He’s right it does. I’m getting a distinct whiff of wild garlic too.
‘Look.’ Oliver points to the orange glow. ‘It looks like some sort of bonfire.’
I stare at the distant shimmer. ‘But what’s that awful sound? Why are people in pain?’
We listen to the wailing.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he swears furiously. ‘Of course. It was on the itinerary. It’s some sort of pagan ritual involving a cauldron. Oh, and the wearing of owl masks.'
'Masks?' Now it just sounds creepy.
'An optional extra for the Happy Bunny Deluxe package,' Oliver explains. 'Jesus. What have they sent me to?’
My heartbeat slows down at the news there will be no imminent burning to death. I half laugh to myself. ‘What sort of bonkers… wait, you weresenthere? Why? Are you being punished?’
Oliver cups his hands over his bollocks to hide his very large penis. ‘Really? You want to chit-chat about work right now?’ he says rudely, stomping back into his room.
Interesting.
I change into the robe hanging on the back of my door and survey myself in the ridiculously large mirror dominating the bedroom. I glare at the loose smock and unflattering drawstring baggy pants and hope I haven’t just joined a cult by mistake. I grab the induction pack and remove my itinerary. Thankfully, the first morning activity after breakfast for me is a detox massage, which sounds relaxing and exactly what I need.
Just then, there’s a knock at my door and a muffled sound. Oliver and I open our doors at the same time and lock eyes. I see his gaze travel the length of my body before he stares angrily at my feet.
Oh Christ, he’s not looking at my toes.
‘What’s this?’ I ask, bending to retrieve the stick and tiny pile of nuts from the napkin on the floor.
‘Breakfast,’ he says glumly before scooping it up and slamming his door shut. I take the stick inside and stuff the nuts down my throat. I scour the itinerary. Breakfast day one: liquorice root, chew slowly to lower blood pressure and to eliminate angry toxins.
I. AM. FECKING. FURIOUS.
There’s movement outside my room. Someone is going to get it. I am boiling with rage. I yank open the door to see Gandalf standing outside Oliver’s door with a huge platter of fruit and a mouth-watering array of bite-sized, baked goods. Oliver answers the door in much the same way I did. He looks down at the platter, back up to Gandalf and breaks into a huge grin.
‘For me?’
‘Yes. Apologies. Zee Heppy Bunny Peckage. Eez for you.’
I watch them bow to each other before Gandalf turns to me, smiling. ‘Enjoy your stick.’
‘You have a lot of resentment in your lower abdomen,’ my bossy masseuse accuses, twenty minutes later, prodding my stomach forcefully. ‘It’s causing a gassy build-up. Let me see if I can release the pressure.’
How can this be true? How? All I’ve eaten is a stick.
‘NO! Do not release any –’ but it’s too late. I am mortified. Thank God we are in a hut type of place that is mainly open to the elements and nestled on the edge of the forest, far from the main camp. There’s a roof, two beds and an awful lot of bowls containing foul-smelling oils.
Time seems to stand still while she bends me this way and that, releasing flumes of trapped gas from places you’d never guess held any. She cracks bones as she goes, tut-tutting about how tight and inflexible I am.
‘You are the shape of a chair. Your bones are literally welded into the shape of a seat. When will you people realise there’s more to life than working? You must bend each day or you will break. Motion is lotion.’
As if it isn’t quite humiliating enough, ten minutes later Oliver comes in and lies down on the table next to me. This can’t be right. I very definitely told him NOT to follow me around. He half-smiles at me and signals to a sign in his hand. It says, ‘I am observing a spiritual silence’.
Thank goodness for small mercies I suppose.
I turn my head away from him and pray that my masseuse won’t be trying to locate any stubborn pockets of gassy build up in front of him.
I listen to Oliver’s masseuse making soothing noises, practically cooing at him. It’s such an obvious attempt at seduction, I’m almost embarrassed for her. Oliver is having a very limiting effect on her vocabulary.
‘Amazing. What amazing energy you have. Do you work out? You’re in amazing shape. Simply amazing.’
