BREATHE

‘Inhale deeply into your diaphragm. Feel the life force flowing into every fibre of your body.’

Robert tried. But what he mostly got up his nostrils was the pungent scent of fresh sweat from the bodies around him, especially Cora Swann, whose personal hygiene left too much to be desired. Or perspired – haha. Anyway, he wasn’t convinced this breathing was any different from what he did at home and at work, awake and asleep, twenty-four hours a day, had done all his life. For thirty-seven years. Thirty-seven! How had he got so old?

‘Be super-aware, be conscious, be mindful of your breath.’

Ah, that word. Mindful. Load of old nonsense. It was the stretching part of the class that he liked, the feeling of flexibility and strength, not this chakra-prana-tantra-mantra malarkey. But you couldn’t pick and choose; it was all inclusive.

So Robert tried to picture the air he was sucking in as little bubbles, pockets of carbon dioxide, sliding cheerfully into his mouth like creatures in a Disney cartoon, then via his throat and down the pipes through his chest until they filled up his lungs like balloons. Weren’t lungs supposed to be the size of a tennis court if all the tiny filaments were laid out flat and stretched? Or was that something to do with a dog’s nose? Anyway, how did they know? Had a team of biologists removed a pair from a corpse and delicately pulled them out like pizza dough to check, actually on a tennis court? ‘Sorry, I know you’ve booked it for your ladies’ doubles, Glenys; we’ll be done in a jiffy.’

Glenys? That was his mother’s name; what was she doing in his head?

‘Welcome the breath in, as deep as you can inside you.’

Now an inhalation was an intrusion. Like a dentist’s probe or that time he had a colonoscopy. God, that was grim. A night of leaking liquid crap, feeling hungry as a horse, then lying on his side while a woman pushed a hosepipe up his bottom. Various other silent, anonymous creatures stood around in masks, presumably for reasons of hygiene. Or maybe so he couldn’t identify them later in Tesco’s?

Ha, that was funny, he registered. I’ll have to tell Janey later. Although she probably won’t laugh. They didn’t do that very much these days.

Robert tried to remember the last time the two of them had chuckled together or had a giggle over some shared joke. Let alone a good old guffaw. Nothing came to him. All he could dredge up was a few weeks ago when he’d whacked his thumb with a hammer putting a picture up in the spare room. She’d laughed then. But that didn’t really count.

The spare room. His room as it was now.

‘Let’s all breathe in to the count of four. One... and two...’

The teacher’s gentle tones floated over him like the mist from his vape. Which Janey would inevitably tut about and wave away, as if it was smoke. ‘No, you silly woman,’ he wanted to shout, ‘That’s the whole point of vaping! I gave up my fags after all your passive aggressive coughing and wafting; you can’t go on about the dangers of this too. Do you want my balls on a plate?’

‘... three... and four. Good, excellent.’ Yes, they got praised for breathing here. That’s what he needed: reward and nurturing. ‘And now out slowly to a count of six. One...’

It was the final ten minutes of the yoga class, the part the tutor called ‘empty brain time’. As if. To Robert it was ‘free thinking’, allowing his mind to dash about like a dog off the leash, scampering excitedly hither and yon, nose to the ground, following scents and sniffing every post in sight.

Hither and what? That’s a weird expression.

‘Close your eyes and dive into the calm darkness. Float on a cloud of nothingness... drift away...’

There was nothing calm in Robert’s head. Thoughts tumbled and bubbled energetically like... those balls in a... in a Perspex dome. What did he mean, what was he thinking of? For a second he couldn’t catch the visual reference. Ah, yes, the lottery. That brief glimpse of a better future, the illusion of another life. Followed by the sinking re-establishment of reality. Sometimes you got a message saying you’d ‘Been Lucky!’ and ‘Won a Prize!’. There were always exclamation marks. Then you checked and it was a fiver.

Robert could hear someone snoring over to his right. It always happened and he felt amused but annoyed at the same time. Embarrassed too, but that was pretty much a default with him. The tutor didn’t seem to mind; perhaps it was a sign of how well they’d followed her instructions to relax. It was probably that older chap called Jeremy or Johnny. He usually nodded off at this point. Jimmy?

There weren’t many blokes in the class. Mostly women of a certain age in their bright, bulging leotards. Hair tied up and faces make-up free. Wholesome women, good women. Most likely Lib-Dems. Or even Green, he wouldn’t put it past them. Nice enough, though. Always polite and chatty before the class and then afterwards when they all put their outdoor clothes on again like an identity. Some of them had other activities in common too. ‘See you at the book group, Isabel,’ they said with a wave. ‘Don’t forget the Neighbourhood Watch meeting,’ or ‘Wendy, I’ll pick you up for Zumba at 4.30. Byeee!’

How gratifying to be so connected, Robert marvelled, supine on his thin mat, which provided minimal comfort. To have a circle of casual acquaintances, even if they weren’t close friends, well, he couldn’t imagine. People to attend a book group with or neighbourhood watch. Maybe not Zumba.

