‘No,’ Molly admits. ‘Neither did I. I only came along because Katrin talked me into it. I thought maybe it would be a distraction, that it would take my mind off being made redundant. I thought maybe if I surrounded myself with yogis like Katrin, all my problems would just melt away.’
Fran laughs. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she says. ‘It didn’t quite work like that.’
‘No.’ Molly smiles. ‘Not quite. At first I just felt hot and awkward and clumsy and out of place. And then it turned out Katrin’s life wasn’t as smooth sailing as I thought it was.’
Fran nods. It’s not her place to discuss Katrin. ‘So how do you feel now?’ she asks.
‘As though I’ve got a little perspective on things,’ Molly replies. ‘I’d had that job since I graduated and it had taken over my whole life. Being here has forced me to sit with how I feel about it, and under the anger and the shame I realised that I’d let the job take over my life. I’d given up so much for that job.’ She stops, looks away from Fran. ‘My fiancé broke up with me last year,’ she says. ‘I think I understand why now.’
Fran doesn’t say anything, allowing Molly to open up in her own time.
‘I put the job before him,’ Molly goes on. ‘I put it before our future and the possibility of starting a family.’
Fran doesn’t say anything for a moment, her hand automatically resting on her abdomen when Molly mentions starting a family. She wishes she could gain some perspective as quickly as Molly has.
‘Sometimes,’ Fran says eventually, ‘when we’re able to look underneath our feelings, our anger, our heartbreak, we can find something really valuable. It’s like peeling an onion.’
Molly nods. ‘I found myself resisting it all at first,’ she says. ‘I didn’t want to look underneath my anger. But you were so persistent that I should keep breathing through all those irritations and frustrations that I suddenly began to feel myself unravel.’
‘When did it happen?’ Fran asks.
‘During those backbends yesterday,’ Molly says. ‘I thought if I came on this retreat I’d just absorb all the calm yoga energy by osmosis, but yesterday I realised that everyone is struggling, everyone is trying to do the best they can. Do you use social media?’
Fran nods. ‘A little bit,’ she says. ‘Not as much as I used to.’
‘I always compare myself to other people on social media. I feel like I’m not doing as well as them, that I’m not as successful, that my life isn’t as easy. But that’s not true is it?’
‘Comparing yourself to other people online is like comparing your insides to other people’s outsides,’ Fran says. She’d spent long enough trawling through pictures of other people’s perfect families, their babies, their trouble-free birth stories to know no good would come of it in the end.
‘That’s exactly it.’ Molly laughs. ‘I don’t know if it’s the yoga that’s made me feel like this, or if it’s just being with like-minded people, but I’ve realised that happiness doesn’t come from external things or people or experiences. Not really. It comes from inside, as though there’s a light shining inside us all, guiding us home.’
Fran feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It doesn’t surprise her that the newest yogi in the group has come up with the thing she needed to hear the most.
‘We are all made of stars,’ she says softly.
*
Fran watches as her yoga students slowly bring themselves out of relaxation at the end of the last class of the retreat and come to sit on their mats. They look at her expectantly and she smiles. They have no idea how much they’ve given her over the course of the week.
‘I had an intention for this week as well,’ she says. ‘Mine was acceptance. Back at the beginning of last week when I first wrote it down, I hadn’t really known what I needed to accept, but working with all of you, speaking to you over the last few days, has given me a bit of insight into that. None of us really know what the future holds and none of us have much control over what will happen, but we do have hope.’ She pauses for a moment, catching Elizabeth’s eye, knowing that she too remembers their conversation on the beach on Saturday night. ‘I just wanted to thank you for the last few days. In every teacher there is a student and in every student there is a teacher and you guys have taught me more than I could possibly imagine.’
‘My intention was change,’ Molly says as Fran finishes speaking. ‘I didn’t think I wanted anything to change,’ she goes on. ‘I thought my job was my whole life. I thought I was happy. But change was thrown at me and I didn’t have any choice.’
