Chapter 13
SHORTLY BEFORE SEVEN THEY BEGAN TO TRICKLE IN, alone or in pairs, depositing jackets on the rail borrowed from Marian that Lydia had left outside the studio doors, chatting while they took off footwear.
They gave Lydia their names as she ticked her list. All shapes, all ages, the youngest still in her teens by the look of her, the oldest somewhere in her seventies. All female.
Because it was Monday, one of the extra nights she’d added, none of the people she’d come to know best were there.
Most of the names meant little to her, but the faces were becoming more familiar.
She’d remember the names better, now that she was looking at them on a list and encountering the people who owned them every week.
‘Complete beginner,’ a few told her.
‘Done a little,’ a couple of others said.
‘Dicky hip,’ one admitted.
‘Bad knees.’
‘Weak back.’
‘Awful balance.’
‘Can’t tell my right from my left.’
To all, she said what she’d said before every class in Dublin: ‘Just do what you can. Listen to your body and don’t compare yourself to anyone else.’
When everyone had arrived she regarded them seated on their mats, looking expectantly at her, just as she’d imagined them. She took a deep breath, aware of the inner trembling that had been with her since she’d got up that morning. The children were one thing: this was quite another.
‘Thank you all for coming. I really appreciate it. I’m not sure how this will go, but I’m grateful to you for giving me the chance to find out. I’ve taught yoga for years – I’m just slightly nervous this evening, because this is my first adult class . . . in a while, so please bear with me.’
Looking from one face to another, she saw their encouraging smiles, their silent support, their wish for her to succeed. Sisterhood came to mind. She closed her eyes and summoned her old workplace in Dublin. You can do this, her boss said. It’s like breathing for you. She opened her eyes.
‘Yoga,’ she began, ‘is a way of waking up your body, of letting it know you love and respect it. Yoga is never about pain or punishment – it’s about enjoyment, and release, and satisfaction. It’s about giving your body exactly what it needs.’
With every word she spoke, her confidence returned. As with the infant class, she felt herself slipping on her yoga-teacher persona as easily as a beloved dress. It was going to be OK.
‘I know I have mixed abilities here, so I’ll be gauging everyone’s level and keeping a good eye out as we go through the class – and sometimes I’ll offer a more advanced version of what we’re doing, for those who feel able.
Give every movement your full attention.
Let your day go, whatever kind of a day it’s been, and forget about the person on the next mat.
This is your hour, your gift to yourself.
So let’s start by taking a deep, loving breath in through your nose. ’
The hour passed, not without its mishaps. A few stumbles, a few nervous giggles, a few frustrated hisses. ‘Don’t be hard on yourself,’ Lydia told them. ‘If you don’t quite get there, try again.’
During the final relaxation she remained silent, letting them digest what they’d experienced, allowing them to let everything go, undisturbed. Afterwards, as they got back into shoes and jackets, they told her what they thought.
‘I didn’t know what to expect – I absolutely loved it!’
‘I had no idea how tightly wound up I was – I feel so much looser now. That spinal twist you did was beautiful.’
‘I loved that too.’
‘I could do the forward fold every night.’
‘Do the ones you like as often as you can,’ Lydia told them. ‘Anywhere you can, anytime you think of them. Make yoga part of your day and your body will thank you.’
‘See you next Monday,’ they said as they filed out, and as she worked her way through the rest of the week she made many more new acquaintances, and everyone seemed happy with what she was offering.
They all loved the studio, with its view of the sea. Nobody asked what she was going to do with the rest of the house once it was finished. Maybe they thought it would upset her to be asked about future plans, reminding her of the ones that would never come to pass.
‘They’re going down well,’ she told her parents midway through the week. ‘People seem to like them.’
‘How’s the sleep?’ they asked. ‘Are you eating enough? Are you taking your supplements? Has your GP booked your next scan?’
‘I mentioned Chance House to Terence,’ her father said. ‘He’ll be happy to take care of the legal stuff for you when you put it on the market. He sends his best wishes.’
She didn’t tell them about the wedding reception that was taking place on Saturday. She wasn’t sure they’d approve, so she played safe and said nothing.
On Friday night, Susan rang. ‘Just checking in.’
‘All set for tomorrow?’
‘We are. How about you?’
‘I’m going to Marian’s.’
