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Peter, Gabriel

‘Thea? Sorry to phone so early – it’s Mark.’

‘Hullo, Mark – I was up actually. I slept on the sofa – Saul’s sleeping it off in my bed, drunken bum. Is everything OK?’

‘I’ve done something to my neck – that’s why I’m ringing so early – I just wondered if you could squeeze me in? I’m in pain and I can’t move it much.’

‘I don’t have my appointments diary – I’ll be at work at nine – I could call you then? I can assess you but you may need an osteo.’

‘Nine? Oh. It’s just I have a meeting and I was wondering—’

‘Oh. Yes, of course. Can you make eight? In fact, I could probably be there for seven forty-five.’

‘Thanks, petal.’

‘Don’t be daft! Oh, is Alice there? Can I have a quick word?’

‘She’s still asleep, Thea. My neck – you know – anyway, so she slept in the spare room. So as not to disturb me, you see.’

‘Sometimes spasms are only partly physiological,’ Thea advised Mark gently as she assessed his predicament an hour later. ‘The pressure of stress can greatly exacerbate even mild twinges.’

‘There’s a fair bit going on at the moment,’ he told her.

Thea nodded.

‘At work,’ Mark added, lest she should probe.

Thea nodded again. Over the years, she’d found that simply nodding whilst looking down at her notepad, pen poised, often encouraged her clients to elaborate with greater honesty than if she asked them outright. She looked down at her notepad and waited for a moment before nodding again. But Mark said no more.

‘I would really like you to see one of our osteopaths,’ Thea recommended, ‘Dan and Brent are both excellent. But you have to promise me not to cancel – I know you’re busy but believe me, it’s a false economy to turn your back on the odd hour of osteopathy. I can ask the guys if they can schedule you in for an early or a late. Failing that, I’ll ask if they know of a practitioner nearer to your work.’

‘Thanks, Thea,’ Mark said, ‘I appreciate it.’ He bent down gingerly to pick up his briefcase.

‘Lower yourself, don’t bend! Lower like a child does – they squat, keeping their backs straight, they never stoop. And lift like a weightlifter – face straight ahead.’

Thea insisted Mark put his briefcase back down and they made a few practice lowers and lifts. He marvelled at the simplicity but efficacy of the technique. He did it again. ‘Christ – thanks, Thea.’

‘No problem,’ Thea smiled, ‘and don’t roll your neck like that!’

‘Sorry,’ Mark said sheepishly.

‘Buy a packet of frozen peas on your way to work, wrap it in a towel and plonk it on your neck,’ Thea suggested.

‘Peas?’

‘Sweetcorn will do too. And take it easy, please,’ Thea said gently, ‘or just a little easier. At work and at home.’

However, by then Mark had put his jacket on and his guard up.

There was nothing a good full English breakfast couldn’t cure and though Saul had woken with a cracking hangover, two sausages, eggs, beans, bacon and fried bread later he felt revived and clear-headed. He’d just go back and tidy Thea’s flat and then make his way into town. As miserable and rainy as the previous day had been, it was now a sparkling spring day. With the aesthetic wizardry of sunlight and clear skies on a March Monday, Crouch End resembled a bustling, self-contained, relatively picturesque market town. Strangers greeted one another cheerily, mothers promenaded cutting-edge buggies boasting babies resplendent in bright knits and cute hats, pensioners dawdled happily, catching up on the price of this and the cost of that and wasn’t yesterday’s weather atrocious. Pairs jogged to and from Priory Park, shopkeepers stood outside their premises grinning at nothing in particular and friends gossiped as they made their way to Banners for smoothies and comfort food. Saul thought how Hollywood would pay big bucks for such a scene; quintessentially English due to the balance of local architecture, local colour and local characters. As if on cue, a talented young television actor passed by Saul and said ‘All right, mate?’ as he went. ‘Hiya,’ Saul replied. He was in a very good mood.

Peter Glass wasn’t. Peter Glass was actually in a full-blown foul temper. He’d invested hours each day, over a number of weeks, in a potential buyer who that morning had pulled out at the last minute without so much as an apology, let alone an explanation. So the luxury trip to the Seychelles was off. And so was upgrading the Beemer.

