Lily’s mouth opened again, and for a moment she seemed as though she would argue. Out of the corner of her eye, Freya could see her class had, as one, abandoned warrior pose—although in truth, to hold it this long required quads of steel, something few of them possessed—and were standing in relaxed positions. She caught a couple of smiles and nods of recognition directed at Lily.
Lily drew herself in. “Of course. My apologies for the unintended interruption.” She disappeared back through the door to her shop and closed it gently behind her. Only dust and paint flakes remained to show where she’d been. But in Freya’s head, she stood there still; a large, colourful woman, her dark hair scrunched on top of her head, a wide, easy smile that flashed white against her copper skin, and a blur of bright clothes. She left behind an aura of vitality and humour that reminded Freya of the tumble of music that had come through the wall. Freya’s bare soles tingled. It was as if a flight of king parrots had wheeled through the room, all noise and disruption and garish colours, but still beautiful to see.
She turned back to her pupils. “Stand tall, ladies. Deep breaths in a four-seven-eight pattern…”
The Indian chimes tinkled a couple of hours later. Freya left the new stock she was unpacking and went to see to the customer. She frowned at the sight of Lily browsing along the teak tables and display shelves. She looked bigger amongst the small items Freya sold, tall and solid amongst delicate things. But her bright gauzy blouse could have come from Freya’s own racks of clothing.
“Can I help you?”
Lily turned at Freya’s voice and put down the brass candle snuffer she’d been holding. More like fondling it, Freya thought with a twist of anger. She’d been running a finger over its shiny surface, feeling the edge and curves of its shape.
“I’m sure you can.” Lily advanced a pace. “I’m working on a schedule for my workshops. They don’t require as much space as yours, but all the same, the studio at the rear of the shops is the best place to hold them.” She picked up some tiny spice dishes made of bright pottery. “These are gorgeous. They remind me of my Cuban gran, my nona. She used dishes like this when she cooked. A pinch of this, a twist of that. I’ll have to come back with my purse and get some.” She stacked three non-matching dishes in a pile and smiled at Freya. “And actually, the studio is the only place for my classes. I can’t run them in my shop. Not enough room. I’m going to start three, maybe four, classes each week, depending on demand, of course. But you were here first, so I’d like to fit in with your schedule.”
“I beg your pardon?” Even in her own ears, Freya’s voice sounded brittle, like stained glass crunching underfoot. “I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to rent you studio space. Even if I were, I don’t think your classes would be an appropriate use.”
Lily cocked her head to one side. “I don’t get what you’re saying. I don’t need to rent it; that studio is on my lease, shared with you.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve leased my shop for seven years, and in all that time, that space has been mine alone. Diane, who had your shop previously, never used it.”
“Maybe she didn’t need to. The lease clearly states it’s not for storage. Maybe she had no other reason to use it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You will have to find somewhere else.” Freya turned away, her shoulders in a stiff set of dismissal. The Indian chimes tinkled. “Excuse me. I have to see to my customer.”
She ignored Lily’s bemused shrug and moved to greet the newcomer.
“I’ll come around after closing time with my lease. Then we can work it out.” Lily’s tones were polite, but there was something unbreakable in her voice. As if she expected a battle.
Let her think that. Freya had battled before. She was no stranger to the combat between people. She had worn down officials, councillors, medics of all types. She had protested causes and signed petitions, donated and rallied, asked strangers for money, their time. Their caring. If Lily thought she could beat her down, she would soon learn.
In all of Freya’s forty-one years on this earth, she had only lost one time.
Chapter 4
Sweeten her up. That would be the best approach. Wear her down with friendliness, wrap her with warmth. Bringing people around to your side was easier if you were nice to them. Rudeness never worked. Her new neighbour would do well to remember that, Lily thought with an inwards snort. Nona had taught her the value of being pleasant. Her nona had immigrated to Sydney from Cuba, and her stories of communities bound together by necessity and hardship still resonated with Lily. Nona’s talk of growing veggies on rooftops, and informal community co-ops were part of the reason for Lily’s decision to leave the big smoke and open her shop in a small town. Cuba’s situation had been brought about by outside influences and a hand-to-mouth existence, but Nona’s stories of the warmth of her small community were woven into the bright fabric of Lily’s childhood. The doctor may not make house calls on a bicycle in Grasstree Flat, but Lily was sure the community would reach out to draw her in.
If she could get past Freya and her spiny exterior. What she’d already seen of the town, from her reconnaissance trips and since moving here, was a tightly knit community that was nevertheless warm and welcoming to newcomers. On her first visit, nearly a year ago, she’d sat outside a café on the main street enjoying some winter sunshine. The sweet-faced waitress had gone out of her way to figure out how to make a cuban espresso for Lily. Or as close to one as she could get. Lily had confided she was thinking of moving here, and the waitress’s enthusiasm had been spontaneous and genuine.
Lily was sure she’d caught a glimpse of Freya at that same café in the past few days, chatting and laughing with the same waitress. It was a cosy picture, but it was hard to reconcile the relaxed and talkative Freya with the tense and aggressive one who always seemed to come out in Lily’s presence.