‘Good. I wish you were staying here,’ Susan said. ‘I mean, not moving away. I get why you’re going, and I know it makes sense, but it’s still a shame, isn’t it? We’ll all miss you.’
A lump in her throat. ‘I’ll bring the baby back,’ she said, ‘for a visit.’
‘Make sure you do. By the way, Andrew has a key to drop the furniture in tomorrow – Marian gave it to him so he wouldn’t disturb you.’
Lydia felt a bolt of déjà vu – her tatty dressing gown, her ancient slippers. After the call she was unsettled.
This might be more difficult than she’d anticipated.
She was still in bed when she heard him. She’d intended not to go out, but now it seemed mean to ignore him. She showered and dressed and went to the hall to find him emerging from the dining room.
‘All done?’
‘All done. I hope I didn’t wake you.’
‘No. They have a lovely day for it.’ Clear blue sky and April sunshine, no sign at all of clouds. Not that warm, but nothing like the bitter cold of her own wedding day. She remembered hunching in the church porch as Denny had taken snaps. ‘Are you the photographer today?’
‘I am.’ He gave the eyebrow lift. ‘I could hardly say no.’
‘You should bring everyone around to the back if the weather holds, get the sea view into a few of the photos.’
‘Good idea, thanks.’
She was glad Gareth had taken off with a couple of friends for a city break in London.
She could imagine his reaction if he heard her inviting a small crowd into the garden.
He was endearingly protective of it, nursing the lawn along, keeping the weeds at bay in the various beds, charging her with equal vigilance in his absence.
After Andrew left she went online, and whiled away the rest of the morning scrolling through nursery furniture websites, shocked at the price of cots and changing tables, feeding chairs and nappy bins. Small babies evidently cost big money: just as well she had a big house to sell.
As one o’clock approached – the reception was set for three – she packed a bag with towel and togs, just in case, and got the bicycle out. As she rounded the corner of the house she came face to face with a woman – fortyish, athletic build – getting out of a small blue van. Already?
‘Lydia.’ Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bunch.
She was dressed for work in black trousers and white shirt.
‘I’m Cathy, good to meet you. I’m doing the catering today.
This is my first trip of two – I just want to see the lie of the land, and drop in desserts.
I’ll bring the hot food closer to the time. ’
Lydia shook the offered hand. ‘Welcome to Chance House.’
‘Thank you. It’s something else, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have a clue it was here from the road.’
‘No . . . I hope Susan warned you about the limited resources.’
‘She did indeed, and I’m not worried – I’m self-sufficient when I have to be. By the way, I have a daughter, Clodagh, in junior infants. She loves your yoga.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. They’re a great little group.’
‘I’m raging I didn’t sign up myself for your classes here – I suppose you’re full?’
‘I am, but I’ve had a few more enquiries, so I’m thinking of offering a Friday class.’ Why not? Her evenings were free, and it was only an hour. Two more names had joined her waiting list, so Cathy would make it eight. Nearly enough.
‘Oh, please put me down if you do.’ Cathy took a white card from her wallet and passed it to Lydia. ‘You might let me know if it goes ahead.’
‘I will.’
‘Are things getting easier for you?’ she asked then, her voice softening.
‘. . . They are.’ Were they? Maybe. Sometimes.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Have a good day.’
‘And you.’
She pedalled into the village, bound for Marian and Tom’s house. Come to us, Marian had said. We’ll have lunch and then we’ll head off for a swim somewhere if the day is nice. We’ll have to bring Jack – Tom’s meeting a client in Galway.
Turning on to the road where they lived, she was reminded of the last time she’d cycled this way, the day she’d told Kathleen and Brendan of the pregnancy, and Kathleen’s furious reaction. Soon she must let Brendan know that she was carrying a girl, not wanting them to hear it from anyone else.
She found Marian slicing a quiche into wedges on the patio while Jack kicked a ball around the garden.
‘There you are – I thought we’d grab the chance to eat al fresco. I can give you a fleece if you need it. Jack, mind the flowers. Anything happening yet at your place, Lydia?’
‘Just the caterer. She arrived as I was leaving.’
‘Cathy. I have her Clodagh in my class – she’s the little redhead with the glasses. They’re lucky with the weather anyway.’ She put a plate in front of Lydia. ‘Help yourself to salad.’
After lunch they headed to the beach, although by now the sun was dipping behind clouds, more hidden than visible.
A few others were there ahead of them, and even some hardy souls in the water.
