How can she be so cold on an evening like this?
‘How long have you been out here?’
I usher her gently. She says nothing. Inside, I turn on the kitchen light and sit her down in her chair by the dwindled fire. It’s cooler inside than out. I fill the kettle and press it on. ‘I’ll bring the turf in and we can have some tea, okay?’
She doesn’t move.
I go outside and stall for a moment to breathe deeply, try and find my centre of gravity. The sheep in the field behind the shed bleat sporadically. The moon is out, a currach of a waning crescent.
I leave one turf bucket at the back door and carry the other inside.
The TV is on, the curtains are closed and Gran beams at me as she stands at the table. ‘Aren’t you a mighty girleen bringing in the turf? Do you fancy a cuppa, the kettle’s just boiled?’
I add some sods to the fire.
Gran smiles as she opens the cupboard. ‘Have we eaten?’
‘No. I’m only in from work. I’ll go back to town and pick something up for us.’
‘That’d be perfect,’ she says and puts a teabag into her mug.
I swipe at the corners of my eyes, open the breadbox and bring the chocolate digestives with me as I leave the house.
In the office, I ask Andrea for the format of the spin session, and add a few questions about how she structures and adapts the class musically.
‘Because it’s so quiet, do you want to shadow me at lunch?’ she asks. ‘But maybe it’s such a nice day, you’d prefer to sit outside?’
‘No, I’ll shadow,’ I say quickly in case she changes her mind.
I grin as she gives me a handwritten list of the instructions she’ll be calling through the lesson. It’s not too hard. Warm up, increased resistance seated, increased resistance standing, repeat, seated sprints, hill climbing adding resistance every twenty seconds, up to standing and max gear resistance, decreasing resistance standing sprints, cool down, stretches.
I follow the session, already familiar with it except now I have the words for what’s happening physically. I like being able to label the motions, matching the experience in my body with a description.
I worry, in the evening, about what I’ll be walking into today after work. I distract myself by thinking about the class, the plan of it, all the details of muscular movements and beats per minute.
Gran sits in her chair, looking at the crackling fire.
‘Are you okay?’
She doesn’t seem to hear.
‘Gran, I’m worried about you. It might be time to give the doctor a call. Or Mam, at least. I’m not really sure what to do.’
Her eyes bulge. ‘Don’t do that to me, Natalie.’
‘But I feel stressed and like I’m doing something wrong.’
‘You’re not doing anything wrong, Natalie. This is not about you. You’re a grand young one.’ She looks at the fire again.
‘I don’t know what’s happening though, how to help.’
‘You can’t help,’ she says and sighs. ‘My memory is leaving me. I try to think back on the day, on yesterday, and there’s nothing. Nothing comes.’
‘The doctor might be able to prescribe something?’
‘No. I don’t want any of that.’
I bite on my bottom lip.
‘Will I forget myself?’ she asks. The fire glows on the side of her face.
I have a sudden image of a snake eating its own tail.
In a harsher tone, she adds, ‘Or is this even me? Or everyone else? Is it some sort of trick?’
We don’t speak for a while. The central heating’s timer ticks loudly.
‘It’s so bloody confusing,’ she finally says, in a small voice.
‘Gran, you know some people practise mindfulness, to be aware of everything that happens in the now. In this moment.’
Her face still has the same expression but she peers over her glasses to look at me.
‘Because now is all that’s real, apparently. There’s no past or future, those things only exist in thinking. So these people choose to stay present. To be here now.’
‘Isn’t it nice for these people?’ she says and stokes the fire hard with the wrought iron poker. ‘Having a choice in the matter.’
I file away membership cards. Andrea drops into the office for a chat.
‘You seem a bit off, Nat. Are things okay at home?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know if they are.’
I put the cards down, press my fist against my chest and massage it.
Andrea says gently, ‘My father has Alzheimer’s. I understand what you may be going through. I really do.’
I touch under my eyelids.
‘Nat, would you fancy taking a class for the craic? Leading it? You might enjoy it.’
My blood pulses faster than if we were doing sprints on the bike. ‘But I’ve no qualifications.’
‘It’ll be fine. You go to so many classes and I know you used to teach.’
‘Andrea, maybe not, I don’t think that I’d be—’
‘They basically know what to do themselves. It’ll be a cinch. I’ll give you the lesson plan. All you’ve to do is shout instructions. Simple.’
‘Andrea, I couldn’t—’
‘One of the early morning sessions? Twenty minutes with a five minute cool down. How about Wednesday? Only three regulars go to that class, Djetska, Colin and Lorna. You’ve been once or twice, sure. You know them already. You can definitely do this.’
My head says no but my body feels sparked with excitement. ‘But they’ll be going look-at-the-state-of-this-one when they see me coming. I’m not going to pass as a fitness instructor.’
‘Nonsense. The majority of people will not know someone’s insecurity until the person tells them. Flags it themselves. Be confident, Natalie, and they will not notice. That’s the truth.’
‘How can I be confident?’
‘Pretend you’re confident doing it until you are. Fake it till you make it.’
I want to turn her down. Tell her no. But I can’t. I’m smiling and exhilarated, warmed, on fire even, at the prospect of it. ‘Andrea, this would be nuts.’
‘Not really. It’s summer. We’ve barely any members. Besides, I see potential in you.’
My neck bends forward. ‘You do?’
‘Of course.’
‘What about Pat?’
‘Pat won’t mind. He’d be delighted I’m training you up.’
‘Mikolaj?’
She hums. ‘Okay, yes, we won’t tell Mikolaj about it. He’s too by the book. And he’s been edging his way into all the classes timetabled.’
‘When will I do it?’
‘This day week. The 6.35 a.m. class.’
‘This is crazy but I’d love to.’
She squeezes me, nearly strangling me with her bicep.
I practise the class in the evenings when the studio is empty. I imagine myself teaching the group, giving the plan a run through. Andrea said I shouldn’t sweat it at all. She’d probably be there during the session, in case I need her. The nerves I feel all week make me regret agreeing to it.
The evening before the session, Gran checks my temperature by feeling my forehead with the back of her hand.
‘You haven’t eaten all day?’
I perk up. It’s true. Maybe her memory’s returning. ‘Just nerves, Gran.’
She cracks three eggs into a pan. ‘Do you want some of these, love?’
‘No, I’m not hungry. I’m nervous.’
‘Too nervous to eat?’
I nod.
‘What’s come over you? I haven’t seen you eat at all today.’
‘I’m teaching in the morning.’
‘Did you go back to your job in school? Oh good, your mother will be delighted.’
‘Not in school. I’ve a class to instruct in the gym. The one I told you about earlier. I have to teach it.’