Chapter 14
It was five fifty-five the next morning when Lorraine crept downstairs, knocking on Helena’s door as she passed.
Because there were only roughly forty metres separating Villa Celestia on one side of the bord de mer from the beach and the sea, she’d chosen to put on her swimming costume and cover up with the monogrammed bathrobe from her room.
Waiting in the hallway as they’d arranged, she was pleased to see Helena wearing her bathrobe too when she ran down the stairs. ‘Great minds,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
The road was almost traffic-free, just the occasional car and the daily large rubbish truck, stopping and starting to empty the bins from businesses and villas along the route, and Helena and Lorraine were quickly on the deserted beach.
Leaving their bathrobes a short distance from the tideline on the beach, the two of them walked into the sea.
‘Gosh, it’s freezing,’ Helena said, stopping as the water lapped her feet and ankles. ‘Was this a good idea?’
‘Keep walking and when it’s deeper quickly immerse yourself,’ Lorraine said, walking into deeper water.
‘It’s the only way. The wild swimming club I belong to at home taught me that.
Come on. It’s deep enough where I am,’ and Helena watched as Lorraine threw herself into the water and started swimming.
Helena gritted her teeth and did as Lorraine suggested.
The cold hit her body as she plunged her shoulders under the water, almost taking her breath away, but as she started to swim, the cold shock receded.
Within minutes, she was doing a vigorous crawl and feeling buoyed up both physically and mentally.
She turned and swam back to join Lorraine.
‘Feeling better about the cold now?’ Lorraine asked as they both floated on their backs.
Helena nodded. ‘It’s wonderful. It’s years since I’ve swum in the sea and I’d forgotten how different it is to swimming in a pool. I was hoping the villa would have a swimming pool, but with the sea so close, I can understand why there isn’t one.’
‘There’s nothing like wild swimming to wake you and make you feel energised,’ Lorraine said. ‘Time to go back now, I think. I’m starving.’
Five minutes later, they were both shrugging their wet bodies into their bathrobes, before making their way back over the beach and across the bord de mer.
‘Same time tomorrow?’ Lorraine said as they reached Villa Celestia.
‘Definitely. And I’m going to try to persuade Mandy to join us. Thank you for suggesting this morning,’ Helena smiled. ‘See you at breakfast.’
Back in her room, she jumped under the power shower and revelled in the hot water as it pounded her body. What a way to start the day.
* * *
Sandy, already seated at the table, coffee and croissant in front of her, looked up when Helena, followed by Lorraine, walked into the dining room. ‘You two are positively glowing.’
‘That’s what an early-morning swim in the sea does for you,’ Lorraine laughed as she helped herself and Helena to coffee. ‘Join us tomorrow?’
‘Perhaps,’ Sandy said.
‘It’s certainly made me hungry,’ Helena said as she placed croissants and pain au chocolates on two plates, handing one to Lorraine.
When everyone, with the exception of Becky, whom, they all suspected, was not an early riser, was sitting around the table having breakfast, Sandy asked if anyone wanted a one-to-one with her that morning with their work in progress.
‘Maybe next week,’ Liz said. ‘Right now I’ve just got the premise of a story, the main characters and a couple of scene ideas. Certainly not enough to show anyone – or even discuss it.’
‘I’ve brought a printout of what I’ve done so far,’ Helena said. ‘May I give that to you to read and have a chat later in the week please?’
‘Of course, I’ll put you down for Wednesday morning,’ Sandy answered.
‘I’d like to finish my edits and then have a chat about an idea for a two-book mini series,’ Isobel said. ‘So one day next week would be better for me.’
‘I’ve got a printout too,’ Mandy said, and Sandy wrote her down for Thursday morning.
‘I didn’t think to do a printout,’ Lorraine said. ‘Can I send you the file?’
‘Of course, so Friday morning for your one-to-one.’
Becky arrived at that moment, poured herself a coffee and joined them at the table, ready for the first informal session of the week to begin.
Sandy opened the bag at her side and pulled out some notepaper and several pens. ‘Help yourself to a pen and some paper. I won’t be setting many exercises, but I do like to do one on the first Monday of every retreat.’
Sandy waited whilst everyone placed some paper and a pen in front of themselves.
‘I never write by hand. I’ll use my laptop,’ Becky said.
Sandy looked at her. ‘In this instance, I would please ask you to join with the others and use pen and paper,’ she said, pushing both towards Becky. ‘Writing by hand connects to the brain in a different, beneficial way.’
Becky shrugged and reluctantly picked up a pen.
‘Something that beginner writers struggle with is finding their writing voice,’ Sandy began.
‘The one that identifies them, sets them apart from other writers. Developing your natural voice is a combination of reading a lot, writing a lot and in that writing being as honest as possible as to who you are deep inside,’ she said.
‘So today we are going to talk about childhoods. Specifically the memory you have of your own particular one.’
‘So long ago, I’m not sure I remember that much,’ Isobel said.
Everyone laughed before Sandy continued.
‘Today’s exercise is designed to help you reach deep into yourself and find your true feelings. Right, you have five minutes to write down something you remember about your childhood. It can be a good memory, a sad memory, a reflective one – you just need to write down your true feelings about it.’
Sandy pressed the alarm button on her phone and sat back. Five minutes later, everyone except Becky, was still writing when the alarm burst into life.
Sandy took a breath. She’d seen Becky give an almost unnoticeable flinch at the mention of childhood memories.
Watched her fiddle with the pen before writing the occasional word or phrase on the piece of paper in front of her.
Something about her body language disturbed Sandy.
She sensed that Becky was confronting some bad memories and inner demons and that should always be done in private, not with an audience.
Everyone was entitled to have their secrets.
‘Okay. I’m not going to ask anyone to share what they’ve written this morning, but what I want you to remember from this exercise is that authenticity for your characters comes from within you – that is how you find your true writer’s voice. Let’s move on,’ she added briskly.
Watching Becky exhale a breath and screw up her piece of paper, she knew she’d taken the right decision.
* * *
An hour later as everyone drifted off to do their own thing for the rest of the morning, Becky picked up the piece of paper she’d screwed up with relief earlier and returned to her room. Standing in front of the window looking out over the bord de mer towards the sea, she gave a cynical laugh.
Remember and write about her childhood? Discuss it with everyone?
No chance. Perhaps if she’d known that Sandy did not intend them to share their writing, then she might have written down the stark truth about her upbringing.
The childhood she had buried so deep in her subconscious, memories of it rarely disturbed her.
No, she would never be able to put words on paper about it.
Instead she’d tried to list the things that, for her, were part of an ideal childhood.
Even that had been harder than she’d expected.
A loving safe home. No rows or bangs in the night to frighten.
Food lovingly prepared and on the table every day.
Cuddles at bedtime. Books to read. Toys to play with.
All things missing from her own childhood.
Sandy’s words about authenticity and your writer’s voice coming from within you echoed in Becky’s mind.
She enjoyed writing and taking the photographs for her Instagram and other social media accounts.
She preferred to showcase her current world – that was her authenticity.
There was no need and absolutely no way she was going to delve back into a past she had deliberately left behind.