As they sat in fleeces on a big orange towel, watching Jack digging up sand at the water’s edge, Marian told her she was worried about Kathleen.
‘She’s not good. She’s really low. Brendan has his hands full. I go up sometimes to give him a break, just to sit with her, but I may as well not be there. All she does is stare into space.’
‘What does the doctor say?’
‘She’s given her medication, but Kathleen won’t take it. And she refuses point blank to try counselling.’
Will it bring him back? she’d asked, when Lydia had told them of the pregnancy.
And then her sudden, shocking outburst – Don’t!
– when Brendan had attempted to intervene, and to Lydia: I wish he’d never met you!
It’s your fault! The sting of her words persisted – but Lydia did feel sympathy.
Sounded like Kathleen was a long way from learning to live with it.
After pulling off socks and shoes and paddling in water that hadn’t yet lost its winter chill they decided against a full swim.
They built sandcastles and collected shells with Jack, and then got ice-cream cones from a van that appeared at the top of the beach.
‘He’d show up in a tornado,’ Marian said.
It was the perfect distraction. Whenever her thoughts drifted to Chance House, she pulled them back. On the way home they stopped in the village and Lydia bought bags of chips from the takeaway, and they sat on the school wall to eat them.
By the time they got back to the house, Tom had returned from Galway and was uncorking wine. He greeted Lydia with a hug, something he’d never done before they’d lost Damien. ‘You had a good day?’ he asked her.
‘We did, lovely.’
He was pining for his younger brother. She could see it in his eyes, sense the sadness behind his smile. Damien’s death had changed them all.
‘Would you stay the night?’ Marian asked Lydia. ‘I can give you pyjamas’ – but Lydia said no, weary from an afternoon of having to put on a cheerier front than she felt because of Jack, and craving the peace of her own company.
‘I’ll head off,’ she said – but her sister-in-law wouldn’t hear of her cycling.
‘I’ll run you home. Tom, will you put her bike in my boot, and I’ll bring you back chips? Jack, say goodnight to Auntie Lydia.’
It was just gone seven when they turned into the lane. They saw the straggling line of cars.
‘Still here,’ Marian said, cutting the engine. ‘I was hoping they’d be gone. We should have kept you a bit longer.’
‘I don’t mind. I’ll stay out of their way.’
When they opened the car doors they heard music. Together they manoeuvred Lydia’s bike from the boot. ‘Want me to come in with you?’
‘Not at all. Go home and enjoy your evening. Thanks a million for taking me in.’
‘Never a problem, my dear. Night, night, hope you sleep.’
The music was louder at the entrance, a buzz of conversation and laughter audible beneath it. Sounded like it was going well. Lydia skirted the driveway, giving the house as wide a berth as she could, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted.
But then, just before she rounded the corner, something made her stop and glance back.
From this angle she could see only a small section of the dining room through the bay window closest to her – but there they were, the newlyweds, just inside.
The bride was in royal blue, her groom in navy or black.
Arms entwined, talking with a few others, a sudden loud laugh erupting from Lorraine, their companions joining in.
Happy again, after losing their partners. Here was their second chance, in Chance House. She remembered Damien saying something about the name, the day he’d brought her to see it for the first time.
An omen, he’d called it. Our chance to make something wonderful, he’d said, or words to that effect. And then he’d died, and Lydia had wanted to die too. No more chances for her, nothing wonderful any more.
But now there was a baby on the way. Maybe this was her second chance. Maybe, rather than being cruelly treated by fate, she was in fact being offered a different kind of love.
She brought the bike around to the back of the house, where the sounds of the celebration were muted enough for her to make out the softer music of the sea. As she crossed the patio she saw that the bowl of food she’d left out before leaving for Marian’s was still full.
Odd. He’d never missed a feed, not once.
She cast about, straining to see any sign of him, but nothing stirred, nothing emerged from the border of trees.
‘Puss,’ she called, ‘puss,’ but he didn’t come.
She told herself he was a wild cat, used to roaming, and no doubt well able to look after himself, but still she felt a small uneasiness.
She left the bicycle on the patio, too tired to go down to the shed. She tucked his bowl of food behind it, where it would get some protection if rain arrived. She might be running the risk of feeding less desirable creatures, but she hated the idea of him going hungry.
She went inside to shower off the sand from her afternoon on the beach, and it wasn’t until the following day that she found him.