This Way to Paradise (17 page)

The following morning, I woke in tears. I'd been having the most horrible dream and it took me a moment to come round properly and realise that it hadn't been real. I dreamed that I was walking down the street and Mum went past on a bicycle. I was so pleased to see her and waved, but she didn't see me. She rode straight past as if I wasn't there. And then I saw Dad and Dylan approaching on foot, both chatting away. I felt so relieved to see them and I waved to them too but they didn't see me either. It was as if I didn't exist. I was invisible to them. The feeling of loss when I awoke was awful.

As I lay there, I felt angry. Angry with Dad for sending me away. Angry with Mum for letting him. I felt helpless and I hated feeling the way I did. I'm not normally someone who
feels sorry for herself.
Try the meditation,
said a voice in my head.
Go deeper than those roller-coaster emotions – that's what Sensei said. Maybe it will work at times like this. No harm in giving it a second try.

I clambered out of bed being careful not to disturb Kate and made my way down to the beach. She'd been coming in late again and liked to sleep in during the morning. As it was early, I thought I might be alone down there, but I spied Sensei at one end of the beach and a few of the others, including Liam, dotted along at various distances away from each other. I sat down, assumed the lotus position, rested my hands on my knees, palms up, touched my thumb to my index finger the way I'd seen Sensei do, closed my eyes and once again began to meditate.

I opted for the first method that Sensei had taught and, as he'd directed, I focused on the cold air going into my nostrils and warm air going out.

In. Out.

Cold. Warm.

Actually not so cold as it's a warm day – so forget the cold air: warm air in and warmer air out. OK. In. Out.

Horrible dream. God it made me feel sad. I wonder what Mum and Dad are doing today. Don't think about it. They don't care about me. I'm not going to care about them. Focus.

In . . . out. Cold air. Warm air.

Joe looked so cute last night. He really does have such a nice mouth, with a full bottom lip. So much for Liam thinking I have a connection
with him. No way. I know where my connection is and it's with Joe. He must feel it too. Erin said it's always a two-way thing.

You're not concentrating.

Oops.

OK. In. Out. In. Out.

Yes, the voices were still there, blabbing on about this and that, but I was determined to go beyond them. I kept focusing and refocusing, the way that Sensei had said.

After a while, I began to feel slightly more peaceful. Slightly. And it did feel good when I opened my eyes some time later and looked out at the ocean in front of me. I felt like my mind had been spring-cleaned, the scenery all around looked sharp and clear as if I was seeing it with fresh eyes.

After twenty minutes, I went up to breakfast with the others, feeling lots more enthusiastic about it all, and I sat with Liam and Rosie to have a bowl of fresh figs, honey and yogurt.

Liam beamed at me with approval when I said this session had been better and when Sensei came over to join our table, even though it was early days for me, I had a feeling of belonging. For the first time since I'd got to Cloud Nine, I had the sensation of having ‘got it right'.

Over the next few days, I got into a new routine.

Up early. Meditate. Breakfast. Check for e-mails. Attend Sensei's talk. And when Kate had gone out for the day, I'd get my art book out and do some drawing in the bungalow, mainly
pencil sketches of some of the people up at the centre, but also some of the view from the veranda out at the front. I didn't show my drawings to anyone as I didn't want anyone judging them or me. It was my own private time and, curiously, I found that I felt more peaceful sketching than at any other time, even doing the meditation.

Mum and Dad had left messages to which I wrote a short reply.

Hi. Busy busy. Was homesick, but no longer. Have met my master. Am finding myself at last. Bye India Jane.

Part of me was still hurt that they'd hardly bothered to call in the early days of my trip and hadn't been there on the day I'd felt so homesick. OK. So maybe our schedules had been out of sync, but I had really wanted to hear their voices that day.

There was usually a daily e-mail from Dylan, letting me know some facts or figures about some obscure subject he'd read about, and I always replied to him. It was sweet that he bothered. I got the feeling that he was missing me a little in his own peculiar Dylan way.

