‘More’s the pity,’ Niamh replies. ‘I would pay good money to read about you getting yourself off your tits on mushrooms.’
‘Let me stop you there!’ I raise my hand. ‘First of all, once again, there will be no mushrooms and even if there were, I would not be partaking. The last thing I need or want is to lose control of my senses. No. I want to be fully present. Second of all,’ and this is where I finally get to the point, ‘Northern Peoplehave offered me three places on the retreat – as long as you two don’t mind bunking in with me.’
The expressions on their faces are a mirror image of each other. Eyes wide. Eyebrows raised. Not quite sure if this is a good thing, or a bad thing.
‘Sorry, what?’ Niamh asks.
‘Look, when I submitted the columns I wrote a little about, you know, the importance of female friendship groups and about how much you girls mean to me.’
‘Awww! That’s so sweet,’ Laura says.
‘So,’ I continue, ‘when I saw Grace and she agreed to the column she also said this opportunity had come in but really she didn’t have any suitable staff for it and she’s too busy to take the weekend away herself. She thinks it will make for great copy and sure, it means the three of us can get away for a weekend together and when was the last time we did that? It’s not going to cost us anything except for whatever snacks we want to bring and it will be an experience. Something different. Something the sixteen-year-old versions of us would want us to do?’
‘And where is it? I need more details than just Donegal,’ Niamh says. ‘Is it a nice hotel at least? Will the food be decent? It won’t be superfoods and sawdust, will it?’
I shift awkwardly in my seat. This might just be where I lose them. ‘I don’t know about the food. And, well… about the accommodation… the thing is…’
‘I’m not sure I like the sound of this,’ Niamh says.
‘Shush! Just let her speak.’ I knew I could count on Laura to be the voice of reason. Lovely hippy-centric Laura.
‘The thing is, it’s not a hotel.’
‘Self-catering cottage?’ Laura asks, hopefully.
I may be losing her too.
‘Yurt,’ I say, in little more than a whisper. ‘Near Clonmany. Not far from the beach. Apparently you can hear the sea from your bed.’
There’s a pause that lasts longer than is strictly comfortable for any of us before Niamh speaks.
‘A weekend, in a tent, near a beach, on the Atlantic coast… when? In the summer? Spring at least?’
‘This weekend.’ If there is a volume level that is one step lower than a whisper, I am speaking at it.
‘Sorry, did she just say this weekend?’ Niamh is incredulous.
Laura just stares at me for a moment, eyes blinking.
‘I know it’s a big ask, but very last minute and?—’
‘Fuck it, I’m in!’ Niamh says. ‘A weekend away from the bosom of my family who I simultaneously love but want to kill? In a tent? At the will of the wind and waves rolling in off the Atlantic? What could possibly go wrong? But here… fortune favours the brave.’
We both look at Laura. ‘You don’t even need to ask,’ she says. ‘My mum would kick my arse if I didn’t, and to be honest, it would be nice to get away from all the grief and the house-selling stuff. Even if only for a weekend.’
I am absolutely thrilled silly. The thought of the three of us going away together is so exciting. I don’t even care that it’s to a yurt. Or that there will be workshops and self-improvement sessions we will have to attend. I’ve survived yoga. I can survive this. I might even enjoy it.
13
PACK UP YOUR TROUBLES
Niamh
Niamh is simultaneously both looking forward to and dreading telling Paul she is going away for the weekend. Things have reached a new level of frosty between them and for the first time in her life she has felt intense dislike for him.
Yes, he has ragged her happiness on many an occasion during their long time together, but she always remained secure in her belief that he was her person. She loved him and he loved her and she could cope with the fact that no one is perfect all of the time.
Today though? Today she has fantasised about packing a bag and walking out the door to leave him to manage the shitshow that her home life has become. There will be no sneaking round to his mother’s house for his tea when it is his sole responsibility to feed the children and keep them in clean clothes.
