Party Wall

by Cheyenne Blue

  Carly poured more wine. “I keep thinking Freya will move on. Find someone to love again. But she’s rebuffed the people who tried. Janie, for example. Now, I think she just wants friends.”

  Friends. A couple of weeks ago, she too would have said being friends with Freya was enough. Now she wasn’t sure.

  Chapter 16

  The morning light streamed through the windows along the side of the studio as Freya led her pupils through the poses. If she were honest, this intermediate class was her favourite. Most of the pupils had been with her for at least a couple of years and had come up through her beginner classes. They were knowledgeable enough to require little direction, yet fresh enough that there was joy in their movements.

  And there was Lily.

  On the surface, Lily’s movements were as assured as the other women’s, her large body moving with grace and smoothness. She knew what she was doing, and her pleasure in the class was obvious. Freya’s gaze moved around the room. Remy had hurt her back in the café a few days before and her movements were jerky as she tried to compensate for the pain. Freya touched her hip, urging her into a better position. Miriam wobbled in eagle pose, and touched a toe to the floor to steady herself. A quick smile at her clumsiness and Miriam resumed.

  Freya reached the rear of the room and studied Lily. She, too, was in eagle pose, one bare foot hooked around the other calf, her hands wrapped around each other, level with her face. Her pose was rock solid, her face serene. Freya’s teeth clenched. How could Lily be so calm, so steady, when Freya’s own world was rocking so precariously?

  “Centre yourself,” she said, the words an abrupt snarl. She adjusted the position of Lily’s hands with unnecessary roughness.

  Lily moved her hands, but the twist of her mouth and her slow blink told their own tale.

  She was being unfair. Lily’s silent obedience sent a coil of shame into her belly. She was above such pettiness—or she tried to be. She returned to the front of the room and moved into king dancer pose, which was new to this group. As she looked around the room, at the wavering balance and ragged shapes in front of her, the twinge of shame grew. The only person holding an approximation of correct form was Lily. Their eyes met across the room, and the hint of a smile on Lily’s face broadened.

  Freya’s mouth snapped shut. She would not give Lily the satisfaction of correcting her hip position.

  If the class ended a few minutes early, no one called her on it. If Freya’s bowed head and namaste was more hurried than usual, no one commented. When the last of the class had departed, Freya turned back to the room with a sigh. Her shoulders slumped in relaxation, but the headache twinging at her temples continued to pound. She stood tall, and breathed relaxation into her body, seeking to regain the calm of the morning. Each breath poured equilibrium back into her mind. When she opened her eyes again, she came face-to-face with Lily’s dark gaze.

  They stared at each other, eyes locked, their breathing slowing, synchronising, until the rise and fall of their chests found a matched rhythm.

  “I thought you’d left.” Freya couldn’t look away, couldn’t break the connection that strung between them, fine as silver leaf, strong as steel.

  “I wanted to thank you for the class.” Lily’s words formed into the air with agonising slowness. “I enjoy your classes. You’re a good teacher.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you continue to attend.”

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

  Was there? If there was, it was only in Freya’s head.

  “No.”

  Lily moved closer, into Freya’s space, and lifted her fingers to twist a strand of Freya’s hair. “You’re avoiding me.”

  “I’m not.” Even as the words sounded, Freya recognised the lie.

  The corner of Lily’s mouth lifted in amusement, but she didn’t say anything.

  “You’re right. I was.”

  One of Lily’s fingers brushed Freya’s cheek as she curled the hair around again. “You don’t have to, you know. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I love…what we’re forming.”

  What were they forming? The ache in Freya’s head pulsed anew. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was wrong.”

  Lily’s eyes held kindness and understanding. “I disagree. It felt very right to me.” She took a tiny step forwards, and her fingers curved around the back of Freya’s neck. “It felt wonderful.” Her breath was warm on Freya’s lips.

  Freya’s breath was a shallow tide and her feet planted heavy on the floor. Sweat sheened her skin in the warm room.

  “It felt like this.”

  And then Lily’s lips touched hers, once, twice, light touches that were barely there, only enough to start the slow and lazy burn. Lily drew back and took a deep breath, and in a lightning bolt of knowledge, Freya knew she was going to kiss Lily again, really kiss her, a take-no-prisoners, all-or-nothing kiss. She inhaled sharply.

  The door banged and footsteps moved to the back of the room. “Don’t mind me.” Alicia, one of her pupils, darted to the bench. “Left my phone behind.”

  Freya’s cheeks heated and she took a step back. Her chin lifted, and she turned to say something to Alicia, but she had gone. The door banged a second time, this time behind her.

  “Don’t.” Lily’s fingers found hers. “Don’t retreat from me. Please.”

  “I have to go.” Freya straightened her tunic, worried the hem with her fingers.

  “Come to dinner with me. Later.”

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Please. I’ve grown used to eating with Carly. Now that she’s moved into her flat, it will be strange eating alone.”

  “All right, then.” The words came up unwillingly, but once said, the idea seemed pleasant.

  “Great.” Lily’s smile competed with the sunlight coming in through the wide doors. “Around seven?”

