Meet Me at Pebble Beach: Part One – Out of the Blue

by Bella Osborne

  She no longer had a boyfriend – although if the latest stream of texts from Jarvis were an indicator, she would be hearing from him again very soon via his lawyer regarding what he termed the criminal abuse of his rug.

  She didn’t have a job, and that meant she had zero income. She also didn’t have any savings as such – just a few quid in her bank account that she had been holding onto so she could buy Jarvis a birthday present. At least that was something.

  She was also surprised to discover that, on top of everything else, she’d lost her purpose – and this was most shocking of all. She hadn’t liked her job, but then who did? Moaning about bosses, colleagues and too much work was par for the course, but when it suddenly wasn’t there it left a great big nine-to-five-shaped hole.

  Regan spent a while mulling over whether to call Nigel and ask for her job back. Eventually, she swallowed her pride and rang Nigel’s number, but as soon as she’d been put through to him he went into corporate mode, listing all her faults and making it very clear that returning was most definitely not an option. She thanked him kindly and hung up.

  Regan sat there staring at one particular brick in the bare Victorian wall. This brick wasn’t like the other red bricks; it wasn’t a perfect little clone like the rest. The surface of this one was rougher; pock-marked, almost. It didn’t have defined angular corners and sharp edges. They were worn and rounded, partly due to it being slightly out of alignment. It didn’t quite fit, so someone had chipped bits off it in an attempt to wedge it in, but had simply managed to scar it instead.

  That brick was her. She was damaged and scarred. She didn’t fit.

  She closed her eyes. She was losing the plot. She needed to get out before she went totally Jack from The Shining.

  She’d been pleased that her dad was at home when she’d telephoned, and frankly delighted to hear that he was alone and she was welcome to pop round.

  After the usual niceties, she followed him into the kitchen and he put the kettle on.

  ‘What’s up, Regan? You never come round in the daytime.’

  It was like the time she got found out for smashing next door’s greenhouse; he was giving her the same look of disappointment.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she said, remembering too late that her defence of the greenhouse situation had started with the exact same words. ‘I thought I’d won the lottery and it turns out I hadn’t, but because I thought I had …’ He was watching her intently. She swallowed hard. ‘I dumped Jarvis, quit my job and moved out of the flat.’ She bit her lip and waited for his response.

  ‘Coffee?’

  Not the response she was expecting. ‘Er, yes please. So …’

  He shrugged his shoulders in a slow movement. ‘That wasn’t very smart. Was it?’

  And the award for stating the bleeding obvious goes to Graham Corsetti. ‘I know that, Dad, but like I said I thought I’d won the lottery.’

  ‘Money’s not everything, Regan.’

  ‘I know.’ It was like being in a parallel universe. Why were parents so obtuse sometimes? And especially when you needed them to help you get to a solution ‘So what do I do?’

  ‘Get another job?’ His face was stoic.

  ‘Yes.’ That was the most logical thing. ‘What else?’

  He scratched his greying temple. ‘I don’t know.’ He brightened up and squeezed her arm. ‘You’ll think of something.’

  She blinked rapidly. Clearly he was not comprehending the huge shitstorm her life had become. In fact, shitstorm didn’t really cover it – this was more global shit tsunami with extra-large fans.

  ‘I feel like a pea in a river – too small to swim against the tide.’ She felt quite poetic and proud of her analogy.

  Her dad screwed up his face. ‘You’d like to pee in a river?’

  ‘No. A pea … Oh never mind.’ Why was it so hard to explain? ‘It’s like someone’s slammed the brakes on my life.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He was pulling a doubtful face, but she continued unperturbed.

  ‘I mean, I was hurtling along and suddenly I’ve come flying off the rails.’

  ‘I see,’ said Graham, in a tone that said he wanted the conversation to end. He was a rather logical, straightforward person, lacking the encumberment of extremes of emotion – an unkind soul may have called him ‘odd’. He was still pulling a face as he passed her a mug of coffee and opened a fresh packet of cheap chocolate digestives.

