I spot Sarah, Brenda, Tess, Kerstin and Emma. And to my surprise there’s Morag, dressed in a pair of bright pink leggings and an over-sized T-shirt that hangs off her skinny, wrinkled arms. She smiles and waves and then grabs her right ankle and lifts it high into the air, demonstrating her impressive flexibility. Is this the same old woman who fell asleep in the pub just a few days ago? Maybe there’s something to this whole yoga thing after all.
I glance at Alice, who is talking intently to a nervous-looking woman I don’t recognise. She catches my eye and gestures for me to join them.
‘Lorna, this is Natalia’s first class too. I’ve been trying to persuade her to join since she moved here. I’m so glad you made it. I promise to go easy on you both.’
Natalia laughs. In one corner of the room the other women gather in a huddled group.
‘So have you heard from Jean?’ I just make out Emma asking Brenda, who shakes her head. Alice glances over at the mention of Jean’s name and a cloud passes for a second across her face, but then she looks at her watch and places her hands together.
‘I guess we’d better get started.’ She turns to face the whole room. ‘Ladies, if you’d like to take a seat on your mats.’
I pick one just behind Sarah and sit down too.
‘Hello, everyone,’ says Alice in a soft voice. ‘I’d like to say a special welcome today to two people who are attending this class for the first time: Lorna and Natalia. Welcome, both of you.’
A few ‘welcomes’ come from the women at the other mats and I feel mortified but there’s also something nice to it too. I catch Natalia’s eye and we exchange a glance that tells me she feels the same way.
‘Now, let’s begin.’
Soft music and the sound of Alice’s voice fill the hall. As she guides us through each movement, starting with a series of deep breaths sitting on the mats and then moving to our hands and knees, her voice sounds encouraging but at the same time has a presence to it that I haven’t heard before. She sounds in her element, and it’s immediately clear that this is herthing.
Accompanying the music and Alice’s guiding words come the sounds of each woman in the room breathing, sometimes in unison, sometimes falling out of sync when the pace of the movements quickens. On the whole I manage to follow most of Alice’s instructions. Her friends were right – she is a good teacher. Every now and then she comes over and helps to adjust my position or suggests a variation on the pose the others in the class are holding that is easier for a beginner. When she pushes gently on my shoulder blades as I attempt a downward dog I recoil slightly at the touch. I don’t mean to. It’s just been a long time since anyone touched my bare skin like that. And I’m sweating and probably looking nothing like I’m supposed to or like the other women in the room. I’m probably doing a terrible job. But she’s calm and encouraging, and the next time she gently adjusts me there is something comforting about her touch. How much of a relief it would be to have someone adjust me like this in my everyday life. Someone to soften my voice when I raise it without meaning to, to help me say the right thing to my daughter and my brother.
If I’m honest I’ve always avoided yoga in the past, thinking it would be too slow. I’ve never been very good at moments of stillness. It’s in stillness that the thoughts creep in.
The other women in the class stand straight as trees with their arms held above their heads. I try to copy them, glancing around for slight sways or wobbles. I fix my attention on Sarah’s back in front of me. She seems so firmly grounded. Alice might be telling us to focus on nothing but the sound of our own breath but I find it impossible. Can you ever really switch off your thoughts? I can’t anyway.
Another memory works its way in, this time scented with vanilla sponge and jelly and ice cream. It’s Sarah’s tenth birthday party, celebrated here inside the village hall. After blowing out her candles, Sarah relit them so I could have a chance to make a wish too. Later that day when all the other children had left, I asked Sarah what her wish was. I’ve never forgotten what she said.
‘I wished that you’d be happier.’
As Alice instructs us all to bend and bow, sweeping our arms to the floor, I feel blood rushing to my head. As we rise again, arms held above our heads once more, I remember myself atten years old. Tangled, unbrushed hair, nails bitten so close to the flesh that they often bled around the edges. Unhappiness always seemed to cling to me, so that even at a birthday party filled with balloons and laughter and so much sugar that our heads ached, Sarah could see my sadness as clearly as if it had been an uninvited guest in the room.
‘Now, if you can all make your way to the floor, we are going to end with shavasana, or corpse pose.’
Finally, a pose that I should have no problem in mastering. Alice instructs us to lie flat on our backs, arms slightly apart from our sides with palms facing upwards, eyes closed.
‘Focus on the sound of your breathing and the noise of those breathing around you.’
I listen to my breath rising and falling steadily. It is almost calming. But with my eyes closed there is more space for the thoughts and memories to fill my mind. I think of Jack on his first day at school and how Sarah and I sat next to him and introduced him to the other children. I felt so proud to be his big sister, my arm slung around his shoulder. But when I stepped off the jetty earlier this week the man I saw was a long way from that little boy. I recognised him at once and yet he felt like a stranger.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. I knew that coming back to the island would be hard. But maybe I hadn’t quite acknowledged the sense of loss that I’d feel being back here. Because as I lie on the floor, trying to empty my mind but feeling it become close to overflowing instead, I think about how much I have lost over the years. Sarah, my brother, my parents even.And I cannot shake the lingering feeling that has followed me my whole life. That it’s all my fault.
‘Feel the ground beneath your back,’ says Alice softly. ‘Feel it supporting you.’
I sense the mat beneath my shoulders and below it the hard ground pressing against my spine, my calves, the back of my head, holding me up.
‘You are supported,’ Alice says.
I’m breathing more quickly now. My eyes are damp and stinging. But I’m not crying. I’m not going to cry. I try to focus on the sound of the island women breathing around me. The room is one sleeping creature, taking deep, steady breaths. But even though my breath joins in, I know deep down that this feeling of belonging is just an illusion. Because I am on my own. I have been for most of my life. That’s just the way it is. It’s just me and Ella. I have no right to feel so alone, because this is what I chose for us. This has been my way of protecting us.
Alice’s voice rises above the sound of our breath.
‘You are safe.’
Right here, right now, maybe I am safe. But I also know what it means to feel as though my life is a walk alongside a cliff edge in the dark.
‘You are here,’ says Alice.
