by Melissa Hill
“Are you sure? Because I don’t want to find out at our next session that you’ve taken the lift instead of walking.”
“Yes, I’m absolutely sure.”
“Great,” Tara said, before asking casually, “So, on the subject of swimming, how committed are you?”
Mary took a deep breath. “I suppose about an eight or nine.”
“OK, and how are you going to ensure that you enjoy swimming here instead of just on holiday?”
Mary brightened a little. “Well, I’ve always thought I might like to try an aqua-aerobics class or something like that.”
“Why an aqua-aerobics class?”
“My friend Sinéad goes, and she enjoys it. I suppose I could go along with her.”
“Would going with Sinéad help you keep to your commitment to increasing your fitness levels?”
Mary nodded, now at last getting the idea. “Yes, it would.”
“So, on a scale of one to ten, how committed are you to joining Sinéad at the aqua-aerobics class?”
“Ten,” Mary replied proudly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“So what do you need to do today to ensure that you attend the next aqua-aerobics class?”
“I need to ring Sinéad and arrange it.”
“What time will you ring her?”
“Well, she gets back from the school run around four. I might ring her then.”
“So you’re committed to ringing Sinéad this afternoon between four and five o’clock to arrange to go the next aqua-aerobics class, yes?”
Mary nodded once more. “Definitely yes.”
“Great, Mary. I look forward to hearing all about it at our next session.” Tara was feeling a little drained by the repetitive and rather patronising process of getting Mary some way committed to attaining fitness. But she’d achieved it (for the moment at least) and that, after all, was what any life coach worth her salt wanted.
Poor Mary was a good three stone overweight and, if she wasn’t careful, was heading for chronic obesity. Having tried every fad diet under the sun, she’d eventually contacted Tara to see if there was anything she could do to help her lose the weight. From the outset, Tara was careful to distinguish between “becoming healthy” which had positive connotations, and “losing weight” which had negative connotations, and (as every woman who’d ever tried to lose a few pounds knew) naturally fostered mental resistance. And in Tara’s view, the only way clients could achieve their goals was to feel that responsibility for that success lay with them, rather than her.
But today, at least, she’d helped get Mary back on track.
Mary stood up and picked up her jacket. “So, I’ll see you when you get back, then. Enjoy your holiday.” Then she added, winking, “I’d say it’ll be relief to get away from all of us whingers for a while!”
“Don’t be silly, Mary, I love my job,” Tara said good-humouredly as she saw her out the door of her office. “It’s very fulfilling. As I told you the very first day I met you, I’m in show business and –”
“I know,” Mary repeated, grinning, her earlier bad humour now well evaporated. “You show people how to achieve the life they want!”
Tara waved goodbye to Mary – her final appointment for the evening – then closed the door of her office and went into the main house. Although “office” was a bit of an overstatement, as it was actually the converted front room of her own house (yet another overstatement as the house was rented – there wasn’t a hope of her and Glenn being able to afford exorbitant office rates). But the room was quiet, restful and its homely qualities actually seemed to put clients at ease. People often mentioned that they felt as though they’d just popped over to a friend’s house for a cup of tea and a chat, which was exactly the cosy atmosphere Tara had been aiming for, rather than the stuffy and sometimes overwhelming surroundings often associated with counselling or therapy.
While there were links between therapy and life coaching, the latter had very different techniques and methodologies. Unlike psychology or psychiatry, coaching did not deal with diseases of body and mind – instead it helped with issues of self-esteem or inability to achieve desired goals. And today, in post-Celtic Tiger Ireland, it seemed there was no shortage of dissatisfied individuals seeking assistance in finding what they really wanted out of life.
Although admittedly, she thought, going upstairs to change, it had taken Irish people some time to get used to the idea of using life coaches, and because the profession was largely new, she knew there were still many who viewed it with suspicion. But life coaching was ultimately all about results and, in this regard, Tara’s track record spoke for itself.
When she first set up the consultancy three years back, business had been slow, but following some aggressive marketing and a series of talks at local business groups, women’s clubs and organisations, she began to pick up clients here and there, and after a year to eighteen months, began to get many, many more through referrals. These days, her services were in so much demand that new clients could be waiting up to three or four weeks for an appointment. Also, in addition to individual face-to-face appointments, Tara also ran faceless coaching sessions and, sometimes, after finishing a long day seeing clients either in the office or out of it, she spent a further few hours holding online or telephone sessions for people who were uncomfortable with meeting her face to face or who lived too far away to do so.
So, after spending three solid years building the consultancy to such a level (with darling Glenn supporting her massively from the sidelines), she felt that this year they just might be justified in taking a well-earned break, and the following Wednesday they were heading off for a ten-night holiday in Sharm El Sheikh on the Red Sea.
“Egypt?” he’d moaned when Tara had announced she’d booked their first holiday abroad in years. “Does this mean you’ll be dragging me around the place looking at dead mummies and ancient tombs?”
“No, it means that we’ll be sunning ourselves under blue skies and in thirty-five-degree sun, instead of facing the autumn wind and rain here,” Tara had explained. And when she’d pointed out in the brochure the glorious five-star hotel she’d chosen, there hadn’t been another word out of him.