Isolated, that’s how Robert felt. Trapped. He’d always been ‘a bit of a loner’ as his dad said and made it sound glamorous, a touch Clint Eastwood. More like timid as a mouse. God knows how he ever managed to go out with girls. He usually felt they’d been put up to it or felt sorry for him. Possibly doing it for a bet. But he did manage a handful of girlfriends, briefly, before they each dumped him, as expected.

Then there was Janey.

They couldn’t remember now – or couldn’t agree – on who made the first move but after a few dates at the pub and a film at the Curzon it was obvious something significant was happening. And it was mutual. They were ‘going out’ in that quaint parlance. They held hands, they snogged; they did more than snog. One day she let him go all the way. Not only let him, she insisted. Even though Robert had been reluctant, a bit scared to tell the truth. Keen, of course, and curious to find out how much of the things he’d heard were true. Would it be thrilling, romantic and magical?

In fact it was awkward, messy and brief. Janey was eighteen, two years younger than him, but she’d already done it a couple of times with Steve Badham. It was only natural, then, that she took charge and directed operations with precision and authority. But it felt like the first time he held a tennis racquet and tried to serve. He was enthusiastic but lacking the basic skills. Arms and legs all over the place.

‘Don’t worry,’ the sports teacher, Miss Pedley, had said. ‘You’ll get the hang of it.’

Pretty much Janey’s words too.

He did get the hang of it, began to prefer it to masturbating and even got compliments from Janey. For a while.

She had more surprises up her ruched sleeve.

‘Robert,’ she announced in the garden of the Hare and Hounds on a stifling summer evening, ‘I think we should get married.’

‘What?’ He choked on his half-pint of cider.

‘We’d be a good team.’

‘Right. I suppose.’

‘We have talents and interests that complement each other. Transferable skills.’ She’d just started her new job in HR at Trevithick’s Shoe Emporium.

‘Oh. Do we?’ He was wiping his chin with a sleeve.

‘All I’m saying is, if you were to Pop The Question...’ She waggled her fingers to make bunny ears. ‘... my answer would be yes.’

‘O.K. I see.’

They gazed at each other; she coy, he shell-shocked. He heard a couple laughing behind him, as if they’d ear-wigged the exchange and were enjoying his discomfort. The moment was lasting too long; he didn’t know how to end it.

‘Um…’

‘And if you were to ask me if I want another red wine, Robert, I’d also say yes.’

‘Right.’

He got the wine and a pint for himself. Over the next few days, he thought about what she’d said. Thought about little else, with a sense of rising panic. But, he realised now, he hadn’t thought about it anywhere near enough.

A week after the drink he did as he’d, more or less, been instructed. He asked her. And her answer was indeed yes. She even had the grace to fake surprise. That, as he began to learn, was her style. ‘Oh, don’t mind me’ and ‘I’ll fit it with you’ or ‘I’m really not fussed’ were what she said, but they were lies, complete and utter. Janey had a mind as sharp as a freshly-stropped razor. She never did anything she didn’t want to, skilfully manipulating Robert into thinking it was his choice. Whether it was something as minor as which TV programme to watch or as major as where to live, it was always Janey’s way.

Determined as she was, even Janey Bullock couldn’t boss nature about. She wanted two children – ‘let’s have one of each’ – but for once she didn’t get her way. At first she assumed it was Robert’s fault and made him check his sperm count through the GP and the clinic. Boy, that was embarrassing, discussing it with old Doctor Spelling, who’d known him since he was a boy. And then having to lock himself in a cubicle with ancient magazines and a VHS video of cheesy porn, passing the jar of jizz through a hatch and ringing a bell to let them know he’d produced the goods.

Once his count was judged not only good enough but ‘abundant and motile’ the spotlight fell on Janey, much to her indignation. Were her eggs viable? After a lot of poking and prodding and paying of huge fees to ‘experts in their field’ – always men, which seemed ironic – they were told there was no obvious medical reason why they hadn’t conceived and they should try not to be anxious and continue, conscious of the best days of her cycle to ‘engage in penetrative vaginal sexual activity.’ Basically: keep calm and carry on screwing.

And that’s still where they were, fifteen years later. Trying for a baby, as the expression went. That sounded so laborious, such hard work. And it was.

The plinky-plonky music in the room was a cliché but he was used to it now, having attended the yoga class for several weeks, at Janey’s suggestion. ‘It’ll be good for you, help you settle down and focus.’ Am I not settled, he thought, not focussed?

The pan pipes warbled away, the chap possibly called Jeremy gave a snort in his sleep.

‘Where you are right now is exactly where you need to be.’

Oh god, if only that were true.

Is that when it began to go wrong, after they found they couldn’t have babies easily, might never have them? It was a shock to Janey; it’s what she’d set her heart on. Robert had always been anxious about the responsibility of fatherhood so he wasn’t that fussed. But yes, that’s probably when it all slipped away. He floated free, emotionally detached from the realities of his own life. He settled for loss of control. If he even had it in the first place.

Or was it earlier, at the very start, the point of no return? The last moment when he could still have changed course, got out? Where I am right now is emphatically not where I need to be. What the hell was she going on about?

‘You have within you everything you need to grow and be the best version of yourself.’

