Olivia
Once again, she was the only member of the class still laid out on the floor, dribble crusting her cheeks and limbs splayed out to the sides. How, after three mornings in a row, was she still
falling asleep during Savasana? It was as though the second she hit the ground, everything switched off. Her aching body, cooled by the hard, wooden floor, the sound of Cece’s low, lyrical voice, and the beating waves of the ocean made it impossible for her to fight the pull of sleep.
‘I’m good. Just takes me a little while to come back to earth, I think.’
‘It was another intense one today, huh?’
‘Yeah.’ Olivia flushed with embarrassment. ‘When does that ever stop? Please
tell me it stops.’
Cece cracked a smile, but Olivia couldn’t join in with the amusement.
It had been another session of deep, heartbreaking, soul-shattering crying.
How much more grief existed inside her? It felt like more than a lifetime’s worth and yet it continued, wave after wave, pouring from the centre of her being, out into the space around her.
‘Eventually.’ Cece slung her arm over Olivia’s shoulders and pulled her closer. ‘We just have to give it time.’
‘We? You’re not the one having the public emotional meltdown.’
‘No, but I have been that one, and so you can trust me when I say it does get better.’
Olivia looked Cece up and down. Had this incredibly fierce, insanely beautiful, calm and composed woman really found herself with snot all down her face, sobbing her heart out during a simple yoga class?
‘If you say so.’
‘I do! And do you know what else I say?’
Cece had begun to walk the pair towards the exit, the swathes of material blowing wide open in the strong ocean breeze.
‘Go on …’ Olivia shoved her feet into her shoes.
‘I say we get some breakfast. I know a great
little place that does the most amazing pancakes. Can I tempt you?’
Olivia’s mind flew to a thousand excuses she could make, a hundred reasons why a relaxing morning breakfast would not be conducive to her schedule, but something inside her answered before her default ‘no’ could come out of her mouth.
‘Sure. That sounds nice.’
‘Great!’ Cece flung her braid over her shoulder and nodded in the direction of the road. ‘We go this way.’
They left the yoga space and headed away from the ocean, walking along a dirt path that ran parallel to the busy main road.
Although the traffic was far from light, the rush of mopeds and the honking of tuk-tuks didn’t affect Olivia as it had in the bigger cities.
Maybe the yoga was doing something to her inner world after all.
It wasn’t long before they arrived at a little whitewashed cafe, hidden amongst a nest of palms.
‘This is so cute
,’ Olivia gasped, as they stepped inside.
The space was filled with a mishmash of colours and materials; the walls were covered with abstract paintings and fabric hangings.
Squashy sofas and wicker chairs gathered in small groups, decorated with throws and woven pillows.
In every corner stood a collection of plants, their burst of green leaves singing brightly against the white stone and mosaic floor.
‘Isn’t it?’ Cece guided them over to a free table.
‘Yeah, I would never have found this place by myself.’
‘Most people don’t like to wander too far away from the seafront.’ Cece shrugged. ‘But when you’ve been here a while, it’s nice to mix it up.’
‘I can imagine.’ Olivia picked up the menu and began to scan it hungrily. ‘How long did you say you’ve been out here for?’
‘Nearly six months now.’ Cece leant back in her chair and hooked one long leg over the other, flashing Olivia with works of tattooed art that she had yet to see. ‘I can’t believe it. I only planned to come out for two weeks.’
‘What made you stay?’
Cece rested her chin on her hand. ‘I guess I sort of fell in love with the place. There was an opportunity to teach yoga; I could swim in the ocean every day, surf, lie on the beach, eat good food. It felt stupid to leave.’
Olivia was trying hard to hide her scepticism. ‘But don’t you miss home? Living out of a suitcase and being away from your family must be hard, no?’
‘Yes and no.’ Cece let out a long exhale.
‘My family is very small – it’s literally only me and my mum.
And of course I miss her all the time, but she had big dreams for me.
She wanted me to see the world, to go and explore and have adventures.
She practically packed my bags for me when I told her I wanted to go abroad! ’
Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if her mum would have done the same for her, if Leah hadn’t got sick. If their whole world hadn’t become about doctors’ appointments and hospital visits. What would her mum have dreamt for her? For all of them? A pang of sadness twinged in her chest.
‘And in terms of living out of a suitcase,’ Cece continued, ‘there’s a strange type of freedom when all your possessions can be carried on your back. I feel so much lighter than I did back home. Don’t you?’
