by Angela Peach
“Maybe I should make them a cake?” Mom said beside me in a hushed whisper.
“What, you want them to move out already?” I winced as my rib was poked.
“Don't be cheeky young lady. Wait, what's this? Oh my sweet Lord!”
I followed her gaze — a minibus had pulled up behind the car and about nine others, all of various ages and races, were piling out onto the street. The kids from the car greeted them before they all headed up to the house en masse.
“Oh my sweet Lord!” Mom repeated slowly, her eyes wide. “It's one of those religious cults!”
I spluttered a laugh.
“Maybe you're right? Maybe I should go over and welcome them to the neighbourhood?” I suggested.
“No! Absolutely not! I don't want you going anywhere near that house Nikki!”
“What? But why? I can get all the inside info for you before anyone else!”
“Now you just listen to me. I'm not losing the only daughter I have, and ever will have, to some kooky cult that goes around brainwashing influential youngsters, d'you hear me?” Mom hissed vehemently.
“But...”
“No!”
“Aw mom...”
“No, Nikki! And that's final.”
*** *** ***
Two hours later, I walked nervously up to the front door and gave a gentle rap. I could feel mom's eyes burning into the back of my neck and predicted she was gently murmuring to herself 'Don't drink or eat anything they offer you — just go in, be polite, find out why they're here and get out of there!' I smirked to myself as I imagined it, but then the door opened and a young hispanic girl of about sixteen leaned against the door.
“Oh. Hey.”
“Hi.”
I suddenly couldn't think of what to say. I didn't want to ask if her mom was home, because unless she'd been very busy with a lot of men over the years, they clearly weren't all her kids. So I just stared at her for a few awkward seconds before finding my tongue.
“Uh...I'm from across the road over there, and I thought I'd come over and introduce myself, welcome you in ’n' all.” I shuffled my feet as she stared back, not knowing whether or not I should just go. But then the hot shorts lady suddenly appeared.
“Who's at the door, Lisa? Oh, hello,” she greeted warmly, smiling as she extended her hand to me. I shook it and smiled back, repeating what I'd just said to Lisa. Her smile grew. “Wow, gee that's so nice of you! Please come in. Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure, that'd be great. My name's Nikki.”
“I'm Amanda. I hope Kool Aid is ok? We haven't really gotten round to unpacking all the kitchen boxes yet.”
I couldn't help smiling — mom would have a baby if she knew I was accepting Kool Aid! As I followed Amanda through to the kitchen, I was surprised at how quiet it was, having expected more noise from the horde in the minibus. Also, a lot of the unpacking had already been tackled and I put that down to the volume of people working hard to get the house liveable in.
“Would you like some cake? It was made for the journey, but we have quite a lot leftover.”
“I love cake,” I replied, smiling wider. I watched her closely as she hunted out a large cool box and fished inside for the cake and drink, admiring her body which was bathed in a light sheen of sweat from unpacking. Up close I'd put her at mid to late forties, and even more beautiful than I'd originally thought. She had hazel eyes and I was instantly attracted. A small voice inside tutted in disgust at how quickly poor Poppy had been forgotten and left behind, but I ignored it. She held out a hunk of what looked like apple cake on a bed of foil and a plastic beaker of Kool Aid.
“Here you go. So, did you really come over to welcome us in, or are you here to find out who we are and why there's so many of us?”
My hand froze halfway to my mouth with the cake. She was looking at me with an amused but knowing expression on her face, and I chuckled.
“Busted! Although, it was a bit of both to be honest” I admitted, deciding to come clean with her. She nodded and tucked some hair behind her ear.
“Can't say I blame you. We must seem like a bit of an odd bunch, huh?”
“I think it's fair to say your arrival didn't go unnoticed.” I took a mouthful of the cake, which was delicious and moist with sultanas and cinnamon and a hint of nutmeg. “This is really good!” I said, hoping she wouldn't think me rude talking with a semi-full mouth of cake, but she just laughed.
