The Things We Need to Say Read online

  Tall and willowy, Katrin had been coming to Fran’s classes since Fran was a teacher trainee and is now, in fact, a teacher trainee herself.

  ‘This is Molly,’ she says introducing her equally tall friend whose corkscrew curls cascade down her back. Fran is beginning to feel like a midget among all these women.

  Molly scowls.

  Katrin had told Fran all about Molly weeks ago. Molly’s position had been made redundant, some big job in the City – Fran hadn’t been completely listening. If she took in every single problem her students told her about on top of her own, she’d go mad. That sounded harsh, but it was true. If she didn’t set up strong boundaries with her students, she wouldn’t be able to cope at all. Whatever Molly’s job was, it was very important to her and she had now lost it. Katrin had paid for her to come on this retreat, thinking it would do her friend some good, give her some time to think. By the look on her face Fran wasn’t sure Molly agreed.

  ‘I don’t think yoga’s my thing,’ Molly says.

  ‘That’s OK,’ Fran replies. ‘All the yoga sessions are optional. You can sit by the pool all day or go down to the beach. Talk to Pierre about other exercise classes or get a massage. There’s lots of other stuff going on.’

  Molly’s scowl softens at this sudden freedom she’s been given. Fran never had seen the point in forcing people to do things they didn’t want to do.

  Amado appears then, still suited and booted despite the heat.

  ‘Beautiful ladies,’ he says with a white-toothed grin. Constance giggles, touching his arm, and Fran thinks that even Amado has got his work cut out there. Amado completely ignores David – Fran had noticed the two men having a heated debate earlier as she’d gone upstairs to shower and change. Who knew what that was about? David seemed to rub people up the wrong way. She steps away to draw David in to the group a little more.

  ‘Right,’ she says. ‘My friend Amado here will show you around and then up to your rooms and we’ll meet in the yoga studio in an hour.’

  As Amado leads the group away Fran realises she’s feeling better already.

  Elizabeth

  In the sunny courtyard of the hotel, Elizabeth and Constance sit with a tray of tea things on the table between them as they relax in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. They’d unpacked as quickly as possible so that they could have half an hour before their first yoga class. Neither of them have had a cup of tea since leaving Stansted which, as Constance quite rightly said, was just not on.

  ‘Do you think everyone knows?’ Elizabeth asks, breaking the companionable silence.

  ‘Knows what?’ Constance asks, leaning back in her chair, her sunglasses covering her eyes.

  ‘About what I’ve done, about Tony and me?’

  Constance smiles at her friend. ‘Why would they? Why would they care anyway?’

  ‘There were rumours going around the yoga studio last autumn,’ Elizabeth goes on.

  ‘I dispelled most of them,’ Constance says with a wave of her hand. ‘I think people know you had an affair, I think people know you’re getting divorced, but as far as the details go I think you’re definitely yesterday’s news.’

  ‘Do you think Fran knows?’

  ‘Why would she?’

  ‘Because of Will.’

  ‘Fran’s husband is bound by a code of ethics. He doesn’t go telling his wife all his clients’ intimate details, Elizabeth. Now stop worrying and drink your tea.’

  ‘Does Joy know?’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake!’ Constance exclaims, sitting up in her chair. ‘No, Joy doesn’t know about your affair. It’s not my story to tell but by all means tell her if you wish. While we’re on the subject of my sister though, I haven’t told Joy about Fran either and for the moment I’d rather it stayed that way. She’s anxious enough without worrying about the yoga teacher too.’

  Constance leans back again as if to end the conversation and Elizabeth sits quietly with her thoughts for a moment.

  ‘It’s ridiculous really,’ she says after a while.

  ‘What is?’ Constance asks with a sigh.

  ‘Nothing bad ever happened between me and Tony. We never fought; we never dealt with debt or disease or illness or injury. The kids were always relatively well behaved and yet I still did what I did.’

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘Well I just got bored and ruined my marriage whereas Fran and her husband went through every couple’s worst nightmare, but somehow they’ve got through it together.’

