“My class schedule is on the noticeboard in the yoga studio.” Freya’s voice was flat, as though she wasn’t interested in Lily’s response.
“Thanks. I’ll take a look and let you know what I come up with.”
She left.
Chapter 5
Seven women filed out of the studio at the end of Freya’s Expressions Through Writing: Understanding Yourself Through Diarising workshop. They clutched pens and legal pads, leather-bound journals, bright cloth-covered notebooks, and even, in Marilyn’s case, a pad of blank sheet music. She said the music lines helped inspire her.
Freya put down her own diary—a simple spiral-bound notebook—and stacked the chairs and small tables the class used. Everyone had left except for Karin, who was browsing the noticeboard, and Carly, whom Freya always had coffee with after the morning class.
Karin jotted something from the noticeboard in the back of her notebook. “This is new,” she said. “Different for Grasstree Flat.” She pointed to a flyer Freya hadn’t seen before, which was jumbled in amongst the leaflets for market days, crystal healing, and chooks for sale. The flyer was bright and direct:
Explore your feminine sexuality in a safe and non-judgmental environment. Sex and sexuality are shrouded in myths. Your doctor may be too clinical. You may not feel comfortable discussing this with your friends. This workshop aims to demystify female sexuality in an open and relaxed manner. Learn about anatomy, pleasure, and the normality of sex. Improve your verbal and non-verbal communication skills to better receive what you want in the bedroom. All orientations welcome. Participate as much or as little as you want. No under-18s. No nudity and no intimate touching.
The banner at the top proclaimed A Woman’s Pleasure. That shop again. Freya’s nails dug into her palms. She’d had less irritation from a run-in with a stinging tree. What good could possibly come out of a class like this? And how dare Lily put it up without checking with her first. She reached for the flyer and pulled it from the board.
“Hey, if you’re going to throw that, I’ll have it.” Karin held out a hand. “I think that would be good to go to. Maybe someone else I know as well. She’s always complaining she doesn’t know how to tell her husband what she really wants.”
“I wanted a better look.” The lie grated, but Freya made a point of smoothing out the crumpled paper, studying it, and then pinning it back on the board.
At least Lily had scheduled it for when Freya didn’t have a class. Small mercy indeed.
The morning class finished at eight. Freya locked the shop and walked with Carly the short distance to the Green House, an organic café run by one of the women who attended Freya’s evening yoga class. Remy acknowledged them with a lift of her hand, and they went to their usual table out front, shaded from the morning sun.
Carly studied the menu, even though she must know it by heart. “I’ll have the brekky wrap. You?”
“Chia-and-pecan porridge.”
“You always have that.” Carly set the menu down and touched Freya’s hand. “Change is good, you know.”
“Says the person who always has the brekky wrap. I like the porridge, and it’s the healthiest option.”
Carly’s blue eyes studied her. Freya could feel her pierce the layers of irritation and bad humour that had shrouded her in the weeks that Lily had been next door.
“You’re not yourself these days, Frey. Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Those eyes wouldn’t let up. Carly’s gaze was intent on her face, her frivolous light-hearted demeanour vanished.
“Hey.” Carly touched the back of Freya’s hand, her fingers warm. “You can talk to me. You always used to.”
Freya took a spoon from the cutlery holder in the middle of the table, placed it down in front of her, and handed a knife and fork to Carly, who took them without comment. The action bought her maybe thirty extra seconds.
“Nothing’s wrong.” She couldn’t meet those steady blue eyes. “Okay, there is something. That woman next door.”
“Lily?”
“Yes. She thinks we run similar businesses. Ha! The only similar thing is that our shops are mirror image. She sells tacky porn. She’s brash. She intrudes upon my space.” Freya broke off as Remy brought their usual coffees, and took their brekky orders. As she walked away, Freya continued. “Now she wants studio time. It’s in her lease.”
Carly’s forehead wrinkled. “I thought that was your space.”