They both really needed this holiday. Glenn had been working like a demon lately; in fact, he’d had to beg for the time off from Pixels, the computer firm in which he worked. Unlike him, Tara didn’t have to beg for time off from anyone. Anyone other than her own conscience anyway, she thought ruefully.
Having changed out of the skirt and blouse she wore for seeing clients into a more comfortable sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, Tara went back downstairs and into the kitchen.
When she came in, she found Glenn sitting at the counter eating takeaway pizza and looking so utterly handsome that her heart skipped a beat. With his almost jet-black hair, liquid brown eyes and naturally sallow skin, Glenn was the kind of guy that always turned heads and, not for the first time, Tara couldn’t quite get her head around the fact that he was really hers.
“I thought you were making dinner?” she said, referring acidly to the pizza. Although she loved the stuff, she knew it wouldn’t do her figure any good to be munching on cheese and pepperoni stodge after a day’s work.
“I did – well, Four Star Pizza did,” he replied, shrugging. “I didn’t have time to make anything else, Tara. I’m due at work in an hour.” Glenn had recently begun working overtime at Pixels in the run up to their holiday.
Tara looked at the clock. It was almost six and she’d promised her mum she’d be at her place soon after seven. Blast it – she didn’t really have time to make anything else either – the Friday evening traffic out of the city was bound to be mental!
“Just don’t make a habit of this, OK?” she said, picking up a slice of pizza and taking a huge, satisfying bite of it. “Otherwise, we’ll both end up looking like the Michelin Man.”
“No worries. From now on, I solemnly swear to make the bori
ng chicken and vegetable pasta we usually have.”
“It’s not boring, Glenn, it’s healthy, and you could do with keeping an eye on what you eat now and again,” she said, conscious that she was still in life-coaching mode but unable to switch off. “All that Red Bull rubbish you drink is not good for you. It’s full of caffeine.”
“Tools of the trade,” he said, his mouth open as he ate, and Tara elbowed him.
“Were you brought up or dragged up?” she teased, shaking her head in exasperation. His job as a system’s analyst necessitated working long hours in front of a PC and, like many other habitual computer users, he relied on caffeine to keep him going.
His choice of career seemed inevitable, given that he’d had an irreversible bond with computers since his first Atari and, even when not at work, could barely stay out of cyberspace for more than a couple of hours. Tara had long since got used to the clattering of the keyboard from his study which, depending on whatever system he was trying to hack into, could often be heard till the early hours of the morning.
“Are you finished for the day then?” he asked, eyeing her casual clothes.
“Finished for two long weeks, you mean,” she replied with a self-satisfied sigh. “I can’t wait for this, Glenn, I really can’t. Imagine, two whole blissful weeks without work.”
“Hmm, it remains to be seen how blissful it’ll be.” He was still convinced he’d be roped into discovering the more “cultural” side of Egypt. “Knowing you, we mightn’t even get a chance to relax.”
“Love, believe me, we’ll be doing lots of relaxing! And I’m going to make the most of being off-duty for a change. But speaking of duty,” she looked up again at the clock, “I’d better get a move on. I told Mum I’d be down soon after seven.” She grabbed a napkin and began to wipe her sticky fingers.
“Oh, I forgot you were heading down to Castlegate for the night,” Glenn said, scooping up another slice. “Say hi to them all for me.”
“I will.” Then, catching sight of the pile of rubbish for recycling in the corner of the kitchen by the back door, Tara sighed. “Damn! I meant to drop all that off to the centre today,” she said, eyeing the tidily bound newspapers, crushed aluminium cans and washed glass bottles. “I’ll hardly have time to do it now, and the stuff is really piling up.”
“I’ll look after it. Although I still can’t understand why you don’t just throw the whole lot in the wheelie bin and be done with it, instead of all these treks to and from the recycling centre.”
Tara fixed him with a look. “Because, unlike you, Glenn, I’m quite happy to do every little bit I can to help clean up our environment – while we’re here it’s the very least we can do and –”
“I know, I know,” he interjected wearily, having heard the same argument many times before. “It’s the least we can do, and future generations will thank us for it. And how will they do that, incidentally? Send us a postcard or something?”
When Tara didn’t seem to find this funny, he raised his hands in the air in a gesture of defeat. “OK, OK, I said I’d do it, didn’t I? Anything to make you happy.”
“Anything to stop me nagging you, maybe,” Tara said with a grin. “And you might as well get rid of that pizza box while you’re at it – don’t forget to clean it off first though.”
“Yes, master, whatever you say, master!” Glenn replied, bowing his head exaggeratedly at her bossy tone.
“Oh, give over!”
Leaving him to finish the last of the pizza, Tara went to check her appearance in the hallway mirror. She wiped a very obvious splodge of tomato sauce from her face and quickly applied a coat of lipstick before running a brush through her fair hair.
Then she went back into the kitchen and gave Glenn – who had another huge slice of pizza in his mouth mid-bite – a quick kiss on the cheek, before picking up her jacket and bag and heading for the front door. “See you tomorrow night, darling – don’t work too hard!”
