Page 21 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
‘Dennis,’ Patricia says, nodding her acknowledgement. In return she gets his endearingly lopsided grin.
‘Just thought I’d let you know that Gordon is heading this way,’ he says, glancing over his shoulder. ‘This is your one-minute warning.’
He gives them a thumbs-up and leaves. Marjorie and Patricia look at each other with mild alarm.
‘I’ll go and check the loos for smokers,’ says Patricia.
‘I think the side gate may be open,’ says Marjorie, and they scatter.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dorothy looks around the yoga room and sees that her usual spot is taken. How annoying. Or maybe it shouldn’t be. This isn’t school – she’s not meant to be in the same spot each time. In fact, Sandrine told them that it’s good to take a different spot each time, to ‘change perspective’.
There’s a spot in front of Sandrine’s mat but there’s risk involved: Sandrine will be able to watch her all the time, which means spotting her mistakes with greater frequency.
‘Are you thinking of going down the front?’ It’s Patricia, smiling.
‘Oh … I don’t know. Why?’
‘You were looking at that spot. Come on, I’ll go with you. We’ll be brave together!’
Patricia grins and walks swiftly to the space, plonking her mat down before Dorothy has a chance to object.
‘Grace Maud is here.’ Patricia waves towards the door.
‘Oh good,’ Dorothy says, beaming at Grace Maud, who walks slowly towards them, listing a bit from side to side.
‘Hello, young ladies,’ Grace Maud says, dropping her mat next to Patricia’s.
‘I’m not that young,’ Patricia retorts.
‘You’re younger than me,’ Grace Maud says briskly, then walks towards the back wall, where she places her handbag next to some others.
‘I should do that,’ Patricia says, leaving her mat on the floor next to Dorothy.
‘Ladies, ladies! Do not lie down to start with, please,’ Sandrine announces as she walks into the room, a bright pink sarong tied around her hips and bobby pins with flowers in her hair. ‘We are going to do some breathing. Somepranayama. Please take some blankets to sit on.’
She gestures to the shelves at the back of the room where there’s all manner of ‘furniture’, as she called it during the last class: wooden blocks, and belts with metal loops on them, and rough grey blankets.
‘I’ll get them for all of us,’ Patricia says and Dorothy smiles her thanks.
‘I’m interested to find out how blankets are going to help us breathe,’ Grace Maud says, carefully making her way to the floor with Dorothy’s help. ‘Not that I’m convinced I need topractisebreathing. I’ve been doing it for seventy-four years.’ She makes a noise that sounds like ‘hmph’ just as Patricia returns with a stack of blankets and distributes them.
‘Sandrine said something the other day about how if you can learn to control your breathing it’s good for anxiety,’ Dorothy says.
‘Are you anxious?’ Patricia stretches her legs out in front of her. Her tone is matter-of-fact, as if being anxious is no different to having long fingernails.
‘Sometimes. Life can be stressful!’ Dorothy laughs, and it sounds forced even to her.
‘Yes,’ Grace Maud says slowly. ‘It certainly can be.’
Sandrine starts issuing instructions: make sure you sit with your hips higher than your knees; if you have trouble keeping your spine long, sit with your back to the wall.
Dorothy is tempted to sit against the wall – she tends to collapse a bit whenever they sit in meditation – but no one else moves and she doesn’t want to be the only one.
The first five minutes are spent listening to Sandrine talking about how breathing practice helps connect a person to their ‘centre’, whatever that means, by increasing awareness of how their body works.
Dorothy isn’t sure she has a centre. She’s always been a fairly scattered person. Or that’s what her teachers used to say:Dorothy should learn to concentrate;Dorothy has talents but she will never develop them unless she learns to focus. Her parents never used to worry, though. ‘School is only taught one way,’ her mother would tell her. ‘And it is just one part of your life.’