“Thank you. Our neighbours made it for us before we left so I can't accept the credit sadly.” She leaned casually against the sink, thinking. I waited patiently, devouring what could only be described as the best apple cake I'd ever tasted. “Mike and I started this little group about seven years ago, and we seem to have grown more than we ever anticipated. Would you like the full story or are you in a rush?”
“If I go home with anything less than the full story, my mom will only send me back” I said and Amanda laughed again.
“Well, I hope you're open minded? Ok, let me see...I think it all began when a boy in our street, Corey, started getting bullied because he was gay. He was only fifteen but he'd made the mistake of confiding in one of his so called friends and his life got turned upside down. His parents didn't wanna know and offered him no support, his older brother practically spearheaded the bullying against him and he had no one to turn to. So he tried to take his own life, not just once but three times, which is when his parents had him committed at the hospital. But when he came out, everything just continued as it had before he'd gone in.
So one day, I'm in the kitchen doing dinner for Mike and Nessa, our daughter, and Mike comes rushing out telling me to get a bowl of hot water and the med kit. He'd seen Corey being beaten on out in the street and chased them off with a bat, then brought Corey inside. He was in a pretty bad way – I wanted to take him to the hospital, but he got agitated at the mere mention of it, so we just tended his wounds as best we could with what we had. To cut a long story short, Corey started to come over every day at our insistence. Our place became a sanctuary for him after school, and then he'd go home to sleep in the evenings until eventually we offered him our spare room. His family didn't notice or didn't care so we kinda became his surrogate family, and that was roundabout the time Mike told me he was bi-sexual.”
I actually spat a mouthful of grape Kool Aid down my chin in surprise at her openly admitting this so soon after my walking through the door. She laughed at my reaction.
“We don't believe in hiding who we are, Nikki. And you did say you wanted the full story.”
“Absolutely do. Please carry on,” I said, trying to regain my cool composure.
“Speak of the devil. Mike, this is Nikki from across the street. She's come to welcome us.”
Her husband entered the kitchen and immediately came to warmly shake my hand as we said our hellos.
“Amanda was just telling me the background on, er, you guys” I said, flushing red. I wasn't sure how he was going to react to his wife being so forthcoming with the family history.
“In that case, I'll leave you both to it. We've nearly unpacked all the bedroom furniture so everyone's got a bed to sleep in tonight,” he said, looking through some of the boxes. “Aha! Here it is. Sara-Lynn remembered putting it in one of the kitchen boxes for some strange reason.” He held up a small see through bag with knobs and screws in it.
“Good job, honey. I'll get back to unpacking the kitchen soon.”
“Don't worry about it, I'll send some of the others down. You keep our guest entertained. Nice to meet you Nikki, don't be a stranger.” They kissed lightly before he walked quickly out.
“You good for me to carry on?” Amanda asked and I nodded.
Over the next half hour, she told me how they'd had set up their home as a refuge for anyone suffering at the hands of racists, bullies, homophobes and practiced what they liked to call 'Free Love.' When I asked what Free Love was, she said simply, 'Being free to love whoever you want, whenever you want.'
I finally ventured home with the promise of returning again very soon, and so many thoughts racing round my head. I was totally sold on their Free Love house and if it was a cult, I was definitely ready to sign up!
Mom was gonna have kittens!
“They do what?”
I stifled a smile. Or rather tried to. The huge grin spreading across my face was hard to hide, and I had to wonder if maybe they had put something in the Kool Aid? Or maybe that cake? Damn, it had been good.
“They open their home to anyone who needs it. Like gay kids who have been disowned by their families and stuff. It's a prejudice free house.”
This was, of course, the easy-to-digest-for-my-mom version. If I told her they promoted Free Love, it would be all over the neighbourhood that they were a whore house promoting free sex quicker than not.
