by Marie Harbon
Now she’d have to make her own way in the world.
***
The first few days were tough. She spent most of the time in her room listening to music and reading. The government had lifted the ban on ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ and she read it with fervour, finding the Derbyshire dialect very difficult though. However, the sexually explicit material titillated and fascinated her. Was this what Max had in mind for her? She began to wonder what making love was like; should she have given in to Max, or was she right to hold out?
After a few days of solitude, she heard a knock at her door and opened it to find Oscar standing there, with a broad grin on his face.
“You lonely, girl?”
She rested her body against the door frame, looking forlorn and nodded.
“Well, I’m the answer to your prayers, step this way.”
He offered his arm, she took it graciously and they went for a walk around London, despite the cold and miserable winter day. She’d been absent from the place since 1955 and the changes to the city surprised her. A few blocks of flats had sprung up, along with some characterless new housing in place of the run down old terraces. She also noticed new factories in and around the housing, and vans pulled up outside people’s houses, delivering brand new washing machines or televisions. She discovered new cars too such as the Austin Mini, her favourite.
People and fashion had changed. The flat caps, plus short back and sides on the men had gone, now they let their hair grow to the top of their collar, and the women…
“Skirts above the knee!” she commented. “This is more like it!”
My father would be disgusted though, she thought to herself, which made the fashion even more appealing.
Tahra began to feel somewhat outdated, and made a quick mental note of some ideas for clothing that would help develop her personal style.
They finally arrived in St. James Park, near BuckinghamPalace, after a long walk around the city. Oscar pulled a few things out of his pockets, including flavoured crisps! They delighted in the taste of cheese and onion crisps, such a novelty after years of plain crisps with the salt packet hiding down at the bottom. While wandering by the pond, they talked about their families.
Tahra learned about Oscar’s family in Barbados, who loved to fish and sing, and she talked of her parents back in Tehran. They also discussed how they first discovered their ability to ‘shift our consciousness’, as Oscar put it, and the tale of her miserable childhood saddened him. She admitted that she’d not always used her gifts rightfully, but he empathised and enquired what other gifts she possessed. Tahra explained her emotional power while Oscar nodded quietly.
“You are one unique woman,” he said. “Just don’t go down the wrong path, I’d hate to see you angry.” Although spoken in jest, he meant what he said.
They sat on the grass and she didn’t feel threatened by him, as he desired nothing more than companionship. Did she detect a hint of loneliness there? She closed her eyes and sent a subtle feeling of warmth over to him.
“Let’s go on a journey,” he said, sighing with contentment.
Tahra wondered if they were both thinking the same thing.
“I want to see Barbados,” she said.
Oscar took a photograph of his family and home out of his pocket, and gave it to her to focus on. They lay back, closed their eyes and let go, allowing their consciousnesses to snap to the location on the photograph. Within a moment, she saw the house and some children running around on the beach. She followed them into the sea and watched them splash around, wishing her physical body was there too because it looked like fun.
“My nieces and nephews,” Oscar explained.
When Oscar began to get homesick, they pulled back. Tahra suggested a trip out to Tehran and he agreed, but unfortunately she didn’t have a photograph. Could she ‘hook’ his consciousness and tow it along with her? She hadn’t tried this before or even thought of it but, nevertheless, she asked him to hold his consciousness above his body and focus it into a ball of light, if he could. Although Oscar didn’t find it easy, eventually she saw a small orb floating above his head. With imaginary fingers, she reached out and grabbed the orb, which caused Oscar to stiffen his body slightly.
“Just relax, trust me,” she told him, in a soothing voice.
She visualised her hands cupping the orb and re-focused her consciousness, seeing home in Tehran in her mind’s eye. Summoning enormous emotive power, using her loneliness and love of her new life, she towed his consciousness.
“Are you still with me?” she asked.
Oscar was breathing rapidly, but managed to confirm her query. Tahra’s home came into view, and she saw her parents preparing their evening meal.
“Can you see them too?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, you have a white mother and….”
A boy’s football struck her in the stomach, and they jolted back into their bodies. Although the boy apologised as he retrieved his ball, Tahra expressed her displeasure. Oscar lay on the grass, still and quiet. She was worried for a moment and didn’t know if there’d be any ill effects, so she shook him.
Tahra felt relieved when he began to chuckle.
“No one’s ever done that before,” he laughed, “boy, I can see why Max believes in you.”
She gave him a more serious response.
“He’s only seen a warm up.”
Oscar looked thoughtful.
“All the more reason to stay on the right path then.”
***
However, life was far from ideal. I only got the chance to explore beyond The Institute if I had a chaperone, and Oscar wasn’t always available. Miss Tynedale rarely yielded when it came to my requests for a little freedom, so I relied on Oscar. Sometimes, I couldn’t see the difference between this and my childhood, and I got subdued with a guilt trip because so much had been invested in me. Everyone else had their duties firmly cemented at The Institute too, and I soon realised that Max kept a tight rein on his investments.
