delicious coffees and hunkered down in bed with my Kindle.
I was exhausted from all the laughing and crying and eating.
Reading was my only entertainment option, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d picked up a book for pleasure.
My life was spent scanning bricks of paperwork for case-winning nuggets and staying hypervigilant in case there were inconsistencies or mistakes.
Reading for fun just didn’t happen anymore.
I’d been a voracious reader as a child, reading with a torch under the covers after lights out.
The morning was always too far away to find out what happened next.
And I’d taken that level of compulsion into my work.
I had to know what the story was and how we were going to win as quickly as possible.
There was always a way to win; it was just a case of working out how.