“Oh my sweet Lord!” This was fast turning into her mantra for today. “But there's so many of them. Did you find out where they're all sleeping? What if it's a house of sin? Right across from us!” She lowered her tone and volume. “It's the house! It's cursed!”
I laughed out loud, knowing this was going to turn into her new obsession for a very long time. Such a juicy story would keep her occupied for weeks, months even.
“Ok mom, well I'm going out back to my studio to do some work. Don't keep me any dinner. Please.” I added, winking at her. But she was already distracted back to twitching at the window when the phone rang.
“Hello? She just got back. Apparently, it's a free house...”
I left her telling whichever one of our neighbours it was on the phone a distorted version of what I'd told her and went to my work studio in the backyard.
The second I closed the door, I felt a degree of serenity settle over me in contrast to the craziness of the last week. This was my place, my haven, my sanctuary. I'd had this studio for the better part of my teenage years and created my first works of art here. I smiled as I remembered my first sell — it had been for fifty dollars and I'd been so pumped, I'd gone out and blown a hundred dollars celebrating it. That had been seven years ago and now that piece was probably valued at least a few hundred times its original cost, possibly more. My paintings sold for an average of three to five thousand dollars these days, and even though I was pretty well established in the art world now, it was hard not to feel the pressure of producing a masterpiece each time.
I was currently in the middle of a commission from some big city hotshot and couldn't wait to get it finished so I could return to free-styling. He'd been pretty specific about what he wanted, and even though it was do-able, it was hard going for me. But the money was definitely worth the struggle.
*** *** ***
By the time I emerged from my studio, it was dark and almost time for me to go to bed. I'd made some good progress on the piece, as I always did when I had stuff playing on my mind. I don't know why it was, but it just was. That wasn't to say I wanted, nor welcomed drama in my life, but hey. What was the alternative? Living in poverty like Nick, wondering where my next meal was coming from? (Although if she quit smoking, she might be able to eat more, but that was never going to happen.)
Mom had already hit the sack, so I crept quietly up so as not to disturb her. She no doubt had a busy day planned tomorrow watching our new neighbours (as I also planned, but one in particular!)
I was starting to feel my eyes droop as I brushed my teeth and hurried — not because I was in a hurry to wake up as her, as Nick, but because I had no control over the 'falling asleep' and didn't want to pass out on the bathroom floor. Again.
In bed, I barely managed to get comfortable before I felt myself drifting off. When I next opened my eyes, I would be Nick...and I'd have to deal with a whole lot of Scottish shit.
CHAPTER FOUR
How did I get to this day? A question I am constantly reciting with every new consciousness. Where has that sun come from, the one who invades my room, shoving himself in my windows and heating my floor? Dare I open my eyes tomorrow and hope that the warmth you bring will not be to my wood but to my life?
Quiet now. Listen. What is that noise?
It’s the beat of my heart, never missing a trick, keeping me going, ready to warm me in the glare of the sun’s rays. I am ageing, that warming love laying the lines that will grow on my skin, furrows I will never fill. Only Helena can touch me and take away the pain. Where has she been? Why did she go? Will she be back tomorrow?
Will she be back tomorrow? Will I get to then?
I opened my eyes, blinking at the horror of daylight and grabbed my phone. There were no missed calls. For ten years, I have had the same number, a number that Helena knows but that she has never called. Not since she disappeared. And she could have. What does it take to punch in a text to say, “I am okay?" It takes nothing.
Ingenting. Nothing is all I have.
“Mum?” I say into my phone.
“Nick? Are you okay, honey?”
I swallow my pride. “I need some money.” I hear the silence. The seconds tick on.
“How much this time?” she says finally.
“Five hundred.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not for me,” I tell her, the guilt ripping through me. “It’s for Mr Chan, the Private Dick I hired to find Helena.”
“Oh, Nick,” she sighed. “Why?”
“He’s found her.”
“Do you ever think she doesn’t want to be found?”
