She tinkered through her bottles, eventually selecting one and giving it a sniff. ‘I like to do a combination of reflexology and aromatherapy massage on the feet and legs, and a Reiki session at the end. Does that sound alright?’
‘It sounds amazing.’ She was talking my language. I had a quick scan through the form, ticked panic attacks and blood pressure and squiggled down my signature.
‘If you’d like to get under the blankets and stay face up,’ Greta said, pulling a curtain out of nowhere across the middle of the hut. ‘You can leave your clothes on the chair.’
‘All of them?’ I asked in a small voice. Did Scandinavians do everything in the nude?
Greta looked confused. ‘Just your socks and trousers. Unless you’d rather roll up the legs.’
‘No, no. Trousers off is fine.’ I was so tense! Of course she meant trousers – it was reflexology, not gynaecology.
Some calming violin music started as I climbed into the bed.
‘Ready?’ Greta called.
‘Yes.’
She slid back the curtain, and I kept my eyes closed as she adjusted the blankets and tucked me in. The music was just loud enough that there was no question of having to talk, giving me permission to completely relax. She uncorked the oil with a pop, and the air filled with jasmine as she started massaging my feet, working through the pulse points in each of my toes to get rid of the toxins. Re-energising my ankles and calves, then finishing with some reiki magic. She rang a bell to signal the end of the treatment and I immediately felt bereft.
‘There’s some water on the side for you,’ she whispered as I lay in post-massage bliss. I was taking this woman back to London with me. ‘Take your time getting dressed; there’s no rush.’
The music clicked off five minutes later and I was still sat there in a daze. I shook myself up and got dressed. ‘That was such a treat.’ I said with a yawn, sliding back the curtain.
Greta smiled. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. Put this on over your clothes to walk back.’ She handed me a big, fleecy jumper and I did as I was told. ‘It’ll help keep your body heat in.’
She’d thought of everything. Five and a half stars.
I put my head down and walked fast to try and stay warm. My phone vibrated as I marched past the Wi-Fi lounge, but I didn’t hang around. My only focus was getting back to the cabin to sit in front of the fire. This was my life now, going from one extreme type of relaxation to the next. I stumbled in, got my pyjamas on, then noticed the messages flashing.
Jimbo: Paint looks cracking :) I’ve given it three coats.
He’d sent some photos and the painting was all finished, the creams and browns now covered over with the Chelsea colour palette. I hadn’t expected it to feel so weird, seeing my old life painted into my King’s Cross pad. My marital home infiltrating my single girl flat.
Mark: I’ve booked to come and check it out like you suggested.
Mark: Arriving a week Wednesday.
I was jolted out of my reverie.
What?
He’d booked to come here? No. He must mean something else. I re-read his message.Like I’d suggested?When? I scrolled back through our messages. What the hell was he talking about? My post-spa zen had gone and I couldn’t even call him to find out. What to do,what to do? If I told him I was heading back to London, he’d know I’d lied about how amazing it was. Although I had to admit it had turned a corner. If I carried on as planned,he’d turn up a week on Wednesday and I wouldn’t be here, but if I stayed, he’d completely ruin any relaxation vibes. What did he want? There was only one way to find out. I’d have to change my bloody flight again and write off another two hundred quid.
