Party Wall

by Cheyenne Blue

  Conscious of the nearby women, she kept her voice low. Soothing. “Why did you come, then?”

  Freya turned the pen end to end. “Carly made me.”

  “You don’t strike me as someone who does anything simply because someone else persuades you. You’re here now. Why don’t you try. Let it all flow.” She placed her hand over Freya’s, stilling the jerky movement on the pen. She prised first one, then the rest of her fingers loose and took it. After turning Freya’s pad to face her, she wrote one word in block letters on the top: Sarah.

  Freya’s breath hissed. “You presume to tell me what I should do?” Her eyes narrowed to slits, like Dorcas focused on a cockroach.

  “No. It’s only a suggestion.” She took the pad again and wrote another word: Lily.

  Freya’s laughter grated harshly. “Dream on.”

  “I won’t read it.”

  “You won’t get the chance.” Freya snatched the pen back and started scribbling on the page. Words formed and flew from her pen. “Isn’t there anyone else who requires your assistance?”

  Lily stood. The dismissive glance that came her way warmed her. A reaction, that was what she wanted and that was what she had got. She paced over to where Carly sat against the wall, muttering under her breath.

  Freya was participating, albeit unwillingly. She glanced back to where Freya sat. As if her gaze had touched her, Freya’s head came up and her gaze locked on Lily. The grey eyes were distant, as if revisiting another place, or another time. There was a softness in them, one Lily had seldom seen.

  The heaviness in her chest caught her by surprise. Of course, Freya was reminiscing about Sarah: beautiful, perfect Sarah, who even though she had passed three years ago, still held sway on Freya’s emotions.

  What would it take to get Freya to look at her, Lily, like that?

  She turned away. Probably nothing on this earth.

  Lily allowed twenty minutes of writing time. Although she watched everyone, one eye on the clock, her gaze kept drifting back to Freya. Her head was bent, and pages covered with a neat, tight hand rested beside her.

  When the allocated time had passed, Lily cleared her throat. “Time’s up. Gather up your things and come back to the front.”

  Her attention was taken by Remy who, in standing, dropped her notebook. Loose-leaf paper flew everywhere. When Lily next cast her glance around the room, Freya had gone. She had vanished as softly as early mist on the river.

  “What did you all take from those last few minutes?” she asked. “Who wants to start?”

  Carly followed her up to the flat after class without an invitation. Lily put the kettle on and turned to study her friend. Carly’s face was pinched, and despite the relaxation of the previous hour, tension radiated from her. Lily made coffee and pushed the sugar bowl closer.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  Carly’s lips twisted in an approximation of a smile and her eyes were bleak. “Okay, I guess. Andy won’t let me into the house. He claims I need to call first before I come around. It’s half my house, Lil. At least the bit the bank doesn’t own. That has to count for something.”

  “It does.” Lily busied her hands with her own mug. “Your contribution to the home may not have been monetary, but it was a major one.”

  “I don’t think he’s seeing Kim any more, though. The tracker is still working in his car—he can’t have found it—and his car hasn’t been at her house now for a few days. Not that that really means much. There are other places: desks, office kitchens, the park, the beach…”

  A mental image of Andy ripping his car into pieces to look for the tiny device made Lily smile.

  “Have you talked? Really talked?”

  “He shouts and I snipe. Is that talking?”

  “Not for this purpose.”

  Carly pushed her mug to one side and dug the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “I want him back. I know, you don’t need to tell me. I’ve heard it all from so many people. Once a cheater, always a cheater. I’ll never be able to trust him again. We’ll have the baby we’ve been trying for and he’ll leave me high and dry, with a big baby belly and a ruined body, and he’ll be back eating in fancy restaurants with Kim, whilst I beg him for child support.”

  “Would he do that?”

  Carly’s words were muffled by her hands. “I wouldn’t have said so. Before. Andy was the nicest guy. Caring. Considerate. He loved me, I’m sure of that. It’s only the last few months that he’s been distant.”