“Will you send the money or not?”
“Honey, yes, of course I will. I just want you to be happy.”
“This makes me happy.”
“What about that dinner with Freya?”
I thought back to the soft folds of Freya’s arms around me, pulling me into her, feeling the insistence of her breasts into me, her nipples hardening against me.
“It was fine.” I hung up.
I cannot be in the middle of two women. One burning heart is enough to flip my life into a turmoil I cannot recover from. Love has woven around me, like a spider’s thick web, keeping me away from anyone else because harsh, silken woes protect me. Shiny webs of fear that I use to deceive myself, and if I try to step away, they anchor me to the same spot in life. I need some ice to kill the fire that burns away inside.
When my door knocked, I jumped, because no-one ever visited me. I have made sure my anti-social attitude and unwavering cynicism keep at bay unwanted attention and yet…
And yet…I long for arms to hold me and never let go.
I opened the door to the friendly smile of Freya and stood aside to let her in.
“I wanted to talk about our last night,” she began, swirling into the room with her bare feet gliding across my wooden floor. I could see the path she had danced and found myself following her footsteps, as though a spell had been placed. She pirouetted to face me, her dress floating above her knees, teasing me with a hint of thigh.
“I’m sorry,” I started. Making apologies was nothing new to me.
“Nei, nei,” she said and for a second her blue eyes sparkled, two sapphires lost in a blanket of snow. It stopped me in my tracks because I am not often taken aback by beauty and I was then, in that tiny moment.
Nothing frightens me more than love.
“I know you are delicate in your soul,” Freya said. “I push on you too much.”
I tried to think back through the muddle of memories and dark spots to Freya’s soft lips on mine. I felt a jerk inside at the erotic sensation of our brief dalliance remembering itself in me.
I shook my head. “It was me. I thought I could…and I couldn’t. I’m sorry.” It was an apology that was genuine.
“You can,” she said, walking towards me, laying her right cheek on my chest, just above my left breast where my heart was beating fiercely. Her back ached for my arms to go around but they lay lifeless by my side. “Let me in to your heart. I feel it.”
In my head, I swallowed a mouthful of
fear and tried not to cry. Terror was taking over me and I tried to find the strength to fight the dazzling purity of Freya and the horrifying absence of Helena. I didn’t know which was worse.
“I feel your heart,” she repeated.
I swallowed hard again, trying to find words that would not betray me because the last thing I wanted to do was reveal what I am.
Before I could speak, my mother had let herself in, carrying bags of shopping. Freya, hearing the door creak open, wrenched herself upright but she still glowed.
“Nick, sweetheart, I’ve been to ‘Tesco’. I can’t bear to think of you starving away…” She stopped mid-sentence, her face immediately lighting up seeing I had company. “You must be Freya. I’m Nick’s mum.”
Freya smiled from one end of my room to the other, engulfing us in her happiness. “I am Freya, I live underneath. I am very pleased to meet you, Mor.”
I rolled my eyes. “Freya, just call her Ethel. I do.”
My mum had already walked over to my open plan kitchen, dumped the bags and had begun to unpack and put away the groceries. “It’s lovely to meet you, Freya. I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you.”
Freya’s eyebrows hit the ceiling in joy and she clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “Oh no, Nick tells lies, don’t believe what she says,” she laughed.
This was somewhere on the list of my worst nightmares but knowing my mother as I did, I knew there was no way out. In any case, I needed her cash. I would need to get rid of Freya because I didn’t want her knowing what I was doing.
Why was I held back from telling her what I was up to if I only loved Helena? I am still a person and I still need a passion. I have fires that need flames.
I saw a ray of sunshine glide its way across my floor and I looked through it, to my mum, hands on her hips, having filled my fridge.
“Nick, here is the money you asked for.” She threw down a fat envelope onto a work surface.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Did she tell you, Freya, about this obsession she has with an old flame?” I could have choked Ethel!
