Cathy Hopkins - [Mates, Dates 05] (7 page)

‘Well, I suppose…’ I
began.

‘Excellent,’ said
Izzie. ‘So that’s settled then. Pack your things.

C h a p t e r
 
7

Workshop
Weirdos

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The workshop was being
held at an old farmhouse manor on top of a hill near Bigbury in Devon. Dad and I
drove down on Friday afternoon and Izzie and her mum arrived soon after. The
view from the car park was stunning, and in the distance we could see the sea.

A pretty blonde lady
in a pink tracksuit came out to meet us, swiftly followed by a boisterous black
Labrador. He made a beeline for Mrs Foster as soon as she got out of her Jaguar
and stuck his nose straight up her skirt.

‘He’s clearly in the
Lai camp of thinking,’ I giggled to Izzie as we watched her mum attempt to push
the dog down with one hand and struggle with one of her many Louis Vuitton
cases with the other.

‘Sorry about Digby,’
said the tracksuit lady, grabbing his collar and pulling him away. She put her
hand out to Mrs Foster. ‘Hi, I’m Chris Malloy and as you’ve gathered, this is
my dog, Digby. He’s still young and tends to get a bit overexcited when we have
visitors.’

‘She’s not going to
like it,’ whispered Izzie as her mum gave Chris a tight smile. ‘You know how
she feels about dogs. All those hairs and muddy paws…’

I laughed. I knew
exactly
how she felt about dogs. I was never allowed to take ours into the house if
ever I visited Izzie when I was out walking them. Mrs Foster has a thing about
cleanliness. She’s impeccable, her house is impeccable, her car is impeccable.
Izzie always jokes that she doesn’t use perfume, she uses disinfectant instead.
This was going to be interesting, I thought, as I watched her totter on high
heels round to the back of the car.

‘How long does she
think this workshop is going to last?’ I asked as Izzie and I helped her unload
the boot. She seemed to have brought enough luggage for three months.

‘Oh, you know what
Mum’s like,’ said Izzie. ‘Has to have the right outfit for every occasion.’

‘I don’t think she’ll
be expected to dress for dinner in a place like this. More like tracksuits and
T-shirts. And high heels in country lanes?’

‘Try telling Mum
that,’ sighed Izzie, who like me, was wearing jeans and trainers. ‘Anyone would
think we’re going to meet the Queen with the clothes she’s brought down.’

Chris showed us around
the farmhouse and where we were to sleep, and I could see at once that Mrs
Foster didn’t approve.

‘I assumed that we all
had our own private room,’ she said, frowning as Chris showed us a whitewashed
dormitory at the back of the house with bunk beds. ‘I mean this
is
supposed to be a weekend of rest and relaxation.’

‘We think it makes for
a better atmosphere.’ Chris smiled. ‘Everyone gets to know each other really
fast on a course like this. Soon you’ll all be getting along like old friends.’

‘And there’s a yeti
living in my fridge,’ I whispered to Izzie as I glanced over at the other
ladies who were busy unpacking their weekend cases. There were five of them:
two old ladies with glasses and long grey hair who looked like sisters and were
dressed in the sort of clothes my mum wears, i.e., charity shop cardigans and
long hippie skirts; a younger woman with short spiky hair with pink streaks
through it and a nose ring; a slim, blonde lady who was sitting on the end of
her bed in a meditation pose with her eyes closed; and finally, a very plump
lady with big teeth who was helping herself to a sandwich and a flask of
tea.They glanced up at us when we walked in and the plump one gave us a wave.

‘Hi, I’m Moira,’ she
said, then indicated the beds with a sweep of her hand. ‘You got any
preferences about where you want to sleep?’

‘As far away from here
as possible,’ whispered Mrs Foster, turning away. ‘Izzie, I don’t think I can
do this.’

‘Oh, come on, Mum,
it’ll be fun. Like a sleepover for adults.’

‘Yes… fun,’ said Mrs
Foster, unconvinced.