  ‘What?’ asked Regan, catching sight of his twisted lips.

  ‘Well, I’m not being funny, Regan, but it’s not like your life was motoring along at a pace, now was it?’

  ‘Oh, thanks a bunch.’ She snatched a biscuit from the proffered packet.

  ‘No, what I mean is, in life’s race, you’re less Aston Martin, more Nissan Micra – slow and steady.’ He was smiling, like he thought this was a compliment.

  ‘Bloody hell, Dad. You’re not helping my self-esteem here.’ She’d been called lots of things in the past, but never a Nissan chuffing Micra. She knew he had a point though, however harshly worded. She’d liked to think she was pootling along taking the scenic route in life, but she could hardly claim that when on her life’s journey so far there really hadn’t been anything worth seeing – dead ends of jobs, a scrap heap of relationships and a junk yard full of mistakes. She dunked her biscuit and half of it disintegrated into her coffee. She frowned and tried to scoop it out with the other half of the biscuit, making the situation infinitely worse.

  Graham was frowning. ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘Cleo’s place.’ She didn’t like lying, especially not to her dad, but technically she was staying at Cleo’s – just in her studio and not in the flat where he had obviously assumed she meant, judging by the relief on his face. She knew he was secretly pleased that she wasn’t going to put him in the awkward position of making excuses as to why she couldn’t stay at his.

  ‘That’s good then. But you know if you’re desperate you’re welcome to stay here.’ His shoulders tensed.

  ‘It’s fine, Dad. It’s only temporary. Just until I get myself back on my feet.’ He looked relieved.

  ‘You okay for money? Because I’ve a little put aside.’

  She doubted he had very much put by. He worked part-time in a newsagent’s and it was sweet of him to offer but she needed to sort this mess out on her own. ‘I’m fine.’ If she said it often enough with conviction there was a possibility that she might start to believe it herself. ‘Really. Fine.’

  Three days later, she was all out of self-belief. And ice cream. All too quickly, her world had been turned upside down, and she had no idea how to right it. She knew the answer wasn’t to drink her troubles away, and she couldn’t afford alcohol anyway, so she had eaten a skip load of ice cream instead. Regan had been spending a lot of time with her new best friends Ben and Jerry, but sadly she didn’t find any answers at the bottom of the cartons – only brain freeze and a little self-loathing.

  She decided that this was what rock bottom felt like. She’d heard from no-one with the exception of one FaceTime call from Cleo that she’d had to reject for fear of her spotting the familiar background of her own art studio. They’d had a text chat instead, which was nowhere near the same. No-one else had called. Nobody had noticed she had slipped off the planet. Not one other person cared.

  She hadn’t showered in days and felt wretched, tired and lethargic – though some of it may have been down to too much ice cream. She had no telly, no WiFi and no future. Everything felt too difficult. There was so much that needed sorting out, but every time she thought about it, she thought her head might pop with the overload. So it was easier not to do anything at all.

  Regan found herself at a new low when she tried to eat a pot noodle using two coffee stirrers for chopsticks. It was a tough challenge, but at least it was warm and kind of like a meal, although she wasn’t sure how much nutrition there was in the reconstituted dust and noodles. She counted three dried peas, which definitely didn�
��t get her close to her daily government-suggested fruit and veg targets.

  She wondered at how quickly she’d lost everything, and if this was what had happened to Kevin. How had he found himself living on the streets? If it weren’t for Cleo’s studio being empty, that could have been her. The thought frightened her. She pulled over the box she’d filled in the office on That Day – which now seemed like ages ago – and sifted through the contents, sniffing her derision at the useless things inside. A stolen stapler; what good was that to her now? Unless she used it for stapling Alex’s testicles to his desk – but he wasn’t worth the staples. She found the Mantra card from Charlie, the gallant stranger who had pulled her off Alex. She turned it over. Saturdays at ten at the community centre. Charlie had said mindfulness might help her focus on what was good about the here and now. She gave another derisory snort – there was nothing good about her life.

