‘What’s aGILF?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I knowMILF,andDILFeven, but GILF?’ As I speak it clicks into place, my hand flies to my mouth, and my eyes widen with the realisation.
‘Granny I’d Like to, you know… Fu…’ Laura can’t bring her to say the full word but just creases into giggles.
‘Go on, Kitty! You absolute legend!’ Niamh says, roaring with laughter loudly enough that we get a few strange looks from some of the other women. ‘Oh, ladies, you’d be roaring laughing too if you knew this story!’ she tells them before turning her attention back to us. ‘I might start using that one myself. I imagine it would suitably horrify Jodie, and Paul for that matter. What about you, Becca? Are you going to go fullGILF?’
I pause for a second to think. ‘No. No. I don’t think so. I’m going to stick with becoming an iceberg.’
She furrows her brow and looks at me, confused.
‘Attagirl,’ Laura says. ‘Sure, that’s almost the same thing.’
‘Girls, did that cold water go to your brains? Or do either of you want to explain what on earth you’re on about?’
At least, I think, at least Niamh is laughing again.
25
MY HEART BELONGS TO TROY BOLTON
Niamh
Niamh tells people she enjoys yoga. She tells herself she enjoys yoga too. But the truth is, she finds it an ordeal each and every time. Even as she feels her body get more flexible and can start to notice her wobbly bits tighten up, she thinks that the human body is not supposed to move in many of those positions.
However, while she finds it an ordeal each and every time, she is addicted to it like the sad little masochist she is. She’s addicted to the hour spent trying not to fall down, fart or throw up so much that it blocks out all other thoughts and feelings.
And yes, she does feel a certain sense of zen afterwards – and pride in herself for not walking out halfway through when her muscles are screaming for the sweet relief of death.
She’s never been the kind of person to actively enjoy exercise and is immediately suspicious of anyone who does. She’s never fallen victim to any of the latest trends – be it Zumba, or joining a running club, or doing someHIITwith a trainer.
So she’s surprised to find that, even though this weekend has been challenging so far, she is looking forward to this particular yoga session. Much more than Becca and Laura, who have discussed faking an illness to leave early. Given what they’ve just consumed, their current thought process is pretending they have a good old dose of the skitters.
Things are definitely bad when you’re happy to tell people you have diarrhoea rather than complete a yoga class. But this is no ordinary yoga class, Niamh soon realises when they walk into the studio space to tropical temperatures that make a hot flush feel like an ice bath in comparison.
Still, she is not going to be defeated. She has been defeated enough recently and she needs, with every part of her, to be good at this.
Laura and Becca claim a spot close to the door – ‘Perfect for a quick getaway if it gets too much,’ Becca says. But yoga is Niamh’s thing and she’s not going to hide at the back of the class.
She’s not a complete lunatic though, so she doesn’t want to be at the front of the class either. She doesn’t want to look like a wannabe teacher’s pet.
Sitting down on the mat, and placing her water bottle at her side, she adopts a cross-legged position and tries to focus on her breathing while the room is still quiet. Already she has started to sweat, her forehead and back of her neck damp.
In front of her a full-height window reveals the rugged seascape ahead of them – windblown seagrass clinging onto the soft but remarkably durable dunes ahead of them. Just over the top of the dunes, Niamh can see the white foam of waves crashing to shore, set against the grey sky of a winter’s day. It looks absolutely freezing outside and Niamh hopes this will trick her mind into believing it’s just as cool inside. Already, however, she knows she is fighting a losing battle.
She will not give in to negative thought patterns though. As hard as it feels. She just needs to do what Peggy urged and open her mind to what this weekend might teach her. There’s always the possibility her life isn’t on some sort of collision course right now, after all.
She smiles when she remembers Laura telling them about Kitty O’Hagan – bold, beautiful and strong Kitty who had battled cancer so valiantly until she couldn’t any more – calling herself aGILF. She’d wanted to text Paul then and share that story with him, maybe call him a Grandad I’d Like to Fu…
But then she’d remembered she doesn’t have her phone, and she isn’t sure, for the first time in their forever together, how Paul would react. She might be the one going through the menopause but he is showing as many grumpy symptoms as her.
She shakes her head as if trying to rid it of the thoughts flooding through her mind and smiles as the rest of the women file into the room and take their places.
‘I’ve never done yoga before,’ a tiny woman who looks to be in her early fifties, with a mass of dark curly hair, says to her before claiming the mat beside her. ‘I’m sick with nerves!’
‘You’ll be fine. I think it’s pitched at beginner level anyway, but the best thing you can do is just take things nice and slowly. And don’t be afraid to ask for help.’
The woman smiles. ‘I’d say that kind of advice could apply to almost every aspect of life. Take it slow and don’t be afraid to ask for help.’
‘True,’ Niamh tells her.