  Lily was silent. This wasn’t something she could do for Carly.

  “I know, you don’t need to tell me how stupid I am, wanting him back. I get that from everyone else. Freya—”

  “Freya?” The word was sharp.

  “Oh, she hasn’t told me I’m batshit insane, hasn’t lectured me about becoming a strong and independent woman. She doesn’t need to. She’s been nothing but supportive of my choices. But I know, deep inside, that’s what she’s thinking. Because that’s how she is. At least, that’s how she wants to be: a woman who needs no one. But I wish she wasn’t like that. I’d love to see her in love again. Happier.” She blinked. “When did we get to talking about Freya?”

  “I’m not going to tell you you’re stupid.” Lily couldn’t think about Carly’s later words. “But I am going to tell you that you need something from Andy before going back to him. Some sign of remorse, of willingness to change.”

  “I know. So that it doesn’t just return to how it was: me at home, him whooping it up with Kim.”

  The evening stretched long and introspective in front of Lily. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

  “Do you mind? I was going to ask you if I could stay over. I don’t think I’m the sort of person who can live alone. That flat of mine seems so lonely, so sad. Creepy even.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Thanks. I’ll sleep on the couch if you want your bed to yourself.”

  Lily stood and moved over to the fridge. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  “Thank you. I drove over. My overnight bag is in the car.” Her expression was sheepish. “I presumed it would be okay to stay. I’d ask Freya, but I think she needs some space after your class.” She grinned, a spontaneous expression that was nearly back to her old self. “Freya can be scary sometimes.”

  Lily pictured Freya’s fierceness, her antagonism, and her willingness to stand with a friend. “You’re right.” But the softer Freya intruded. The caring person, the serene and grounded woman. The lover?

  Right now, that seemed too big a leap.

  Lily didn’t come to yoga the next morning. Although the other women were there, the room felt empty without her colourful presence at the back. Freya missed her curvy shape, in bright leggings and oversized T-shirt, performing the poses with an innate grace and calm.

  Lily skipped the next class too, and the one after that. When Lily had started attending, Freya figured she’d last a week, two at the max. But it was months, not weeks, now, and Lily had seldom skipped. Freya knew Lily hadn’t gone away. Her shop still opened punctually at nine, and she heard the occasional snatch of salsa through the wall in the evening.

  Freya ticked off the attendees each class, and when four days had gone by with blank boxes by Lily’s name, there was only one conclusion: Lily was avoiding her.

  She missed her. Missed her rich chuckle as she exchanged a word with one of the other women, missed the way her eyes fluttered closed as her chest rose and fell with the rhythmic, slow breaths of meditation. And she missed the pleasure of her full body moving with a practiced flexibility that put many of the younger, slimmer women to shame. She missed, too, the way her breasts pressed against the T-shirt, and the soft curve of her lips in an upwards arc. Lily always looked like she was smiling, even when her face was
relaxed and soft.

  Then Carly skipped a class. Freya had seen her a couple of nights before. They’d gone for a walk along the river in the relative cool of evening. And then they’d gone back to Carly’s new flat, which was simply furnished with mismatched pieces from the op shop, as if Carly was yet to believe it was home. Carly had skated over the question of how she was settling in. She hadn’t said she wouldn’t be at yoga, nor had she said she wouldn’t make breakfast. Freya went along to the Green House anyway and ate a solitary bowl of chia-and-pecan porridge.

  “What, no more buckwheat pancakes?” Remy said, and Freya shook her head.

  She returned home earlier than usual. With no Carly to chat with, dragging it out seemed pointless. Back in her own flat, she put on the kettle, and heard the laughter through the shared wall. Laughter and voices: Lily’s and Carly’s. It sounded as if they were having breakfast.

  Without her.

  Her lips pressed together, and the groundswell of loneliness pushed into her chest. Boundaries and alliances had been formed, and she was on the outside. Her flat was an empty echo of her life.