‘Change is inevitable,’ Fran says. ‘It doesn’t give any of us much choice – it’s just there like the changing seasons and the waxing and waning of the moon. It’s pretty futile to resist it, but us humans do love to try!’
‘I’m thinking of going travelling,’ Molly continues. Fran notices her glance at Katrin and smile as though they’ve already discussed this. ‘I thought I might go to India, do some yoga. You’ve been haven’t you, David? You can tell me where to go?’
David nods. ‘There’s plenty more to do in India than yoga,’ he says. ‘But I’m happy to share my experiences.’
‘Joy’s going travelling too,’ Constance pipes up. By the look on Joy’s face she hadn’t been ready to share that news.
‘India too?’ David asks.
‘No,’ Joy says quietly. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to China. It’s only tentative but Constance and I were talking about it last night. We thought I could use some of the money from mother’s house to travel in China and Southeast Asia.’
Fran beams. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she says. ‘Would you go too, Constance?’
‘God no,’ Constance replies in mock horror. ‘Travelling about Asia is really not my thing. Besides, Freddie would pine without me.’ She winks lasciviously at Fran.
‘Move on to a younger model more like,’ Elizabeth says under her breath.
‘Right,’ Fran interrupts, standing up. ‘Amado is sorting out an early lunch for you all because we’re meeting Jake outside at two p.m. sharp. And it’s not too late to pull out if cycling down a mountain isn’t how you want to spend your last afternoon.’
*
Nobody pulls out. In fact, everybody seems to be rather excited to see Jake again. He is waiting for them outside the hotel with two vans and a trailer full of mountain bikes. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, a high-visibility vest, and wraparound shades. He looks more like the Jake that Fran lived with when she used to be Frankie Sullivan. She feels her heart leap when she sees him. She wants to touch him, to inhale the smell of him. For some reason, as soon as Jake is in front of her, the hours and hours she has spent thinking of Will and their baby disappear. All she can see is Jake and the way he looks at her – as though she is still the young woman she used to be.
He walks up to her, takes her by the shoulders, and kisses her cheeks – left, right, left.
‘This is Seb,’ he says, introducing a tall blond man dressed almost identically. He holds out his hand and Fran takes it before introducing the group.
‘Seb will be driving the other van,’ Jake explains. ‘We need him to drive in front for safety purposes, but you guys will all be coming with me.’ Everyone piles into the van, but Fran hangs back, watching Jake.
‘You OK?’ he asks softly.
She nods. ‘Thanks for doing this.’
‘Honestly, it’s my pleasure. It gives me an excuse to spend some time with you.’
She doesn’t know how to respond to that. She feels herself blush and she steps away.
‘Will you sit up front with me?’ he asks.
‘Jake,’ she says. He looks at her again. ‘I’m not sure if I want to cycle today. I’m …’ She realises she hasn’t thought up a suitable excuse. ‘I’m still not sleeping very well,’ she finishes, aware of how pathetic it sounds.
‘You can stay in the van with me if you want,’ he replies holding the passenger side door open. She doesn’t know if that’s a se
nsible alternative given the way he is making her feel right now, but she knows she can’t take the risk of cycling down a mountain, the risk of falling off her bike this early in her pregnancy.
As they drive out of Salou and up towards the Montsant National Park the scenery starts to change. The trappings of a beach resort morph into dusty side roads, vineyards, and olive groves. It’s suddenly quieter and the air seems clearer, cooler. Jake explains that he’s going to take them to an area where they can practise riding their bikes before they go up in to the National Park proper.
‘I know you’re all from Cambridge and ride bikes every day,’ he says. ‘But bear with me – I’m not giving up my exemplary safety record for you lot.’ He grins at Fran.
‘I haven’t cycled since I was a kid,’ Molly says in a small voice.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Jake replies, catching her eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘It’s just like riding a bike!’
Fran groans. Jake always loved an audience and always told the worst jokes.
As they drive Jake tells them a little bit about Catalonia.
‘Whatever you do, don’t say you’re in Spain.’ He laughs. ‘And don’t greet the locals in Spanish. No Buenos días out here, instead just go with Adéu.’ He makes everyone repeat it until it sticks.