  Constance takes off her sunglasses and leans forward, her elbows on the table.

  ‘Do you think so?’ she asks.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Constance says, quietly. ‘There’s something different about Fran this afternoon, something distant. I don’t think she’s coping as well as she’s pretending to. I don’t think she has done all along. Neither has he probably.’

  ‘You don’t know that Constance – it’s pure conjecture.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Constance replies. ‘But I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m right. Anyway,’ she continues, putting her sunglasses back on, ‘here’s Joy. Pour her a cup of tea and change the subject.’

  Fran

  Everyone is sitting in a circle on their mats after their first yoga session of the retreat. Even Molly is looking less grumpy than when she came into the room. She might have struggled through the class, either screwing up her face in concentration or rolling her eyes with cynicism, but the yoga has worked a little bit of its magic on her.

  Fran likes to have the mats in a circle rather than in rows – that way there is no front or back, no beginning or end. Just a sense of interconnectedness and equality. She likes everyone to feel included. She likes everyone to be happy. Everyone is looking visibly relaxed.

  ‘I thought we could introduce ourselves,’ she says. ‘I know we mostly know each other by sight from classes in Cambridge but we don’t often get much of a chance to talk.’ She watches everyone’s face fall a little bit and smiles. ‘I know most people hate introducing themselves,’ she goes on, ‘so I’ll start. I’m Francesca Browne but everyone calls me Fran, and I started practising yoga in about 1996 when I was at university to help deal with exam stress. I’ve been teaching for six years and before that I was a secretary. I live in Suffolk, just outside of Newmarket with my husband Will.’ She stops suddenly, dropping her gaze. She doesn’t want anyone to ask her how Will is.

  ‘Do you have any children, Fran?’ Joy asks innocently.

  ‘No,’ Fran says, fixing on her best fake smile. ‘No children.’ She is used to fielding this question and wishes it wasn’t such a popular one. She always tries to make a point of never asking it of other women. She is surprised Constance hasn’t said anything to her sister.

  Fran turns to Molly. ‘Tell us a bit about yourself,’ she says.

  And so it goes on, around the circle. Molly has lost her job, Elizabeth has lost her husband, Constance and Joy have lost their mother, and Fran has lost so much – and maybe her husband as well – but nobody needs to know about that.

  Which just leaves David and Katrin. David is unusually taciturn, sharing his name and the fact that he’s an accountant and nothing more. Katrin is alone among them by seeming to have everything: the job, the fiancé, the house, the plans for a wedding at Trinity College next summer, the dreams of becoming a yoga teacher. ‘Maybe I’ll be teaching here next year,’ she says with a smile. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes and Fran wonders why someone so seemingly content has taken on something more – especially something like teaching yoga, which Fran knows can change your whole life.

  When everyone has finished Fran takes some time to explain what they’ll be doing over the next few days: a yoga session each morning after breakfast and another each afternoon.

  ‘All the sessions are optional so come to as many or as few as you want,’ she says, part of her wishing they were optional for her. ‘The rest of your time is your own and t
here’s a lot going on in the hotel and in Salou itself. On Saturday there’s a trip to Barcelona that I think Amado is going to tell you about later.’

  There’s a murmur of appreciative noise at the prospect of a trip to Barcelona, which Fran is quietly pleased about. It will give her a day off at least.

  ‘Before you go I’ve left you all notebooks and pens by your mats,’ Fran says. ‘These are yours to keep and to note down any takeaways or to write down your thoughts over the next few days. But one thing I’d like you to do before dinner is to write down an intention for this retreat. Just a word or two. Write it in the front of your notebooks so you can easily revisit it. All of this is completely private. You only have to share if you want to.’

  She is about to give them some examples of the sort of intentions they could set for themselves – but all of them are already sitting with their heads bowed writing in their notebooks, even Molly who apparently isn’t into this sort of thing! As Fran watches them, she realises that there is so much this group has in common – they are all people carrying baggage and heartache and grief – even Katrin and David who, though careful in what they have shared, have been eloquent in what is unspoken. Fran thinks she has as much to learn from these people as they have from her.

