The Spa Day by Nicola Yeager Read Free Book Online

to be getting moans of satisfaction out of countless women, day
in, day out. What a funny job!
    ‘Sounds like you’ll be surpassing your girlfriend’s skills
at this rate!’
    He doesn’t reply. Have I said something wrong? Perhaps they
split up and I’m being tactless, as per usual. My girlfriend at the time. Oh
bugger. He continues pressing into my back and I decide not to say anything
else for the moment. He stops for a moment to replace the bamboo stick he’s
using with a thinner one and to rub some more oil into my back.
    ‘Unfortunately, we’re not together any more. That’s the
wrong phrase to use. She passed away. It was just over a year ago. She had a
bone marrow disorder. It was spotted too late and there was nothing they could
do.’
    I turn around to face him and almost reveal a boob in the
process.
    ‘Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…’
    ‘It’s OK. Really. Don’t worry. I’m quite, er , I’m quite philosophical about it and it was a while ago
now. It’s just that no one usually asks about how I learned this. I didn’t know
what to say. You mustn’t feel like you’ve upset me or anything. It’s fine.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘I’m sure. Please don’t worry about it. We are taught to
bear mental pain at the Bamboo Zen Monastery!’
    He continues with the massage and my mind is racing to think
of something I can say that will change the subject without it seeming like I’m
changing the subject out of awkwardness or embarrassment. It’s difficult. Oh
god, how awful. He must think about her every time he comes to work! There’s a
terrible few minutes of silence, during which I think of chocolate croissants.
    ‘What was her name?’
    Shit! Shit! How could I be so bloody stupid! He smiles, and
then laughs. He doesn’t mind that I’m a moron.
    ‘It was Rhoda. She was from Cambridge originally. She was
twenty-five when – you know. We were sharing a flat just outside Guildford.’
    ‘God. Do you still live there? I mean, it must be…’
    He laughs. I guess I’m lucky that he isn’t putting some
extra pressure on my poor knotted muscles. He must think I’m a total idiot. A
stupid, pampered, tactless bitch.
    ‘It was only rented. But I was lucky. I don’t think I’d have
been able to stay there on my own. A few weeks after it happened, an aunt of
mine died. Well, I say an aunt, actually it was a grand-aunt. I don’t mean I
was lucky because she died. Well, I was, I suppose. It’s just that she left me
this place down by the beach near Newhaven. It’s just a small place, really. A
cottage, I guess you’d call it. Used to be an artist’s studio. She used it for
holidays now and then.’
    Good. Good. I can tell by his tone of voice that he’s
chilled about the whole thing. Or maybe he’s a good actor. He digging into the
knots on my shoulders now, so I’ll have to keep him in a good mood.
    ‘It’s a pretty bleak area, very windy in the winter, but
I’ve managed to tart it up a bit. Re-painted all the rooms, stuck a bit of
furniture in there. I don’t need much, really and the drive to here is quite
fast unless there’s motorway pile-up or something. Friday nights are the worst.
Going home, I mean. Takes about an hour and a half some days.’
    ‘It sounds lovely. It must be nice to have somewhere like
that to get away to.’
    ‘Yeah. It’s got a big studio room where the artist who lived
there used to paint. Big windows in the ceiling, but I had to get blinds put on
them.’
    ‘Too bright?’ I don’t know what I’m talking about.
    ‘It’s not that. It’s just that I’m a bit of a photographer
in my spare time and I develop my own pictures, so I turned it into a sort of
photography studio and use that area as a darkroom.’ He grins. ‘I decorated
most of the rooms with my own work. Saves money. Prints are really expensive
now.’
    ‘Wow. That sounds great. What sort of photographs do you
take?’
    ‘Anything, really. Seascapes, stuff you see washed up