Towers of Silence

Chapter Twenty-five

Friday night was self-defence. I’d promised Ray, and myself, that I would learn to look after my precious body after a particularly nasty attack. Are any attacks not nasty? The course was being taught by an instructor who used to work for the police. She had set up in business to answer the growing demands from people such as healthcare workers, teachers and housing officers who were seeing an increase of violent behaviour among the public they were there to help.

I’d been casting about for something that wouldn’t involve a lifelong dedication to a martial art, and then Stuart told me about the course. He used to own a nightclub in town and one of the bouncers had raved about Ursula’s self-defence classes. It sounded just up my street.

I hated dragging myself out on a cold, dark night to the shabby, church hall in Chorlton where we met but I knew it was important. Once I got there, I worked hard, determined to get my money’s worth and to emerge at the end better equipped to deal with the aggro that occasionally comes my way. It wasn’t all chucking each other around either, the course also looked at diffusing difficult situations, using role-play to practise techniques for minimising the risk of escalation.

We went through the warm-up. The heating was on in the hall and it took the edge off the cold but the place was draughty. It had a highly varnished wooden floor the colour of toffee and thick, navy gloss paint on the tall sash-window frames, the skirting board and the wide, rounded old-fashioned radiators. The ceiling was high and grimy, draped with cobwebs, flaking cream paint peeled off the beams. At one end dull green velvet curtains concealed a small stage, beneath this our mats and equipment belonging to other groups was stored. The place reeked of old varnish and trainers and mildew.

“Right,” Ursula announced as we finished the warm-up, “someone comes at you with a knife…”

A fist of fear clenched at my bowels. I hate knives. Although I’d been threatened and even attacked with various weapons it was knives that haunted me. I’d had flashbacks for years after an incident with a knife but the episodes had become less and less frequent. Still, I didn’t like to contemplate knives but I ignored the queasy churning in my stomach and paid fulsome attention as Ursula took us through several scenarios and moves to disarm or escape from an attacker.

I was partnered with Brian, a big lad who was working security for the Co-op. We went through the moves, taking turns to defend ourselves. Brian was much stronger which made the exercises reassuringly realistic for me. It always took him a while to relax into the session, I think he felt awkward lunging at a woman. Quite often Ursula told him to stop pussyfooting around. Now and again she took him on herself, tipping him to the floor or rendering him helpless with speed and grace.

I came away from the session feeling grimy but gratified; there were no showers at the church hall. Driving back, I considered the fact that Stuart hadn’t returned my call. I felt the first flickering of dissatisfaction. We were still weighing each other up, surely he realised that I might read all sorts into his failure to get back to me quickly. Or was it intentional? Should I assume his interest was waning? What if he hadn’t got the message?

I resented the way that even the simple business of arranging to meet was taking up my energy and awakening anxieties that I’d rather stayed dormant. I would not sit around waiting for him to call – sod that for a game of soldiers.

I rang as soon as I got in. The answerphone was on at his house so I rang the bar. He was there, a wall of sound in the background.

“Sal, hi. I’ve been meaning to ring you.”

So, why didn’t you?

“I’ve got the kids all weekend, I’m here Monday but how about Tuesday?”

“Evening or lunchtime?” I quipped.

There was an awkward pause. I felt my skin crawl. What? Only he could suggest lunch, not me?

“Erm, I don’t think I could do lunch. Jonny’s wife’s being induced on Monday and he’ll be off for the week at least, new staff in.”

“Tuesday night then.”

“What do you fancy?”

Daft question, or it had been till I started feeling wrong footed. “I’ll come to yours, bring a bottle.”

“Just bring yourself. I’ll get the wine.” He could get nice stuff from work.

“Half-eight?”

“Fine, see you then.”

My hand was aching from gripping the receiver and a blush had made my cheeks burn. We’d arranged a date, mission accomplished, so why did I feel so awkward? I was a grown-up now. I could do without the roller-coaster emotions of teenage dating, without all the mind games and the lurches into self-doubt.

I ran myself a bath. I’d see how Tuesday went. But if seeing Stuart was going to mean spending half my life worrying about it, getting cranky because he hadn’t rung me, then I wondered whether it was really worth it. He was a nice man and the sex was great, really great, but I was not hopelessly in love with him. Not in love at all. I liked him; he was attractive, friendly. I liked the attention, I liked the idea of a relationship but I wasn’t so sure about the reality. I wasn’t in too far. Still able to feel the ground beneath my feet and wade out of it if I chose. I sighed, stepped into the bath and slid under the water. Let my worries float away.