Page 14 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

I shake my head, trying to ignore the piss-taking twat and not show him my grin, but I know he’s spotted it. I stare ahead at the woman who introduces herself as Kim.

“Welcome everyone,” she says in a tranquil voice which quite frankly strikes me as rather sinister. “We’ll start with everyone getting comfortable. If you can sit cross-legged, great. If you can’t, then come to a comfortable position that makes you happy.”

I try not to think of the position that makes me most happy and purse my lips, but Eli shakes his head at me. “Smut,” he mouths. I watch as he crosses his legs as easily as if he does it every second of the day.

It takes me a few longer seconds to get comfortable, and he’s grinning by the time I’ve finished. “Shut up,” I mutter. “I’ve just got very long legs.”

“And a very intractable body,” he observes. “I think there’s a deep meaning in that.”

I shake my head. “You’ve only been here five minutes and you already sound like Yogi Bear.”

He wrinkles his forehead. “I’m not sure Yogi Bear actually did yoga.”

“Ssh,” I say reprovingly. “The plinky plonky music has started.”

Some sort of music plays which is supposed to be relaxing, but instead just reminds me of the time in primary school when Niall was determined to learn the xylophone.

“Okay,” Kim says happily. “Close your eyes, straighten your back, and raise the crown of your head so it salutes the sky.”

I try to do as she asks, but now I’m imagining an enormous hand coming out of my head and waving at the clouds. It’s rather disconcerting, and I sneak a peek at Eli only to find him looking serene and a mirror image to Kim’s posture.

“Once you’ve done this, try to find a place where your body and mind come to stillness. A calm place within you.”

Oh dear. I don’t think I actually have one of those. I wonder if I’m faulty . Eli opens his eyes and I immediately assume an expression of serene contemplation. Anyone else would believe me. He just looks like he wants to laugh. I grimace at him and turn back to Kim.

“Take a deep breath in through your nose, filling your lungs as much as you can, and exhale through your mouth,” she says.

Everyone immediately makes a loud sound and I dismiss the idea of doing that in case it sets me off on the road to coughing up one of my lungs, which would not grant anyone any serenity at all.

Unfortunately, because of my inability to breathe through my nostrils and mouth, I seem to miss most of the point of the class as, for the next hour, Kim exhorts us to breathe.

“How are you doing?” Eli whispers.

“Well, I think I must be some sort of genius,” I say modestly. “I must surely belong in the advanced class because I already know how to breathe.”

He bites his lip before giving out a soft snort. “Just go along with it.”

“I can’t,” I whisper. “She’s asking me to breathe, so I can get to my special place.”

“What’s the problem with that?”

“Well, I don’t think I can get to my special place by breathing. It usually takes buying someone a few rounds of drinks and getting a hotel room first.”

He starts to laugh but smothers it quickly when Kim glares at him.

“She’s not as serene as she appears,” I warn him. “I bet she’s hell on wheels if your chakras are out by even a millimetre.”

He shakes his head. “I really don’t think you should be allowed to talk about anything to do with spiritual serenity.”

“I think you might be right,” I say gloomily, putting my hand on my chest and the other hand on my stomach as she directs, resisting the opportunity to try and rub both at the same time like I’m at school again.

After another torturous few minutes of being exhorted to breathe through my nostrils, Kim stirs.

“Well done, everyone. Thank yourself for sitting down on your mat and starting the day properly.”

“Starting the day properly?” I say in a low voice to Eli. “That’s a bit judgemental. At the end of the day, I just sat and breathed. If I thanked myself every time I did that I’d never have time for doing anything I actually enjoyed.”

“I think we might have hit upon the point of meditation for you,” he says dryly, waving at Kim and saying thank you before moving towards the steps.

“Food,” he says happily as we start down the stairs.

“I have an ominous feeling that this isn’t going to go my way either,” I say dourly.

“Probably,” he says cheerfully, leading me along the deck and exchanging more happy greetings with complete strangers.

The restaurant he chooses isn’t busy at this time in the morning, which is why I let him steer me to a table by the huge plate-glass window without too many protests while he goes to grab the food.

I look out of the window at the sea sparkling in the early morning sunshine.

I’ll never let him know, but I’ve discovered a peace in sitting and watching the world go by.

The sea changes all the time just the way he said it did, and I find myself drifting in my thoughts for hours, sitting in a puddle of sunshine and quiet.

