All stories

It was just lying there when we arrived. Boldly, right in Colin’s usual spot, a narrow strip of turquoise with an elaborate design of gold flowers twisting up the centre.

“It’s a bit of cheek,” said Marjorie, her breath misting up the glass panel in the door. “When Sally hasn’t even got here to set up yet.”

“Gaudy too,” sniffed Colin, hefting his own yoga mat onto his shoulder. “You don’t need a fancy mat for a fulfilling practice. Whoever she is, she’s vain. She’s showing off. That’s not what yoga is supposed to be about.”

“All the gear and no idea,” agreed Marjorie.

Then Sally bustled up behind us with her big Ikea bag full of blocks and belts.

“Looks like someone’s beaten you to it today Colin!”

Colin scowled and made a point of hanging pack to allow her to go in before him.

The class filed in and set up around the offending article, eyeing it mistrustfully. But there was no sign of its owner. Colin put himself directly behind it.

Just as Sally had given up and opened her mouth to tell everyone to centre themselves, the door swung open. In walked a tall, slim sixty something year old woman, swathed in flowing multicoloured robes, damp hair bundled into a towel turban.

“So sorry I’m late,” chimed the newcomer, not sounding sorry at all. “I thought I’d set up and go for a swim. Lost track of the time.”

To Colin’s intense irritation, the woman fell elegantly into a wide-legged forward fold, head touching her mat. The early morning light cascaded in through the window as the class progressed, spotlighting the woman beautifully in a soft pink glow. All eyes were on her and she eased into a perfect Warrior 3.

At the end of the class Colin edged his way towards the group of us who’d gone to welcome the newcomer. Secretly I was cautiously optimistic that she might be a breath of fresh air amid the Colin’s and Marjories of the group.

“I don’t expect anyone has told you,” Colin interrupted, “but we do have our own little spots here in this class. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable by taking someone else’s…”

“Oh, and darling, I’ve gone and taken yours. I _am_ sorry. Say no more.”

The following day, the newcomer’s mat was tucked considerately into the opposite corner of the room. Colin strode in smugly behind Sally and stood wide legged, proprietorial.

We flowed through our sun salutations, Colin eagerly awaiting the big moment when the sun would outline him in resplendence, highlighting his still-supple-at-seventy-six form.

But the sun rose above the horizon just as Colin’s leg reached its peak in Utthita Eka Padasana - a shaft of brilliant yellow light brutally piercing his left eye at his most vulnerable moment.

He blinked, squinted, screwing up his eyes so that his laughter lines formed black cracks against the first light of the new day.

Colin threw a desperate arm out to save his balance, but it was too late. His poise was compromised, and Colin fell to the mat with an undignified crash, his vanity smashed to pieces on his plain grey yoga mat

Alex hadn’t left the house since the incident. There was no need to take the risk. Work could be done remotely, food could be delivered, and there were box sets to get through. It was safer this way.

The first few days were fine. A nine-hour work shift and 7pm sunset meant the routine took care of itself. Alex assumed this new life would be just as sustainable as the old one, if only smaller. But it didn’t take long for cracks to appear, and each weekend delivered a hammer blow to hopes of recovery.

The vicious cycle of self-care and self-abuse began almost unnoticed. 30 minutes on the yoga mat turned into an hour, which became two sessions a day. When a late Sunday-night purchase brought a running machine to the door, the quest to reverse the ageing process tipped from laudable to dangerous. New products followed it each day. Supplements, dyes, and clothes slowly evolved into injections, DIY procedures, and a savings account labelled ‘surgery’.

At the same time, emotional buoyancy relied increasingly on treats. Sugar, alcohol, herbs, powders, pills. Every unwise but irresistible ingestion was followed by guilt, frustration, and a return to the treadmill. After two months, Alex was unable to look in a mirror and interpret the reflection. What were laughter lines morphed into creases of concern. Blue irises seemed faded to grey, and red hues leaked into whites. The distinction between muscle, fat, and skin was lost almost entirely.

Friends reached out, but messages were easily deflected and calls readily ignored. In rare moments where mental clarity and emotional readiness collided, Alex reflected on how one moment could change a life. How an existence which had seemed so secure, so full of promise and possibilities, could be reduced to… whatever this was. How all that was left to do was wait until time did what time does, and it didn’t matter anymore, if it ever did. Something, it seemed, that would happen sooner rather than later. Unstoppably. Perhaps intentionally.

Occasionally, which is a synonym for regularly, Alex replayed the incident as a memory. It never became less painful, less destructive. In this case, time did not heal, it simply made matters worse. Alex could still smell the faint whiff of body odour and repetition from the tram. Still see the roughly trimmed bushes that offered disappointing cover for the route’s neighbours and inadequate scenery for its passengers. Alex could still see the kindness in the eyes of the mother and the innocence on the face of the child.

‘Stand up,’ the mother said.’You should always offer your seat to older people if there are no free chairs.’

The child stood. Alex looked for the older person. The child looked at Alex. The mother looked at Alex. Alex’s world fell apart. 42 years old. No age. And not even a life well spent.

Steve the builder, who was fitting his new bathroom, arrived at 6.00 am.

