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Authors: Stella Whitelaw
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volunteered to sit on the floor. She could still get down and get up whereas many of the less mobile could not.
They moved on to meditation. Fancy was not into meditation, even though she lived in part of a church. Still, she closed her eyes and did what she was told.
‘Imagine yourself in a nice place, somewhere that you really like. Imagine that it is sunny and warm and that you are walking, very happily, and then someone joins you.’ The voice was soft and hypnotic. The leader of the group was a sweet and tranquil woman, hair like spun silk.
Fancy had been imagining a beach in the Seychelles. That holiday was a long time ago, when she was young and carefree. An empty beach with no footprints except her own and those of an island dog who had decided to join her for the day. She had swum in the azure blue water and it had been miraculous. A memory to last forever. Her best memory. Yes, it was her best memory.
But her mind drifted away and she found herself walking along this riverside, a kingfisher singing on a branch, the water lapping by. A girl came. She was wearing a blue-check cotton dress with short sleeves and a white collar and her frizzy hair sprang out in all directions.
Fancy lay down in the grass with the girl and they picked flowers and made daisy chains. It was all so peaceful.
‘Now I want you to draw this new companion,’ the group were told. ‘But draw with your left hand if you are right-handed, and with your right hand if you are left-handed. Then write some questions to your companion. Wrong-handed.’
Fancy understood. She drew the girl easily in a blue-check dress and asked the girl questions with her left hand. Who are you?
The girl said that she was me. The girl said she would help me with writing. She said my writing would get better.
Fancy relaxed on the floor. It had all been too easy. The inner child was herself. She had told herself what she wanted to hear. No great hassle there.
‘Now I want you to go on a journey with your inner child. Close your eyes and let her take you where she will,’ said the leader.
Fancy closed her eyes obediently. So what. Where would her inner child take her? New York? Paris? Bermuda?
They were on a double bicycle, a bit like the film
ET
. They flew through the clouds and then suddenly took a dive down through the clouds and landed on a barren island. It was dotted about with huge, grotesque statues, sunken into the earth. It was Easter Island. She recognized the statues.
Fancy opened her eyes, shaken. She had never been to Easter Island or shown any interest in it, so why should her inner child take her there?
Why have you brought me here? she asked, using her left hand. Fancy emptied her mind of any thoughts. She did not want to dictate the answer. She wanted her inner child to tell her.
Because they are calling you, came the left-handed answer, the writing disjointed and wild.
The rest of the session was a cacophony of people talking and exchanging experiences. Fancy did not want to join in. She was too shattered. Yet common sense told her this was nothing to do with her recent experiences.
They are calling you. What on earth did that mean?
She opened a new page in her notebook and wrote down all the happenings and their exact times. They were all one minute past the quadrant: one minute past half past, one minute past a quarter to, one minute past the o’clock. It must mean something. There was a pattern, if she could only work out what it was.
They drifted out of the Orchard Room. Fancy thanked the leader, a slim, willowy woman called Tina who lived in some far-away place. Time to shower and change. Fancy was half-sure she had a party to go to if she could find out where it was being held. A numbered room in ABC, the invitation said, and she had no idea where that was.
ABC? Strange name for a building. Were the builders going through the alphabet?
A few of the orchard trees had been left standing and they cast long shadows in the
They moved on to meditation. Fancy was not into meditation, even though she lived in part of a church. Still, she closed her eyes and did what she was told.
‘Imagine yourself in a nice place, somewhere that you really like. Imagine that it is sunny and warm and that you are walking, very happily, and then someone joins you.’ The voice was soft and hypnotic. The leader of the group was a sweet and tranquil woman, hair like spun silk.
Fancy had been imagining a beach in the Seychelles. That holiday was a long time ago, when she was young and carefree. An empty beach with no footprints except her own and those of an island dog who had decided to join her for the day. She had swum in the azure blue water and it had been miraculous. A memory to last forever. Her best memory. Yes, it was her best memory.
But her mind drifted away and she found herself walking along this riverside, a kingfisher singing on a branch, the water lapping by. A girl came. She was wearing a blue-check cotton dress with short sleeves and a white collar and her frizzy hair sprang out in all directions.
Fancy lay down in the grass with the girl and they picked flowers and made daisy chains. It was all so peaceful.
‘Now I want you to draw this new companion,’ the group were told. ‘But draw with your left hand if you are right-handed, and with your right hand if you are left-handed. Then write some questions to your companion. Wrong-handed.’
Fancy understood. She drew the girl easily in a blue-check dress and asked the girl questions with her left hand. Who are you?
The girl said that she was me. The girl said she would help me with writing. She said my writing would get better.
Fancy relaxed on the floor. It had all been too easy. The inner child was herself. She had told herself what she wanted to hear. No great hassle there.
‘Now I want you to go on a journey with your inner child. Close your eyes and let her take you where she will,’ said the leader.
Fancy closed her eyes obediently. So what. Where would her inner child take her? New York? Paris? Bermuda?
They were on a double bicycle, a bit like the film
ET
. They flew through the clouds and then suddenly took a dive down through the clouds and landed on a barren island. It was dotted about with huge, grotesque statues, sunken into the earth. It was Easter Island. She recognized the statues.
Fancy opened her eyes, shaken. She had never been to Easter Island or shown any interest in it, so why should her inner child take her there?
Why have you brought me here? she asked, using her left hand. Fancy emptied her mind of any thoughts. She did not want to dictate the answer. She wanted her inner child to tell her.
Because they are calling you, came the left-handed answer, the writing disjointed and wild.
The rest of the session was a cacophony of people talking and exchanging experiences. Fancy did not want to join in. She was too shattered. Yet common sense told her this was nothing to do with her recent experiences.
They are calling you. What on earth did that mean?
She opened a new page in her notebook and wrote down all the happenings and their exact times. They were all one minute past the quadrant: one minute past half past, one minute past a quarter to, one minute past the o’clock. It must mean something. There was a pattern, if she could only work out what it was.
They drifted out of the Orchard Room. Fancy thanked the leader, a slim, willowy woman called Tina who lived in some far-away place. Time to shower and change. Fancy was half-sure she had a party to go to if she could find out where it was being held. A numbered room in ABC, the invitation said, and she had no idea where that was.
ABC? Strange name for a building. Were the builders going through the alphabet?
A few of the orchard trees had been left standing and they cast long shadows in the
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