After Cleo

Visitation

Good comes from good

What does a good man do when he’s worried about his wife freaking out over her daughter going to Sri Lanka and being her son’s self-appointed wedding planner? He takes her to a wellness retreat in New South Wales. Even though Philip would’ve much rather have been in a tent fending off crocodiles, he agreed to succumb to several days of detoxified living with me.

The wellness retreat was everything I’d hoped for: a combination of luxury, nature and nurture. Grimy after a day’s travel, we climbed the steps to a marble foyer that gleamed wholesomeness. We’d made a pact not to talk about weddings, Sri Lanka, or in fact any of our children for the next few days. This was a perfect environment to forget all that.

New Age didgeridoo music mumbled over the speakers while fountains chattered over volcanic stones. Staff flashed smiles that implied we too would be young, tanned, slim and beautiful if only we could be disciplined and sensible.

I sucked my stomach in and bared unwhitened teeth in a middle-aged, overweight, city living way.

Those health freaks didn’t fool me. I knew the self-loathing it took to look like that. The exhilaration of losing ten kilos a while back had been obliterated by the defeat of stacking them back on again, plus a few extra kilos I didn’t have when I thought I was fat.

Then there was the revelation that I didn’t actually feel that much better when I was thin(ner). In fact the ‘thin’ version felt worse because I lived with hunger clawing my stomach all the time, and in fear that I was going to get fat again. After years of neuroticism I’d finally understood those who loved me would continue to put up with me fat or thin, and those who didn’t ignored me. As a middle-aged woman I was pretty much invisible anyway. To pass unnoticed through an image-obsessed society is surprisingly liberating.

Refugees from the land of meat-eating, coffee-drinking and wine-swilling hedonism, Philip and I were made to promise we hadn’t stowed any caffeine or alcoholic contra in our bags. I immediately wished we had.

The wellness retreat was famed for its week-long boot camp involving dawn to dusk physical challenges interspersed with soul-searching workshops.

Personally, I couldn’t think of anything worse than a twenty-year-old Bear Grylls clone shouting me through an obstacle course. I wouldn’t have gone near the wellness centre if it hadn’t offered the alternative ‘individual’ package, where you could take part in workshops if you felt like it, and spend the rest of the time being massaged and aromatherapied to a pulp.

Bands of pink and orange stretched across the sky as our suitcases kerplunked over the gravel path to our villa. Spacious and modern with views over a valley, it was perfect. Oh yes, and the toilet paper was folded into a point and the towels were extremely fluffy. Opening the doors on to our deck, we let the warm night breeze comb our hair.

A group of kangaroos preened themselves before hopping lazily out of sight. I’d learnt to love the Australian landscape with its giant skies and ancient, crumpled hills. The red earth and silver trees that had once seemed ugly and foreign now possessed unique beauty for me. No longer threatened by the emptiness of this land, and its potentially deadly wildlife, I savoured the scent of eucalyptus gum on hot dry air.

Is it all right to mention here that we kissed? Not in a creepy, please-don’t-go-there-old-people way, like when an old walrus of a Hollywood star lunges at a cosmetically renovated diva and makes the entire theatre cringe over their popcorn.

This was simply the kiss of a man and woman who’ve known each other for twenty years, during which time they’ve spent most of their waking hours putting other people first. Who were just grateful to spend time alone together and have a conversation without someone else listening in and offering an uninformed opinion. It was bliss to lie in bed between Egyptian cotton sheets and use two towels each after a shower – none of which had to be put in the washing machine later. Not by me, anyway.

This place would purify our bodies, soothe our souls. We’d be soaked and stroked, massaged and mentored in methods of healthy living. After five days here we’d return to everyday life happier, more balanced human beings. Our worries would evaporate.

Wind whistled a lullaby down the valley on our first night as we slid between 1,000-thread counts of indulgence and slept like stones.

It’s hard to write about what happened that night except to say it’s one of the strangest events of my life. I’ve never been particularly psychic, and yet . . .

Before dawn I woke to the sound of wooden blinds slapping against the window. The wind had worked itself up into a tantrum and the air was hot and restless. Rolling over to find a more comfortable position, I became aware of a human figure sitting in a chair across the room. It was – of all people – Mum.

My chest melted at the sight of her. Even though she’d died several years earlier, she seemed very much alive, her eyes blazing with love as she looked at me. In front of her a black cat kept galloping impatiently across the floor, moving too fast for me to figure out if it was Cleo.

Aware that this encounter with Mum might be short, I seized the chance to ask her some questions. The cat zigzagged across the room, as if urging me to hurry up.

‘Is there a God?’ I asked, feeling sheepish for being so unoriginal.

‘Yes,’ Mum replied matter-of-factly.

‘Have you met him?’

‘No,’ she answered, with a tinge of regret.

‘I miss you so much!’ I cried, overwhelmed by a sudden sense of loss.

Mum had never liked it when people felt sorry for themselves. I’d sobbed like this once when she was dying and she’d just turned her head on the pillow and stared out the window at her camellias.

She began shimmering around the edges, her body melting away in the chair.

‘What should I know?’ I cried, desperate that she was going to disappear.

‘Good comes from good,’ she replied before smiling enigmatically and vanishing.

Last thing I saw was the cat’s tail melting into the shadows.

Getting back to sleep was impossible. It seemed melodramatic to tell Philip the moment he woke up. I waited till we’d showered and were on our way to an organic vegetarian breakfast. Philip has a surprisingly open mind for someone who works in a concrete tower.

‘Was it a dream?’ he asked as we wandered past the tai chi meeting point.

It’d felt more real than a dream but that was all I could call it.

‘What do you think it meant?’ he asked.

‘Maybe it’s about the book,’ I said. ‘If I keep writing from my heart, I think Mum was saying it could do some good – not just for me, but for other people as well. There was something really urgent about it, too. Mum and Cleo were telling me to hurry up and finish it. They don’t want me to waste time.’

The prospect of running out of time hadn’t occurred to me before. It was something I was about to confront.