Chris could hear him shuffling round on the pavement outside desperate to knock his door before the reluctantly agreed 7pm arrival time. He dragged himself out of bed and into some clothes.

“Chris I got to tell you that that wotsit won’t work. She don’t fit on the other wotsit and he won’t like being down there with this blocking everything”, blurted Steve without saying hello.

Chris had no idea what he was talking about.

“So’s I’ll have to go to b and q and get her another one.“

He whistled, puffed his his E cigarette and looked at the floor.

“That’s fine mate, just tell me what I owe you” said Chris.

While the house was full of drilling, Chris went to an artisan bakers to research his case. He had been a “creative business outreach manager” for a theatre company since failing as an actor and had managed to reduce the actual time he spent working down to about 10 hours a week made up mostly of Zoom meetings.

All had been fine until this year’s funding cuts. Then the trustees stated that his role would combined with the role of the retiring office manager a labour intensive role that required day-to-day visibilty. Now he was looking at getting an ADHD diagnosis to prove he was unsuitable for the tasks within his new Job Description. He had looked carefully at his conditions of employment and had worked out that with a diagnosis they couldn’t force him out without a hefty compensation package.

He’d done a test on insta which proved he had it because he was always late for work and often felt anxious, other people didn’t seem to have his problems.

He was interrupted by a cough .“Only the thing is my Mrs has just died see!” said Steve the builder who seemed to have overcome the irrational fear of artisanal dough, Chris relied on to avoid him.

“I’m gonna have to go home before I fits this.” He said waving a piece of metal tube in Chris’s face. “She won’t fit in the regular place I put her, so I’ll have redo the bracket , don’t worry I’ll squash her in somehow.“ Chris didn’t know if he was talking about his wife or the tubing.

As Steve drove home he thought about the Mrs. Since they were childhood sweethearts she’d had his fights in the playground, his expulsion, his time in the remand centre and his gambling addiction to put up with before she’d helped him get started as a builder. After this he was on the straight and narrow but still “mad as a box of frogs” as she said. His insomnia and obsessions included collecting extractor fans, and yoga which he’d taken up to calm himself down. (He took a mat to all his jobs and was often found in the downward dog position in the unplumbed bathrooms of North Cardiff.)

She’d tried to make him get diagnosed for his obvious ADHD. But he’d always shrugged it off. “Why do I need I sign to say I’m crazy “ he asked her tenderly “We’ve both known that for years”.

He pulled up on the pavement and parked near a sign saying “keep clear, access needed!”.

There he cried like a leaking shower for the love of his life.

Chris had had a satisfactory morning, he’d arranged meetings with a private clinic, his manager and his trade union. If he executed this carefully this diagnosis might help him pay off his mortgage and retire early.

And then he remembered himself and that he had been so caught in his own problems that he failed to empathise with Steve the builder, whose wife had just died. He wasn’t unempathetic but too often he couldn’t shake off his own problems long enough to listen to others. And at that moment he realised that his desire for diagnosis might be about more than just getting out of work.

Vanity stretched casually on her yoga mat. It still startled her that she taught in such a beautiful place, overlooking a bay that she had always enjoyed, long before it became her home. She was so happy and had even noticed the emergence of laughter lines the last time she had glance in the mirror

Keeping her name had been a risk, but she took perverse pleasure in it. Growing up in a community of Plymouth Brethren, her parents had, they said, given her a name that would forever remind her of the dangers of the wider world.

It wasn’t until her early teens that she slowly began to understand what this meant for her. Like all her friends she had attended One School Global, run by the Brethren exclusively for the children of the community. However, in a moment of weakness, when she turned sixteen, her parents had allowed her to attend a local college, part-time, so that she could study Spanish. She still had to obey very strict rules and, on no account, was she to mix with her fellow students socially. Her family had her college timetable attached by a magnet to the fridge and her mother monitored her movements very closely.

In Spanish class she usually sat beside Laura, an apparently quiet girl who didn’t ask her too many questions, but gradually they became more friendly. As the first year of the course wore on, Vanity even took to occasionally inventing ‘tutorials’ so that she could at least share a coffee with Laura.

One Monday, just as Vanity was thinking that she should rush home before her mother suspected anything, she and Laura were joined by another small group from a different class. They all knew Laura from the school they had all attended. Their natural friendliness was almost too much for Vanity, but on her walk home, the upturn in her mood made her forget the anxiety that she usually felt when she anticipated the questions she would get from her mother.

It was just the start. Over a few short months Vanity found herself looking forward to seeing her new friends more and more. It was just short meetings in cafes and, occasionally, bars, at first. It was impossible to do anything else without incurring the wrath of her family. Slowly, she began to see the reality of a life that had been forced upon her.

The weeks leading up to her escape were terrifying. Not only because of the prospect of what lay before her, but also the devastation she would leave behind. Now here she was, ten years later, living a life that gave her peace, full of cautious optimism. Earlier, Vanity’s phone had vibrated with a message from an unknown number. It was no surprise to hear that her mother had died. An orphan at last.

One last stretch and it would be time to let the class in. She lay down, closed her eyes and let the sunshine wash over her.