Olivia chewed over Cece’s words carefully. Although the weight of her backpack had left near permanent red marks on her shoulders, there was something freeing about it. The ease that came with only having a select few items of clothes to choose from each day. All the hundreds of pounds she’d
spent on perfumes and beauty creams, the toiletries that she swore she could never
live without, now reduced to a face wash and sun cream.
‘In a way.’ She pulled at her once white T-shirt. ‘Although I can’t pretend I’m not dying to get back to using a proper washing machine when I’m home.’
‘I’ll give you that.’ Cece nodded at a passing waiter. ‘Are you ready to order?’
‘No! There’s so much to choose from!’ Olivia glanced at the menu once more. ‘Is there anything you’d recommend?’
‘The smoothie bowls are incredible. And the pancakes are always good.’
‘OK.’ Olivia looked up into the eager face of the young waiter. ‘I’ll have the tropical smoothie bowl and a latte, please.’
‘Good choice.’ He nodded. ‘And for you?’ He looked at Cece. ‘The usual?’
‘You bet!’ She grinned, passing him the menus and pouring them both a glass of water.
‘It’s so funny how much I used to judge people who came back to the same place on holiday every single year.
They’d stay in the same hotels and eat in the same restaurants, year in, year out.
I used to think it was such a waste, but now …
’ She took a sip from her drink. ‘Now I can see why they do it! It’s so nice having people who know you and what you like. ’
‘Back home, there’s this cute little coffee shop at the end of my street; I only need to step one foot inside the door and the guy is making my order for me.
Every day, like clockwork, he’s waiting for me.
’ Olivia laughed sadly. ‘I think if I were to go missing, he’d be the first person to alert the police. ’
‘So, you like a routine, then?’
‘I don’t know how anyone can survive without one!’
Cece arched one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. ‘You’d be surprised. Sometimes a little spontaneity does wonders for the soul.’
‘Soul maybe; productivity less so.’
‘And that’s the most important thing for you?’
Olivia knew there was no malice in Cece’s question, but she couldn’t help but feel a little judged.
‘It’s one of them, yes.’ She felt her face flush. ‘Otherwise, how would anything get done? I have a lot of responsibility, in my job and in my family. If I’m not productive or organized, or on top of everything, things fall apart. And that just can’t happen.’
‘I get it.’ Cece flashed her a small, rather sad-looking smile. ‘You like to be in control because you have been put in that position your whole life.’
‘It’s not control.’ Olivia clenched her jaw. ‘I don’t like controlling people. I’m not like that.’
‘I don’t mean you intentionally manipulate people. It’s that you feel safe when you know what’s going on. When there is order and process and certainty.’
‘Well, doesn’t everyone?’ Olivia snapped, her voice louder than she intended. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Not really – to me it feels kind of pointless. We like to think we can control things, but the truth is, we can’t.
The more we try to hold on to things and keep them a certain way, the more painful it is when it all tips on its head and changes direction,’ Cece replied calmly.
‘We can’t make people love us, no matter how much we do for them; we can’t stop ourselves ageing, no matter how much Botox we pump into our faces; and we can’t stop people dying, no
matter how fiercely we try to protect them from the world. Ultimately, it’s all out of our control.’
Thankfully, the food arrived just as Cece finished speaking.
Olivia could feel the tears stinging her eyes and the thoughts of Leah floating up to the surface.
She’d already exceeded her emotional breakdown quota for the day, and she supposed it wouldn’t be quite as acceptable to wail and scream whilst people sipped their coffees and tucked into their morning eggs.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to preach.’ Cece began carving into her towering stack of pillowy pancakes. ‘It’s something I’ve had to learn the hard way, that’s all.’ She held out her arm, presenting the deeply tanned skin to Olivia.
‘My dad died when I was four.’ Cece pressed a finger lightly to the incredibly detailed image of a man that sat hidden amongst the lines and dots snaking around the contours of her forearm.
Grief clamped down hard on Olivia’s heart, so intensely she felt she might crack in two right there in the cafe.
‘God, I’m sorry.’
Olivia berated herself for not noticing the tattoo sooner.
For assuming, once again, that because someone looked a certain way, they carried no heartbreak or war wounds.
That they bore no scars from life’s cruelty.
She should know better than anyone that looks can be deceiving.
Hadn’t she been pretending her whole life that she was fine?
‘That’s OK. It was a long time ago now.’ Cece folded her arm back into herself, still cradling the place where the image sat. ‘But what about you?’
Olivia drew in a deep breath, nervous but no longer afraid to share her story. Not with Cece, anyway: a woman who
had held her in her most vulnerable pain, and understood the depths in which she found herself drowning every day.
‘It was my little sister.’
My beautiful, precious, baby sister.
‘She died four months ago.’