  She nodded.

  Climbing the stairs to Lily’s apartment had a familiarity to it, her feet automatically knowing the best place to step on the worn treads. Of course, she had come this way several times when Diane had run the veggie shop, but it was never to spend time in the evening, only for business matters, something that related to both their shops.

  She found Lily on the balcony. Dorcas in her lap. The cat purred, and looked up at her owner through half-closed eyes.

  “She appeared less than a minute ago.” Lily smiled up at Freya, even as she stroked the cat’s fur with her fingers. “She must have waited until you left before coming over.” Lily set Dorcas to one side. “Let me get you a glass of wine.”

  The balcony bore evidence of Carly’s whirlwind presence. Despite her now having moved into her own flat, a pair of her yoga pants was on the couch, some junk food packets and a couple of dog-eared self-help books on the table.

  Lily returned with the wine, and clinked glasses. “To us,” she said. “The wider us. Our friends, our shops.”

  Freya swallowed. She’d agreed to dinner, and with dinner, the expectation of moving forwards. But panic roiled. She wasn’t ready. Maybe she never would be. If she closed her eyes, Sarah was behind her closed lids. It was too fast, too soon. Would this terrible locking in her throat ever leave? She couldn’t say the words Lily wanted: to us—together. She sipped and put her glass down on the table to cover the silence.

  “I went to the animal shelter.” Lily looked across to where Dorcas stretched out on more than half the couch. “I’ve signed the papers to adopt a mature cat. There were lots of sweet kittens, but I fell in love with Mabel. She was all by herself in a cage, hiding underneath one of the perches. The shelter staff said she’d belonged to someone who’d died, and none of the family were able to take her. I couldn’t pass her up. She eventually came over to me when I coaxed, but she looked so sad. She’s used t
o other cats, so I hope Dorcas and she will get along.”

  “When does she arrive?”

  “It might be a few days. The shelter vet wants to be sure she’s healthy before releasing her for adoption. She’s the cutest little grey-and-white cat. Very small.”

  “I’ll keep Dorcas indoors for a couple of days when she arrives. That way Mabel can get used to the balcony and surrounds without Dorcas landing on top of her.”

  “Thanks. That’s a kind thought.” Lily gestured to the living area. “I’m just going to do a couple of things in the kitchen. Come and talk to me if you want.”

  Freya followed Lily into her compact kitchen and perched on a stool, watching as Lily sliced tomatoes and avocado for salad. “I missed Carly at yoga this morning. Have you seen her?”

  “She only moved into her flat yesterday. I haven’t seen it; she was adamant she would do it by herself. Well, her and a removal van. I was giving her some space. She’s rather lived in my pocket the last few days.”

  “She invited me around for coffee tomorrow. Are you going?”

  “No. I’ve got my sexuality class later that day, and I’m behind in preparing for it, so I said some other time.”

  “Is Carly still attending?”

  “She said she would.” Lily slanted her a sideways glance. “There’s room in the class if you want to attend. Tomorrow, we’re going to be diarising as expression.”

  “I run a similar class already.” Her words were stiff. Every time she talked with Lily, Lily seemed to encroach more insidiously into her space, her area of expertise.

  “This is sexual expression. Anything people find difficult to say out aloud. Whether it’s individual words, or a fantasy, or even a difficult experience they want to express so as to relieve the burden. People can write it down, share if they are comfortable with that, or else take it home. Maybe even burn it to free themselves from the experience.” Lily put down the knife and smiled at Freya across the counter. “You are welcome to come, Freya. If you want. It’s a form of letting go.”

  The additional words of Sarah hung in the air.

  Freya’s gaze slid away, around the cosy kitchen. It wasn’t the first time someone had suggested something like this. The counsellor she’d seen after Sarah’s death, her friends: they had all suggested some version of sharing.

  “If you want to move on.” Lily looked down at the tomato.

  Freya’s nails dug into her palm. The presumption in the sentence wormed under her skin where it nicked and pricked like a sandfly.

  “I’ll pass, thanks. I don’t think I would benefit.”

  Lily studied her, as if calculating the best response. Then she grinned. “Aw, c’mon, Freya. It could be fun. It’s not all sombre seriousness. There’s a couple of people who take the light-hearted approach every time.” She leant forwards. “Between you and me, I suspect their secrets are buried too deep to come out in a semi-public setting, even one as supportive as my class, but that’s okay.”

  “Thanks, but no.” She picked up a cracker, and spread it with the dip Lily had placed on the table. “This is good. Did you make it?”

  “Yes. It’s a recipe Inga used to make all the time. Just one of the good things to come from that relationship. What did you take away from your relationship with Sarah?”

  Freya’s eyebrows lowered at the casual familiarity. “Cashew nuts, rocket, olive oil, pepper… What else is in this dip?”

  “Tofu and lemon juice. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t wish to. Not everyone wants to shout their secrets to the sky. Not everyone is comfortable doing that. And not everyone wants to move on. Life isn’t made up of cookie-cutter pieces that all fit together. There isn’t a way forwards that everyone has to take, and that includes your bloody class.” Her teeth ached from grinding them, and her throat was thick—with anger or tears, she couldn’t tell. Right now, they were one and the same.