  Her word for the week is already written down in her own notebook upstairs in her room. Acceptance. Acceptance of what, though, remains to be seen.

  *

  The group have a table at dinner away from the rest of the hotel guests on the terrace overlooking the sea. Fran arrives first, wanting ten minutes alone to take in the view, to try not to think. When the waiter comes she orders a glass of wine and looks at the blue of the sea contrasting against the bougainvillea that cascades down the trellises. She thinks about Will even though she tries not to. He believes anywhere with beaches and bougainvillea is nothing short of paradise.

  She thinks briefly of Santorini – of the blue sky, the white buildings, the bright pink flowers, how happy they were. She stops herself. Those days are gone. She used to think that when she and Will were together they created an energy so powerful nothing could stop them. She used to believe that energy, that love, was all anyone needed. Now she wonders if it was ever enough.

  Her stomach growls with hunger. She’s definitely feeling better. But as she sips her wine it tastes different somehow, metallic, like when you bite your tongue and taste the blood. She doesn’t know why but she pushes the glass away.

  The group filter down gradually. David first, clutching a paperback as though he isn’t expecting anyone to speak to him. He orders a beer and Fran gestures to the chair next to her, aware that she had been less than friendly at lunchtime. As she opens her mouth to speak to him, the rest of the group, led of course by Constance, arrive noisily on the terrace in a wave of clashing perfumes. Constance is talking about Freddie, who Fran already knows is the latest in a string of younger lovers. She’s not really in the mood to listen so she settles herself back in her chair to admire the view, raising an eyebrow at David as she does so. He’ll be glad he brought that paperback after all.

  Once everyone has drinks, the waiter brings their starters – tomato and goat’s cheese salads, drizzled in olive oil. The ingredients taste so fresh, as though the tomatoes have just been picked, and the Spanish sun is shining out of the oil. Even Constance quietens down a little as everybody tucks in.

  ‘So, Molly,’ Fran asks, ‘did you enjoy your first yoga class?’ Fran is sitting at the head of the table with David on one side and Molly on the other.

  ‘It was OK,’ Molly replies without much enthusiasm.

  ‘Admit it,’ Katrin interrupts. ‘You liked it.’

  Fran smiles. ‘Did you?’ she asks. ‘Will we see you in class tomorrow?’

  Molly nods, as she swallows her tomato. ‘It was better than I thought it would be,’ she admits. ‘Although I don’t think I’m very good at it. I thought it would be OK – I do so much running and kickboxing, but I can’t even touch my toes without bending my knees.’

  ‘It’s not about touching your toes,’ David says authoritatively, and then stops himself. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just it doesn’t always matter what you look like when you do yoga; it’s more what you feel like.’

  Fran nods. ‘It’s true. It’s less about touching your toes. More about learning to breathe when life doesn’t go the way you want it to.’ Fran stops there, not really wanting to go into all the ways life hasn’t gone the way she and Will wanted it to.

  ‘Is that why you suggested I come?’ Molly asks, directing her question at Katrin.

  Katrin shrugs. ‘I thought it might just give you the space you need to work out what to do next.’

  You and me both, thinks Fran.

  Over the course of the meal Fran and Molly find they have more in common than they thought. They both went to university in London, to King’s College, and as far as they can work out, spent their first year in the same halls of residence, although Fran was there eight years before Molly.

  ‘I loved it there so much,’ Fran said, feeling animated for the first time that day. ‘I was suddenly living on my own in London after years in a tiny house in Cambridge with my mother and it felt so freeing. I think I felt alive for the first time in my life when I went to London.’

  ‘I felt the same,’ Molly replies. ‘Funnily enough I was meant to go to Cambridge.’ She glances at Katrin for a moment before continuing. ‘But I didn’t get the grades. In hindsight, I’m glad – I had such an amazing time at King’s.’

  ‘What did you do after you graduated?’ Fran asked.

