Page 27 of Clean Point

‘Now exhale as you gently lower your extended leg back down to the mat,’ the instructor suggested. As I released my breath, I tried to imagine my deep-seated frustration with the woman next to me dissipating like a rolling wave receding into the sea.

It didn’t work.

We transitioned into a new position, legs holding strong, rooted to the ground, while my arms stretched out wide for balance. I had taken a deep breath, focusing on the taste of the sea salt air when an arm connected with my face, the skin burning with the sharp impact. I wobbled, falling out of the pose to stop myself from tumbling into the sand.

‘Hey,’ I snipped, immediately turning to Dylan. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Oh, did I catch you?’ She asked with feigned innocence, her sharp features betraying none of the mischief in her actions.

‘You hit me,’ I stated bluntly, sick of her already. All class she had been pushing her luck, and I’d reached my limit.

She shrugged, her slender body returning to the position as if I wasn’t worth spending any more time arguing with. ‘Maybe you were too close to me.’

Irritation pricked at my skin too incessantly to ignore. ‘Stay out of my way.’

She barely flinched at my demand. ‘Or what?’

‘Maybe we should all get into child’s pose for a moment and take a few breaths to calm down,’ Kyra, the instructor, suggested, stepping in. I had been all but ready to put Dylan in corpse pose and call it a day.

Clenching my teeth, I’d tried to rein in the overwhelming anger swirling around me like an out-of-control freight train. Dylan stared me down, her unwavering gaze bringing me right back to our last match up at Wimbledon.

‘Kneel on your mats, big toes touching, and knees spread apart,’ the instructor said, her light tone successfully pulling my attention from Dylan. Somehow, I convinced myself getting into a physical fight on the beach was not the way to solve the situation. ‘Gently lower your hips back toward your heels and extend your arms forward. Allow your forehead to sink down, releasing any tension. Take a few deep breaths, surrendering to the serenity of this pose.’

I tried to do as she instructed, sinking deeply into the position, but my mind was anything but clear.

Two summers ago. Hot heat pounding down on the Wimbledon centre court grass.

One last set to go.

Matteo watching my every move.

I shuddered at the memory, still unable to stop it from having a physical effect on me. I’d cried for weeks after they stripped me of the title, haunted by headlines and tabloids and interviews with Dylan declaring me a cheat over and over. But I couldn’t blame her; my disqualification didn’t make her any more a winner, and with no other titles under her belt other than runner up, that had to hurt all the more. In the end, we both lost out because of someone else’s actions.

‘Hey, can I join?’ a familiar voice asked, and I twisted out of the position to see Nico standing at the front of the class.

‘Of course,’ the instructor said, smiling up at him. ‘You can take the free mat next to Scottie.’

He nodded in reply, walking to where I was stretched out, my head propped up, eyes following his every step.

When he lowered to the mat, getting into position, I hissed, ‘Don’t you have physio?’

He turned to me, eyes meeting mine. ‘Day off.’

‘So, you’re here?’

He looked at me weirdly, as if it was none of my business why he had come to interrupt my only escape from him. ‘It’s what Jon said to do instead.’

I sighed in frustration. First Dylan, now him. Turning back to the mat, I’d tried to surrender to the pose, but, if anything, the tension in my body had only increased. Yoga was supposed to be effective at decreasing stress; not become the source of it. I had found solace in the fact that apart from having to stare at the back of Nico’s head, I wouldn’t have to interact with anyone else.

‘Since we have the numbers, how about we do a couple of partner poses today?’ And with a single question, the instructor sealed the deal on yoga being the source of my heightened blood pressure.

I wanted to die. I knew I couldn’t go with Dylan. The woman would sooner drown me in the ocean and call it fish position. The instructor, sensing my moral danger, thankfully paired Dylan with another person in the class, which left Nico and I staring awkwardly at each other. I watched as his throat bobbed for a moment, mesmerized by the movement.

‘I guess we’re partners.’ His words were hesitant, as if he had also been rethinking the class. Drowning in the ocean suddenly didn’t sound like the worst case scenario. Last time we did anything like this, he basically ran away and stole my hat. Well, his hat, but it was on my head. Technicalities.

Grumbling with disdain, we’d moved into position, sitting at opposite sides of the mat, our spines lengthened, feet meeting in the middle. Our hands slid into each other’s, and I’d tried not to lose my concentration to the roughness of his well-earned calluses against the softness of my wrist. He pulled me forward, the muscles in his forearms flexing and tightening, and my throat dried up at the movement. We took turns using each other to stretch for the required pose, and the silence that fell between us screamed at me.

‘I can’t get over the tweener you pulled today,’ I said, trying to fill the silence with reflections of our earlier session. He caught me in our final game with the move, hitting the ball between his legs and causing me to lose the set. Sarah, the PR photographer for ELITE, had joined us during our morning practice like she had been since she arrived, but disappeared after the first twenty minutes, saying she had enough ‘action shots’. I suspected she wanted some time beside the pool.

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