“So did I. But it’s there in black and white. I guess because Diane never used it, I made the assumption.”
“What does she want to do?”
“Sex classes. Did you see her flyer on the noticeboard?” Freya shut her lips with a snap. Even the soy latte steaming in front of her didn’t appeal at that moment.
“No. But I’ve heard from Janie there were classes starting in town. These must be the ones she was talking about. They sound interesting. Confronting for some, maybe, but those people won’t go along.”
“She’s promoting the sex toys in her shop.”
“Do you know that or are you assuming?” Carly broke eye contact and took a sip of her coffee. “I thought I might go.”
“Why?”
“Because my sex life could be a lot fucking better—pun intended. And nothing I do seems to make any difference. Andy still rolls on, pumps away, and rolls off. Oh sure, he kisses me, sucks my nipples, delves around and rubs where he thinks my clit is. If Lily’s workshop can help improve upon that, it’s money well spent.”
“But a sex class?”
“We’re not all like you, Frey. I like sex. I like the closeness and intimacy—even when Andy’s being a dickhead, it still makes things better. You don’t seem to need it anymore… But…” She reached a hand across the table and rested it on Freya’s. “It’s been three years since Sarah died.”
“And that time is supposed to turn me into a sex machine? I’m now supposed to want casual sex with other women? Are you saying I should come along to this class because I need it?” Her gaze skittered down Grasstree Flat’s main street, up to where the clouds scudded along in the blue, blue sky. Anywhere other than at the well-meaning concern on Carly’s face.
“No, of course not. But it would be a start. It’s not just about sex. It’s about intimacy. Emotional fortitude.” She fiddled with the packets of sugar as though the action gave her courage. “I’ve barely heard you mention her name in three years. Sarah was my friend as well as your partner. I miss her too.”
“Are you saying I need a psychologist?”
Carly’s silence dragged on.
“Well?” She beat a tattoo on the inside of the mug with the teaspoon as she stirred her coffee.
“I can’t answer that. You know I can’t. But I don’t think it would hurt to let people in a little more. You can talk to me anytime. I cared about Sarah and I care about you.”
Remy returned with their breakfasts and set them down. “I don’t need to ask who has what. You’re both as predictable as the sunrise.” She glanced between their two set faces. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No.” Freya’s expression was 80 percent grimace. “Carly’s finished trying to persuade me to attend the sex class run by the shop next door.”
“Did she succeed? If so, I’ll see you there. I’m going.” Remy sat in the vacant chair.
“You don’t have a partner. Neither do I. Sex isn’t a part of our lives.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m old, not dead, and I’m a master of solo sex, if you know what I mean.” Remy winked. “I might learn some new tricks.”
“I’m not going. And I’m surprised the two of you are. I thought we were above all of the physical excesses.” Freya’s mouth snapped shut.
“You may strive for that.” Carly’s words were as gentle as the th
umb that stroked the back of Freya’s hand. “I don’t.”
Remy nodded her agreement.
“Then why do you both come to my classes?” Warmth and support rolled in waves from her friends, but despite that, betrayal settled in her gut. Friends supported each other unconditionally. Didn’t they?
“Because you teach good living, physical wellbeing, how to look after your body. I love yoga. It makes me feel good, gives this flabby old body some tone.” Remy leant forwards. “But everything in moderation. I take what I need from your classes. I’ll take what I need from Lily’s class too. Attending a sex class isn’t going to turn me into Madonna.”
A snort from Carly. “I hope not.”
“Hey, I’m a fan of Madge! She was my idol when I was growing up. I wanted to be just like her, conical breasts and all.” The bell at the counter dinged, and Remy rose. “Gotta run. See you both at Lily’s sex class.”
Carly cut into her brekky wrap, wiped a finger in the oozing barbeque sauce, and licked it. “Well? Will you come?”
“No.” Freya took a spoonful of porridge and blew on it.