‘The Catalonian people are very proud people,’ he goes on. ‘Very loyal and hardworking but they want independence. They have their own wine and oil industries, their own power stations, and of course their own tourist industry, but they have to send huge taxes to Madrid. They had a referendum two years ago with over eighty per cent of people voting for independence, but Spain refused to negotiate, so the Catalonian people have continued with their peaceful protests.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Always peaceful,’ he repeats for emphasis.
Fran is surprised by how passionate Jake seems about this. He’d never struck her as someone who cared about anyone but Jake and what made Jake happy before.
‘Is this the Catalan flag that some houses have flying?’ Constance asks, pointing at the red, gold and blue flags fluttering in the breeze.
‘Yes, the Estelada,’ Jake replies.
‘I saw it in Tarragona too,’ Fran says. ‘I thought it was illegal to fly it?’
‘Strictly speaking it is,’ Jake says. ‘But if the police tell someone to take it down, they know it goes back up again later.’ He pauses for a moment, looking at Fran. ‘Do you know what the flag symbolises?’
Fran shakes her head.
‘Well the white star on the blue background symbolises independence and the four red stripes on the gold background are a reminder of Wilfred the Hairy.’
Fran hears Constance and Elizabeth snort with laughter in the back.
‘Wilfred the Hairy,’ Jake continues confidently, ‘was the Count of Barcelona in the ninth century. He died defending Catalonia, but history appears to have forgotten who from …’
Fran gives Jake a cynical look; he ignores it.
‘On his deathbed Wilfred asked for his shield and he dragged his bloodstained fingers across it leaving red stripes on gold and it became the first symbol of Catalonian independence.’
‘Is there any historical evidence to support this bold claim?’ Fran asks. Jake always did have a tendency towards the romantic.
‘We’re here,’ he replies, continuing to ignore her.
They stop on a deserted stretch of road and everyone piles out of the van, stretching in the hot afternoon sun. The only sound is the chirping of cicadas. The rest of Catalonia is sensibly on siesta.
Jake and Seb get the bikes off the trailer and distribute them among the group along with bike helmets and high-visibility vests. There is quite a lot of grumbling about this.
‘Nobody ever wears a bike helmet in Cambridge,’ Constance mutters. ‘Except the loons in Lycra.’
‘Put it on,’ Jake says.
That’s her told, Fran thinks, smirking to herself.
Everybody starts riding their bikes confidently up and down the road. They all know what they’re doing apart from Molly who is very wobbly. Jake turns his attention to her.
‘Are you not cycling, Fran?’ David asks as he draws his bike up beside her.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I decided not to risk ending up as another yoga teacher with a broken leg!’ She smiles. She ignores the fact that she should have told Jake the truth by now, just as she ignores the fact that watching Jake flirt with Molly is making her stomach churn.
‘Right then,’ Jake says. ‘You’re going to cycle down through the National Park now – Seb will lead the way in his van and Fran and I will come up behind. If another car needs to overtake I’ll beep my horn and you’ll know that a car is coming. Everyone knows us around here so they know to give us a wide berth!’ He grins again, putting everyone at their ease. Fran realises how good he is at this, how at home. He looks like she feels when she is teaching yoga. She’s happy he’s found his thing.
‘You stay with me at the back, Molly,’ Elizabeth says. ‘I’m such a slow cyclist. Constance is always saying it’s a wonder I don’t fall off!’
Fran and Jake get back into the van as everyone sets off.
‘Wilfred the Hairy?’ she persists.
‘You like that story, I can tell.’
‘Did you make it up?’
‘Are you doubting the historical accuracy of my spiel?’
‘You know me, Jake, I want primary evidence to back it up,’ Fran replies, reprising the roles they had as students.
‘I swear to God it’s true. There’s a Wikipedia page and everything.’
‘Did you write the Wikipedia page?’
He smiles, glancing at her for a moment, his eyes meeting hers. She shivers and looks straight ahead again. Molly is doing well on her bike.