  Lily’s face washed clean like the morning after a storm. She tilted her head to one side. “No. But having someone to talk to can be good.”

  “I have friends to talk to. I don’t need a bloody class of giggling women.”

  “Then talk to your friends. Carly is as closed as a clam when you come up, but I get the impression you don’t talk to her. Nor Remy.”

  Her lips pressed together and she tasted blood. “You are not my counsellor. You and your damn class.”

  “You’re scared.” Lily busied her hands with the knife, turning it over in her fingers. “That’s okay; it’s not easy.”

  “Leave me alone. Stay away. Stop interfering. I don’t need you or your help.”

  Lily radiated calm. “I will. If that’s what you want. But only after you’ve come to one of my classes. Fair play, Freya. I come to yoga—”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “No. But on so many levels, I wish you would come. You’re my neighbour. You’ve yet to give me an answer on running a sex-and-yoga class together. Come along and call it research, if anyone asks you. Or I’ll say that’s why you’re there. Or come because you think it might help you in some way. None of my other ladies are afraid to admit that. You can too. It’s helped me in the past; I think it can help you.”

  “I don’t need any help. And if I did, I’d go to a professional.”

  “But you don’t go.”

  “Because I am happy with my life. You got over your heartbreak by becoming this free sexual being, or whatever you call yourself. No worries. I’m not judging you for that. But that’s not what I will do. Or want to do.” She stood. “This conversation is at an end. Thank you for the wine. Keep dinner. I don’t want it.”

  Lily stood, too, so that they were eye-to-eye, the counter between them. “One class. Call it research. Call it what you damn well want. One class, and then if you don’t like it, I’ll leave you alone.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  Soft clucking noises issued from Lily’s throat.

  Freya turned away and stalked to the top of the stairs. “And stay away from my cat!”

  Chapter 17

  Lily hadn’t expected Freya to turn up to the class. After the challenges she’d thrown at her during their aborted dinner, Lily had expected Freya to retreat to the sanctuary of her shop, her flat, and yoga. But when she entered the studio, Freya was already there, slightly apart from the other women, sitting as stiffly as it was possible to do in a beanbag. A ring-bound notebook and pen rested on her lap.

  Lily nodded to everyone, and reminded them about the tea, coffee, and soft drinks at the back. She glanced about her. Nine women. It was about five more than she’d hoped to get when she’d first floated the idea of this class. Remy, Carly, Janie, and other women from the town, most of them in their thirties or older. And Freya.

  She kept herself apart, avoiding eye contact and replying to her friends’ comments in monosyllables. Carly went and plopped in the beanbag next to her, forcing Freya to squish over. Carly slung an arm over Freya’s shoulders and whispered something in her ear. If anything, Freya tensed even more.

  “Writing.” Lily smiled around the room. “It’s your brain to the pen or keyboard. There’s nothing in between. Many writers say there’s a special connection to their fingers that bypasses conscious thought. They might look back on a piece of writing and wonder where it came from as they don’t remember the process of putting the words down. This class is all about letting go of the filters that stop your voice. Sometimes, by getting those words out, you can make them reality—or let them go. But acknowledging them is the first step.”

  The women shuffled and there was a high-pitched giggle from Remy, abruptly silenced.

  “No one will read what you write here, unless you choose to share it. No one. Not me. Not the woman next to you. This communion is
between you and the page—or laptop.”

  “I’ve tried this.” Janie piped up from where she sat at a table, her tablet in front of her. “And every time I end up staring at a blank screen, my mind a fizzing mess of nothing.”

  “You don’t have to find the perfect sentence to start with. Sometimes, just the act of writing starts the process. You can start with a grocery list if you want and let it morph into wherever it takes you.”

  Carly heaved herself from the beanbag and went over to sit with her back to the wall. “I’ll get started. I’ve got a lot to process.”

  The class fell quiet. Lily walked around, standing close to each woman in turn. Far enough away that she was clearly respecting their privacy, but near enough that they could ask a question if they wanted. Her own notebook and pen, resting open on her desk upstairs, tickled at her mind. She had tried this exercise herself. The single page of doodles and embellishments around a single name told their own story.

  She wiped clean her own obsessive thoughts, and concentrated on her class. Eight of the nine women were busy writing, or typing fast on a laptop. The ninth woman sat frozen and apart, her gaze remote.

  Lily went over and squatted near the beanbag. “Try and clear your mind. Then when you are centred, visualise one word that encapsulates what you want to write about. It could be a name, a heading, a trigger word.”

  Freya nodded, her movement a jerky up and down. Her fingers clenched on the pen but didn’t move.

  “Try closing your eyes.” Lily moved closer, enough that she could see the blank page in front of Freya.

  Freya shot her a glance but remained silent.

  “What do you think is stopping the flow?” Lily knelt and clasped her hands on her own thighs.

  Freya’s look lanced her with scorn. “What do you think? I didn’t want to come in the first place.”