Party Wall

by Cheyenne Blue

  “Freya too.” Carly’s voice held an edge of panic. “Please, Frey, will you stay as well? You’re my best friend; I would feel better if you stayed too. You’re so calm, so reassuring.”

  “There isn’t another bed, Carly. You know that.”

  “Lily has a king-size bed. That’s big enough for all of us. Please. I’ll sleep in the middle—I’d prefer that anyway.”

  “That’s not up to me. This is Lily’s living space, Lily’s bed. She may not want—”

  “That’s okay with me. It’s up to you, Freya, if you’re comfortable with the idea.”

  Freya glanced from Lily, enigmatic Lily, with an inscrutable expression on her face, to Carly, wide-eyed and frantic. The idea felt wrong. She hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since Sarah died. Only Dorcas, and sometimes she felt as though even the cat took up too much space. It had been three years now, and every night she stretched out in her double bed alone, relishing the cool feel of the sheets, of the space that was all hers. But this was for Carly; and if it would help Carly to relax, maybe sleep a little, she could do it. “I’ll nip home and get ready for bed and come back.”

  “I’ll leave the door on the latch for you,” Lily said.

  Back in her own flat, Freya brushed her teeth, washed her face, and changed into her flannel pyjamas. The night was humid, and she would doubtless be too warm, but they were the least revealing of all her nightwear. She didn’t want to inadvertently touch skin, or impinge upon Carly’s space in skimpier clothing.

  She looked at her face in the mirror as she subdued her wild hair with a bandana so it wouldn’t tickle Carly. This wasn’t ideal, but she would do it. For her friend.

  Chapter 14

  Lily and Carly were already in bed when the front door closed quietly. Lily turned onto her side, facing the bedroom door. Carly lay on her back in the middle of the bed, one hand behind her head. Her eyes were open and she stared fixedly at the ceiling.

  “Okay?” Lily asked her quietly. “If this is going to be uncomfortable for you, you can say.”

  “No.” Carly’s voice was choked, the word guttural. “Please stay.”

  Freya’s slight silhouette appeared in the doorway, and she moved to the bed, raised the sheet, and slid in. She, too, turned on her side, facing the middle. Carly lay rigidly in the centre, her limbs tight to her body. There was plenty of room.

  Lily rested a hand on Carly’s shoulder. “I’ll turn the light out now. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  The curtains were half-open, and enough light came through the window from the star-filled night. It was quiet outside; Grasstree Flat wasn’t a town for noise. A car passed down the main street; a night bird chattered, a dog barked and was swiftly hushed. Lily left her hand resting on Carly’s arm so Carly could feel the warmth and support. Freya, too, had elected to sleep facing Carly, and the two of them bracketed their friend like bookends. Lily brought up her knees, careful not to jab Carly with them, closed her eyes, and tried to relax.

  Sleeping three to a bed was strange. Lily had only ever done that once before, and that was in her wilder, younger days when three to a bed wasn’t for comfort, but for a lot more exciting things. She dragged in a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to revisit that particular scenario, not when she was sharing a bed with her straight and suffering friend, and her antagonistic neighbour.

  Freya. Even with her eyes closed, Lily could picture Freya facing her. Her face would be gentler in sleep; those sharp angles and planes, those edges Freya seemed to wrap herself in, would soften as she relaxed. Would Freya’s body be lines of tendon and bone, or were there softness and slight curves underneath her clothes? Freya was like whipcord: slim to the point of skinniness. She had an appetite like a bird, eating sparingly of most things.

  Freya wasn’t conventionally attractive, but she had a crackling energy, a vibrancy, about her that made looking away hard for Lily. She tried, and she often succeeded, but if she had a reason to look—the yoga class was perfect—then Freya drew her eye.

  But Freya was out of the dating game, and Lily respected that. She would never ask Freya out, never kiss her after a yoga class, never pin her small body against the wall of her shop and press her own more luxuriant curves against Freya’s slight ones.

  A pity.

