Page 19 of ReTreat Yourself

Gandalf intercepts me. His soft smile just makes me feel worse.

I feel a bubbling sensation envelop my insides. A strangeness. Like a wave, building and building.

‘I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be happy,’ I blurt out before I know what I’m saying, no longer caring that I should have mimed it.

He looks down at his wrist. ‘Seven und a half hours. Wery good.’

He’s as mad as a box of frogs.

‘You are open at last. Be free, Nell. Be free of your anger.’

Like it is that easy.

* * *

I’m bitterly regretting my decision to come here. Instead of heading straight to my room, I take myself off for an unscheduled walk, and within minutes I am pounding along a forest track, the fresh, mountain air whipping through my hair, invigorating my soul. I can feel my mind clearing with each step. I allow myself to wander into the past, back when Ava and I were children at dance classes, where she excelled, her natural ability eclipsing my own. Back through bright green Irish smocks (Riverdance), Lycra leotards (jazzfunk), glitter tutus (disco ballet) and Turkish veils (exotic belly dancing). ‘Isn’t Ava gorgeous?’ ‘Have you thought about sending her to the Bolshoi Academy?’ (Like it’s just at the end of the street.) ‘How about Britain’s Got Talent?’ ‘Do you think she’ll make the Olympics?’ The more the jealousy between the other mothers grew, the more my own mother would puff out her chest and exaggerate my sister’s capabilities, treating Ava like a diva. ‘We have dancing tonight so we MUST keep a light tummy.’

My father and I would frequently share an eye roll between us, and I’d get a knowing wink. Eventually, it must have taken its toll on the family budget.

‘Shoes! More shoes!’ I’d hear my mother yelling and, ‘New costumes! Fabulous new costumes! Must have! Must! Must! Need! Need!’

Cupboards were stuffed to the brim, colourful plumes, chiffon veils and sparkling dresses spilling out everywhere upstairs and then soon even the dining room couldn’t hold them all. The hallway from the front door to the kitchen all but disappeared behind racks of theatrical costumes and when one day my father couldn’t find his golf clubs, he lost his temper with my mother, calling her ridiculous and accusing her of getting far too carried away. And this bit I think I’ll remember for the rest of my life – my father yelled, ‘Nell has just as much talent as Ava has. If only you would stop to take notice!’

My mother never did stop to take notice, but I did balloon with love for my father for sticking up for me. And of course, neither parent knew that Ava and I had been hiding at the top of the stairs listening to their argument unfold. We looked silently at each other and scarpered to bed. We never spoke of it again.

As I reach the end of the track, I slow my pace and turn around. I have a new life now, away from it all. I shall leave all of that baggage behind me.

Just as I’m wondering if there’s any way I could fake an emergency to get a taxi out of here, I stumble across a ramshackle stone barn hidden at the back of the property. I peer in through the small open window and can’t believe my eyes. A lake’s worth of wine and mountains of food.

I stare blindly at it, my taste buds salivating while my inner moral compass whizzes back and forth. These must be confiscated goodies that innocent customers, like me, have brought in thinking that this place would be more of a relaxing getaway than the terrifying boot camp it actually is.

I really shouldn’t.

Ah, fuck it.

Within seconds, I’ve opened the door and I’m helping myself. I rip open a bag of crisps and stuff them in my mouth. I swipe up a bottle of pop and glug it straight down while I’m yanking off the lid to some cheese. As I’m frantically rifling through the shelves for chocolate biscuits, a rustling noise behind me causes me to freeze.

Oh dear.

I spin round to see Oliver staring at the stolen goods in my arms.

8

I stiffen, bracing myself for a sanctimonious lecture. I tilt my chin, hug my ill-gotten stash tightly to me and glare at him.

He lifts an eyebrow.

Here it comes. Any second now. He’s taking it all in. His gaze is darting back and forth over the heavily laden shelves before coming to rest sharply on mine. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he squints disappointedly, but I simply do not care. I straighten to my full height of not much above the national average.

He shakes his head slowly.

‘That won’t be anywhere near enough,’ he says, swiftly launching at the dusty bottles of wine on the shelves and scooping up armfuls of fatty produce. ‘Here, take this. And these. I’ll grab those and… aha, they will do nicely, thank you very much. How are you with gluten?’

Before I know it, we are scampering through the woods with bottles of wine, a box of multi-flavoured crisps, a wedge of Manchego cheese, cartons of olives swimming in herby oil and two freshly baked baguettes between us. We are giggling hysterically and shushing each other for fear of getting caught.

We find a small clearing hidden behind some bushes, have the same thought and whip off our baggy tunics to make a picnic blanket. We plonk ourselves down. Fortunately, I’d had the foresight to wear a very flimsy little vest top with no bra underneath, but Oliver apparently didn’t. I rummage around the food pile to stop my eyes from wandering over to his naked six-pack.

I hope this isn’t going to be awkward. Him giving off catalogue-model vibes and me, in an ironic twist of fate, giving off pervert-stalker vibes.