This is all starting to sound a little too good to be true. My inner pessimist starts whispering in my ear that something is bound to go terribly wrong any second now. That’s how life is for me. There cannot be good without the bad.
‘Right,’ Peggy adds. ‘I’ll leave you to it for now. The Fire Starter ceremony is at eight. We’re starting at the meeting house for a quick health and safety briefing before we go down to the beach. I’d definitely recommend wrapping up warm. If the notion takes you to come meet the other attendees before then, some of them have gathered at the gazebo, as you might have seen. There’s hot chocolate there, or tea or coffee if you don’t have a sweet tooth. We’re asking everyone to drop any devices they may have with them in our lock box in the meeting room before we go to the beach tonight, so don’t forget to bring any phones, tablets, laptops or whatever with you later. They will be secure until home time on Sunday when they will be returned to you.’
Peggy turns and leaves, and the three of us look to each other, slightly stunned.
‘Did she say we had to hand our phones over?’ Laura asks.
‘I think so,’ I say, anxiety settling in my stomach where it will no doubt stay for the weekend.
‘Did you know about this?’ Niamh asks, her tone blunt and accusatory.
‘No!’ I tell her. ‘I didn’t know. It didn’t say in the brochure.’ I start to mentally scan the pages in my mind. Had it said something? Had I not seen it? Or ignored it? It did say this would be a chance to ‘unplug, unwind and escape’ but I didn’t take that to mean unplugging our phones. There are other things here clearly very much plugged in.
And how can she expect any of us to unwind without our phones? We’re mothers, for God’s sake. We need to be contactable. My mother is elderly and lives on her own. She needs to be able to reach me. And what about Saul, over there in England without his brother to deal with whatever inevitable crisis he will pull onto his shoulders? No. This can’t happen.
But it’s work and I agreed to do it. I agreed to give it all I have.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter meekly.
‘Well, that’s just perfect!’ Niamh snaps, and storms back off to the bathroom while I find myself looking at Laura and just hoping she doesn’t hate me right now too.
19
WICKED WITCH OF THE (NORTH) WEST
Niamh
Niamh is sitting on the bathroom floor, her back to the door, and her head in her hands. Unsurprisingly, given the amount of both vodka and sugary drink she necked on the way down, sitting in this position does not stop her head from spinning.
But it’s not just that she is coming to realise just how much her tolerance for alcohol has changed since her young, free and single days – or even since her thirties – she is vibrating with anger.
Somewhere, deep inside, she can hear the quiet whisper of a rational voice telling her ‘it’s only a phone’ and ‘you don’t have to have it attached to you all the time’, but that voice is being drowned out by a louder, definitely rage-fuelled and irrational voice.
Bloody typical of Becca to leave out this important little detail. She knew we’d not come if we knew it! Release our inner goddesses, my arse! I’m going to release my inner wicked witch of the west! Maybe that will stop Laura harping on about it being a privilege to become a crone! If I hear one more story about some far-flung culture and how they deify their grannies, I will explode. All I bloody wanted was a weekend away. To relax. To do what I wanted for once. To be me. I didn’t think we’d be checking into bloody Colditz.
A knock at the door makes her jump – even though it’s relatively gentle. She feels like a coiled spring. She dares not answer because she doesn’t trust herself not to say something they will all come to regret. It’s almost as if she can feel every little knotty muscle in her body contract. There’s this fizzing of nervous, angry energy just waiting to burst forth from her and she’s afraid it will destroy everything in its wake.
Work is breaking her. She doesn’t understand why she struggles with it so much now. She seems to have forgotten how to manage a classroom and engage pupils.
And then there’s home. Her family, who she would die for. Her family, who she loves and is proud of more than anything else in this world. Suddenly they just seem to irritate her with their constant demands for her time, attention and endless, thankless tasks. Gone are the days when they would all sit around the table, chatting animatedly about their days. The days when her children were all young enough to hero worship just a little, but also to blow her away each and every day with their unique views on the world, their funny mannerisms and their innocence.
Everything is changing. Everything she thought was solid under her feet is shifting and she just can’t cope.
‘Niamh.’ Laura’s voice comes through the door. ‘Are you okay? Will you come out and talk to us?’
She doesn’t answer. She just thinks of Jodie – how her life is going to change. How Niamh’s own life is going to change. She knows how this goes. Grandparents everywhere taking on the responsibility of mopping up the childcare tasks that the parents can’t. She can’t see Jodie moving out. Not soon. Which means a baby will be moving in. It will be a huge struggle for Jodie to continue her studies with a newborn. And those things are expensive.
Guilt swamps Niamh as she thinks of the extra laundry she’ll have to do. The middle-of-the-night help she’ll have to provide. How Paul will react to it. How the boys will cope with being told to knock the volume of their chanting down a level or ten so they don’t wake the baby.
As the first tear falls, she thinks again that she just wanted to get away from it all and have a break. She thought it would be a laugh, but it’s clear Becca is playing things straight. Maybe even judging her for drinking. Oh, God, she wonders, did she behave really badly? Has she humiliated Becca in front of Peggy?
A second knock makes her jump again.
‘Niamh, love, let us know you’re okay? I’ll talk to Peggy. Tell her your circumstances. Maybe it will be okay for you to keep your phone?’
Becca sounds like she is trying to mollify an overtired toddler and Niamh is most definitely not in the mood for it.
‘I’m fine,’ she says, through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll be out when I’m ready.’