Fran puts her bare feet up on the dashboard and settles back in the passenger seat, trying to relax. It really is beautiful up here away from the hustle and bustle of Salou. There isn’t a soul to be seen and the sky is so clear and blue.
‘Why are you really not cycling?’ Jake asks quietly.
‘I’m not telling you,’ Fran replies. ‘What’s it like running a business out here?’
‘Honestly? It’s hard. A constant battle with the authorities, the police, the locals. Constantly wondering if I’m making the right decision about who I let on the bikes.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’m always second-guessing myself, wondering if people are fit enough, if they can cycle well enough.’
‘Like Molly you mean?’
‘No, Molly’s easy – she just needed a bit of encouragement.’
‘So why do it?’ Fran asks. ‘Why not just go home?’
‘I don’t think I have a home any more. Besides, if I’m working eighteen hours a day it stops me thinking about everything else.’
Fran doesn’t ask for details. She knows what it’s like to dwell on what might have been.
‘What do you do in the winter?’ she asks.
‘Try not to spend any money,’ he replies as they pull into a dusty side road where the rest of the group are waiting for them.
*
‘On the next stage of the journey you’re going to cycle down into the village of Porrera,’ Jake says. Everyone is back in the van and heading off towards the next leg of the trip. Seb is driving with the trailer of bikes up front. Everyone has enjoyed the bike ride so far. Molly in particular is hugely exhilarated and proud of herself.
‘The cycle ride is very similar to what you’ve already done,’ Jake goes on. ‘Again you’ll be cycling through olive groves and vineyards until you get to Porrera, which is a very typical Catalonian village. In many ways it hasn’t changed much in decades but what it does have is one of the best wineries in the region, so I thought we’d go for a little wine tasting. This particular winery makes its wine using the grapes from the vineyards you’ll cycle through including one that is allegedly the thirteenth best wine in the world.’
This is met
with a murmur of appreciation.
The cyclists are dropped off again and they follow Seb’s van down winding roads through beautiful scenery. Fran watches them and wishes she could join them. There is a freedom in just letting yourself freewheel downhill on a bike – like letting out your inner child.
‘They seem to be enjoying it,’ Jake says.
‘Everyone was really excited about it. I think they were getting a bit bored of all the yoga.’
Jake chuckles but doesn’t say anything.
‘My husband would love this too,’ Fran says, imagining him here. This is exactly the sort of thing that would excite him. He’d have to be right at the front of the pack though, right up against the bumper of Seb’s van. It wouldn’t be a race to anybody else except Will.
‘And what about you?’
Fran sighs, knowing Jake is pushing again, pushing to try to find out why she’s refusing to cycle. ‘He loves doing outdoor stuff – skiing, cricket, running, cycling – and I don’t really. Being on a bike is just a means of getting from A to B for me. You know that.’ Jake had never been able to get her out on a bike ride in five years. ‘But then sometimes, he just exhausts himself with everything and we’ll go on holiday and he’ll just want to switch off – and then it’s me getting bored and …’ She stops, not sure she wants to go on.
‘And what?’
‘And sometimes I wonder if I know him at all.’
A car comes up behind them and Jake slows down, sticking his hand out of the window to gesture that the car should pass. He beeps the horn to let the cyclists know the car is coming. When it’s all clear he speaks again.
‘Do you talk?’ he asks.
‘What?’
‘You and your husband. Do you talk?’
‘Of course we talk.’
‘I mean really talk. Not just asking each other what you want for dinner or whose turn it is to put the bins out. I see so many couples come on holiday and they sit across tables from each other not speaking, as though over the years they’ve run out of things to say.’
Fran knows what he means. She remembers being on holiday with Will and vowing to never become one of those couples. She remembers all the long conversations they used to have until their meals got cold or until dawn started to break. Conversations about the future, about their hopes and dreams. And she remembers all the conversations they hadn’t had, particularly since Oscar died. She realises she hasn’t spoken for a few moments.
The Things We Need to Say Page 17
