Walking to the Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

bursting into laughter, all of them together, ah-ah-ah. I keep my legs straight, straight-faced, little bobs from the thighs. Policeman plod; ’ello ’ello ’ello.
    â€˜C’mon love,’ says Maud, catching my eye. ‘We all look stupid. You don’t want to stand out.’
    I roll my eyes, pull a face at her and keep bobbing. Anna ignores me. Eventually I start to loosen, feeling the rhythm of the movement in my heels and the balls of my feet; my stomach and arms and jaw. I keep my eyes closed, let my throat open, let the sounds bump out until I too find myself releasing a quick laugh. A child in a car on a corrugated road. Ah-ah-ah. After a while Anna tells us to slow, then stop, then stand with our eyes shut, and feel how it is in our bodies. Then we sit down on chairs, and she asks us how we felt when we were standing still. Elsie says she feels a bit funny in her tummy, but nothing to worry about. Mary’s knees feel big. Maud can’t stop laughing. I say my legs feel heavy, weird, as if there is nothing holding them up.
    â€˜Would you like to lie on the ground, here,’ Anna says. Not really a question. I shrug, then get up and lie in front of her. She sits at my side on the floor, cross-legged. ‘What I’m going to do,’ she says, ‘is to put my hands beneath your knees, like this.’
    Her hands feel very warm through my pants. Very solid.
    Surprising somehow. Not unwelcome. Not even embarrassing.
    â€˜Just let your knees relax,’ says Anna, ‘and remember to breathe.’
    I take a deep slow breath, and feel my legs, one then another, regain their focus.
    â€˜That’s good,’ says Anna. ‘Just let those legs know they have some support.’ And suddenly, shockingly, I am crying. Sad creaky hiccoughs.
    I roll away from her, on to my side. Anna leaves a hand resting on my thigh for a moment, then takes it away as I pull myself to sitting, puts a hand on the back of my neck while I slump forward.
    â€˜Is that all right?’ she asks. ‘That I touch you?’
    I nod, quiet my breathing, feel the relief of her hand cupped behind my neck, then shake my head abruptly, shake her off.
    â€˜Jess?’
    I keep shaking my head.
    â€˜Jess, come back. Look at me.’
    I look up. Her face is big, close, her eyes are blue, dreamlike, and I am leaving through the back of my head, shrinking into a pinprick of dark light behind me. For a moment, I stop hearing, cocooned, untouchable.
    And then the lilt of her voice again, even, persistent.
    â€˜Come back, Jess. Bring yourself back. Look at me, Jess.’
    It is like waking. Nothing dramatic. Just finding myself back, her eyes the anchor. She is squatting in front of me, solid, unthreatening. The room seems bigger than before, and there is an odd sense of space around me. I move my head slowly from side to side. I almost smile. She nods.
    â€˜That’s good work. You’ve done a lot. It’s a good idea to rest now. Go and have a sleep.’
    As I leave from the rec room a few minutes later, she catches up with me in the corridor. ‘Jess, I meant to say, I see private clients in that room over there twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays. I’ve got a space free on both days. If you’d like.’
    One day Maud’s daughter comes to visit at lunchtime and brings her child. Maud’s fourth grandchild. ‘Breeders, aren’t we?’ Maud laughs and pushes her chair back from the table. Her daughter, Carol, places the child in Maud’s wide lap, and it pushes itself to standing while Maud holds it around the chest, pulling faces at it, making noises. The child’s fat little legs work her knees like dough. It reaches towards her and grabs at her glasses with one hand. ‘Oi. Carol. Give us a hand. That’s my last pair.’ Carol leans and takes the glasses from the child, unwraps its fingers from around the arm. The child turns its attention back to