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‘Good. Make sure that you do.’
Why? Why am I being so rude?
* * *
‘Velcome, velcome,’ says Gandalf ten minutes later, sweeping his arm over the grass to encourage Oliver and me to sit alongside a dozen other newly arrived guests.
Oliver walks to the furthest point away from me and settles himself down. He’s still got an annoyingly bemused look on his face. It gives me a chance to study him a bit further. He seems very relaxed and sure of himself. His long, tanned legs are sprawled on the grass, while he leans back on his toned biceps. They’re like small watermelons bursting to be free of his tight-fitting T-shirt.
I run my eyes the length of him and take in the whole effect. He has an incredibly taut stomach. I linger over it while wondering how on earth a person gets a body like that. I rake my eyes up towards his profile, just in time to see him watching me with a perplexed expression.
Shite.
I tear my eyes from his to concentrate on the horrors that Gandalf is telling us. I’m appalled to discover we will be Wi-Fi and phones free – apparently this is a thing at retreats.
What thing? Why?
How the hell am I going to qualify as a Life Coach in the next seventy-two hours without the internet? How am I to miraculously wake up speaking Spanish like a native without the aid of one of those learn-while-you-sleep Duolingo apps? I feel my heart rate almost explode. I begin arguing bitterly with Gandalf, but he fails to see the emergency.
‘Fine,’ I say, masking how upset I am. I battle as to how honest to be with him. This is an emergency situation after all. ‘But I’ll need to use it in my room because… there’s something that… I’ll pay extra. I need Wi-Fi in my room, okay?’
Gandalf looks sceptical.
‘Surely we get some downtime? To do what we want? Alone?’ I plead.
Some luxury bloody retreat this is turning out to be.
There is a brief questioning silence hanging in the air while the entire group turns, too interested as to what I’m about to say next, but I’m beaten to it by Gandalf.
‘Vee encourage self-love, of course vee do,’ he says, ‘but without the intervebs, yah?’
Self-love? This barmy oddball thinks that while I’m in the middle of a substantial breakdown, the thing I’d focus on would be rubbing myself raw to whatever I can find on the dark web?
‘No. No. No. You’ve got it all wrong,’ I say forcefully. I’ve just about had enough of people for one day. ‘I don’t need the internet for…’ The entire group is staring at me. Why am I bothering? ‘I’ve got better things to do than… Look, I need the Wi-Fi for something really urgent. It’s work-related.’
‘Vee are one heart. One tribe. One Earth,’ he says, doing a heart shape with his hands as though it is somehow relevant.
Before I can clarify, Gandalf hands over to a similarly dressed white warlock called Endless Cloud, with flowing Jesus waves, a pointed grey goatee and a handlebar moustache. I stare mesmerised at his multi-coloured rubber foot gloves. He smiles beatifically and gives us a little bow as he says, ‘Namaste,’ before putting a shushing finger gently to his lips (to halt the childish sniggers from the group) and turning to give me a waggle of his woolly eyebrows.
Dear God Almighty.
Endless Cloud gathers us around him so that we are sitting in a shamanic circle. We are told that we each have an individual itinerary for our stay as he hands round an information pack to each of us, plus some mandatory group activities that we all must do: spirit dance, tribal drums, third eye healing techniques, New Moon incantations, gong therapy, throat singing, charcoal nibbling and so on.
‘Your wibe is your tribe,’ Gandalf repeats to each of us in turn, as Endless Cloud emits a throaty hum.
‘Vibe,’ I say as he bends low to hand me the itinerary. I’m still annoyed over the lack of Wi-Fi and feeling petty. ‘It’s vibe, not wibe.’
He smiles and floats away as though I hadn’t said a word.
I scan the leaflet only to be dealt a further devastating blow – no sugar, no wheat, no dairy, no alcohol. Even Oliver appears alarmed at this. No meat, no caffeine, no gluten, no speaking for certain periods of time. We have slots when we are allowed to speak. SLOTS!
What the feck have I done? This is cruel torture. And I’ll be far, far worse off for not having a drink tonight after the day of shit I’ve had. There’s no way I’m putting up with that. What about the fine dining and the excessive wine intake? It’s my birthday for God’s sake.
‘Excuse me again,’ I say, interrupting Endless Cloud. ‘It says here no alcohol? That doesn’t include wine, does it? I assume you mean no liqueurs or spirits?’ I ask, my voice almost a whimper. This time the whole group is nodding hopefully along with me. Oliver gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
‘I just need…’ I say, tailing off. I feel the fight draining from me. I’m exhausted.
What to say? I need an industrial-sized glass of wine to combat the fact that I have critical levels of toxic bitterness seeping through my veins? I feel out-of-control anger towards my sister and ex-boyfriend whenever I think of them? And I just told a multitude of fibs to get a job that I desperately need and now won’t be able to prepare for because there’s no bloody Wi-Fi?
