Page 3 of The Highland Fling

I take a moment to observe the room, noting expressions of serenity on many of the faces. This is my “Rise and Shine” class, and almost everyone present will go straight from here to work. I like to think of this space as an oasis of calm in the frantic bustle of a London morning. It sets people up for the day ahead.

Talking of oases of calm, it’s been nearly three weeks since Ally and Emily’s engagement party in the quiet Highland town of Bannock. That place is truly a refuge from the hectic pace of twenty-first-century life, and I’m pleased, and perhaps just a little envious, that Emily has found a new home for herself there.

“Lift yourself to a comfortable seated position, then bring your hands together in front of your heart,” I say. “Namaste.”

My students repeat the word then slowly come out of their meditative state, opening their eyes, stretching, some sighing with contentment. There are smiles and nods, to me and to each other. A few chat quietly as they gather their belongings, while others choose to savour the tranquillity a little longer.

I go over to the door and thank each person on their way out, engaging in brief small talk here and there, but when my final student approaches, the intensity of her floral perfume catches me off-guard. I try my best to hide my aversion to it, smiling politely and wishing her a good day, despite an almost overwhelming desire to gag. Thankfully, she doesn’t hang about to ask a question but heads off with her mat rolled under her arm.

Wow, whatever she was wearing, it did not agree with me. Even now, the scent lingers, turning my stomach. I walk to the other side of the studio and cover my nose. Ugh!

“Morning, Grace! Oh, is everything okay?”

I glance back. Nigel, the manager of the centre, has popped his head around the door.

“Morning! And yes, everything is fine, thanks, Nigel.” I beam at him, my expression of disgust gone.

“Great.” He offers a slightly forced smile of his own.

Ah. Maybe everything isn’t fine. I’ve known Nigel long enough to sense when bad news is coming.

He takes a step in. “Could I have a quick word?”

“I’m home!” I kick the door closed behind me.

“Hey, sis!” David calls from the kitchen. “Good day?”

“Hmm . . . not the best, but it’s your turn to cook, so that’s something. What are you making us?”

I doubt many thirty-year-olds share a flat with a sibling, but it works for me and David. When my last relationship ended a year and a half ago, and I had to move out of my ex’s place, it coincided with my brother deciding he’d had enough of his previous, rather unscrupulous, landlord. David found a two-bedroom in Finsbury Park and asked if I’d move in with him, and I haven’t looked back. It’s been great, actually.

“Spag bol. And . . . we have a guest!”

I’m already reaching for my slippers. No sooner do David’s words reach me than my gaze falls on a pair of black women’s loafers. My heart sinks. I know who they belong to.

Footsteps pad into the hallway. “Hello, Grace.”

I plaster on a smile. “Hi, Mum.”

I do love my mum, but . . . she’s hard work, and tonight I just wanted to collapse and chill.

“Aren’t you going to give your mother a hug?”

I wrap my arms around her. “It’s good to see you.” A lie, but a white one.

She takes a step back and checks me from head to toe. “You look well,” she decides.

“Thanks. You too.”

Facially my mum and I are similar, but when it comes to our styles, we couldn’t be more different. She keeps her hair short and pragmatic, whereas I carefully tend my shoulder-length curls every day. She prefers charcoals and blacks, even when she hasn’t come straight from the office, while I never leave the house without some colour. I’m like David that way, except I rarely dress quite as vibrantly as him.

Mum and I even carry ourselves differently. She’s all business, stiff and formal, whereas I’m looser, more relaxed, more . . . spiritual, I suppose.

“You said you didn’t have a good day. What happened?”

It’s a reasonable question, and yet all I can think is that the inevitable interrogation has already begun. I hope David picked up some wine.

“Why don’t we grab a seat first?” I suggest.