‘I don’t know …’ I’m not sure if I can manage teaching right now.
‘Please,’ says Sarah. ‘I think it will help.’
The others nod. I take a deep breath. I want to help my friends. And maybe it will help me a little too.
‘OK then.’
We adjust the mats. I’m not really dressed for yoga and neither are most of my friends but it doesn’t really matter. We’ll manage.
I choose a sun salutation. The movements are fluid and constant. When you’re saluting the sun you get caught up and absorbed by the movements, which is why I chose this. My friends copy my moves, reaching to the ground and lifting arms to the sky, moving from one pose to another with a sense of energy and purpose. As I lead them I think about sun and fire, their power to bring warmth and life but also to destroy. I suppose you can’t have one without the other: love without loss, life without death. It’s inevitable. But that inevitability doesn’t make it any easier. When faced with loss you still want to cling on as tightly as you can. I think about Jean, and Christopher’s reluctance to let her refuse treatment.
‘Take a deep breath,’ I tell my friends, ‘and then breathe out and let it all go.’
Should we have pushed harder to change Jean’s mind? Perhaps we should go back and try to argue with her, putting forward the case for chemotherapy and its success rates. Despite what I said earlier, I can’t help but feel like I’ve made a big mistake in not fighting harder. I might have said those words, I might have been the one to encourage the others to back down, but deep down I’m not sure if I really feel it. I suppose in the end, letting go can be the hardest thing in the world.
Chapter 33
Lorna
Jack and I are still side by side on the stone wall when a sound brings my attention towards the track. The Land Rover trundles towards us and pulls up outside the house. Alice steps out, the breeze dancing in her hair. Her expression looks haunted for a moment, her gaze distant and lost. But then she spots us and a smile brightens her face. She lifts a hand in a wave. Jack and I wave back.
‘I’d better get back to work,’ says Jack, standing up and brushing his overalls with his hands.
‘OK, well I’ll see you later.’
‘See you later, Lorna,’ he says, half-smiling.
When I reach the farmhouse, I greet Alice with a warm hug.
‘We did it, Alice, we talked, we properly talked.’
I’m grinning, my whole body glowing with relief and happiness.
‘I’m so pleased,’ she replies. As we step apart she rubs her eyes quickly and I notice that they are red.
‘Are you OK?’
But she takes a deep breath and waves a hand in front of her.
‘I’m fine. I’m so glad you two talked, I know he’s wanted to, he just struggles opening up.’
‘Thank you, Alice. Talking with you has helped so much too.’
She smiles but it’s somewhat weak and I notice her eyes glancing away for a second before darting back again. I wonder what’s wrong, because something is clearly wrong. But it’s also obvious that she doesn’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to push her.
‘It’s good to see you up and about,’ she says, a somewhat forced brightness in her voice. ‘Are you feeling better?’
‘Much better, thank you. And thank you for looking after me, both of you.’
As I say it I think suddenly of the other person who was there with us on the island, the person who steered us through a storm and helped us find our daughters. My cheeks grow warm. If today is a day of talking, of stepping closer, then there’s one other person I want to see. I picture Mallachy’s studio and how we discussed art together there. I remember him jumping overboard on the shore of Caora Island and wading through the water behind us as we set off in search of Ella and Molly. And I think of the smell of his jumper – pine and dog and oil paints.
‘Alice, do you mind if I head out for a bit? There’s someone I need to thank.’
Her smile grows more genuine now as she looks back at me.
‘It’s Mallachy’s day off – he should be at his house.’ My eyebrows rise and she laughs, holding her hands up. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere. I forgot to tell you, but the flowers by your bed were from him.’
Is my face as red as it feels?
