The Spa Day by Nicola Yeager Read Free Book Online Page A

on
beaches; it sounds a bit arty, but I’m just trying to be realistic and
unpretentious. I’ve been at it for a few years, but I’m still learning. I
haven’t sold anything much, but I did sell one to a local paper when there was
some flooding. It’s a start, anyway, though I don’t plan to cover provincial
news stories particularly. I’ve been meaning to learn to surf, but the water’s
always too cold!’
    I have a picture in my mind of him staring out to sea, thinking
of Rhoda, watching the waves lapping the shore, taking long, solitary walks
along the beach accompanied by a dog he’d got from a rescue home. This is
ridiculous, I know. I make a mental note not to ask him about the dog. He’d
probably try and have me sectioned.
    Five minutes later, I can tell he’s finished with my back.
He gives me a small pat on the shoulder.
    ‘OK. You can turn over now. I’ll just pop out. Back in a few
minutes.’
    He leaves the room and I hear the discrete ‘click’ of the
door. I wonder where he goes? Does he stand outside having a fag? I sit up and
roll my head around for a few seconds. It’s amazing the difference this sort of
massage makes. I lift the towel off my back, turn over and flick it across my
front. I have to say that my self-pitying blubbing over Clive earlier on seems
a bit silly after hearing what happened to James and his girlfriend. Still, he
seems happy enough with his cool beach life and photography. I wish I was that
self-contained. Am I self-contained at all? Am I one of those women who has to
have a husband or bf to feel that she’s worth anything?
    When he comes back in, I give him a quick smile and he
smiles back. I think my smile was a sort of apology for bringing the subject of
his girlfriend up and making him talk about it, and his smile is a sort of
‘It’s OK. We’re cool.’ new-age vibe thing he’s sending back in return. That
could be a load of bullshit, of course.
    But all is well. He starts on my hands and arms and I soon
sink back into that warm ocean of pleasure that a really good massage can
bring. I start thinking about fields with really high grass and the wind making
ripples through them. No, I’m not high.
    He doesn’t say anything while he’s running the bamboo up and
down my forearms and my brain is desperately searching for some innocuous small
talk, but I can’t find anything. It’s like some days when you go to the
hairdressers and you just aren’t switched on to having that sort of lightweight
banter that they always use to pass the time. After a few minutes, my brain
comes up with a priceless, original gem.
    ‘Are you doing anything nice for Christmas?’
    That seems OK. After all, he asked me about my Christmas
plans yesterday and it’s only six days away.
    ‘Well – I’m rather looking forward to doing nothing at all this
year. My parents have decided to go to the Caribbean to avoid all the usual
Christmas stuff. They’ve been saving up for two years.’ He laughs. ‘They found
a hotel in St Lucia that doesn’t take children!’
    ‘They’ve got the right idea! So what are you going to do?’
    ‘Nothing. Just chill out. I’m not interested in the whole
thing, you know? I may have inherited it from them. Lack of belief, that is.
The religious part is interesting historically with its roots in pagan stuff,
Saturnalia and whatnot, but I can’t get worked up about any of it. Everyone
stuffing their faces with huge amounts of food they can get all the year round
in the supermarket makes me feel a bit sick now, you know?’
    ‘I agree with you. I couldn’t go without Pringles, though.’
    ‘Well, that goes without saying; particularly the sour cream
and chives type.’
    He rolls a smaller bamboo up and down my deltoids. The
warmth is making them turn to jelly.
    ‘Did you and, er …’
    Damn! I can’t help it! What’s wrong with me? I keep bringing
his girlfriend into the conversation! But he takes it in his stride.
    ‘Well, she felt the same,