But whatever she thought of Freya, they were neighbours. And unless Freya closed shop and moved away, they would be neighbours for the next three years at least—the length of Lily’s current lease. And after that, if her instincts ran true. Grasstree Flat felt right. She’d fallen in love with it the first time she’d driven west from the coast, bursting out of the band of rainforest that covered the coastal hills to see the Pioneer River meandering through the wide, flat valley. The grasstrees that gave the town its name studded the drier north-facing slopes, like so many ragged explosions of green streamers. Even the subtropical humidity didn’t seem too bad. She was comfortable here, tentatively reaching out to make friends. She wasn’t one to be all woo-woo and into the cosmic vibrations of a place, but Grasstree Flat appealed to her in a way Sydney had lacked—at least for her. Grasstree Flat already was her town. She even hoped Nona would make the long trek from Sydney to pay her a visit.
Given that she intended on going nowhere, it would be far easier if she and Freya got along. Were friends, even.
The timer dinged, and she opened the ancient oven and pulled out the tray of oatmeal slice. She found a plate that didn’t have too many chips and slid the slice onto it. If she were going to visit a friend, she’d take along a bottle of wine as well, but Freya was hardly a friend. Also, she didn’t know if Freya drank alcohol. She was likely to consider Lily a lush as well as a purveyor of porn if she brought wine. With a longing glance at the small wine rack by the door, she descended the stairs to the entrance porch and hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to reach Freya’s flat. Whilst hers had a separate entrance, there was only the shop door on Freya’s side. But to one side of the door—whose sign now said, Namaste. Return Again, Friend—there was a doorbell. She rang it and waited, staring idly out to the street. Two dogs trotted by and a car drove slowly past. She rang the bell again—maybe it wasn’t working.
Or maybe Freya was ignoring her.
She stabbed the bell once more, pressing for a few seconds. Footsteps sounded and then the door jerk
ed open.
“You’re not in the city now. Not everything moves at your pace.”
“May I come in?”
“I can’t see that we have anything to say to each other. But if you insist.” Freya turned and stalked through her shop to the rear, where a set of stairs led up.
That Freya’s apartment was nothing like the woman herself, was Lily’s first thought. If she’d been asked to speculate, she would have said that Freya would have chosen white walls and practical hessian floor coverings. Despite the profusion of gaiety and colour in Freya’s shop, Lily had her pegged as an austere woman who probably made it a policy to own as little as possible: a large teak table maybe, practical hard chairs that were uncomfortable to sit on, and a small bookcase filled with worthy but dull titles.
The apartment, whilst a mirror of her own in layout, was painted in earth tones. The floor was polished boards—something deep and glowing chestnut—with the same rag rugs Lily had seen for sale downstairs. Lily skirted around two low couches and a coffee table piled high with magazines where a bottle of red wine was open and breathing. One wall was bare of furniture, but a sprawling hand-painted mural covered most of it. It was a fantastical world of curling vegetation and multiple suns, and two naked women walking hand in hand. She moved closer to examine it, but Freya’s voice stopped her.
“Come out to the balcony.” Freya threw open the doors, and Lily followed, stepping over a yoga mat placed on the polished boards.
“I made oatmeal slice for you.”
Freya didn’t even glance at it. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble. I’m vegan.”
Maybe this was an opening to soften this woman. “So am I. There’s nothing in this we can’t eat.” She set the plate on the table in front of the couch and moved over to the railing. “I love sitting on my balcony in the evenings, watching the street, hearing the birds. But you’ve got the better view.” Freya’s balcony had the westerly aspect that hers lacked, and the sun slanted low, the heat blocked by a wall of green herbs growing in pots stacked high. She recognised rosemary, basil, parsley, marjoram, and sage, along with more unusual plants: mushroom plant, vietnamese mint, and some Lily didn’t recognise.
Freya stood with her back to the street, arms folded, and pursed her lips.
“I brought the lease.” Lily held it up. Freya didn’t invite her to sit, so under the guise of spreading out the pages, she settled herself on the couch.
A tabby padded silently in and jumped up alongside Lily. “You beauty.” She petted the soft fur, and the cat closed its eyes and purred. “What’s her name?”
“Dorcas.” The word was clipped, as if it were classified information.
“She’s a darling.”
Dorcas stepped daintily, one paw at a time, onto Lily’s lap, turned around, and settled down. Freya’s glare at her cat’s defection could have singed Lily’s hair.
Lily flicked the pages of the lease until she came to the relevant section. “Here. It says the area behind both shops is shared. No storage use permitted; the space is for occasional use as a studio, workshop, meeting space or similar.” She held out the papers to Freya, who took them without a word.
“I’m going to run workshops on women’s sexuality,” Lily continued. “I hope they will assist women in expressing themselves. As young women. As mature women. I also want to help them with erotic expression, their sexual health, maximising pleasure—”
A snort from Freya. “You’re promoting your own smutty goods.”
“Don’t knock what you haven’t seen. You haven’t set foot in my shop.”
“I don’t need to.”
Lily heaved a breath. “Can we talk about this calmly? We share a space behind our shops. It would be good if we could do it amicably. Our businesses are not so dissimilar.”
