The Garden of Stars by Zoe Chamberlain Read Free Book Online Page A

costs of the leaflets and posters.
    Â Some of Rosie’s posters became a little over-artistic with wild pictures of horses and fairies all over them. Still, at least they would be noticed.
    Â Proud of our work, Rosie and I sat in the garden to have a well-earned cup of tea and slice of cherry pie. As the sun began to set over the hills, the entire sky turned a magnificent glowing pink. It was so beautiful, so full of hope and joy that we stayed there in the garden, watching until the first stars of the night appeared.
    On my way to work the next day, after dropping Rosie off at school, I hung the posters all over the town. I even stuck one in the church vestry and on the notice board in the town hall. I asked all the shopkeepers to stick one in their windows, to which they promptly agreed.
    Â Barbara told me the vicar had already received news of our meeting and was apparently furious we had dared to hold such an event on the Sabbath. She said the fact he had no idea what it was about made it even worse.
    Â â€˜Let battle commence,’ she said, rolling up her sleeves.
    Â I wasn’t so jubilant, and just hoped my posters might bluff our rivals into thinking we were meeting for exercise. I had loved taking yoga classes when I worked in public relations in London. Before having Rosie, they were my twice-weekly salvation, two hour-long sessions where I had time to myself to be still and calm in the frenetic PR world of the city. I had even begun to take lessons on how to teach yoga myself but I gave them up when work became too busy, such was my whim. I just hoped I could remember a little of what I had been taught so I could share it with those who came this weekend.
    Â At exactly 3 p.m. on Sunday, thirteen people arrived on my doorstep. It was not as many as the week before but it was enough. Barbara and Dennis brought along their youngest son, Ben, to keep Rosie company, leaving their eldest two, Scott and Charlie, engrossed in front of the TV. Rosie was delighted to see him and immediately the pair raced up to her bedroom to play. The Donaldsons came too, along with Maureen Sprockett, the librarian, and her assistant Janice, Gillian the florist, Bill, Mr Morris, from the hardware shop, and his daughter, Joan. Mr Morris apologised for the absence of his wife Yvonne, who had a cold and had decided to give today’s class a miss. I gave him an elderflower blossom, with strict instructions to hang it up in a net and let it dry before giving it to Yvonne as a tea to clear her chest. The other two were the unwelcome additions of the mayor and his accomplice, the vicar.
    Â I had to make this realistic.
    Â â€˜Right,’ I said, trying my hardest to keep the jangle of fear out of my voice, ‘let’s get started with some breathing exercises. This is called pranayama. Prana means life, energy, and vitality while ayama means regulation and control. Together they form a practice of regulating the flow of energy through the body using the breath. Pranayama is life-giving, it’s what connects our inner energy with our outer energy. What we need to do is concentrate on breathing in, holding the breath, then breathing out and holding that breath. Everyone lie on the floor and breathe with me.’
    Â They looked at me cynically but, urged by Barbara, they each found a spot.
    Â â€˜Right,’ I continued, gaining confidence now they weren’t all staring at me, ‘gently close your eyes and enjoy this moment of relaxation. Breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold.’
    Â After ten minutes, the atmosphere changed in the room. The scepticism and defiance seemed to drift away, people actually seemed to be enjoying it. I was amazed. Even Mr Johnson’s face had altered; I think I even saw a real smile rather than a smirk. Encouraged, I got them up on their feet and led them through a series of simple poses. The dog pose on all fours, the kneeling child pose, the mountain pose stood