Chapter Eight
Rose’s words float off into a hint of sea air and are gone.
‘What trouble brought you all here?’
India stares at Rose and a rush of unaccustomed anxiety floods her. This is not what she’d expected.
For a start, Rose is almost unrecognisable from the sharp-suited, glamorous and charismatic woman off the TV. The flowing silvery-grey hair is very cool, though. Her eyes and the voice are the same: kind yet probing.
She will see inside you, India suddenly thinks in alarm.
What have you done?
A week in a glorious luxury villa in Corfu with a world-famous healer had sounded utterly marvellous.
The Talisman Effect had been twenty-something India’s favourite show.
Plus the pictures of Villa Artemis on Instagram had been blissful: all sunlight flooding a hotel made of cool white walls, with flowing white muslin curtains, exotic plants growing against stone walls and a magnificent expanse of sea from every window.
As for the healing, India had imagined much yoga, sitting on beaches discussing how they needed to be mindful and possibly a bit of manifestation thrown in.
She wants yoga, swimming, things to stimulate the vagus nerve: that sort of thing. With a hint of Tarot or perhaps a night of psilocybin thrown in.
How had she been so stupid? Rose’s show had always been about learning from the past and using those lessons to move forward. No Tarot, no drugs, no yoga.
Shit, shit, shit.
‘If everyone can introduce themselves, that would be great,’ Rose is saying.
Please let it be gentle, thinks India, desperately trying to manifest a retreat she’d like: bright-green and ghastly purple juices that taste like roadkill; massages with oil from millions of squashed rose petals, a recipe first used on Cleopatra.
All ending up with a hint of advice from Rose; maybe during a walk on the beach, Rose would tell India what she’s doing wrong.
Nothing intense at all, just a lovely conversation and then India could go back to the yoga and think about how she’d change her life as per Rose’s plan.
Instead, Rose looks serious, fancy serious with raisins in it.
‘You’ll have a road map to happiness but it will be up to you to continue the work,’ she had said.
She hasn’t mentioned yoga or anything that hints of a shamanic idyll in the evening sun.
No, she’s talked about work.
Working on themselves.
Deep inside India, something is shrieking ‘No!’
‘I’m Keera,’ says the blonde girl with the baseball hat.
‘What would you like to gain from the retreat?’ Rose asks.
India quails at this question even though it’s not directed at her. She’s next in line.
Wondering why she can’t find the perfect man is not going to be an acceptable reason for why she’s there. Talking about wanting a baby would be, but India can’t go there. Not with anyone. She hasn’t told her father, Georgie, anyone—
Keera’s hesitating.
‘I did rehab a few months ago and I need to sort some stuff out in my head,’ she says. ‘I thought a group would be good. I like the group therapy concept.’
‘Thank you,’ says Rose, smiling.
It’s India’s turn. She suddenly realises that there’s something familiar about Keera but she can’t figure out what it is.
‘I’m … er, India, and I wanted something relaxing with yoga and …’
She half-waits for the laugh. She always makes people laugh. But nobody laughs here. Shit.
‘… I thought juices, massage, maybe. To de-stress. I’m not unhappy … well, I broke up with my boyfriend a while ago.’
Rose is nodding and India thinks that maybe she’s doing OK.
‘I loved your show when I was younger, Rose,’ she adds lamely.
‘Me too,’ chimes in Keera, and she and India look at each other properly.
‘It’s you,’ says India, suddenly realising.
Keera nods and smiles.
OK, thinks India, feeling braver. If someone cool like Keera’s here, then it’s got to be good.
‘There’s a lot of stuff I’d like to sort out but I don’t know if this is the right place for it,’ India finishes in a rush.
Is this mad? Or very, very wise?
Rose smiles at her, a very warm, understanding smile. India smiles back and forbids herself to nibble a cuticle.
They move on.
‘I’m Dan,’ says the tall man stiffly. ‘I’m not sure why I’m here,’ he adds.
India and Keera exchange glances.
Trouble ahead, India thinks.
‘I’m Dianne,’ says the older woman with the frosted curly hair, speaking out of turn. ‘I’m only here because my kids made me.’ She flashes Rose a sardonic smile.
Again, Keera and India share a glance but Rose just smiles beatifically at Dianne.
‘Thank you, Dianne.’
‘I am Bernard Hennessy,’ says the oldest person there, announcing his name as if they should all know who he is. ‘Sir Bernard, actually,’ he adds with a very fake laugh. ‘I’m here for my lovely wife, Grazia,’ he adds.
India thinks that Rose has just clenched her teeth but she can’t be sure. If she was his wife, she’d tell him this sort of behaviour was not cool.
‘I am Grazia and we are here for each other,’ says his wife in her heavily accented English.
Whatever could be their issue, wonders India.