And I wrote up everything that I could remember from Sensei's talks and sent it to Erin every day. It was as near as I could get to sharing the whole experience with her, but strangely she only replied once.

Dear Sister Margerita Bernadetta Consumatta O'Riley
I have read the holy blogs that you have sent and all I can say is: oh
really?
Call me when you have returned to planet Earth.
Erin

Hhm.
I thought when I read her message. Clearly she wasn't happy with me. Maybe it was because up until then we had made so many discoveries together and this was something I'd done without her. Or maybe I just wasn't the India Jane she knew any more. I was changing and there were other parts of me coming to light. Maybe I was moving on from where we were when we were both in Ireland.

As I attended the talks and hung about up at Cloud Nine, instead of taking off with Kate and going into town, I got to know a few more of the guests, the reasons they were there and what they got out of coming.

Carey Freidman was one of my favourites. She was from LA and we got talking one afternoon while swimming down in the bay. I'd noticed her a few times at supper, partly because she was tall and stunning and partly because she always wore bright headscarves and I'd wondered why. She told me that she had worked as a model until she discovered that she had breast cancer last year. Although it looked as if she was going to make a full recovery, she said that it had made her rethink her whole
life.‘The worst part was losing my hair,' she told me as we swam in the turquoise crystal water.‘I cried like a baby. And I know that we're all going to die sometime, but having an illness like this forces you to think about it. It makes it real. I can't believe I used to agonise over stupid stuff like what size I was, like it was the most important thing on earth. Now, I value such different things, like my health and my friends and family.'

Talking to her made me think about my priorities. What were they? A home, that was for sure. And Erin, who would hopefully still be my friend. But my family felt so distant. Like part of another life and that made me feel sad, especially when I met Anita Patel and heard what had happened to her. She was a slim, pretty pharmacist from North London and I heard her story when I went into town with Aunt Sarah to get provisions at the beginning of my last week. Anita drove us down in the centre's van and told us how she had lost her sister in the tsunami in Indonesia in 2004.

‘Changed everything,' she said. ‘At first I felt so guilty. You see, we'd rowed the night before she went. It was over some stupid little thing – she'd borrowed a dress and spilled red wine over it. I got so uptight about it. I never got to say sorry and that I loved her. What did a wine stain matter, for heaven's sake? Her death shook my whole world up, which is why I came here. I needed some time away from people who know me, who relate to the old me, because I don't feel like that person any more. I want . . . I need to find out who the new me is.'

I can understand that,
I thought.
Even though I haven't lost a sister, I do feel like I am changing, leaving the old India behind and becoming a new me too.
Like Carey's story, Anita's experiences made me think. Dad and I hadn't exactly rowed, but I'd felt so mad at him for sending me away. How would I feel if anything happened to him before we had a chance to clear the air? The thought of him not being there, even if I was angry with him, was unimaginable.

Chantelle Harrison was an ex-footballer's wife who was totally glam – she even wore full make-up at breakfast. At first I felt intimidated by her and then I got to know her. She was a sweetie who liked to mother everyone and who didn't miss a thing. I met her when on kitchen duty and, after our first conversation, she took me under her wing and fussed over me like I was her long-lost daughter.

‘Come here to find yourself, did you?' I asked as we chopped red onions for a salad one evening.

‘No, love,' she said. ‘I came here to
lose
my ex. I did bring his credit card, though, and the intention of running it up on a bit of me-time before I divorce the silly sod. And what about you? What are you doing here?'

‘Not sure. My family sent me, so it wasn't exactly my idea. So . . . um . . .'

At that moment, Joe walked through the restaurant area to our left.

Chantelle nudged me. I tried to pretend that I hadn't noticed so she nudged me again.

‘What?' I asked, but I knew I was blushing and that she could see that I was.

‘You've got your eye on him, haven't you?' she asked.

‘No.'

‘Pull the other one, sweetheart. Chantelle's my name, Cupid's my game.'