  “When did it become this way, Sarah?” she addressed the woman in the mural. Sarah’s painted lips remained in the same soft curve. Freya went over to the wall and placed her fingertips on the heart and throat chakras of Sarah’s image. She closed her eyes and focused on her fingertips, willing a connection. But there was no comfort from the painted figure. She dropped her hand and turned away. Her fingertips throbbed, but not from the touch on the wall, but with the memory of warm flesh. Lily.

  Without waiting for the kettle, she fed Dorcas and went down to the shop early. She had stock to unpack. Maybe she could try a new window display.

  There was no yoga the next morning. Freya sat on her balcony with a cup of hot water and lemon, Dorcas on her knee. A soft thud sounded, and a grey-and-white cat leapt down from the rail and approached. It was small, tiny really. Dorcas watched the newcomer and let out a soft meow, welcome or protest Freya couldn’t tell. The little kitty climbed onto the couch next to Freya, and put tentative paws on her leg.

  “Well, hello.” She rubbed the cat’s head and smiled as it arched up in expectation of more.

  The cat jumped down and stalked off, tail quivering, to explore inside Freya’s apartment.

  “Mabel… Where are you?” Lily’s voice sounded through the wall.

  Then Carly’s. “She can’t be far. Maybe she’s hiding under furniture.” There was the thump of something being dragged. “Nope, not under the bed. That’s where she was last time.”

  Lily’s voice came closer. “Carly, the balcony door is open. She must have got out.”

  Carly’s tones were worried as she replied, “She’s never been out there before. What if she’s fallen over the rail?”

  “She’s a cat. They always land right-side up.”

  “But she’s so little.”

  Freya looked at the cat, now on her counter sniffing the teabags. She scooped her up and the little cat settled into her arms and started purring. With Mabel clinging to her T-shirt, she went out to the balcony. “Lily?”

  There was no answer. Lily and Carly were talking inside the flat.

  She thought about putting Mabel back on Lily’s side of the balcony and trusting she’d find her own way back. But what if she did fall or escape? With a sigh, she headed downstairs to Lily’s door and rang the bell. There was a clatter on the stairs and the door was flung open. Carly stood there.

  “You’ve found her! Oh, the poor little darling.” She reached out and took Mabel. “Come in, Frey. Lily will be delighted. We hadn’t seen her since last night. Where was she?”

  “She appeared on my side of the balcony this morning.”

  “Come on up.” Carly turned away, the cat in her arms.

  “Thanks, but I need to keep moving.”

  Carly paused on the stairs and turned around to face her. “Oh, that’s a shame. Not even time for a cuppa?”

  “No.” Freya hesitated, then the words came in a rush. “Where were you yesterday? I didn’t know you weren’t coming to yoga.”

  Carly’s glance strayed up the stairs, and then she came back down. “I couldn’t face it. All the people. I know everyone means well, but I keep seeing the sympathy in their eyes. I’m sorry, Frey, I should have called to let you know.”

  “Is everything okay?” She kept her eyes firmly on Mabel, now clinging to Carly’s bosom.

  Carly dropped her face to snuggle into Mabel’s fur. “No. Not really. Andy’s being a total dick. He changed the locks on the house so I can’t get in. I used to go when he wasn’t there, get more clothes, pantry items, small things like books.”

  Freya frowned. “He can’t do that.”

  “You don’t need to tell me. But he has.”

  “Would you like me to come with you to demand a key?”

  “I don’t know what I want, to be honest. I stayed here the last few nights. My new flat just seemed so unwelcoming, I didn’t want to be there.”

  That selfish pang again, the one that was slighted that Carly had gone to Lily, instead of her. She should be happy Carly had friends she could stay with.

  “You’re welcome to stay with me anytime.” She found Carly’s fingers where they clutched Mabel to her chest and gave a gentle squeeze.