Not that my life at The Institute filled my life with misery. I’d never celebrated Christmas and that December, I finally came to be a part of the festivities. Everyone there found it hard to believe that as a child, I’d never received any presents, put up the decorations or a tree, and engaged in the festivities. As a result of this, they made a point of each and every aspect of the celebrations.
The week prior to the special day, we wrapped our presents in decorative paper. We had a genuine pine tree which was really tall, Max didn’t believe in doing things by halves. Beth and I placed all the baubles, tinsels, and fairy lights on it and Peter topped the tree with an angel. Sakie and I made paper chains out of crepe paper, and George and Peter attached them to the ceiling with drawing pins. We created a snow scene in the window with cotton wool and glitter. The communal living area was transformed, creating a sense of excitement throughout The Institute.
On the day, we all helped prepare the huge turkey and vegetables. The living area was full of presents, arranged neatly around the tree, including gifts from each other and some from Max, who was still in America at that time. I saw a huge parcel from him to me. Everyone stared at me and I felt somewhat embarrassed, especially when I realised the others had, in comparison, much smaller gifts from him. No one begrudged it, except Emilie.
We opened our presents and I liked every gift. I received books, clothing, and jewellery while Oscar had given me a framed photograph of Barbados to remind us of that journey we took. He also gifted me a record.
“I know you love music and it’s a new band that I think you’ll love. It seems to be selling well,” he explained.
I gazed at the seven inch record, called ‘Love Me Do’ by a band called the Beatles. Looking around for the record player, I put it on straightaway and became infected with the sound and the melody, with the harmonica and simple lyrics.
Max’s gift was the biggest and I saved it until last. It was full of beautiful clothes and jewellery from
New York, no expense spared, and I was amazed at how he’d chosen things that I loved. The colours and styles were perfect, and I reminded myself to write a long thank you note.
After our meal, we all sat around the aging television, a fine piece of furniture in a teak cabinet. We watched the Queen’s speech, which was always on at three o’clock. The picture wasn’t very compliant today, but Peter had just the right touch and gave the cabinet a good smack on the top, which reset the picture. We enjoyed thirty year old repeats of Laurel and Hardy films, and laughed hard over our glasses of sherry and port. All in all, it had been a day to remember for me.
Filling my time with music and television, I immersed myself in British culture, soaking up ‘Ready Steady Go!’ on a Friday evening. Short broadcasts slipped in between the entertainment in those days, informing the general public what to do in a nuclear attack and I tried not to let myself become afraid of this happening. During the evenings in my room, I used a small transistor radio to tune into Radio Luxembourg on two hundred and eight metres medium wave, fiddling with the knob to try and get a good reception. It played a good selection of hits.
On the rare days out with Oscar, I stocked up on records and clothes, adopting a more casual look with jeans or A-line dresses.
Through the radio and television, I followed current affairs. The Profumo affair intrigued me how the power of a woman, Christine Keeler, caused so much trouble for an influential man. He tried to claim to the House of Commons that there had been no impropriety, but I didn’t believe that, she is a beautiful woman and he is just a man, no matter his position. Emilie, however, begged to differ and reminded me that she was nothing more than a whore looking for fame. Whichever way, the story captivated me.
I got lonely and bored though, especially with Oscar on leave. The Institute had become a prison, something I never signed up to, and something I’d never accept. I developed cabin fever, feeling quite depressed on quiet days at the facility. One day late in March 1963, I’d had enough. Sick of asking permission to go out, despite being an adult, I threw caution to the wind. Sneaking into the office, I discovered my bank account information and located a spare key to the front door.
Time to pull the same stunts I often achieved in my childhood. Free at last! Miss Tynedale would never find out.
***
Tahra felt the exhilaration of liberation as she strode out of the bank the next day, a few hundred pounds in her pocket. It hadn’t been too difficult to withdraw money with the necessary paperwork. With fierce independence, she circumnavigated the Tube and after a jostled ride, emerged from Oxford Circus station. The best shops were on King’s Road in Chelsea, plus Carnaby Street.
She browsed for a while, in awe of the fashionable iconic shops such as Mary Quant. However, after the fifth shop, she plucked up the courage and tried on a dress, purchasing it along with a plastic necklace comprised of large circles, a black polo neck jumper, and a pair of flared jeans. Pretty exhausted, she finally sat down in a café and ordered some food and a drink.
Destiny intervened that day.
As she drank her tea, she noticed someone scrutinising her. He had shoulder length hair, and wore flared trousers coupled with an outrageous belt. Tahra began to feel uncomfortable.
He’s got to be some kind of weirdo, she thought. Maybe he’s going to follow me and kidnap me.
She tried not to rattle the cup on the saucer as she trembled slightly.
Don’t make eye contact with him, and he’ll go away.
Eventually, he plucked up the courage and moved over to Tahra’s table, standing to her left. She stared into her cup, feeling quite vulnerable and exposed.
“I don’t mean to startle you....” he said, tentative. “Um, I’ve never done this before… Let me introduce myself, my name is Malcolm Greene, I’m a fashion photographer.”
He stuck out his hand. Tahra didn’t know what to say, so accepted his hand and shook it, cautiously.
