Читать книгу The Old Girls' Network - Judy Leigh - Страница 8

‘You don’t have to come with me, Barbara. There will be lots of people there. You mightn’t enjoy it.’

‘What makes you think I won’t? I’m flexible for my age.’ Barbara glanced up from the chair at the kitchen table and smirked at her own joke. ‘Physically and mentally.’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean, I’ve been going for over a year. I know all the people at yoga – all the villagers. They might not be, you know, your sort of people.’

‘There you go again, making assumptions. What are you trying to say, Pud? That I’m not the sociable type?’

‘Pauline. I hate being called Pud.’ She took a breath, determined to be assertive. ‘You’re the only person who’s ever called me that and it’s not my name. And I didn’t mean to imply that you’re antisocial, it’s just that—’

‘When I was on holiday in Suffolk recently, I went out hiking and made a new friend, a woman who came with me on the coastal paths.’

‘Oh yes?’ Pauline raised her eyebrow in disbelief. ‘What was her name? Was she young?’

Barbara shrugged. ‘My age, I suppose.’

She couldn’t remember the woman’s name: Doris, Dorothy? Barbara had been walking in front most of the time, surging ahead and trying to ignore the woman’s pleas to go back and the complaints about her raw bunions. She forced a smile.

‘I make friends easily. You never know, I might even like yoga. I might be good at it.’

Pauline looked at her sister in the purple baggy t-shirt and the well-worn jogging bottoms she’d just borrowed, which reached her calves. She turned away and muttered, ‘I doubt it,’ then raised her voice. ‘Come on then – let’s get going. Yoga starts in half an hour.’

‘We’re far too early.’

Pauline grabbed her keys and her jacket and moved towards the front door, pretending she hadn’t heard. After all, it was her house, her friends, her yoga class.

Barbara had insisted they walk into Winsley Green, despite the chill in the air. She maintained that it was a crisp April day and that a stroll would be good for them both. She added that Pauline needed the muscle tone. Pauline said nothing, although she was piqued: she thought her muscle tone was fine for a woman of seventy-five. They arrived in the village, Barbara surging ahead and Pauline strolling several paces behind, five minutes before eleven o’clock when the class would start.

A stone sign on the brickwork proclaimed that the village hall had been built in 1947. It was dilapidated now; a dull grey two-storey building used for all purposes from the Guides’ meetings to the local am-dram group’s twice-yearly productions, usually an Ayckbourn comedy and a pantomime. The sash windows were rotten, the paint flaking and the window panes dirty. Inside, in a little cloakroom, several women were sitting on narrow benches, taking off their shoes and wriggling bare toes. One woman stood in the centre of the space: a petite woman in her forties, dark glossy hair tied loosely on the top of her head. She opened her arms in a gracious gesture.

‘I’ve put the heating on full. All the radiators will be lovely and warm in a few moments. It’s quite cool today, so I thought we’d feel the benefit of the ancient central heating system.’

Pauline grasped the woman’s hand, smiling. ‘Hayley. Nice to see you.’

The woman hugged Pauline. ‘I’m so glad you could come. And who’s this?’

Pauline stepped back and waved her sister forward, but Barbara was there already, clutching Hayley’s hand and shaking it firmly.

‘Barbara Harvey. Miss Harvey. Pauline’s sister. I’ve come to try the yoga.’

‘Welcome. I’m Hayley Choy. Please take your shoes off and come into the hall. I’ll find you a spare mat.’

Barbara turned. Pauline was in conversation with a woman she called Dizzy, who was waving her hands and whispering something about someone being in the family way. Barbara frowned: it obviously wasn’t Dizzy, she was too slim and too old – at least forty. Barbara thought she was a little brash and her hair was far too lurid for a woman of her age, her fringe a stripy concoction of red, orange and burgundy; she wondered why Pauline seemed so at ease.

Barbara felt a light pressure on her shoulder and saw a round faced woman smiling at her, her cheeks dimpled, with a wide mouth and good teeth, a cascade of black curls, slightly greying at the temples. Barbara stared into the twinkling hazel eyes and glowered. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello – you’re Pauline’s sister, Barbara. I’m Chrissie Drake, the local vicar. It’s lovely to meet you.’

Barbara noticed the vicar didn’t let go of her hand and didn’t stop grinning. She waited for the obligatory phrase about becoming one of Chrissie’s flock while she was staying in Winsley Green. Barbara had no intention of visiting the church. She made her lips into a thin line.

‘I don’t do God.’

Chrissie Drake smiled. ‘What’s important is that God is always ready to “do” us. But never mind that now. I’m all revved up to do yoga. Revved? Get it?’

