Meet Me at Pebble Beach. Bella Osborne
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she didn’t find any answers at the bottom of the cartons – only brain freeze and a little self-loathing.
She decided that this was what rock bottom felt like. She’d heard from no-one with the exception of one FaceTime call from Cleo that she’d had to reject for fear of her spotting the familiar background of her own art studio. They’d had a text chat instead, which was nowhere near the same. No-one else had called. Nobody had noticed she had slipped off the planet. Not one other person cared.
She hadn’t showered in days and felt wretched, tired and lethargic – though some of it may have been down to too much ice cream. She had no telly, no WiFi and no future. Everything felt too difficult. There was so much that needed sorting out, but every time she thought about it, she thought her head might pop with the overload. So it was easier not to do anything at all.
Regan found herself at a new low when she tried to eat a pot noodle using two coffee stirrers for chopsticks. It was a tough challenge, but at least it was warm and kind of like a meal, although she wasn’t sure how much nutrition there was in the reconstituted dust and noodles. She counted three dried peas, which definitely didn’t get her close to her daily government-suggested fruit and veg targets.
She wondered at how quickly she’d lost everything, and if this was what had happened to Kevin. How had he found himself living on the streets? If it weren’t for Cleo’s studio being empty, that could have been her. The thought frightened her. She pulled over the box she’d filled in the office on That Day – which now seemed like ages ago – and sifted through the contents, sniffing her derision at the useless things inside. A stolen stapler; what good was that to her now? Unless she used it for stapling Alex’s testicles to his desk – but he wasn’t worth the staples. She found the Mantra card from Charlie, the gallant stranger who had pulled her off Alex. She turned it over. Saturdays at ten at the community centre. Charlie had said mindfulness might help her focus on what was good about the here and now. She gave another derisory snort – there was nothing good about her life.
Regan bit the inside of her mouth and pondered. She had nothing planned for Saturday – or the rest of her life – so there really was nothing to lose.
She sniffed her armpit, whipping her head back from the nasal attack. She couldn’t go anywhere smelling like that. What had she become? She straightened her spine. This had to stop, and it had to stop now, before she drifted into a pot-noodle-induced coma and was found in a giant spider’s web being nibbled on by rodents.
‘Right,’ she said out loud, giving herself a start because her voice was all croaky from not having spoken for days. She felt herself galvanising for action. What to do first? She caught another whiff of her armpit. Getting showered was definitely priority number one.
Regan had her most favourite trip to the gym ever and was pleased that her membership card still worked. With any luck, it would take Jarvis a while to realise he was still paying for the joint membership; and since he was still paying, it would be a shame not to get some use out of it.
In the past she’d only ever had a quick shower after a gym session and dashed out, but today she could set a more leisurely pace. She made the most of the free shampoo, conditioner and body wash and took her time drying and styling her hair – taking care not to make it too fluffy for fear of it looking like she was wearing a motorcycle helmet. She felt a lot better for it and a bit of a spring returned to her step.
Back at the studio, she washed her clothes in the sink using Cleo’s Molton Brown hand wash and hung them over Cleo’s three easels to dry. She’d bought a local paper, so she made herself a black coffee and sat and circled a number of potential jobs. This was progress. She had a tall mountain to climb, but she had a foothold and the only way was up.
However, a few hours later she started to feel like she was slipping back down the mountain. A phone call to a recruitment agency had her stumped at the first hurdle when they asked her for her home address. After a long pause she gave her dad’s details and explained it was temporary. The second hurdle was a bit more difficult – they wanted her to upload her CV to their website. She had no computer and she was dangerously close to her monthly download limit on her mobile. She felt a mudslide sweep her back down the mountain and went again in search of ice cream.
After another uncomfortable night sleeping in the chair and a now-permanent ache in her neck, Regan woke to face another day staring at four brick walls, a couple of nipple paintings and a gloomy looking future. She gave herself the best wash she could manage in the tiny sink and made a strong coffee. She didn’t have the solution, but she at least knew diving back into the ice cream wasn’t the answer.
She brushed her hair, checked her armpits and headed off for the mindfulness session with an open mind – and, if she was honest, a spark of interest in seeing Charlie again. She told herself she needed to thank the kindly policeman, but it wouldn’t do any harm to check whether he was seeing anyone. If anything he might make a pleasant distraction.
The community centre where the session was held wasn’t far, and she decided to walk to save the meagre amount of petrol she had in her car in case she needed it to get to a job interview – she was trying to remain hopeful. The community centre was a simple affair, so it was easy to find the large room with a circle of chairs and a hotchpotch of locals milling about. She watched the interesting mix of people through the glass in the door and began to reconsider. Was this really for her?
‘Hello, I’m Cressy,’ said a tall woman with neat grey hair and a long, flowing cardigan. ‘First time?’ Regan nodded. There was no sign of Charlie and she was starting to wonder if this had been a bad idea. ‘Tea or coffee?’ asked Cressy, beckoning her inside.
‘Um …’ Regan checked her pockets for the fiver she’d brought in case there was a charge.
‘It’s free, and there’s biscuits. Custard creams this week.’ Cressy had a warm smile.
‘Coffee, please. Lots of milk.’
‘You take a seat. Pop your details on here,’ she said, handing Regan a clipboard, ‘and I’ll get your drink.’
Regan scanned the form. It was all basic stuff. She began filling it in but the pen was running out. She scratched it on the edge of the paper and it worked, but as soon as she tried to write in the boxes it stopped. She sighed. Why did pens do that?
‘I had that problem,’ said a nasal voice to her left. ‘I’m Chris. That’s me.’ He leaned over and ran his finger along the line above Regan’s. She gave a tight smile and gave up on the form. She scanned the people taking seats. These weren’t her kind of people. What was she even doing here? There was no point staying just in case Charlie showed up. He wasn’t that cute, it wasn’t worth it.
She stood up to leave, but Cressy took the clipboard from her and swapped it for her coffee.
‘Biscuits are on their way round,’ she said, taking a seat nearby. If she left now she’d miss out on a free biscuit. She’d stay for a bit.
‘Welcome to Mantra, everyone,’ said Cressy. The chatter ceased and everyone looked in her direction. ‘While we’re finishing drinks …’
The door at the back of the hall creaked open and Charlie rushed in. He took a seat, nodding greetings to some of the others until his eyes alighted on Regan. He gave her a slow, almost regal nod. She liked that he was surprised to see her. She twitched an eyebrow in a ‘See, told you so’ response.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Charlie.
‘That’s fine. I was just welcoming our new members,’ Cressy peered closely at the form, ‘Chris and Reg?’ Regan sprang to life, almost spilling her coffee. She held on tightly to the mug and tried to ignore Charlie, who was tittering nearby.
‘Hello, I’m Chris,’ said Chris.
Regan felt all eyes land on her. ‘Hi. I’m Regan.’