‘We’ll get her coffee and something to eat. She probably hasn’t eaten anything since lunch. We’ll be able to help her,’ I say, looking around for any sight of Peggy, who is supposed to be greeting us. I don’t want to bring Niamh into the throng of other attendees if I can help it. Their first impression of her should at least be something akin to her usual self and not this person I can hear whisper-singing ‘Push It’ beside me.
I’m starting to lose hope in achieving that particular goal though, until stepping into the light and in a fog of woodsmoke there appears an ethereal vision in a dryrobe.
‘Tell me one of you is Becca Burnside,’ she says in a lilting Donegal accent. As she steps closer I notice she has what I can only describe as a very kind smile. I immediately relax.
‘That would be me,’ I say, raising one hand. ‘And these are my friends, Laura and Niamh.’
‘Lovely to meet you,’ she says, reaching out to shake my hand. ‘I’m Peggy, and you’re very welcome here to our Inner Goddess retreat at Wild Water Falls. I’m really hoping you all get something very special out of this experience.’
Seeing her in the flesh, it would be hard to pin an age on Peggy. Not that it matters. She gives off a quiet air of confidence that is quite enticing. Her age doesn’t actually seem to matter. What matters is that she is one of those people who makes you feel almost immediately at ease.
‘I hope so too,’ I tell her, warmly. ‘This sounds like just exactly the kind of thing we were looking for.’
‘Great!’ Peggy claps her hands. ‘That’s exactly what I like to hear. And Grace has told me about your new column forNorthern People. I am absolutely delighted to see that our generation of women are finally being given a voice – and a real voice at that. Women who aren’t afraid of ageing and want to embrace life without focusing on trying to pretend they’re younger than they are. We’ve earned our stripes.’
I blush, and hope the dark surroundings make it impossible for her to see. Then again, I don’t want to hide my ‘real self’ – the kind of self she admires.
‘Truth be told, we’re a little afraid of ageing,’ Laura pipes up.
‘Alotafraid,’ Niamh adds. ‘I feel too young to be getting old. I’m going to be a granny, you know. And Becca here too. How are we old enough to make that even a possibility?’
Her voice is a little too loud, her words a little too slurred. I hate myself for feeling embarrassed but I do. This is not the first impression I’d wanted to make.
Peggy just smiles and doesn’t seem at all fazed. ‘Ageing comes to us all,’ she says. ‘And I think most of us freak out a little at first. Or even a lot. I still have moments when I look in the mirror and expect to see myself at thirty looking back at me. That jumpscare can be real.’ She laughs. ‘But what I hope this weekend will help you realise is that most of our fears and worries about growing old are because of what we have been fed by society for decades. We’ve been led to believe that old can’t be beautiful. That older women have little to look forward to apart from becoming invisible. There’s been a lack of representation of us onTVand in books and movies and it’s no wonder we associate ageing with disappearing. What I want this weekend to do is to help reframe the ageing process. Embrace it even. Celebrate our positives and our strengths and show that “women of a certain age” have a lot to offer.’ She pulls a face as she says ‘women of a certain age’ – one that screams of thinking the world who would write us off can go and take a long jump off a short pier.
It’s hard not to feel warmed by her positivity. Or at leastIfind it hard not to feel warmed by her positivity. Niamh has other things on her mind.
‘Peggy, this is all very lovely,’ she says. ‘And I’m very excited by everything you’re saying but is there any chance you can say it a bit quicker and then direct me to the nearest loo before my pelvic floor is tested beyond its limits?’
It’s only then I realise she is standing with her legs crossed. ‘I may have had a little drink or two on the way down and, well, I’ve had four children and…’
‘Say no more!’ Peggy says with a smile. ‘Let me direct you to your accommodation!’
‘And there’s a toilet there?’ Niamh asks. ‘Because I don’t think I can hold this much longer.’
‘Don’t worry. All the yurts come with their own bathrooms,’ Peggy says with a smile as she starts walking along a pathway away from the gazebo and meeting house and towards the yurt signposted as ‘Danu’.
‘Danu is the mother of the Irish goddesses, and is associated with wisdom, regeneration and prosperity. So I think this will be perfect for the three of you.’ When we reach the entrance to the yurt, she pulls aside the tarpaulin and directs us inside – and Niamh directly to the bathroom which, to my surprise, is through a proper door at the right-hand side of the tent.
I don’t have time to think about it too deeply, though, as I take in our accommodation for the weekend. It might be a tent in a field, but it looks relatively cosy. It helps that we’ve walked in to find lamps lit and a fire already burning in a small pot-bellied stove close to the bathroom door.
‘Okay,’ Laura laughs. ‘I’m already thinking I’m moving here permanently. I’ll claim squatter’s rights! This is gorgeous!’
And, I think, it’s warm and there is a proper bed – iron framed and king-sized at that, strewn with luxury throws and crocheted blankets. At the foot of the bed there is a wooden blanket box on which sit three soft, extremely fluffy cream robes and three pairs of slippers.
‘Grace said you were okay with two of you sharing the bed?’ Peggy asks. ‘And one of you on the sofa, which of course pulls out into a bed. I’ve slept on it myself and I can vouch for its comfort.’
I don’t doubt her. Everything in this room screams comfort. There are cushions, and deep-pile rugs underfoot. A dresser complete with a kettle and selection of teas and coffees is accompanied by a small, buzzing fridge – just big enough to store milk and maybe a bottle of wine.
I didn’t expect there to be electricity, or a stove, or what looks like a proper bathroom. This really is impressive.
‘Peggy, this is all just wonderful,’ I say, surprised to feel a little emotional. This place is absolutely exceeding all my expectations – and then some. Surely Grace must’ve known how fabulous this place is? That she so willingly offered this opportunity to me suddenly feels a little overwhelming. But, I think, overwhelming in a good way. Still, I don’t trust myself to say any more. It’s bad enough that our first impression to Peggy has been a drunken Niamh and a mad rush for the toilet. The last thing she needs to see on top of that is me in emotional-meltdown mode.
‘I’m happy to take the sofa,’ Laura says. ‘Or whatever suits. It all just looks amazing.’
‘It’s more than amazing,’ Niamh says, walking back in through the door. ‘There’s a proper loo in there. Like a proper bathroom. With walls. And a proper shower. I was terrified we’d be piddling into a hole in the ground and wiping our bums with leaves. This is unreal!’
‘We found that people like certain home comforts,’ Peggy explains. ‘That’s why we have the fridge, and the kettle, for example. And, of course, the toilets.’