Chrissie Drake chuckled. Barbara remained disinterested, but the vicar didn’t seem to notice, her voice full of enthusiasm. ‘I must introduce you to everyone after the session.’

Barbara felt a hand on her back, guiding her to the open doorway. She stood firm: she wasn’t about to be shepherded inside by a woman of God. Chrissie took no notice, bringing Barbara’s attention to the people in the room.

‘There’s Dr Natalie – she and her husband are GPs – she has some good news – the patter of tiny feet is due in September, I believe. Over there is Yvonne from the village Post Office.’

Barbara gazed at the doctor, a young woman with dark hair who had just relaxed in a lying down position, and then at an older blonde woman with rosy cheeks who was unrolling her mat. Chrissie kept talking and waving her hand.

‘Over there is Dulcie and there’s her neighbour Phyllis. As yet, we haven’t found a way to bring them together, but I’m sure God has something up His sleeve.’

Barbara looked from one angry-looking elderly lady to the other, both busy at opposite ends of the room, rolling out mats and staring furiously at each other and then away, and she shrugged. ‘They hate each other?’

Chrissie nodded. ‘They don’t buy into the Love Thy Neighbour idea, shall we say.’

‘What is wrong with them?’

‘Cat problems, mostly.’ Chrissie shrugged. ‘Dulcie’s cats, the Feral Peril, are a bit of a local liability. And Phyllis and Dulcie used to go to school together – they were best friends but time has changed all that.’

‘How petty,’ Barbara muttered. ‘I’ll never remember all these names anyway.’

Hayley appeared at the door; her face serene. ‘Please come into the space. We’re ready to start.’

Barbara took the blue mat offered to her and marched to the back, sitting down. She stared around – the older ladies, clearly well past eighty-years-old, one wiry and the other plumper, were still eyeballing each other viciously. They certainly wouldn’t be good recruits for a hike around the hills with her. Barbara wondered what these old ladies managed to achieve in yoga. Phyllis was propped up with cushions and Dulcie moved sharply but with deliberate effort.

She glanced at the yoga teacher who was writing something down on a piece of paper, and the young doctor, who appeared to be asleep. Barbara couldn’t remember either of their names. Then at the front, there was Pauline and the woman with orange and purple hair, whom Barbara knew instantly that she wouldn’t like. On one side of her was Chrissie, the crazy vicar, who was sitting cross-legged, her eyes squeezed, shut: she appeared to be praying. The blonde woman on the other side of Barbara glanced over and winked.

‘I’m Yvonne.’

Barbara nodded curtly. ‘From the Post Office. I know.’

She decided she couldn’t be bothered to introduce herself. The yoga teacher, Hayley, was playing some soothing music on a portable CD player and everyone was now lying down. Barbara stared around her, at the filthy windows and the grubby finger-marked walls that clearly needed a coat of paint.

Hayley had lit a joss stick, so Barbara coughed loudly to make it clear that the smoke was an irritant. Hayley beamed across at her and gestured that she should lie down. Barbara frowned: she thought she was here to do yoga, not to go to sleep, but she leaned back and closed her eyes. The music was reminiscent of waves ebbing and flowing and there were soft sounds, the chattering of dolphins or the gentle calls of gulls. Barbara breathed out and let the music wash over her, the sickly-sweet smell of incense, the warm heat from the metal radiators, and she began to drift. It was as if she was floating, her limbs numb, her mind at peace.

Suddenly there was a silence, no sound at all; the stillness jolted her awake and she opened her eyes. Everyone else was standing up, stretching long arms into the air and Barbara sat bolt upright, about to ask crossly why no one had woken her, but Hayley’s sweet voice chimed, ‘Nice to have you with us again, Barbara. Take your time, don’t rush. Join us when you’re ready.’

Pauline turned and smiled across at her and Barbara scuttled to her feet, making a short sound to show she was exasperated at being allowed to sleep through the beginning of the class. Hayley resumed the session, lifting her arms in the air and sweeping them down to her sides. Everyone else was doing the same, Phyllis still seated on her mat propped with cushions. Barbara copied, wafting her arms around as fast as possible, thinking the whole thing reminiscent of primary school PE but with ill-fitting borrowed jogging bottoms instead of baggy navy knickers. She did her best to follow everyone else, but it all felt somewhat pointless. There was an exercise where everyone sat down and twisted round, and Hayley ran around the hall putting more cushions behind Dulcie and Phyllis. Barbara wondered why they chose to take the class: their bones kept cracking, a sort of stereo percussion popping, and at one point she was sure Dulcie passed wind.

