Tree Change

2. Deb

Deb stood in a perfect tree pose. Balanced on one leg, with her left foot firmly jammed onto her right thigh, hands together in a praying position above her head, she stared at a spot across the room to maintain a steady pose. "Breathe in through your nose for five", she said in her calm, soothing yoga-instructor voice. "And out for five through your mouth. Now carefully return to a standing position".

She looked across at her one student, Maria, who had lost her balance during the tree pose and was now fiddling with her pony tail. As they began their salute to the sun routine, Deb fought the rising sense of panic that welled inside her. This was the third week in a row that she had only had one student attending her class. A couple of times this school term, she had had no one. Numbers had dwindled rapidly when the new gym had opened up just around the corner from the sports centre. It was a chain and they were opening up everywhere, offering everything from wheat germ juice to massages. Deb had gone to the open day a month ago and was blown away by the scale and luxury of it. It had three different swimming pools, a steam bath, a sauna, a cafe, vast rows of workout equipment, huge halls where classes were held, mood rooms for tai chi and yoga classes, not to mention a shop selling gym equipment, sumptuous shower and change rooms with cosy nooks to dry your hair and do your make up after your workout and a selection of complimentary toiletries with which to spruce yourself up.

All that and classes were cheaper with more sessions to choose from. You could hardly blame people for switching, especially in this crappy economic climate, but Deb couldn't help but feel betrayed and hurt by the lack of loyalty from her class members.

Even her best yoga friend Gemma had stopped coming to her class. She did forgive Gemma, knowing that she was struggling to find work and now counting every penny, but it still hurt. And her other good friend who formed part of their threesome, Delia had gone off to take part in some cooking show. Who knows when she'd be back.

As Deb gracefully did her swan dive, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She had to admit she was in good shape. Tall and lithe, her body was perfectly toned but still shapely, with a tiny waist, pert breasts and small but well-rounded butt. Her thick light brown hair was swept up into a high ponytail. She looked good in her yoga pants and layered tshirts. In fact, she knew she looked good most of the time. Why then, was she still single? What was it about her that scared men off? She was thirty six years old. Her clock was ticking. She desperately wanted to have a child before she got too old. Just as desperately she wanted a man, a soul mate, to share her life with. Why had that bastard Vincent, cheated on her like he did and thrown her out?

Vincent was as close to perfection in a life partner that you could get. Good-looking and wealthy, he had a high-flying job as a Chief Operating Officer for one of the country's biggest banks. Only forty years old, he was relatively young for such a high-level position and he had got there with a combination of ego, determination, brains and charisma, probably in that order. He had never married, but had had a number of relationships over the years, most of them short and sweet, but all ending on a bitter note because he was commitment-phobic. When he met Deb at the opening of an art gallery of a mutual acquaintance, he was at a time in his life when he was searching for stability and thinking about a family. At his age, he thought it was time to put down roots, find the right girl and have some children. At the least, he wanted a son to carry on his name and leave his money to when he died.

Vincent Hamlyn was charmed by Deb, a beautiful, classy-looking yoga-instructor with a brazenness that promised good sex, and yet she looked and talked the part of an executive wife, displaying some well-considered insights into the abstract paintings on display. She could well be a lady in the parlour and a whore in the bedroom. After they had been introduced by Natalie, their mutual friend and art gallery owner, Vincent had kept his eye on her as she flitted from group to group, stunning in a caramel-coloured dress which revealed a tasteful hint of firm, sun-kissed cleavage and a flowing skirt that now and then gave a flash of toned shapely legs. He could have sworn she had given him a come-on when she had batted her eyelids at him, but then she seemed to avoid eye contact altogether.