  Regan bit the inside of her mouth and pondered. She had nothing planned for Saturday – or the rest of her life – so there really was nothing to lose.

  She sniffed her armpit, whipping her head back from the nasal attack. She couldn’t go anywhere smelling like that. What had she become? She straightened her spine. This had to stop, and it had to stop now, before she drifted into a pot-noodle-induced coma and was found in a giant spider’s web being nibbled on by rodents.

  ‘Right,’ she said out loud, giving herself a start because her voice was all croaky from not having spoken for days. She felt herself galvanising for action. What to do first? She caught another whiff of her armpit. Getting showered was definitely priority number one.

  Regan had her most favourite trip to the gym ever and was pleased that her membership card still worked. With any luck, it would take Jarvis a while to realise he was still paying for the joint membership; and since he was still paying, it would be a shame not to get some use out of it.

  In the past she’d only ever had a quick shower after a gym session and dashed out, but today she could set a more leisurely pace. She made the most of the free shampoo, conditioner and body wash and took her time drying and styling her hair – taking care not to make it too fluffy for fear of it looking like she was wearing a motorcycle helmet. She felt a lot better for it and a bit of a spring returned to her step.

  Back at the studio, she washed her clothes in the sink using Cleo’s Molton Brown hand wash and hung them over Cleo’s three easels to dry. She’d bought a local paper, so she made herself a black coffee and sat and circled a number of potential jobs. This was progress. She had a tall mountain to climb, but she had a foothold and the only way was up.

  However, a few hours later she started to feel like she was slipping back down the mountain. A phone call to a recruitment agency had her stumped at the first hurdle when they asked her for her home address. After a long pause she gave her dad’s details and explained it was temporary. The second hurdle was a bit more difficult – they wanted her to upload her CV to their website. She had no computer and she was dangerously close to her monthly download limit on her mobile. She felt a mudslide sweep her back down the mountain and went again in search of ice cream.

  Chapter Eight

  After another uncomfortable night sleeping in the chair and a now-permanent ache in her neck, Regan woke to face another day staring at four brick walls, a couple of nipple paintings and a gloomy looking future. She gave herself the best wash she could manage in the tiny sink and made a strong coffee. She didn’t have the solution, but she at least knew diving back into the ice cream wasn’t the answer.

  She brushed her hair, checked her armpits and headed off for the mindfulness session with an open mind – and, if she was honest, a spark of interest in seeing Charlie again. She told herself she needed to thank the kindly policeman, but it wouldn’t do any harm to check whether he was seeing anyone. If anything he might make a pleasant distraction.

  The community centre where the session was held wasn’t far, and she decided to walk to save the meagre amount of petrol she had in her car in case she needed it to get to a job interview – she was trying to remain hopeful. The community centre was a simple affair, so it was easy to find the large room with a circle of chairs and a hotchpotch of locals milling about. She watched the interesting mix of people through the glass in the door and began to reconsider. Was this really for her?

  ‘Hello, I’m Cressy,’ said a tall woman with neat grey hair and a long, flowing cardigan. ‘First time?’ Regan nodded. There was no sign of Charlie and she was starting to wonder if this had been a bad idea. ‘Tea or coffee?’ asked Cressy, beckoning her inside.

  ‘Um …’ Regan checked her pockets for the fiver she’d brought in case there was a charge.

  ‘It’s free, and there’s biscuits. Custard creams this week.’ Cressy had a warm smile.

  ‘Coffee, please. Lots of milk.’

  ‘You take a seat. Pop your details on here,’ she said, handing Regan a clipboard, ‘and I’ll get your drink.’

  Regan scanned the form. It was all basic stuff. She began filling it in but the pen was running out. She scratched it on the edge of the paper and it worked, but as soon as she tried to write in the boxes it stopped. She sighed. Why did pens do that?

  ‘I had that problem,’ said a nasal voice to her left. ‘I’m Chris. That’s me.’ He leaned over and ran his finger along the line above Regan’s. She gave a tight smile and gave up on the form. She scanned the people taking seats. These weren’t her kind of people. What was she even doing here? There was no point staying just in case Charlie showed up. He wasn’t that cute, it wasn’t worth it.

