Ten
How?How had this happened? I was a good person and didn’t deserve this on my holidays.
I’d walked with Henrik to the Sun Hut and was now crossed-legged on the floor in some kind of ‘let’s all have a breakdown together’ circle. A pile of shoes had been left at the door, and there was a sour, sweaty smell about the place. It was the first time I’d encountered the other guests and there were twelve of us in the circle. Will and Celeste were to my right, a shiny Canadian couple on a gap year who were bursting at the seams with youth and positivity. All nut-brown hair and dewy skin. Lucky bastards. Ethel was on my left, a woman who was well into her seventies and walked with a gold cane. Her chunky, mustard cardigan looked handmade, and her silver necklaces jangled as she told me about her drive over from Oslo. Ethel had been to Firefly every year since she’d retired and was looking forward to her annual zen top-up.
I didn’t get chance to meet the others, but we were all embarking on this ‘transformational experience’ together, so no doubt I would. Although it would just be the three days of transformation for me. Which would be plenty.
‘Good morning!’ Henrik called. ‘I will be running the laughter workshop today.’ He flipped his hair into a bun and slipped off his shoes.
‘Good morrrrn-ing, Hen-rik!’ the group parroted back like cheeky schoolchildren.
I started to worry that this might be an interactive session. Would I be expected to explain why I couldn’t laugh anymore? To sit and think about where my giggle had gone?
Henrik stood in the centre of the circle, slowly turning to look each of us in the eye. ‘The aim of today is to have fun and let ourselves go,’ he said, lingering a second longer than necessary when he got to me. His gaze was so intense it made me flutter. ‘There is no pressure here. Simply go with the flow and let’s see what comes. The only thing I ask is that you try not to block your feelings. OK?’
There was a collective exhalation as we nervously smiled at each other.
‘Right. Are we ready? Everyone up,’ Henrik said, stretching out his hamstrings. We stayed in the circle, mirroring his moves as if he were an aerobics instructor. ‘Now, I want you to breathe into your feet. Feel the ground holding you up. No one is judging you here.’
Celeste nodded emphatically, gripping the mat with her bare finger-like toes. I wastotallyjudging her. I’d planned to have a pedicure when I got here, so my feet weren’t really fit for public viewing, and from what I could see, neither were Ethel’s. Foot Finder would have a field day. I stood strong in my socks as Henrik moved on to some vigorous all over body shaking to expel the bad energy. I didn’t need bare feet to laugh.
‘We’ll start with some simple ha, ha, ha, hee, hee, hee,’ Henrik said, completely straight faced. Wizbit himself. I willed myself to join in with enthusiasm and vim, but I just couldn’t do it, so I silently mouthed along with the others and tried to get away with it.
‘And now an evil laugh. Mwah, ha, ha, ha, haaa.’ Tongues lolled about all over the place and there was a whiff of stale coffee breath in the air as everyone copied Henrik, panting like a pack of dehydrated dogs.
The Japanese couple opposite were already giggling away.
‘And clap in time!’ Henrik called. ‘HO. HO. Ha-ha-ha. HO. HO. Ha-ha-ha.’
I couldn’t pretend to clap, so I surrendered to the process and got involved with ho-ing and ha-ing. It was strangely liberating to go all in – and much easier than faking it. And once I relaxed and let myself go, I felt something inside me shift.
‘Now walk in a circle.’ Henrik’s eyes were twinkling again. Was this a wind up?
I followed Will, who marched behind a skipping Celeste, and the repetition of sounds punctuated the air like a drumbeat as we moved. The chanting felt almost meditational to start with, but once Henrik added in the walking, it was like being in a zombie apocalypse.
I stifled a snigger, and Henrik caught my eye.
‘Don’t hold it back, Sara,’ he shouted across the room. Ethel snorted in my ear, and I lost my composure. A guttural guffaw started rumbling in my chest as a happier version of myself tried to get out. It didn’t really sound like me, but it had been a while since anything had properly cracked me up – maybe I didn’t recognise it anymore. Whatever it was, I couldn’t hold it back. The sight of this mad, gurning circle of strangers and the ludicrousness of even being in this situation was too much. My snigger turned into a chuckle and then I got the giggles, until I was double chin laughing with my whole body. My cheeks pushed into my eyes as I shrieked at the hilariousness of it all andI couldn’t breathe.
We took it in turns to be the person losing control of our faculties. The hysteria was infectious, and by the end of the session, tears were rolling down my cheeks and I couldn’t really remember what it was that had tickled me so much in the first place. The laughter stopped in the same way it had started, gradually going back down to silence. Bubbles of excitementfilled my stomach, and I felt elated. Was this another gratis way the Norwegians got their kicks?
‘Amazing work,’ Henrik said, beaming around at us all. ‘Enjoy all those endorphins coursing through your veins. People forget to laugh when they become adults. Children laugh all the time. Loud and without fear. It’s incredibly good for you.’
‘Kinda cool,’ Will said with a smile.
‘Better than sex!’ Celeste added and everyone cheered. Except Will. ‘Not really,’ she said, giving him a hug.
Maybe I didn’t need a box of wine, after all. Not for the next few hours anyway. Although realistically, how often were we going to stand in a circle, laughing for no reason? I’d be needing a drink in between times.
‘Lunch is being served in the Orangery if you’d like to make your way over,’ Henrik hollered over the chatter as everyone came down from their natural high.
The mention of food had my stomach grumbling. It had been quite a morning.
‘I’m so hungry,’ I said, falling into step with Ethel. ‘I could eat a horse.’
‘The food here is fabulous. Are you a practising vegan?’ she asked, raising her eyebrow at my phrasing.
‘Ugh, no,’ I said, aghast. ‘I don’t know how they do it, do you? What is life without a bacon and egg buttie on a Sunday morning? And milk and cream – and butter! No, it’s not for me. I’ll be having the carnivore menu.’