  ‘I went into management consultancy.’ Fran doesn’t really know what that is but nods anyway. ‘I worked my way up the career ladder until …’ Molly trails off and Fran remembers that Molly’s career in management consultancy is no more. ‘How about you?’ Molly asks.

  ‘I did an executive PA course and lived in a shitty flat on the Archway Road,’ she says with a rueful smile. ‘I loved that grotty flat. Anyway, I worked for a big law firm in the City for a couple of years before coming back to Cambridge. The firm I worked for when I came back was where I met my husband.’

  ‘Why did you decide to go back to Cambridge?’ Joy asks from the other side of the table. Fran hadn’t realised she’d been listening.

  ‘My mum was ill,’ she says eventually. ‘She had cancer. I came back to Cambridge to look after her, but she died a couple of months later. Afterwards, I didn’t feel as though I could face London again – and then Will came along so …’ She stops. It doesn’t matter how hard she tries, she always ends up thinking about him.

  ‘Losing your mum changes everything,’ Joy replies.

  There is a silence around the table that threatens to descend into something unhappy, almost maudlin, but luckily Amado appears from nowhere to tell everybody about Barcelona and the planned trip there on Saturday. Fran uses this as an opportunity to switch off, staring out through the bougainvillea to the sea again.

  If Will were here he’d suggest a walk down to the beach later, when it was fully dark. He always loved the sea at night. She realises she’s thinking about him as though they’ll never do these things together again. As though he’s no longer around, as though their connection is already severed.

  ‘Can I have a quick word?’ Katrin’s voice snaps Fran back to the present. Everyone else has finished their meal now and is getting up to fetch more drinks.

  ‘Of course – what’s up?’

  ‘Oh nothing,’ Katrin says, leading Fran away from the others. ‘It’s just … well Molly turns thirty on Friday and I wondered if we could do something.’

  ‘A party or something?’ Fran says frowning. She’s not really in a party mood.

  ‘No.’ Katrin smiles. ‘Nothing like that. Maybe we could buy her a cake, make a fuss of her. This redundancy has really knocked her back.’

  ‘Of course we can,’ Fran says. ‘Turning thirty can be tricky at the best of times. I’ll ask Amado
tomorrow where we can buy the best cakes in Salou!’

  JULY 2008

  Will took me to New York for my thirtieth birthday. I had no idea until we were at the hotel at Heathrow the night before the flight. I squealed with delight when he told me. I’d been dreaming of New York since the first time I’d seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  ‘Did I do right?’ he asked. He always needed validation, like a little boy.

  ‘Of course you did right!’ I said. ‘I can’t wait.’ I paused for a moment looking at him. He was stretched out on the bed all long-limbed and languid. He only ever relaxed when he was on holiday. ‘Actually, I’ve got a surprise for you as well,’ I said.

  He raised an eyebrow and patted the bed next to him. I went to sit with him and he wrapped an arm around me.

  ‘I remember the promise I made the day we got married,’ I said.

  He hadn’t mentioned starting a family again since that night. I wondered if he, too, had got used to the freedom of our life, of being able to go wherever we wanted, of being able to do whatever we felt like. There’d be no more spontaneous weekends away or sex on the dining-room table once we had children.

  Will looked at me, remembering too, and I saw something in his eyes that told me he hadn’t changed his mind; he’d merely been biding his time, just as I’d asked him to.

  ‘We don’t have to,’ he said quietly. ‘Not if you don’t feel ready.’

  ‘I’ve come off the Pill,’ I said.

  He smiled then, slowly, languorously as though I’d told him the most wonderful news in the world. ‘Really?’ he whispered.

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Can we start trying right now?’

  Six weeks after we came back from New York I found out I was pregnant. I was shocked and horrified by the speed at which it happened. I’d read articles about how the effects of the Pill could take months to wear off. I’d thought I’d have plenty of time to get used to the idea.

  I waited in the kitchen, with the pregnancy test in my hand, for Will to get home from work. He cried when I told him. I’d never seen him so happy. I wished so much then that I felt the same.