And on I go.
The class flows until the end.
‘Well, that was…’ Colin says, and searches for a word. ‘Different.’
I flinch. ‘Yes. Sorry. I won’t try it again?’
‘Doesn’t make any odds to me,’ he says and wipes his red face with a towel.
Lorna asks, ‘Will you be doing this class next week?’
I nod. ‘I hope so.’
‘Where are we going then?’
I hesitate for a moment. The three of them stare. ‘New Orleans?’ I say. I’ve always wanted to go there.
‘Andrea, do you think I could try it again?’ I ask. ‘It went well earlier.’
She touches her cheek.
‘It’s so much fun,’ I say.
‘Well,’ she says and ponders.
‘I don’t feel as heavy about things at home when I can think about the class.’
She pouts. ‘I mean, it’s still kind of dead around here, it should be no big deal until the autumn back to school boost. But if Mikolaj asks, say I’ve been in there with you.’
For the whole week, I refine things, correct the mistakes I made where I talked too little or too much.
Whenever I get a break through someone not being in the office or at reception, I research how to make the experience of being in New Orleans seem real. I decide we’ll take a spin on the St Charles Avenue Streetcar line, and follow that route on what we’ll see in the city. I look up what the place would smell like: mossy trees, fried chicken, marijuana, daiquiris, old mahogany, jasmine.
Maybe I can run it for the whole session this time, see how that goes.
I check out the menus of local restaurants, with their chargrilled oysters, fried fritter beignets, red beans and rice. I get details on the subtropical humid weather, the fragrance of the white flower magnolia and the brown pelican’s flight pattern. I watch YouTube videos and read travel reviews to make everything seem more authentic. I make notes on New Orleans’s history, art and politics and I find out exactly what local musicians play, try to match the BPM of their music to the exercises. Jazz, marching band, rhythm and blues.
I pay more attention in Mikolaj, Pat and Andrea’s spin classes to familiarize myself with different techniques to try out on the bikes.
New Orleans is a success, and I smile the whole day after class. The evening is sunny as I drive to Gran’s. I pull in the driveway and notice the back door open. The fire alarm sounds. I race inside. The fire has no guard on but there’s only two sods burning in it. Potatoes turn black in a pot and acrid smoke from them is what has set the alarm shrieking. The water must have bubbled over, and is now dried onto the hob. I turn the hob off, move the pot onto the back ring. I open the oven door. It’s cold and a big slab of raw beef sits in a tray with uncooked onions and green peppers. On the middle shelf, a piece of salmon is in a tinfoil pocket, for me.
‘Gran,’ I shout. ‘Where are you?’
I run down the hall to her bedroom. The light’s on but she’s not there. I check the bathroom. It’s empty and dark.
I rush around my room, the guest bedroom, the good sitting room. I run to the front door and open it, checking out in the front garden, the back garden, by the shed, behind the shed, in the trees.
‘Gran, are you here?’
I sprint down the potholed boreen, to see if she’s gone off wandering. The blackberry brambles are dense on the verge. The strip in the middle of the road is overgrown with grass and dandelions.
Should I call someone, Mam, or the police, or the neighbours? I don’t have my phone. It’s in my handbag, on the passenger seat. Fuck.
I see a figure moving in the distance, near the bog. I run towards it. My lungs are burning. It’s her. She’s wearing a big red winter coat.
I bend over, hold my side, try to catch my breath. ‘Gran, where the hell have you been?’
Sweat beads on her forehead. ‘I needed to get something, what was it again?’ She looks down at her hand, turns it and opens it. ‘Yes. That was it. Matches. I needed matches.’
‘Why? What did you need matches for?’
‘For the oven, love. To make dinner.’
‘But it’s electric. Where did you get the matches from?’
‘The old tractor down the bog.’
I don’t know what tractor she’s on about. I escort her back to the house. ‘Are you not roasting in that coat?’
‘I thought it might make rain.’
I help her out of it. Her skin is clammy.
There’s a knot in my stomach but I have to say it. I’ve let this go on too long. ‘Gran, I need to make the call. You’re not safe here anymore. I can’t do this on my own.’
‘Natalie, please, calm down. You’re a very highly stressed young woman, did you know that?’
‘Of course I know that,’ I say in a highly stressed way. ‘But that’s not the point. I need to ring Mam. I’m not able to look after you properly. I need support. I’m sorry. We have to figure something out.’
There’s a big intervention. I’m riddled with guilt. I am useless and have nothing to do, except worry. And eat. I’m eating loads again, for breakfast, on first break, lunch.
Mam and her family have a meeting to figure out how to manage things. I feel like I’ve betrayed Gran, especially if what they decide is to put her in a nursing home. She’d hate that.
I’m not included in the decision making process, neither is Gran.
Andrea asks me if I’m okay, that I seem off. I nod half-heartedly and tell her a censored version of what’s happening at home.
‘Do you want to do another session? Would that cheer you up?’
‘Yes, it would.’
After our next class, Andrea says I can continue doing the Wednesday mornings until the autumn schedule is drawn up.
My mam and aunts and uncles who live locally devise a roster. They check Gran throughout the day.
Mam says that I’ve done a good job but they need to be more vigilant now. ‘We hope she can die at home.’
‘Jesus, don’t say that.’
‘Her heart isn’t great, Natalie.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say but shake my head.
‘She could have a stroke or a heart attack easily. Or a fall. Let us know when you’re not around and we’ll figure out cover.’
‘I’m always around sure.’
‘Nat, you’re turning thirty soon. You’re still young and single. Go do things in the evening. This is our situation. Don’t let it interfere with you living life.’
Other than swim or go to spin, there isn’t really anything that I can think of doing.
It turns out to be a great pressure off me having the family support Gran. For the next while, I forget about my worry for her, my weight, about food, the future, and focus on making the Wednesday 6.35 a.m. spin classes an experiential session, with culture, education and fun. I even bring in different essential oils and a diffuser, to give the room some atmosphere.
Over the next few sessions, we visit Buenos Aires, the Serengeti, Bangkok. I practise the trips with Gran on the Tuesday evening to run through everything before the morning sessions. I repeat them if I need to tidy my script because, after twenty minutes or so, Gran forgets we’ve done it.
‘I never went any further than London,’ Gran says. ‘Your world is very big, Natalie.’
Kim rings me the Friday evening before my birthday and I’m excited to tell her what I’ve been at.