A massage

I'm always slightly on edge, like an actor waiting in the wings, prior to giving a massage and I think this is good. It keeps me focussed. This one, an evening session, has the advantage of familiarity; the client, P, an accountant in her 50s, has been coming to see me for several years and has almost become a friend. As she undresses she tells me how she is - basically well, but stressed and tense from the workday.

She lies on her front on the couch, covered from the neck downwards with towels. The room is lit by the subdued glow from a reading lamp in the corner, supplemented by several candles. I start the music: a CD of a solo harpist, just loud enough to be comfortably audible. Placing my hands lightly on her head, I shut my eyes momentarily and take a deep breath. I remove the towel covering her back and place it on the radiator, then pour a little oil into my palms; the heady, familiar scent of sandalwood, geranium and orange flower wafts upwards.

My hands slowly travel the length of P's spine, one on each side of the vertebral ridge, spreading the oil onto the skin. These large, circular effleurage strokes loop round the lower back, over to the sides of the body, up along the ribcage and back to the shoulders. More oil is needed - skin can be thirstier in cold weather. Throughout the session I shall be looking for any reactions, tensions, changes in facial expression. If it all comes together, a massage can become a communion, a meditation in movement and connection and touch, smooth and flowing.

The notes from the harp seem to float in the air, and the candles flicker. Then, a hitch - the CD player jams and whirrs. No more music. Damn. This was not meant to happen. Rather than switching on the light and attempting to fix the problem, I make a quick decision to carry on in silence. Background music is generally an ally, helping with the letting go process, but a successful session does not depend on it.

P carries a good deal of tension in her neck and upper back, particularly in the area between the shoulder blades, so I spend some time here kneading and using firm pressure on the tight muscles and knots. Then I work my way down to the the lower back. Placing one hand on top of the other on the sacrum, I circle them very gently in a small clockwise movement, gradually enlarging the stroke to sweep out across the right, then the left hip and buttock. As I massage each area of the body I remove the towel, replacing it once I have finished, then uncovering the next section. I move to P's legs: the calves, thighs and feet.

She rolls over onto her back at my request. We take a minute to rearrange the towels, and I slip a small pillow under the knees and another beneath her head. I work on her neck and shoulders, lifting the head and turning it to the right, then the left, supporting it with one hand and using the other to massage. The arms follow, one at a time, working upwards from the hand to the shoulder, then back again down to the fingertips. It seems to be easier to let go of tension in the supine position, and after a while P's stomach rumbles once or twice - generally a good indication of relaxation.

I lift the towel off her chest and abdomen, and standing behind her head reach forward to the left side of her body at the waist and pull alternate hands smoothly one at a time to the centre of her stomach then up between the breasts to the shoulders. I then do the same thing again from the right side. The tension lines in her face have smoothed out, her eyes are closed and her breathing is slow and regular

By the final ten minutes of the session P is covered in warm towels, and is almost asleep. The room is very still. I sweep my hands several times over her covered body from the crown of the head to the hands, and then repeat the movement, this time finishing at the toes. After the last sweep I hold her feet for a few minutes to bring her awareness back to her connection with the ground. I pour her a glass of water and slip out of the room to wash my hands, allowing some privacy while she returns from wherever she has been during this last hour or so.

As I dry my hands I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I never for a moment thought I would be able to do this kind of work and it sometimes almost frightens me that seemingly I can.