“Just no? No reason, no room for persuasion? I won’t leave your side. And if you want to leave, you say and I’ll leave with you. No questions.”
“No. Just no.” How to explain to Carly that even the thought of it made her tighten with anxiety? Talking sex. With strangers. And even worse, with that woman. How to explain that just seeing her neighbour, bouncing through life with her bold figure, garish colours, too-loud laugh and too-wide smile made her want to retreat from the brashness? Carly might suggest forging common ground with Lily, but Freya couldn’t imagine Lily meditating or reading, or seeking a spiritual path. Everything that was important in her own life.
Lily. Even the name was light and bright, no weight or depth to it. She glanced across at Carly. Everything she’d just thought about Lily applied to Carly too. Yet Carly was her friend. Maybe her closest friend. She’d been there for her, a solid, supportive figure, when Sarah died. Had Freya been the sobbing, wailing type, she had no doubt Carly’s shoulder would have been there for her. Carly would have done anything Freya asked if it had lessened her grief.
She turned her attention back to the present, the here and now: this café, this breakfast with a friend, this sunshine glinting on the road, this town, the birds, the sky, the red car driving down the street. She looked at Carly’s down-bent head as her friend cut into her brekky wrap. Carly’s earlier words came back to her along with the despondency in her normally upbeat friend’s voice when she’d briefly mentioned her sex life.
Freya’s mouth thinned. Andy wasn’t the worst bloke around; genial enough, pleasant to her. But Carly’s comments about her sex life hadn’t painted that picture. Freya mentally kicked herself. For someone supposedly so in tune with her friends, someone who prided herself on supporting her women friends, she’d missed these little signals.
“Is everything all right with you and Andy?”
Carly’s head came up, startled, and she blinked at Freya. “What made you ask that now?”
Freya shrugged. “Your tone of voice when you talked about your sex life. I’m sorry, Carly, I’m being an inattentive friend. I’ve been so caught up in that woman next door, I’ve been neglecting you.” She rested a hand on Carly’s. “Talk to me.”
Carly put down her fork and reached for her coffee. “The usual, I guess. Andy’s never been the most demonstrative of blokes, but he seems even more offhand than usual. Works late, but gets annoyed if I’m not home in the day when he calls.”
Unease for her friend tickled fingers into Freya’s mind. “What does he do when you’re not there?”
Carly took her time answering. “Calls my mobile, of course. It’s why mobile phones were invented, isn’t it? Anybody you want at the touch of a button. But he always asks where I am and why I’m not at home.”
“Tell him the fifties called and they want their gender roles back.”
A smile flickered, then fled Carly’s face. “Yeah. It’s not like that, though.” She heaved a breath and blew it out. “You know we’re trying to get pregnant, right?”
Freya nodded.
“It’s not working and it’s been nearly a year. We’ve started putting money aside for IVF. So if ever he calls and I’m not home, he wants to know where I am and drills me on what I’m spending.” She tilted her head at the table. “I tell him we just have coffee. He’d crack the shits if he thought I was wasting money on breakfast.”
Freya chose her words with care. “He can’t expect you to sit at home, surely?”
“No.” Carly drew the word out. “But he lectures me about money—not that I spend much at all. Breakfast with you. Yoga classes. Food shopping. That’s all.”
“You have as much right to the money as he does.”
“Yes, and he never used to be like this. It’s only since we’ve started saving for IVF. It’s expensive and our health insurance doesn’t cover it. But hey, we’re eating healthy. Veggies are cheaper.”
“You don’t have to pay for yoga. I know you turned down that offer once before, but I’m repeating it.”
“No.” Carly’s eyes flashed. “It’s your business. Friends are friends, but it’s your livelihood. I pay you, just as I pay Remy for this brekky wrap.”
“The needs of a friend take precedence over business. Come for free now. Then when you’re pregnant you can start paying again.”
“No, really, that’s not fair. What if in twenty years’ time I’m a permanent fixture on the IVF program?”
