Read In a Class of His Own for Free Online

reflect on my misconceptions about yoga. Of all the
embarrassing things I had ever been asked to do this was the worst.
Far from lying around half-asleep,
I was expected to stretch muscles I hadn’t known existed and to get
into positions no human being in a pair of too-tight black leggings
ever should. At one point I had my bottom stuck up in the air as I
tried desperately to reach the fingers of my left hand over to the
toes of my right foot.
    I’m sure Jack Thorpe
had an interesting view of that particular manoeuvre.
    To
make matters worse Ann, Jack and even Mona
Thompson seemed to be doing it all with ease. It was far more
strenuous than I expected – or had I allowed myself to get very
unfit? I began to concentrate hard on the increasingly elaborate
positions we were expected to achieve and almost forgot Jack’s
presence next to me.
    At long last it was time
for the cool down. We lay on our backs as Meryl Homer’s voice
silkily encouraged us to imagine blackness, to stretch our arms out
wide and relax. By this time I had really got into the class and I
stretched out my arms as instructed, eyes closed, letting the
soothing music wash over me. Relaxed. My hand encountered someone
else’s warm firm fingers. For a delicious second I allowed myself
to sensuously explore the hand under mine. I felt along the length of
a finger, it was smooth and finely tapered and undeniably masculine.
Then my brain clicked in. I opened my eyes and looked to the left.
Jack and I had accidentally made contact. But instead of snatching
our hands away we left them lightly clasped together as we smiled
into each other’s eyes. It was a densely intimate moment; almost as
if there was no one else in the entire room. Electricity charged
between us.
    Perhaps there was
something in this yoga thing, after all?
    After the class finished
and everyone was blinking sleepily and trying to return to real life,
Joyce came over to talk to me. Somehow I missed Jack and Ann’s
departure, together no doubt.
    “Nicola,
nice to see you again, did you enjoy the class? Ooh I did,” she
said cheerily, her round face aglow. Since moving in she had been a
regular visitor to my parents’ house. She leaned in
conspiratorially. “Do you think I could have a word?” She paused.
“Do you mind?” She hesitated again. “It’s about your mum.”
    I looked at her in alarm
as she edged me away from the rest of the group.
    “I
don’t want to worry you, lovie but is your mum all right?”
    I didn’t know what to
say. She was voicing my deepest fears. I hadn’t even discussed this
with Dad. “I don’t know what you mean,” I managed in response.
    “Your
mum. She’s been acting a teeny bit strange lately, hasn’t she?”
    I nodded reluctantly. It
was true and we’d all been avoiding the issue.
    Joyce
looked at me, her kindly eyes suddenly serious. “Do you think,”
she hesitated. “Do you think she,
I mean Betty, might be suffering from something like depression?”
    Now
Joyce had my full attention. Depression? Other possibilities had
occurred to me over the last few weeks – and before that if I was
honest with myself. Ever since what
happened with Andy.
    I concentrated again on
Joyce’s words.
    “I
used to be a nurse – in a GP’s practice. I’ve seen ever such a
lot of this sort of thing. I just thought it might help, that’s if
you didn’t mind me mentioning it.” As she spoke she laid her hand
on my arm. “It’s sometimes hard for the family to see what’s
going on. It takes a stranger sometimes.”
    I
nodded, my eyes filling suddenly. “But Joyce,
depression?” I began to say. Then I added idiotically, “But she
doesn’t seem all that sad. She just keeps doing odd things.”
    Joyce smiled
understandingly. “I know Nicola but the symptoms aren’t always as
obvious as someone going around crying all the time.”
    I sighed, “She’s been
doing that too,” I admitted. “I’ve heard her when she doesn’t
think anyone’s in the