“I won’t . . . oh and be sure to let me know what they think of the car!” he shouted to her retreating back. “I bet that’ll get some reaction!”
Tara grimaced as she closed the front door behind her. She’d forgotten all about the fact her parents hadn’t yet seen the new car.
Well, it would get a reaction all right, she thought, as she reversed out of the driveway and drove off in the direction of North County Dublin, although hardly the one that Glenn anticipated.
Chapter 2
She smiled to herself as she drove along the dual carriageway, enjoying the feel of the wind on her face. Despite the late hour, the sun was still shining, the sky was blue; everything was so perfect, you’d think whoever was in charge of the weather had given her this fabulous evening on purpose.
Of course, she always looked forward to returning home to Castlegate, a small, picturesque and hugely popular tourist village some twenty miles outside of Dublin city, and again she wondered if she and Glenn should think seriously about moving back to live there. But Glenn loved living in the city and, with the majority of Tara’s clientele to be found in the capital, it wouldn’t be practical just yet. But it was certainly something to think about for the future.
She put the convertible into fifth gear and deftly moved into the fast lane, only remembering to check her rear-view mirror at the very last minute. Eeek! Her heart lurched, but luckily there was nothing behind her. She exhaled deeply and shook her head from side to side. It was all very well being in a good mood, but she really should be more careful – especially when driving this bloody thing!
Approaching a set of traffic lights on red further down the road, Tara eased off on the accelerator. Typical – once you got stopped at the first set, you got stopped at them all, she groaned, tapping her nails against the steering wheel impatiently. Then, vaguely sensing she was being watched, she looked to her left and spotted the driver of the car alongside flash her an appreciative smile.
Tara reddened and looked away, desperately willing the lights to change. She supposed she should be used to the attention by now, the sporty Renault cabriolet turning heads wherever they went – much to Glenn’s delight – but Tara always felt like such a bloody poser in this thing.
Then again, a blonde in a convertible always got attention, didn’t she? Never mind that the blonde in question was really a strawberry-blonde who badly needed her roots done, wore very little make-up and was today dressed in decidedly unglamorous sportswear – totally undeserving of such attention. If anything she looked like some cheeky gurrier who’d hot-wired the thing!
She stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the other driver. Why on earth she had let Glenn talk her into buying this she’d never know.
But wasn’t it a blessing twice over that the weather was fine? Because even though she’d been driving the car a few weeks now, she still couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to put the top back up. She had meant to ask Glenn for another demonstration before she left but had forgotten.
Glenn, as always, was horrified at Tara’s lack of appreciation of auto-excellence.
“What’s the point in having a class machine like that if you don’t appreciate it?” he’d say, while Tara would roll her eyes and point out that she’d have been much happier in an ordinary, run-of-the-mill Golf or something, rather than this snazzy, attention-seeking number he’d insisted they get.
She eventually spied the turn-off for her parents’ place, which was situated in a small mews just outside Castlegate village. She made her way tentatively towards their house, hoping that no one she knew would see her driving this pretentious car. She could almost imagine the comments. “Did you see that Harrington one in her fancy car? Who does she think she is coming down from Dublin and lording it over us all? Next, she’ll be telling us all how to live our lives like she does with all those snobs up in the city!”
Tara’s career as a life coach was something she knew her poor mother had a terrible time trying to explain to the neighbours and couldn’t quite get to
grips with herself.
“Surely people don’t need to be told how to live their lives, Tara?” Isobel would say, when Tara had first set up her consultancy. “Surely they have enough common sense to be able to work things out for themselves?”
Tara had given up trying to convince her mother that there were people out there who needed some form of direction in their lives, who needed somebody objective to help them get to grips with things like time management, relationship issues and – more often than not – boost their self-confidence. And most importantly, there were people out there who were willing to pay good money to do so.
“It’s perfect for you,” her best friend Liz had said, when Tara originally broached the idea of life coaching. “You have a natural empathy with people and, unlike lots of people I know, you have a terrific ability to see things objectively – not to mention that you’ve got a lot of common sense about things – well, your love life aside,” she added sardonically.
Tara ignored the jibe. It was all right for Liz; for as long as she’d known her friend, she’d wanted marriage and babies and happy families and all that. Tara, on the other hand, had no interest in marriage whatsoever, and she and Glenn were perfectly happy the way they were. Tara spent most of her time trying to help people decide what it was they wanted from life and how to get it, but despite what Liz thought, she herself didn’t have that problem.
Reaching her parents’ house she parked outside and prayed inwardly that the rain would hold off for the rest of the evening. Despite the earlier sunshine, there were by now a few dark clouds gathering overhead, so fingers crossed. Glenn would not be best pleased if the car’s lovely leather interior got drenched! On second thoughts, she rooted in the glove compartment and pulled the instructions handbook out. She’d get her dad to have a look at it – maybe he could figure out the mysteries of raising and lowering the top.
She rang the doorbell and cast a nostalgic glance around her dad’s well-tended garden. Her parents had lived in the same estate since Tara was born and through all of her subsequent thirty-four years.