She had a nice voice, he’d give her that. If you didn’t listen to the drivel she was spouting. She intoned her words and the sing-song quality was part of the sedative effect. Perhaps Janey was right, yoga would calm him down, help him to accept his fate and accept the weight of disappointment.

Robert breathed as instructed. His mother Glenys floated briefly through his consciousness again. He missed her and wished often that she was around to... not consult exactly but… Well, he didn’t imagine being too explicit, but to sprinkle hints about how tough it was to share his daily life with Janey. After all, his mum and his dad had chosen to go their separate ways once the kids were grown up. It was looking as if he and Janey might be heading that way. But divorce was not an item up for discussion.

Not that they discussed much. Other than aches and pains, the weather, house prices and items in the local news. About all of which Janey had strong opinions, so it was more a case of Robert listening to her pontificate and agreeing. Or disagreeing temporarily until she convinced him otherwise.

There was an anodyne courtesy in their discourse, a frozen civility masquerading as respect. He felt they were on parallel tracks but disconnected, observing but never quite touching. Janey had long ago banished him to what she used to call the ‘nursery’ at night, because of his alleged snoring. So he slept on the narrow bed surrounded by boxes of prematurely purchased fluffy toys in both pink and blue. Until the ovulation days, when he’d be summoned back to serve her like some reluctant stud.

They weren’t friends, nor lovers, not a team, just... married. Is that how other people’s relationships were but nobody talked about it? Did Jim and Barbara have the same deathly brittleness at home? What about Danny and Pam, Colin and Bella, Sunita and Patrick? How about Natalie and Miriam, was it better or worse for them? Or Gary and Pierre, although nobody was quite sure about that setup; they might just be flatmates.

‘You’re in suspended animation, a limbo of peace...’ came the half-heard voice, the one outside his head. The one inside echoed it: ‘Yes, I am. I’m in bloody limbo! But not peace. I’m treading water, going nowhere. How long can this go on? All my life? Or will we find the courage to break the spell, grant each other freedom?’

That sounded terrifying.

‘Whatever worries you brought into the room with you tonight, prepare to shed them all, lay each one gently aside on a long, vocalised sigh. Let your anxiety and stress evaporate into the air as we all take a big breath in and then, when you’re ready…. aaaaaahhh…..’

They all did as instructed, creating a pleasingly cacophonous moan like bagpipes discarded. Even probably-Jeremy had woken up and joined in, his sonorous baritone reverberating off the ceiling.

Silence.

Just the ticking of a pipe and the toot of a distant car horn.

Silence. A long, long silence. Empty of sound but full of meaning.

Something was happening in Robert. Something odd but not unwelcome. It was a sensation he couldn’t define at first. He wanted to chase it, catch and identify it, but had the patience to wait for it to settle like a butterfly on a buddleia. There was no shield of cynicism between him and his experience. He was his emotions, tingling raw and real.

‘Being as gentle as you need to be and, at your own pace, open your eyes and come slowly to standing.’

They did, blinking and stretching, moving gingerly as if anaesthetised. They shuffled to create an approximate circle; they knew the routine.

‘Look around at all the wonderful people who have shared this time with you. See them, each one of them. Each one of us.’ She did so herself, purposefully taking in one after another, her glance pausing on Robert for no longer or shorter than on anyone else. ‘Appreciate the qualities in others that perhaps they can’t even see themselves. As they are appreciating those qualities in you. You are magnificent. Even if you lose sight of that, it is still true. Be strong; live your time with kindness and courage.’

She pressed her palms together in a prayer and bowed her head. ‘Namaste.’

‘Namaste,’ they murmured back. And, for the first time, Robert unselfconsciously echoed the word and the gesture.

He felt moved, touched. He was comfortable, he was tranquil, he was at peace. He was strong; he was magnificent.

How did she do this, every week, in just ten minutes? She was amazing.

Then the mood changed.

‘Just to let you know there’ll be no class next week at it’s Good Friday but we’ll recommence on the 25th. If you’re interested in a one-to-one yoga session or deep tissue massage have a word before I leave. Oh, and I think a couple of latecomers need to pay. Georgina and Kim? OK, thanks everyone, have a good Easter and see you in a couple of weeks.’

They shuffled over to the corner to pull on anoraks and jeans, collect their bags and begin to readjust to the so-called real world. Some voices were low, others more distinct. Robert heard familiar words.

‘Thanks for another great class, Janey.’

‘You’re welcome, Cora.’

‘Janey, can I text later to book a massage?’

‘Of course, Kathy, of course.’

‘See you in a fortnight, Janey.’

‘Bye-bye, Jeffrey.’

Jeffrey, of course.

And then she was standing before him, brisk and efficient. ‘I’ll lock up and see you downstairs. You’ve got the car keys.’ It was, of course, a statement, not a question.

As she turned away he reached out a hand to touch her arm. She flinched and for a second looked alarmed.

‘Thank you, Janey. Lovely class.’

‘Oh. Right. Yes. Good.’ She blinked a couple of times and said, very quietly, ‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll be in the car,’ Robert said and headed towards the door.