  “I know. Thank you.”

  Mabel wiggled and flexed her claws against Carly’s T-shirt. Carly yelped. “I better take our escape artist home before she makes another break for it.” She kissed Freya on the cheek and then took the stairs two at a time, the wriggling cat in her arms.

  Freya pulled the door closed and turned away to her own door.

  She thought about texting Carly to see if she was coming to yoga the next morning, but she put her mobile down, the text unsent. Carly was a big girl; she didn’t need the reminder. But the next morning, the class was emptier without Lily’s presence, and Carly too was missing.

  She sent her a text when yoga was over: breakfast?

  There was no immediate reply. She tidied the yoga room. Lily’s class was the next scheduled use, and so, on an impulse, she arranged the room in the configuration Lily used. This would be the first class since she’d left so precipitously. Freya sat heavily in one of the beanbags. This would be where she’d sit if she went. Lily would be at the front of the room, a compelling, positive figure.

  Freya hadn’t thought about the class since she’d fled. Every time she saw the crumpled sheets of her writing on her kitchen counter, her gaze flitted away. She couldn’t bring herself to read what she’d written. She should. The anger and haze of that time was a blur in her mind and she had no idea—none—as to what she’d find on the page. The memories in her head were of Lily taunting her, of her hand moving over the white page until it was covered in her neat, tight writing. The feeling that had generated was one of relief. It was out. Out in the air, in the world, committed to paper. As the words flowed, moment by moment the pain and tightness left her chest. It was about Sarah, that much she remembered, about love and loss and letting go. But the specifics of the words, what they would mean to her life going forwards—they eluded her. Only their vibration in her heart remained.

  Lily had done that. Encouraged, cajoled, goaded until the dam wall burst. Freya should attend the class; it would be the honourable thing to do. A recognition of her transformation.

  But she hadn’t seen Lily since.

  She clenched her fist on her knee. How dare she? How dare Lily shove her out onto the open ground, her feelings raw and exposed and new and then abandon her? Ignore her?

  Her phone vibrated with a text message, but it wasn’t Carly. It was, of all people, Janie wondering if she felt like meeting for lunch.

  Janie? The spurt of anger surged again. Had Lily directed her unwanted woul
d-be partner to try her luck with Freya again?

  She left the message unanswered and went through her shop to the shared entrance. She’d paused at her door to turn her sign to Welcome, Friend when the voices made her hesitate. Carly and Lily.

  Freya waited, her hand on the sign. Their voices reached her clearly.

  “Thanks, darling.” The warmth in Carly’s voice made her pause. There was an intimacy in her tone, a caressing quality. Freya peered through the glass door.

  Carly was half turned away from her, and she leant forwards and kissed Lily on the cheek. It wasn’t a swift peck; it lingered. It implied warmth and intimacy, a closeness of friendship.

  “Thanks,” she said again. “See you later.”

  Freya retreated, a step back into her dimly lit shop, unwilling to be seen.

  Lily glanced around the room. Freya wasn’t there. The surprise would have been if she had come, after the previous week. The memory of glittering eyes glaring in accusation and pain still haunted her, stealing into her mind in quiet moments.

  She shouldn’t have needled Freya. She had pushed too hard. She should have let Freya find her own way out of her self-imposed boundaries in her own time. It was arrogant and presumptuous of her to think she could bust down those walls and allow Freya to step forth again.

  Lily focused on Janie in the front row. “Last week, we used writing as a method of expression. Today, we’re going to use our voices. As before, no one has to do anything they are not comfortable with. But vocalising that which holds us back is another way to let it go. No one will hear what you say unless you want them to. Sing, hum, shout, or whisper. Your choice.”

  She looked around at the rapt faces in front of her. She was doing a good thing with this class, of that she was sure. But for herself, things weren’t as good. She hadn’t been to yoga for nearly a week—she couldn’t face the scorn in Freya’s eyes.