Freya folded her arms. “Our businesses have nothing in common. Nothing except a party wall.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve read your leaflets around town. You run yoga and meditation classes, workshops about empowering women to take control of their lives. About living life to the fullest, living productively and with satisfaction. I also came across a leaflet for your healthy living seminar and another on vegan cooking. I didn’t realise you’re a naturopath as well.”
Freya nodded. She moved to sit at the far end of the couch from Lily, twisting her fingers in her lap.
Lily lifted her hands so Dorcas could switch laps, but the cat stayed put. “My seminars encourage women to embrace their sexuality. To take control of it, rather than leaving it in the hands of their partners… no pun intended. To accept where they fall in the gender and sexuality spectrum. I encourage women to reach their full potential, just as you do.”
“I focus on strength. I teach women to rise above the physical, to become spiritual beings. Unlike you with your emphasis on their baser instincts.”
“Is that what you think?” Lily’s voice rose incredulously. “That sexual expression is somehow inferior?” Freya lifted her chin and silence was Lily’s answer. “I need a glass of wine. I saw that bottle on your table. Right now, it would be neighbourly to offer me a glass.”
“And prolong this inconvenience? I don’t think so.”
“We have complementary aims. Why can’t you see that? When I signed the lease for my shop, I was so excited that you would be next door. I saw us working together, building our businesses alongside each other. My clients would be yours and vice versa—”
“What the hell were you smoking? That is not going to happen.”
“What is your problem with sexuality? That’s what all this comes down to, isn’t it? You don’t like sex. Fine. That’s your choice, and none of my concern. However, as someone who encourages women to be what they want to be without censure or shame, I find it a strange stance.”
“I’m not anti-sex. Why would I be? Many of my friends and customers are in relationships. But I encourage them to approach their relationships on an equal footing with their partner. There also comes a time in a woman’s life when sex isn’t so important. When it’s a physical urge that can be overcome. Sex is basically an urge to procreate. Remove that urge and sex—”
“I disagree. Sex is intimacy, love, even. And yes, it’s fun and exciting and a way of connecting with others, if that’s what you want. It’s not something to be shoved aside—unless it’s the individual’s choice and not foisted on that person by others or by society. I offer ways to enhance a physical relationship.”
“And I offer ways to rise above it—if that is the individual’s choice.” Freya spat Lily’s phrase back. “I don’t rope my pupils like cattle and drag them through the door.”
Lily took a breath, and relaxed her shoulders. Another, and her smile reappeared. “You’re right. We both offer choices. The difference is, I’m not putting difficulties in the way of people wanting to follow your path. I don’t tell my customers that the shop next door is a blight that should be banned.”
At Freya’s involuntary start, Lily continued, “Yes, I know you do that. Some of my customers are also yours. Is that so difficult to believe? I also don’t take your signage off the street, and I’m not the one being difficult about the shared use of the studio. I’m offering to work around your established timetable even though I suspect that means you’ll retain the most popular times.”
Freya’s crossed arms tightened against her body. The wall between them was mortared into place by their differences. Still, Lily persisted. This wasn’t just about her irascible, obstinate neighbour; this was about her business. Her workshops were an important part of her success or failure. The rear studio had been one reason she’d rented the shop. The real estate agent had told her the studio was there whilst showing her the shop. She’d been unable to view it as the door had been locked and the agent couldn’t find a key, but he had told her it was a part of
the lease.
“If you’re unwilling to supply your timetable—well, I’ll have to schedule my workshops as I see fit. If that clashes with one of your classes”—she shrugged—“we’ll just have to share the space at the time. It will be a lot easier on both of us if you give me a copy of your timetable.” She set Dorcas on the couch and stood. “We’re not getting anywhere, which is a shame, as I don’t want to fight with you.” She glanced over to where Freya hunched on the couch. Her thin frame was tightened in on itself, as though she was cold, despite it being a warm spring day. Freya was an irritant that scratched her skin, like plunging through a thicket of lantana—defensive to the point of being impenetrable. But there must be more to her than she let Lily see. She had friends. She had pupils who attended her classes religiously. The woman must be doing something right.
“Enjoy the oatmeal slice. It’s a recipe I was given by my meditation teacher.” She paused for a moment, giving Freya an excuse to crack a smile, to invite her to sit awhile, have a cup of tea, share a piece of oatmeal slice. But her stony expression didn’t change. “I’ll see myself out.”
She walked back through Freya’s flat, over the polished boards, past the earth-toned walls. The mural again caught her eye. Animals peeped through jungle foliage; butterflies and vibrant birds were woven through the flowers. It was an Australian rainforest with native flora and fauna, she realised. The painting faded at one end into an outline, as though the mural wasn’t finished. She would have liked to stop and study it, but Freya obviously would not welcome that. And the two naked women, hand in hand. One of them looked not dissimilar to Freya herself. A bit younger, a bit plumper, not as sharp and diamond cut as the woman who even now was behind her. Doubtless to ensure she really did leave, Lily thought wryly, and that she didn’t take the silverware with her.
Party Wall Page 3