  Lily’s eyes opened again, to steal one more glance at Freya. She’d expected to find her sleeping, but Freya’s eyes were open and their gazes connected. Freya’s cool eyes appraised her, no doubt taking in her messy hair and the faded T-shirt she slept in. Lily focused on Freya’s face, not allowing her gaze to drop lower, down the slender throat, where a pulse beat slow and steady against her skin. She would not look lower, down to where the collar of flannel pyjamas—too thick for such a warm night—twisted down, exposing prominent collarbones. She most definitely wouldn’t look further, to the slight swell of Freya’s small breasts. She wouldn’t—but she did.

  Her gaze snapped back to Freya’s face. She’d been sprung; Freya was watching Lily’s face, had obviously seen where her wandering gaze had travelled. Lily’s lips opened, the words I’m sorry forming in her throat. But Freya merely blinked, a slight smile on her lips. Without a word, she turned over and Lily saw only the rise and fall of her thin shoulders. With a sigh, she rolled onto her back and tried to sleep.

  Despite her breathing routine, it took a while for Freya to fall asleep. The room was warm, both from the night air and the unaccustomed heat of extra bodies in the bed. She pushed the sheet down around her waist. The thick pyjamas were a mistake. Careful not to disturb the sleeping woman next to her, she worked the top up revealing a strip of skin to the movement of air from the ceiling fan. Her skin still radiated heat; when she put her palm on her belly, it was hot and damp. No. It was more than that. A heat built inside her that had nothing to do with the warm room. A rising of warmth, stealing up from her core into her belly. A twisting spiral that started between her legs and rose, spreading like smoke through her torso. She tried to subdue it, this unwelcome stranger, this physical reaction she hadn’t let into her life for a long time. Three years. Not since Sarah had died.

  Freya rolled onto her back again, trying not to disturb Carly next to her. It was surely the alcohol that had put Carly to sleep, but a snoring Carly was better than an awake and crying one. Freya pulled her top higher so her entire belly was exposed nearly to her breasts. Sweat prickled her skin, a sheen of dampness that made the thick cloth heavy and sticky. But still the feelings grew. Unfamiliar after so long without, but undeniable.

  Want. Need. Desire. Lust.

  All the things she had put out of her life for so long came together now in one shaft of heat that pulsed through her.

  Lily had done that to her. One look from her huge dark eyes, one sleepy glance from under lowered lashes across Carly’s recumbent form, and Freya was lost. Suddenly, she was as helpless in the face of it as a hormone-crazed baby dyke at her first gay bar. The urge to reach over and touch Lily’s cheek, press her palm to that smoothness nearly overwhelmed her. She clenched her fingers onto her pyjama top.

  As if sensing Freya’s discomfort, Lily turned her head. She blinked, and her lips parted into the slightest of smiles. Freya’s breath seemed caught in her throat, moving only in the shallowest tide. The heat of Lily’s gaze licked over Freya’s face, dropped lower as if drawn by wire. But then Lily closed her eyes momentarily, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her face was wiped clean of expression, and her eyes were fixed on Freya’s face.

  But the heat. The flick of fire Lily had tamped in herself transferred itself to Freya, flickered over her skin, fed by the dark eyes locked on her, until Freya was as hot within as without. She willed herself to break the look, to turn away, sever this fine-strung connection that had leapt into existence between them, but she couldn’t. Each indrawn breath was shallower and sh
allower until Freya thought she might faint.

  Then Carly twitched and the light jerk of her leg against Freya’s gave her the impetus she needed. Her lips twitched into a faint smile before she rolled over to face the wall. But she still couldn’t sleep. Her breathing exercises failed her and the room was too hot, too claustrophobic. She alternately cursed Carly for putting her in this situation and projected feelings of love and warmth and healing at her friend.

  Sometime later, in the thick darkness of night, Carly jerked to a sitting position and flung back the sheet.

  “I’m on fire. I need air.” She shuffled down the bed, knocking Freya and Lily in the process, and crawled off the end.

  The window was already part open, but Carly went over and heaved it up as high as it would go. The outside air was warm, but there was a slight breeze. Freya raised on one elbow, blinking sleepily.