‘All right, babes?’ Peter said to Thea in a hollow voice and with a face like thunder. ‘If you can massage away the aggression I feel, I’ll pay you double.’

‘You don’t need to pay me double,’ Thea assured him, ‘just lie down and I’ll let your body guide me. Trust me. Try to clear your mind. Try not to talk.’

‘I could fall asleep,’ Peter murmured, an hour later.

Thea looked at her watch. She had an hour’s space before her next client. ‘Just relax for a while, Peter, I’ll come back in a mo’.’ Actually, Thea returned forty minutes later and gently woke him up.

One ballet dancer, a pregnant woman and a tennis coach later, Thea’s last client for the day is Mr Sewell. She has continued to call him Mr Sewell though he is now a regular client and even occasionally divulges quite personal information with no warning and certainly no prying on her part. Recently, he’d expressed his concern that his neck felt no better though he was much happier in himself having returned to his wife. On his last visit, he’d actually started reciting lines from the new Ricky Gervais television series and had laughed so much the bed had shaken.

Souki meets Thea on her way down to the waiting room. She’s holding a latte and a muffin. ‘Mr Sewell is here,’ she says, ‘and so is Saul. With coffee and cakes for us all, bless him.’

‘Hullo, Mr Sewell, would you like to go on up and get ready,’ Thea says, giving Saul the same nod she gives all her clients, ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’

Saul waits for Mr Sewell to disappear upstairs. Thea could murder that muffin. It had been an early start and a long day.

‘I’m starving,’ she says. She approaches Saul who is offering her the cake. He snatches it back as she’s about to take it. ‘Hey!’ she protests.

‘Say yes!’ Saul says. ‘If you say yes, the muffin is yours.’

‘Yes?’ says Thea. ‘Whatever – yes please.’

‘But you don’t know what you’re agreeing to!’ Saul exclaims.

‘I’m so hungry I’d agree to anything,’ Thea assures him.

‘Really?’ he says, a veritable twinkle to his eye. Thea nods, literally licking her lips. Still he holds the muffin aloft. ‘Would you say yes to a Gimp Mask and PVC crotchless knickers?’

Thea regards him as if he’s mad. ‘Yes, yes, now give me the sodding muffin – I’m going to be late for Mr Sewell.’

‘Would you say yes to moving in together?’ Saul says, offering her the cake.

Thea’s heart leaps into her mouth while her stomach somersaults and Saul’s proposal fills her head. Suddenly, there is no room for cake. And she can’t find her voice and time stands still and poor Mr Sewell is in his underwear, face down on the bed in the room at the top.

‘Well,’ Saul says, ‘are you going to say yes?’

Thea stares at him.

‘Is that a yes?’ Saul asks, jiggling the cake temptingly.

Thea gulps.

‘Live with me, be with me,’ Saul implores, ‘let’s move in together, live with each other for ever and ever. Live happily ever after.’ He picks out a chocolate chip. ‘Say yes – and the muffin is yours.’

Thea blinks, grins and nods. Yes, she mouths. ‘Yes!’ she laughs.

‘Fantastic,’ Saul says, ‘and all for the price of a muffin.’ He turns her around to face the stairs. ‘Back to work, missy,’ he laughs, giving a gentle shove to her bottom, ‘see you later.’

Thea is five minutes late for Mr Sewell.

‘Sorry to keep you,’ she apologizes quietly. She puts the muffin down on the table. She knows that she’ll be in a quandary whether to eat it or keep it for sentimental posterity. ‘Now,’ she says to Mr Sewell, ‘how’s that back of yours?’

‘Not bad,’ he says, lifting his head a little, ‘how are you?’

It’s the first time Mr Sewell has ever asked Thea anything remotely personal. She’s slightly taken aback. ‘Oh, fine,’ she breezes, ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ She lays her hands lightly on Mr Sewell’s back, closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She controls her exhale while she moves her palms up his back to his neck, strokes out along his shoulders, sweeps down and up his arms, squeezes along his upper arms and then swoops her hands back over his shoulders and down his back. He sighs with relief and pleasure. His body feels good to her. Much softer and more receptive than on his last visit. It’s an easy massage to give.