“Then I’d hope they’d give you mates’ rates.”
Carly snorted. “Maybe they have a loyalty card.” She touched Freya’s hand. “Thanks for talking. You’re a good friend.” She picked up her fork again and resumed eating. “Enough about me. I’m learning to cook, now that we’re saving money. Care to share some of your vegan recipes? Anything tasty, as long as it doesn’t include tofu.”
“Lily’s vegan.” The words came unbidden, the memory of Lily’s smile as she proffered the plate of her oatmeal slice flashing in her mind. She’d shunned it at the time, but she’d had a piece later with a cup of tea. It had been surprisingly good.
“See, she’s not all bad. Maybe you’ll end up best mates, and you’ll remove the lattice between your balconies and host dinner parties together.”
“Right. And maybe Grasstree Flat will become the centre of the civilised world.”
“I thought it already was. But you could give Lily a chance.”
Freya broke eye contact and gazed down the street. She had no room in her life for a woman like Lily. No room for her warm brown skin, her expressive eyes and wide smile. No room for her voluptuous figure, her loud clothes that drew attention to her curvy shape. Her vivacious, energetic presence.
No. She had no room for Lily in her life.
Chapter 6
The woman was impossible. Utterly cantankerous; a skinny string of bad-tempered misery. Not just a roadblock to her enjoyment of life in Grasstree Flat, but a wall that stretched as tall as it was wide. Freya was spying on her. There was no other explanation. Whenever Lily watered her tomato plants, Freya shook the lattice between their balconies and snarled that Lily was wetting her chairs—chairs Lily was positive hadn’t been there the day before. If she turned her music above a whisper, Freya banged on the wall for her to turn it down. She’d left a note on Lily’s car one morning accusing Lily of sabotaging her trade by not allowing her customers to park out front of the shop. The fact there were acres of street parking on either side of Lily’s small yellow car was apparently nothing to do with it.
Lily wasn’t deliberately trying to antagonise her neighbour; on the contrary, she was going out of her way to smooth the path. She’d copied down the timetable pinned to the noticeboard in the studio, and arranged
three classes of her own at times when the studio was vacant. Lily had left a note for Freya advising her of the times, and when she’d heard nothing after a couple of days, she’d made up flyers and posted them around town, including several on the noticeboard in the shared studio.
Then a terse note appeared under her door one morning, advising her that the early evening class she had scheduled for Tuesdays wasn’t acceptable as Freya ran a seniors’ yoga class that day. The note said it was a closed class and therefore wasn’t included on the timetable. She gave no apology for the inconvenience of the late notification, just the short unsigned note penned in a small, closed-in script.
Lily set her jaw, moved her class, and sent back a polite note thanking Freya for the notification and asking if she had any more classes not on the general schedule.
Her only answer was silence.
Lily sat on the couch on her balcony, feet up on the low table, sipping a glass of wine. Dorcas purred like a lawnmower in her lap. Lily stroked the cat from the top of her contented head down over her tea-cosy body to the base of her tail. Dorcas rumbled louder. Any second now, Lily expected Freya to tear down the flimsy lattice to accuse her of stealing her cat. It wasn’t her fault Dorcas came visiting, stalking daintily along the balcony railing to accept head rubs and pets from Lily.
But the adjoining flat was quiet. It was early evening. The sun still cleared the trees down the street, and a flock of rainbow lorikeets made their usual evening racket. A car door slammed, and two women in yoga pants and tunics walked towards the shared porch. Lily picked up the timetable that had so annoyed her. Ah yes, tonight was a beginners’ yoga class. One hour, all welcome. First class free.
Lily put down her glass. What if she went to that class? She had time right now to go inside, find a pair of leggings and a loose T-shirt, and go down and join the group. Freya could hardly throw her out, and maybe she would see it as a gesture of conciliation. Maybe.
Party Wall Page 4