Izzie and I bagged the
bunk bed in the corner, leaving Mrs Foster to take the bunk above Moira. It was
hysterical. Everyone stared at her as she unpacked and took over the whole
wardrobe with her clothes. When that was full, she hung even more on the board
at the end of her bed
and
the one at the end of our beds.

After half an hour,
Chris popped her head round the door. ‘When you’ve finished, we’ll be serving
herbal teas in the dining room, then we’ll all get together for introductions
and to go through the schedule.’

‘Herbal tea?’ said Mrs
Foster, wrinkling her nose up. I’d kill for a decent cup of coffee after that
drive.‘

‘Caffeine,’ spat the
slim, blonde lady. ‘It raises the heart rate and
we’ve
come to relax.’

Moira winked at Mrs
Foster. ‘Hence the flask,’ she whispered. ‘Sometimes I have to have a proper
cuppa. Anyone want an egg and cress sarnie?’

Poor Mrs Foster looked
as though she’d landed in a prison camp.

‘Come on, Mum, let’s
go and meet the others,’ said Izzie, leading her out the door.

In the dining room,
the men had already gathered and were sitting about sipping mugs of tea.

‘Bit bare,’ said Mrs
Foster, glancing round at the brick walls, long pine tables and benches. ‘When the
ad said get back to basics, it really did mean it.’

‘Oh… my… god…’
whispered Izzie, looking round at the men. ‘Which one do you want?’

There were five men
including Dad, who was chatting to Chris by a hatch to the kitchen. One of them
was bald and very fat, and was sweating profusely in a lime green shell suit.
Another had grey grizzly hair, trousers that were too short and open-toed
sandals. The third man was wearing a T-shirt and a sarong, and had blond
dreadlocks down his back. And the fourth was about six-foot-six, very skinny,
and was dressed in Lycra cycling shorts to show off his very knobbly knees.

Til have one of the
wrinklies,‘ I whispered back. ’You can have Mr Dreadlock, so that leaves
Cycling Shorts for your mum.‘

Mrs Foster overheard.
‘Thanks a bunch,’ she said, then giggled. ‘And, ahem… those shorts don’t leave
much to the imagination, do they?’

‘
Muml
said
Izzie in a stern voice. ‘
Behave
’
But I could see that she was relieved that her mum was beginning to chill out a
bit.

As we sat down to drink
our camomile tea, Chris came over to join us. ‘I know everyone’s a bit older
than you,’ she said to Izzie and me, ‘but my son Daniel will be here tomorrow.
He’s sixteen, so at least you’ll have some company around your own age.’

‘If he’s anything like
this lot, I can’t wait to meet him.
Not’
whispered Izzie when Chris
had moved on to chat to some of the others. ‘Wonder if he’s an open-toed-sandal
type or an anorak?’

‘As long as he doesn’t
wear cycling shorts,’ I joked. But I didn’t really care. I was starting to
enjoy myself even though the assorted guests looked like a bunch of weirdos and
were all loads older than us. I didn’t feel like I was Single here. I was just
Lucy. And Izzie was just Izzie again, not Izzie and Ben.

After tea and rye
biscuits that tasted like cardboard, Chris asked us all to sit in a circle and
then threw a beach ball at my dad.

‘OK,’ said Chris.
‘Whoever has the ball, say a little about yourself, why you’re here and what
you hope to get out of the weekend. When you’ve had your say, throw the ball
on.’

Mrs Foster looked like
she was going to throw up.

‘I hope we don’t all
have to hug each other after this,’ she whispered to Izzie.

‘Hi. I’m Peter
Lovering,’ said Dad. ‘I’m from London and I run a health shop. I’m here for the
rest and relaxation.’

Everyone murmured
their approval as Dad threw the ball at the slim blonde lady who’d been
meditating in the bedroom.

‘Hi, I’m Sylvia. I’m
striving for a pure mind and body and I’m a colonic irrigation specialist.’
More murmurs of approval, but I couldn’t resist.

‘That must be a crap
job,’ I whispered to Izzie, whose shoulders started to shake with suppressed
laughter.

‘I’m Moira and I’ve
just got divorced so it’s all been rather stressful for me of late… I do
Swedish massage.’