  She stood up to leave, but Cressy took the clipboard from her and swapped it for her coffee.

  ‘Biscuits are on their way round,’ she said, taking a seat nearby. If she left now she’d miss out on a free biscuit. She’d stay for a bit.

  ‘Welcome to Mantra, everyone,’ said Cressy. The chatter ceased and everyone looked in her direction. ‘While we’re finishing drinks …’

  The door at the back of the hall creaked open and Charlie rushed in. He took a seat, nodding greetings to some of the others until his eyes alighted on Regan. He gave her a slow, almost regal nod. She liked that he was surprised to see her. She twitched an eyebrow in a ‘See, told you so’ response.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Charlie.

  ‘That’s fine. I was just welcoming our new members,’ Cressy peered closely at the form, ‘Chris and Reg?’ Regan sprang to life, almost spilling her coffee. She held on tightly to the mug and tried to ignore Charlie, who was tittering nearby.

  ‘Hello, I’m Chris,’ said Chris.

  Regan felt all eyes land on her. ‘Hi. I’m Regan.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Cressy, studying the form. ‘It says Reg.’

  ‘The pen was running out,’ Regan tried to explain, but nobody seemed to hear.

  ‘Like the president?’ asked an older woman in a brightly coloured kaftan.

  ‘If you mean Ronald Reagan,’ started Regan, and the woman nodded, ‘then no, that was pronounced Ray-gun. Mine’s Ree—’

  ‘I had an Uncle Reg.’ A man with Harry Potter-style glasses cut her off. ‘Jolly nice chap. Nice to meet you.’ This set off a series of welcomes from around the circle and ended with Charlie.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Reg,’ said Charlie, failing to control a smirk.

  Great, thought Regan. She’d have her free coffee and biscuit, if the packet ever made its way around to her, and then she’d escape.

  ‘Would someone like to share what mindfulness means to them?’ Cressy looked hopefully around the group.

  ‘I will,’ said the lady in the kaftan. ‘I’m Wendy and I had a stroke six months ago. So for me, mindfulness is about teaching my brain to keep focused. It’s about staying calm, not getting frustrated about all the things I can’t do, and focusing on the many things I can do.’

  ‘Thanks, Wendy. Anyone else?’

  The man in Harry Potter specs put his hand up. ‘This is only my fourth session.
I’m getting over a breakdown. I’ll probably always suffer from depression and low mood, but mindfulness helps me to spot the simple pleasures in life rather than giving all the attention to the bad stuff.’

  ‘Thanks, Joel.’

  A bearded face leaned forward. ‘I’m Mandeep and coming to Mantra makes me sleep better.’

  A young woman gave a little wave and Cressy nodded at her. ‘I’m Ellie and I’m in remission from cancer and I live in fear of it coming back. Mindfulness helps me take time to order my thoughts and feel calmer.’

  Regan knew she was staring. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but these revelations from these poor people about everything they were going through was definitely not it. On first superficial look they had all seemed perfectly healthy.

  She felt like a complete fraud. What did she have to worry about? A few things swamped her mind. Okay, there was stuff to worry about, there always was, but her problems weren’t life-threatening. What these people were dealing with was serious stuff.

  ‘Thanks, everyone. Right, let’s start with a full body scan,’ said Cressy. ‘Please can you move your chairs to the side and get out the yoga mats.’

  Regan was unsettled; she hadn’t been expecting to do yoga, and apart from a couple of people in trackies, nobody else looked like they’d dressed for it. ‘Here you go, Reg,’ said Charlie, putting down a yoga mat for her next to his own.

  ‘Actually, I’m not sure I …’ she began, but Cressy was talking so she copied Charlie and sat down on the mat with her legs crossed.

  ‘Now, Chris and Reg,’ said Cressy, and Charlie stifled a laugh. Regan glared at him and he turned his laugh into a cough. ‘Don’t be alarmed, this is really easy. All you need to do is lie down and listen to my voice. Okay?’