  On the other side of the bed, Lily rolled over. “Whattimeisit?” The numbers shone on the bedside clock. Around three in the morning.

  Carly turned to face them. “I’m going to pee. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep.” The bedroom door closed behind her.

  Freya settled back into the bed. “Go to sleep, she says. After her cyclonic exit, she expects us to sleep?”

  Lily’s gaze settled on Freya’s face with a strange intensity. “I was dreaming about you.” She propped her head on her hand and continued to stare.

  Freya tried to smile, but Lily’s compelling gaze had a sombre effect. “Understandable.” She tried for a breezy effect, but the word came out stilted. “Things are strange tonight.” Lily’s presence was doing strange things to her. Maybe it was being in her bed—lying on her sheets, surrounded by the warmth and intimacy of the bedroom—maybe it was just the woman herself. All her earlier desires rushed back, not slowly, finger by finger, but in a tidal surge that picked her up and dropped her on some further shore, where things like want and need and lust were not shunned. A shore she had not visited in a very long time.

  And Lily was looking at her in a way that invited exploration. Dark-eyed, slumberous, with a sensual lethargy. Freya exhaled a long draught. She should turn away, go back to sleep. She could make an excuse of finding Carly—who was taking a very long time to pee. She should put Lily down with a cutting comment of fine sarcasm.

  But she didn’t. “What was I doing in your dream?” Was that her voice, so thick with desire, so low, an invitation in every heavy word?

  “I kissed you.” Lily didn’t break the gaze. “Just once. It was good.”

  “Did I enjoy it? Did you?”

  “Yes.” Lily didn’t elaborate.

  A beat of excitement pulsed in Freya’s chest and spread like a shot of brandy to her belly. Before reason could take hold, before she could talk herself out of it, she reached over the expanse of bed Carly had previously occupied. Her fingers traced Lily’s upper arm, her neck, her chin, to settle on her lips. Lily’s lips parted under Freya’s fingers, and her breath warmed the tips. Freya’s body followed her fingers, and she moved over the mattress until there was no space between them.

  “Was it like this?” she asked, and then she kissed her.

  The surprised puff of Lily’s breath warmed her mouth, and Lily’s lips yielded under hers. Freya traced their shape with the tip of her tongue, slightly bemused that Lily wasn’t kissing her back. She pressed harder, and then Lily was kissing her back, her mouth opening under Freya’s, tongues meeting, her breath hot and sweet, her skin smooth.

  Desire slammed into her like a runaway truck. This was the first woman she’d kissed in passion since Sarah, and the memory of lovemaking crashed through her. She shifted closer still, and her fingers entwined in Lily’s hair.

  The flush of the toilet permeated her mind. Carly. How could she have forgotten? Freya stiffened and pulled back. When Carly came back into the bedroom, the gap between Freya and Lily was a gulf between them.

  Without a word, Carly slid back into bed from the foot. She lay on her back and her breath juddered as she said, “Frey? You awake?”

  “We’re both awake.” Lily sat up and turned on the bedside light.

  Any self-recrimination Freya might otherwise have felt was lost in the face of Carly’s misery.

  None of them slept again that night. Instead, they rose and sat outside on Lily’s balcony trying to comfort Carly and work out a plan of action. By the time the dawn pushed rosy fingers over the horizon, Freya was reeling with tiredness and the last thing she wanted was to teach her early yoga class.

  “Go.” Lily gave her a gentle push in the direction of the door. “I’ll stay with Carly. And we’ll talk later, you and me, yes?”

  She nodded. She still had to process the events of the small hours, to mull over what had caused her to act so uncharacteristically—and to figure out her mental strategies so she could be sure it wouldn’t happen again.

  Chapter 15

  Lily’s gaze kept drifting to the door, her ears alert for the sound of quiet footsteps on the worn boards. She heard the light laughter and murmur of voices as women left the yoga class, and her senses snapped up a notch. She went out to the balcony to see the women get into their cars, or saunter off along the street. Freya was not with them. Hopefully, she would now return. She would come back for Carly, if not for Lily.