‘For when you need to
be kneaded,’ I said to Izzie.

‘I’m Priscilla,’ said
one of the grey-haired ladies. ‘I work as a gardener and I need to find
myself.’

I didn’t have to say
anything this time as Izzie turned to me and coughed, ‘Doesn’t need to go far,
then. She’s right on that chair!’

‘I’m Jonathan, but my
friends call me Tabula,’ said Dreadlocks. ‘My third eye was recently opened on
a trip to Goa. I need to close it again as I can’t take the inner visions…’

I couldn’t look at
Izzie for fear of bursting out laughing.

‘I’m Nigel,’ said
Cycling Shorts. ‘I want to get some fresh air.’

‘Shouldn’t wear his
shorts so tight, then,’ was my comment this time.

‘Hi, I’m Grace,’ said
Pink Highlights, ‘and I work as a vegetarian cook and wanted some time out for
me.’

She threw the ball to
Izzie.

‘I’m Izzie,’ she said.
‘I’m fourteen. I’m into astrology, crystals, feng shui, aromatherapy, self
help. I’ve come with an open mind.’ Murmurs of approval. ‘Oh and I’m also into
witchcraft.’ After which the murmurs of approval turned to looks of concern,
especially from her mother.

She threw the ball at
her mum.
‘I’m Laura Foster.
I work in the financial sector in the City and, as my daughter keeps
telling me,’ she smiled at Izzie, ‘I need to find some balance in my life.’

She threw the ball at
me.
‘I’m Lucy. Um…’
I said, turning bright red. I
couldn’t say that I’d just come along for the ride and wanted an excuse to
spend some time hanging out with my mate.
‘Er, um, I… whatever.
Open mind, see what happens. Yes… um, that’s
all.’ I threw the ball at the second grey-haired lady but I must have thrown it
harder than I intended, as it knocked her glasses off. ‘Ohmigod, sorry, I’m
sorry.’ I leapt up. ‘Are you all right?’

She adjusted her
glasses and gave me a filthy look. ‘I’m Prudence. I work in a school library
and need to get away from all the noisy kids I have to deal with every day.’

Oops, I thought. Made
a friend for life there, then.

Next was Hubert, the
bearded man. He was an osteopath.

‘I bet he knows how to
have a cracking good time,’ I said to Izzie.

Then Eric, the bald
man, said he was there because his wife said she’d leave him if he didn’t learn
how to relax.

‘Well, you’ve all come
to the right place,’ said Chris, getting up and handing out a sheet of paper to
each of us.

‘OK,’ she said.
‘Tonight we’re not going to do much -just let you settle in and relax - then
tomorrow, we start. The schedule is there on your paper, so take a quick look
and do ask if there are any questions.’

I glanced at the
paper.

6.00
a.m.: yoga salute to the sun and meditation.

‘Six a.m.,’ I said to
Izzie. ‘You mean there are
two
six o’clocks in a day?’

Izzie punched my arm.
‘And you’ll be up, if I have anything to do with it.’

‘But the weekend’s
about relaxation. We ought to be having a lie-in.’ I looked back at the paper.

7.00 a.m.: breakfast

8.00 a.m.: brisk group walk

10.00 a.m.: tea

I got as far as
ten-thirty and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from bursting out
laughing. It said that there was to be a talk about overcoming dependency and
leaning on things that weren’t good for you, like cigarettes and alcohol. It
was called Kick Your Crutch in Devon. Izzie had also seen it and I could see
she was trying to contain herself as well. Her shoulders were heaving up and
down as she continued down the schedule.

12.30 p.m.: lunch

2.00 p.m.: massage workshop

3.30 p.m.: tea

4.00 p.m.: group counselling session

6.00 p.m.: group visualisation

7.00 p.m.: supper

8.30p.m.: ‘cookery for calm’ demonstration,
then a relaxation game and wind down.

‘I like the look of
the lunch,’ I said to Izzie.

‘No. It’s
all
going to be brilliant,’ she said. ‘Especially when we get to kick our crutch.’

That set us both off
again and I had to leave the room pretending that I was having a coughing fit.