Hayley’s soothing voice pulled Barbara from her thoughts.

‘We’re going to revisit Warrior Two now. So, take up the first position. Stand in Tadasana, exhale, step forward so that your feet are about three or four feet apart.’

Barbara had no idea what to do, so she copied Yvonne. Hayley moved softly around the room, helping Phyllis into position.

‘Now raise your arms parallel to the floor and reach out to the sides.’

Hayley appeared discreetly next to Barbara, supporting her arm, smiling. Barbara scowled: she’d thought she was doing well enough by herself. Hayley moved back to the front.

‘Exhale and bend your left knee over the left ankle, so that the shin is perpendicular to the floor. Anchor yourself strongly. Well done.’

Barbara glanced at the other women. They were all facing a huge window, their arms stretched out, waving in the air like a bunch of flapping flamingos, balanced precariously on the front foot. She made her body into some sort of scarecrow position, copying Yvonne. Hayley seemed pleased with the class.

‘Now, turn your head to the left and look out over the fingers. Exhale. Relax in the position now. Think of yourself as Shiva the warrior, solid and grounded. You are Virabhadra with a thousand heads, a thousand eyes.’

Barbara managed not to make a comment, although she felt silly and thought the pose was daft. The thousand eyes were turned on the grimy window. The room was silent. She thought she heard someone wobble behind her. Dulcie passed wind again. Then an almost-naked young man in tight jeans filled the windowpane, a chamois leather cloth in his hand. His face was serious as he swished water onto the window and rubbed the glass. The cold clearly didn’t bother him: he was working strenuously, his body gleaming with sweat.

The thousand eyes of Virabhadra took in the shape of the young man, his broad shoulders, his long damp curls, his bare chest. The eyes gazed at the perspiration that shone on his torso, the tangle of hairs that appeared to extend beyond his flat stomach and at the taut muscles in his arms. The eyes moved in unison back to his stunningly beautiful face, with its high cheekbones, soft lips, dark eyes beneath strong brows.

The young man in his mid-twenties didn’t seem to notice the gaze of several enamoured Shivas or their concentrated examination of the water droplets that were running down his neck and across his naked chest, onto the waistband of his denims. He had no idea that the warriors in the room were assessing his physical talents and imagining the level balance of his straddled legs below, unfortunately out of view.

Suddenly someone from the front, probably the woman with the hair in various shades of scarlet, muttered, ‘Oh my God – just look at him.’

Another voice whispered, ‘Amen to that.’

Barbara wondered if it was Chrissie the vicar. Then there was a crashing sound, and all the warriors synchronised a turn of their heads in the opposite direction, to stare at Phyllis, whose knee had given way; she’d come hurtling down onto her mat. Hayley called, ‘I’m here, Phyllis. Everyone, please just sit down and take five.’

Dutifully, the women had collapsed down and their gaze moved in perfect synchronicity back to the window. The young man had gone, and they were staring at a clean window and a thousand gleaming droplets of water. Yvonne leaned over to Barbara and whispered, ‘Who on earth was that?’

Dr Natalie sat upright on her rug. ‘He’s the new odd-job man. He’s done the windows at the surgery. I think he’s from Milton Rogus.’

‘Mmm.’ The sound of pleasure came from the red-haired woman next to Pauline. ‘He can do my windows any time.’

Hayley helped a loudly protesting Phyllis into a comfortable position and was fanning her with a sheet of paper. ‘I’ll make sure Kostas isn’t on window cleaning duties at this time next week, shall I?’

There were murmurs of good-natured disapproval and Pauline turned around to smile encouragingly at her sister. The yoga had made her feel relaxed, expansive and strong: she was enjoying the company of the local women, happy to feel a part of a powerful group and the Kostas incident had made her smile. She wondered if it had melted some of Barbara’s frostiness; it would be a good thing if she’d started to feel at home, accepted by the people of Winsley Green, part of the community. Pauline imagined the prospect of Barbara making friends in the village during her stay. That, in itself, gave her a warm feeling of success.

But Barbara was still staring blankly through the window, a perplexed look on her face. Yoga was definitely not for her. She wouldn’t go again. She was confused by life in this village, where women met to share an activity, to laugh together and to gaze in rapt admiration at a man cleaning windows.

She had to admit, he was easy on the eye. But everything was all so different from her own life in Cambridge, where she took holidays in order to meet people and spent the rest of the time by herself, reading, hiking, listening to the radio. It was all very strange, an alien lifestyle. Yet something was stirring inside, from a place which felt familiar yet distant and neglected, and as she thought about Pauline and her yoga friends, she wondered if she had been missing out on something quite important.