The changing rooms are empty, the other hot yoga-ites already having made it to the practice room. I take my redpencil dress from my gym bag and hang it inside a locker, then dump my bag, trainers, socks and zip-up and drag Amanda to our hot flow yoga class.
The thirty-seven-degree heat of the room is a welcome blanket around my cold body. Kamal, our resident yoga instructor, peels himself from his mat where he was lying in savasana. ‘Ladies, you’re late; take up position.’
‘Sorry,’ I whisper both to Kamal and the rest of the room. We’re always late. Correction: Amanda is always late.
‘Over there.’ He gestures to two mats in the back corner of the room, tucked close together and right under two of the orange wall lamps maintaining the temperature of the room.
‘I’m not going there,’ Amanda huffs. ‘I’ll fry!’
‘Amanda, stop being dramatic; we’re disrupting the class.’ I give her a soft nudge in the ribs with my elbow and smile politely at Kamal.
‘Yes, you are,’ he confirms, adjusting his hairband and pursing his lips.
We make our way to the mats, Amanda grumbling. ‘I’ll disrupt the class even more when I pass out.’
‘You’re missing your relaxation time,’ Kamal says, walking back to his own mat at the front of the room, notably far away from the heat lamps. ‘Remember, ladies and gents, no drinking during the session. We hydrate before and after the class; we don’t disrupt the flow.’ He addresses us all but only Amanda sighs in response.
‘He’s kind of hot when he’s vexed, don’t you think?’ Amanda says, thankfully quiet enough that only I can hear as we lay back into savasana.
Shaking my head, I close my eyes, listening to the gentle sounds of animals awakening in the rainforest.
‘Clear your mind. Concentrate only on your breath. Deep in,fill your lungs. Gently out.’ Kamal’s words are soft and controlled.
Clear my mind.How hard can that be?I try to picture darkness, emptiness but there are a thousand images flying through my mind: work, guns, Gregory, my dad, Sandy, Dubai. It’s day three in the countdown to the ballistics report and this is allreallyhappening.
‘Let’s move to sun salutations,’ Kamal directs gently as Eva Cassidy’s ‘Fields of Gold’ fills the room. ‘Inhale on the rise. Swan dive, exhale.’
‘How are you feeling about everything today?’ Amanda asks as we push back into a downward-facing dog.
Exhaling, I push my hips back further to feel a burning stretch in the back of my legs. ‘Fine. Same.’ I really don’t want to discuss Saturday or Gregory’s father or police or anything else. For an hour, I’d just like to pretend everything is normal. I snort a laugh as I arch my back and press my hands, hips and toes to the mat: cobra position. I’m not even sure what normal is any more. I’ve spent so long focussing on other people that I just don’t know who Scarlett Heath really is. Daughter, lawyer, loyal friend. Orphan, insatiable hussy, murderer.
‘How was your brunch at the Savoy yesterday?’
My outward breath is much harder than it probably ought to be.
‘What? Tell me.’
‘Neil wants me to go to Dubai on secondment.’
‘What? That’s amazing!’ she shrieks.
‘Shh.’ Kamal’s glaring at us again.
‘Why don’t I get asked to go places like that?’
‘Would you want to?’ I ask, dipping again into downward-facing dog.
‘Are you joking? Dubai is liketheplace to be right now. Party and fashion central.’
‘Hmm. Well, you might get a chance to go.’
‘You are kidding me,’ she says, slumping to her mat as I move into cobra again with the rest of the class. ‘Why on earth wouldn’t you go? You’re crazy.’
‘Amanda, come on. It’s hardly great timing.’
She rises to her feet on an inhale but I’m not convinced her flaring nostrils are due to her hatha breaths. ‘Don’t ruin your life because Mr Bazillionaire decided to put a bullet in his pop’s head.’
I rear, glaring at her.