  Memories of last night’s kiss wound around the pathways in her head. A dream Freya kissing her. The real Freya, eyes intent on Lily’s face, the soft touch of Freya’s fingers on her shoulders, and then the bite of those same fingers into her flesh as dream and reality merged in an unexpected glorious fusion.

  Freya had kissed her.

  She glanced across at Carly sitting on the couch, pretending to read a magazine. The whole evening had had a hazy unreality to it. Carly, Andy. Andy’s unfounded accusations, and Carly’s truthful ones—of that she was sure. And Freya. It all came down to Freya.

  The kiss they had shared pushed into her mind once more. Would it be repeated, or would Freya run scared? Lily’s money was on the second—at least for now.

  She glanced at the door once more. It was still stubbornly closed.

  To distract herself as much as to support a friend, she bustled around her flat, keeping up a stream of chatter, making cups of tea and providing food for Carly, most of which she pushed aside without touching. The absence of footsteps ascending the stairs spurred her anxiety. Maybe Freya had gone to catch an hour’s sleep before opening the shop. Lily smothered a yawn and glanced longingly in the direction of her bedroom with the big bed, still rumpled from the previous night.

  Like most shops, Lily only opened in the mornings on Saturdays, so when nine rolled around, she left Carly on the couch staring at the TV and went to open up. Business was quiet, and few customers came by. Every time the tinkle of Indian chimes sounded from the shop next door, her eyes snapped to her own door, and she wondered if Freya was coming in to see her. But at two, when she closed and bolted the door and went back upstairs, there had been no sign of her neighbour.

  Lily sighed. What was she expecting? That she and Freya would now fall into a relationship—girlfriends, partners, a U-Haul? Lily snorted. At least the U-Haul was unnecessary. The memory of the kiss burned behind her eyelids. She shouldn’t have responded when Freya kissed her. Maybe she’d been too intense, too much too soon. But, she argued, Freya kissed her. She hadn’t broken her promise not to pressure Freya into something she didn’t want. She hadn’t. Even if it felt like she had.

  Carly was still curled on the couch when she came back upstairs later. Lily sat and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey, how you doing?”

  Carly held up her mobile. “Andy called. I didn’t answer. I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say. Without you and Freya to back me up, I’d probably have caved and gone trotting home.”

  Lily stroked Carly’s hair. Even
her curls were limp. “Do you want to go home?”

  “I don’t know. Yes. No. I want everything to be as it was.” Her voice ended on an upwards keen.

  “It can’t be, Carly. Even if you go back, even if he isn’t sleeping with Kim, you’ll always have this between you now.”

  “I know.” Tears leaked from Carly’s eyes, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “He is sleeping with her, though. I know it.”

  “Then you have to decide if you want to fight for him.”

  Carly sniffed. “I thought both you and Frey would tell me to leave him. That’s what Freya would do. What about you?”

  She chose her words carefully. “I don’t think anyone can say with certainty what they’d do in a situation until it happens to them.”

  “But it did happen to you. Inga left you for the winemaker.”

  “That was a bit different. Inga didn’t hide anything. Nor did she get together sexually with Cait until after we had split.”

  “You let her go. You didn’t fight. Why not?”

  Lily managed a ghost of a smile. “I did. At first, anyway. I sat down and made a list of everything that had fallen apart between us, and how I could make it right.”

  “That sounds like something Freya would do.”

  “It was a long list: house cleaning, the intrusion of social media, our working hours and goals—even how we cooked and ate. I like a meal to be an occasion, prepared and cooked with love, eaten with full attention. Inga is a grazer—she nibbles throughout the day.”

  “Surely that wasn’t a marriage breaker?”

  “No, but it was one of many things.” Lily lifted Carly’s feet so she could sit back in the couch, then lowered them into her lap and rubbed them absently. “But when it came down to it, I’d ignored the warning signs for too long. And then it was too little, too late. Inga had moved on, in her mind at least. When I realised that, I had to let her go.”