‘Oh God. Is it really obvious?'

‘Not really,' she said. ‘Only to me. I've got an in-built radar for romance. But don't worry, I won't let on.'

‘Thanks,' I said. ‘But, anyway, he's not interested.'

She tapped the side of her nose. ‘I wouldn't be so sure,' she said. ‘I've seen him watch you when you come into the restaurant.'

‘Me? Really?'

She nodded.‘Really,' she said. She pointed over to one of the tables where a cute dark-haired guy called Pete was chatting to Carey. ‘Like those two. They've been eyeing each other up for days too. Oh yes, Cupid's definitely flying about with his arrows around here.'

‘Cool,' I said and went back to my chopping.

There were others I got to know as well. All with a story that came out as the days unfolded, meals got eaten and ouzo (the local drink) was drunk. (Not by me though. It tastes like paint stripper!) And the two sisters that Kate had said were lesbian librarians. They weren't at all. They were friends, Julie and Macey. Their kids had grown up and gone off to university, and
both had felt an enormous hole in their lives so they booked to come here and learn to look forward instead of back.

Story after story of loss, upset or just a desire to find ‘something more' came out. As I got to know more of the guests, I felt bad that I'd dismissed them in the beginning as a bunch of middle-aged losers and, as Kate had done, I had called them the ‘inmates'. They were simply people, some older, some younger, but all were trying to cope with life and everything that it had thrown at them.

‘Doesn't anyone here have a happy story?' I asked Aunt Sarah when I got her alone one lunchtime.

She smiled at me. ‘You,' she said, then looked out of the window.‘Of course, lots of people do, India. But the centre does tend to attract a lot of people who are at a turning point in their lives and want to rethink the direction they're going in.'

I wondered if that was how it felt for her too. She'd separated from Uncle Richard, Kate's dad, years ago and, from all I had heard from my mum about him, he had been the love of her life and she had never got over him. She had certainly never found anyone to replace him.

Spending more time with Aunt Sarah felt good and I began to admire the fact that she'd set the place up. At first, I had thought it was just another business venture. Her canny ability to have her finger on the pulse and her eye on the main chance, but, as I watched her and her friend Lottie take time with all the guests and recommend various workshops or classes, I saw
that both of them were genuinely trying to offer a service. A place for people to come and rethink where they were and what they wanted.

By the end of my third week on the island, I felt as at home at the centre as I had ever felt anywhere. Many of my fellow guests had turned from strangers into friends and become like a large substitute family. They certainly seemed more interested in how I was and
who
I was than my real family, whose communication felt more and more perfunctory and hurried.

‘So what's your story?' asked Lottie one evening when a few of us were sitting down on the bay, enjoying the last warmth of the day.

‘Oh, nothing compared to the others,' I said as I indicated Anita, Peter and Carey, who were paddling in the sea.

Liam moved closer and put his arm around me, which made me feel uncomfortable. He gave me a squeeze and then, as if picking up on my thoughts, removed his arm.‘So?' he asked.

‘Nothing more to tell,' I said. I had already told him about my family and Erin and all the places that we had lived.

‘So, where are you now, Cinnamon Girl?' he asked as Lottie got up, indicated her watch, waved bye and began to make her way back up the slope. ‘What's happening now?'

I gazed out to sea for a while. ‘Not sure. I feel . . . I feel like I'm in-between places, you know? I guess all of us here at Cloud Nine are. We're on holiday and that's always an inbetween, like time off from your real life, but it's more than that.
I'm not sure about who I really am or what I want to go back to. Like I tried hanging with my cousin and doing the party girl thing and that's not my scene, but I'm not totally sure I fit with meditation people either. It's like . . . I feel in my head like I've left one part of me behind, but I'm not sure what's next. I don't know where I belong any more. God, I sound confused, don't I?'

Liam smiled and nodded. ‘I know exactly what's happening with you. It's a process. One of the most magical processes on the journey of life.'