Today we’re in port, as the ship mainly sails at night, and I watch a cluster of men on the dock gesturing at each other over stacked boxes.

I run my finger over the table absently and look down at the card there.

It’s the same card that is pushed under our door every night, listing the day’s events onboard.

Eli always seizes like it’s got the winning lottery numbers printed on it somewhere.

I marvel at the list. There are more activities on here than if they were in Tudor England catering for Henry the Eighth.

I look a bit closer and grimace. And I wouldn’t want to do any one of them. Fucking line dancing.

A tray is set down in front of me on the table, and I look up at him. “Why are we fetching our own food? This is a very expensive cruise, not the Welcome Break service station.”

“Why are you using the word we ? You didn’t fetch anything.”

I huff. “Point taken.” I peer at the dishes. “So, what did you bring for me?” I can actually feel my nose wrinkle. “That looks like hamster food, which even in this service-station-like atmosphere I can’t believe they’d serve. Which would make it …” I pause and glare at him. “Muesli.”

“That’s right,” he says cheerfully. “Muesli with Greek yoghurt and honey. It’s a great way to start the day.”

“Only if the alternative to starting the day is vomiting all over the table.”

A lady who is just starting to sit down at the next table gives me a death glare and moves to another table with a great deal of dramatic posturing. Eli bites his lips as if repressing a smile. A smile or a grimace.

“You need to start eating healthily.” He looks me up and down. “Or at all.”

Is he saying I’m too thin? I sit up a bit straighter. I’m known for my fucking body, and he’s looking at me like I’m one of the fucking Chuckle Brothers. “I didn’t get this body without a lot of work,” I say tartly. “It’s the body of a Greek god.”

“Well, give it back and settle into the body of a thirty-nine-year-old whose cholesterol needs sorting out,” he says placidly, unaffected by my posturing, as usual.

I subside and drag the bowl towards me sulkily.

Glaring at him, I raise a spoonful to my mouth.

Oh my God, it’s fucking lovely . The tartness of the yoghurt and the sweetness of the honey along with the muesli are gorgeous.

Using all my acting talents, I keep my face expressionless and lower the spoon. “It’s okay,” I say grudgingly.

“That good, eh?” he says cheerfully.

I glare at him as I notice what he’s eating. “That’s fucking bacon and eggs.”

“Yep,” he says happily. “It’s well lush too.”

“Doesn’t your nursing gene make it impossible to be so cruel to your patients? Surely it’s against nature?”

“No, because nature also gave us patients like you,” he says earnestly. “So, it balances the universe.”

I can’t stop my laughter, but it dies when I reach for my cup. “Is this fucking tea?” I hiss. “Where’s my coffee?”

“It’s over there where it can’t harm your blood pressure. You drink far too much of the stuff. That’s green tea. It’s an antioxidant.”

“I’m sure that’s what they put in laundry detergent.”

“And you would know that, how?” Eli asks, humming around his fork of food.

I stop my smile just in time. God, I love sparring with this man. I haven’t had anyone interest me like this in – I pause to think – forever.

He pushes the event list towards me. “Pick something to do today.”

“Can’t we go ashore?” I say longingly, looking at the dock and thinking of being back on firm ground and not surrounded by people all the time. Maybe sitting in a pretty café and having a beer. That’s if Nurse Ratchet would let me within a mile of fucking alcohol.

“Nope,” he says, popping the “p” quite obnoxiously. “Not yet. You’re not back to full strength yet.”

I look down at the list. “Jesus, what a mix,” I say meditatively, taking a sip of tea and nearly spitting it out. “This is bloody disgusting.”

“Drink it,” Eli says serenely. “Or I’ll make you join the crochet club this afternoon.”

“If they’ll teach me how to crochet an escape ladder, I’ll go gladly.” I look down at the list. “Ann Widdecombe and Terry Waite are both on this ship doing talks. What a strange mixture.” I shake my head. “Poor sod. After a week on here he’ll be wishing he were still tied to a radiator.”

His snort of laughter is drowned out by a loud “hello.”

We look up to find the old lady called Constance, who I met yesterday, and her nurse whose name I completely forget.

He’s wheeling her towards me with a put-upon air.

I look at her and my mouth quirks. She’s wearing red silk trousers with a green and gold shirt and her long white hair has been neatly plaited.

She looks like a very expensive tropical bird.

She also appears to be drinking a cocktail.

“When I’m her age I want to be just like her,” I whisper to Eli.