Page 18 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
Sandrine buzzes in and winks at Grace Maud.
Another ‘oldie’ walks heavily to a spot by the window. She’s one of those women who thinks old age means short hair. Grace Maud is regularly surprised by the number of women who reach fifty and decide they want men’s haircuts. Just because you’re in the realm of menopause doesn’t mean you stop being a woman. Grace Maud has kept her hair reasonably long, even if she likes to pin it up into a lazy chignon. Which is why she approves of the long blonde plait on a younger woman who looks around nervously as she enters.
When she sees Grace Maud she looks relieved and moves towards her. ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘May I go next to you?’
‘Of course,’ Grace Maud says, but wonders why the young woman is so keen on the idea. Perhaps she thinks Grace Maud is unlikely to be able to do the poses and she’ll look good by comparison. Well, she’ll shortly find out that Grace Maud is, in fact, quite good at some things. Not that it’s a competition. Sandrine keeps telling them that.
‘I’m Dorothy,’ says blondie, and the brightness of her smile is out of proportion to the tentativeness of her demeanour.
‘Grace Maud.’
Dorothy frowns. ‘Oh. That’s— ’
‘Unusual – yes, I know.’
These younger people seem to have never heard the name Maud before. Cecilia was also surprised the first time they met.
‘Hello, Dorothy,’ says a woman now standing in front of them.
Grace Maud recognises this woman from her first class: beautiful face and such a terrible hairstyle that she can only presume the woman has no idea how beautiful she is – because why would anyone knowingly put a bad frame on a masterpiece?
‘Hi, Patricia! How are you? Are you well? Are you going there?’ Dorothy gestures in front of them. ‘This is Grace Maud.’
Grace Maud is somewhat amused by the speed of Dorothy’s speech. It’s almost as if the girl is too tightly wound to stay still. Which should make the meditation portion of the class interesting for all of them.
‘Hello,’ Patricia says, smiling. ‘I’m Patricia. I’m fairly new at all this.’ She shrugs an apology.
‘Not to worry. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I have any more experience than you,’ Grace Maud says.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean that.’ Patricia looks like she’s chewing the inside of her cheek.
‘I’m sure you didn’t. I’m just not looking forward to getting down to the floor. My hips are creakier than they used to be.’
‘I could …’ Dorothy stops. ‘I could … help you?’
Her face is a symphony of emotions: different movements playing themselves out all over the place. Grace Maud wonders if she gets herself into this much of a tangle every time she offers assistance, and also recognises what’s going on. Dorothy wants to help but not to offend, and she has an abundance of sympathy – perhaps empathy too – which means she analyses everything she says as she says it. How exhausting. Grace Maud decides to make it easier for her.
‘That would be lovely,’ she says, holding out an elbow to give Dorothy some direction.
‘Good!’
Dorothy takes her elbow and forearm with both hands, and they simultaneously sink, then lie on their backs with their knees bent and their feet on the floor, the way Sandrine often likes them to start.
Grace Maud looks up to see that Patricia is covertly checking on them, which she finds irritating – just because she’s older doesn’t mean she’s hopeless – but also quite nice. Grace Maud doesn’t know this woman from a bar of soap yet she’s taking an interest. It’s the most attention Grace Maud has had since nurses fussed over her when Tom was born.
‘Hands beside your hips,’ Sandrine says, ‘hips’ coming out as ‘eeps’ in that accent of hers. ‘Inhale … exhale …’
Sandrine is a good teacher; Grace Maud is prepared to admit this. She is clear in her instructions and encouraging without being sycophantic, which means she’s not interested in her students’ approval. And that suits Grace Maud fine because she’s not about to give it. She was brought up in a family that showed approval by not showing disapproval. But if Grace Maud had ever believed that this class would be completely calm and gentle, she would have been disappointed. It’s like cadet camp for ladies with joints that are tighter than they used to be and spines that are developing kyphosis years ahead of schedule.
Grace Maud feels those joints as she moves from lying on the floor to standing up and moving through postures that seem like they were designed to pull a pelvis apart, even if Grace Maud can feel the benefit afterwards.
Like this one, with her feet wide apart and her head hanging towards the floor, the backs of her legs protesting the strong stretch.
‘Inhale, exhale,’ comes the exhortation – and after she’s taken a few breaths, Grace Maud hears Sandrine asking them to roll up to a standing position, slowly.
Instead of heeding the instruction Grace Maud hinges herself upright, and is rewarded with the unusual sensation of blood rushing out of her head. Then dizziness. Then the feeling of not being able to see properly. Then a touch of mortification: silly old biddy, what did she think she was doing rushing like that?
‘Patricia,’ she hears Sandrine saying, only a slight edge to her voice, ‘can you please take Grace Maud’s arm? Dorothy, the other side, please.’