“How are you?” he asked, a little flustered.
“I’m good,” she said, “I’ve been shopping.”
He laughed in a nervous manner.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Tahra decided he was harmless.
“Yes, would you like to drink tea with me?” she offered.
He purchased another drink and they chatted. She introduced herself and talked a little of her background, however, she didn’t mention The Institute. He finally moved the conversation to his reason for approaching her.
“I couldn’t help but notice how striking your looks are. You’d look fantastic on camera. I’d really like to photograph you, if that’s okay?”
“Me?”
“Of course, you. You’re beautiful in a really exotic, mystical kind of way. This may be really forward, but I have access to a studio nearby… I wondered if you’d come over and let me take you through a quick shoot.”
She didn’t expect this at all, yet a number of thoughts ran through her mind.
Will I be safe?
What about returning to The Institute?
I thought remote viewing for Max was my destiny.
Maybe I should explore this opportunity further though, it sounds exciting.
Oh, to hell with Max, he isn’t here. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“Look,” he admitted. “I know what you’re thinking, you’ve just met me, I could be a nutcase, I know but I assure you, my intentions are genuine and I have a girlfriend, she’ll be there at the studio. My interest is purely professional.”
Tahra decided to trust her instincts, so they finished their drinks and she accompanied him to the studio. From the outside, it looked like an old three-storey house, much like The Institute but when they entered, she clearly saw the difference. A pretty blonde woman sat behind the reception desk, backed by cream and brown walls and tapestries hung on them, with repeating leaf motifs in green and cream. On seeing Tahra, the receptionist gave her a suspicious stare.
“Who’s this?” she asked Malcolm.
“This is Tahra. I’ve brought her back for a quick shoot. Oh, Tahra, this is my girl, Carol.”
Carol looked relieved, and assisted Tahra in the changing room while Malcolm prepared the studio. Wracked with nerves, she changed behind a screen, using some of her new clothes, and edged out into the studio. She saw a number of huge lights, a big fan, and a white backdrop.
“I’m just going to take some test shots,” Malcolm explained.
She found it difficult to relax at first, but he eased her through it and encouraged Tahra to open up. The thought of her first Christmas created a mellow smile, and Malcolm started shooting. He made comments such as ‘great’ and ‘fantastic’, and directed her to turn her head this way and that. They moved through a number of poses, and a range of varied emotions. After the shoot, Carol ushered her back to the reception.
“How did you find that?” she asked.
“Well,” Tahra began, “at first I felt clumsy, but then I started to enjoy it.”
Malcolm came downstairs and sat next to her on a brown sofa.
“The photos will be ready tomorrow. Can I give you a call then?”
Now that would be a problem. If Miss Tynedale picked up the phone, Tahra would have a lot of explaining to do.
“I…can’t take phone calls at the place where I’m staying.”
Malcolm looked puzzled, and changed his approach. He wrote down his number and said, “Well, call me tomorrow then.”
Tahra grasped the card, realising that opportunity may be knocking on the door. Briefly, she thought of her parents…how would they react?
She left the studio on cloud nine, dizzy with the new prospects for her life. As she drew closer to home, Tahra began to feel a sense of trepidation. What would be waiting on the other side of the door?
Well, I can see what’s in a warehouse hundreds of miles away, so I can certainly look behind the door before I enter.
She closed her eyes and allowed her consciousness to d
rift ahead. The empty hallway of The Institute came into focus, and on investigating Miss Tynedale’s office, Tahra found it vacant too. Maybe she’d run an errand.
Making the most of this opportunity, she used the spare key and slipped through the door. After sneaking up the stairs, she lay on her bed with relief.
I escaped The Institute for an afternoon, with no consequences!
The sense of danger this gave her elicited a thrill. She had a new mission in life: become a fashion model as well as a psychic spy. All she had to worry about now was making that phone call tomorrow, and keeping her secret from Miss Tynedale.
***
She woke early, tingling with nervous energy in anticipation of the phone call she needed to make. Over breakfast, she deliberated whilst chewing her toast. The office phone would prove too risky, but she recalled seeing a red phone box at the end of the street.
Waiting until lunch, when Miss Tynedale disappeared into Room 7 to oversee some tests in Max’s absence, Tahra found some loose change and slipped out the front door. Glancing around, she tried not to appear too shifty as she opened the heavy door of the bright red phone box.
It smelled stale, and contained a neatly stacked pile of local telephone directories. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled the card from her pocket, on which Malcolm had scribbled his number. Dialling the digits, she waited for an answer, keeping her eyes on the street in case she had to duck for cover. After a few rings, Carol answered.
“It’s me, Tahra,” she almost whispered, as if it were some covert operation.
“Oh, great, Malcolm’s just here, I’ll pass you over.”
She heard chatter in the background, then Malcolm spoke.
“Hey there, how you doing?”
“I’m good. Did you like my pictures?”
“You look absolutely fantastic, a star in the making. I feel confident I could get you a modelling contract.”
The news rendered her silent for a moment. This could change everything. Yes, she did have commitments to The Institute but maybe she could work this around the testing days.
