Red Dress

by Bridget Finklaire

  “No, not a course,” she said, smiling and handing a glass to Richard. “I thought I’d take the weekend off. Go for a walk along the river with you, maybe go to the cinema, if you like?”

  “Cut to the chase, Kittykat. What do you want?”

  “Don’t be cross, Rich.”

  “What is it?”

  “I need to change my name.”

  Richard furrowed his brow, turning to her with a quizzical look.

  “It’s okay, I’m not changing it to anything daft,” she said, swallowing a mouthful of aged Brunello. “I thought I’d change it back to Fralinski.”

  Richard stood up, walked over to the French windows and stared into the garden. The day was fading. Katy sensed his thoughts before he did – anger, confusion, rejection.

  “What the hell’s got into you, Kit? All this so-called ‘spiritual’ stuff?” he said, spitting flecks of wine in his frustration. “It’s gone too far. We’ve been married for sixteen years, for God’s sake! Hasn’t Stone been good enough for you?”

  She took a step towards him, instinctively reaching out, but withdrawing her hand before it made contact. “I was Katy Fralinski when we first met and it was all fresh and exciting, then, remember?” She let the thought take root, watching him as he fixed his attention on the gloom outside. “It might rekindle what we had!” It was a long shot, but she had to think of something to convince him. “Come on, Rich, it might inject some life into our marriage? Resuscitate it.”

  “So, you think it’s moribund?” said Richard, his face slackening as he turned back towards her.

  “We’re still us! We’re still married, aren’t we?” said Katy, gesturing with open palms, her eyes widening. She held his gaze and his face softened as he swilled the ruby nectar around his mouth and swallowed. “Fine, but I don’t really understand why!”

  “I think it would be good for Harley Street, too, having an unusual name that stands out.”

  “I don’t get you, Kit. I don’t understand what’s happening... or how changing your name’s going to solve anything.” He stepped towards her, placing an outstretched hand on her shoulder and looking into her piercing eyes.

  She flung her arms around his neck, nearly spilling the Brunello in the process. His body was shaking almost as much as hers. “Thank you, Richard. It’s important to me... To us.”

  “Go on then, but you’ve got to tell the kids first, then your bloody parents, and our friends. What are they going to think, Kit? Have you factored that into your equation?”

  She had, and it filled her with horror.

  The task of telling everyone and reverting to her maiden name was less problematic than she’d thought. The kids didn’t seem to care, her parents disapproved of whatever she did anyway, her old friends thought she was going off the rails so what did it matter, and her new friends were fully behind her!

  The first opportunity to make an official change came the following week at the bank. She’d been waiting in the queue for some time, agitated by how languorous the service was. She’d have gone under as a therapist if she’d had that attitude! Shuffling her feet, she checked her watch for the umpteenth time.

  The problem, she thought, was that nobody was motivated! Coughing loudly, then tapping her fingers against her handbag, she drew attention to herself and looked away. Her jaw clenched as she dug her stiletto into the logo on the carpet. “For God’s sake,” she muttered, visibly rattled by having to wait. She wanted to shriek ‘You’re wasting my time!’ at the top of her voice. Her heart was pumping and her limbs trembling. She was going to be late. A muscle twitched on her temple. This level of stress was out of all proportion, she realized. It must have been the pressure taking its toll. She’d crammed her days so full there was no room for maneuver. Agh. Now the teller was chatting to that woman, and she was in a hurry, for God’s sake! She held herself back from causing a scene, wincing at the thought of losing control. That’s what mother used to do – manipulate with drama. Inside, Katy felt like crying, or running down the street screaming and shouting.

  Collecting herself, she noticed the utter tiredness behind the impatience. Perhaps she’d leave it till another day? But then she’d have wasted the last fifteen minutes. The guy in front left. It was her turn next. It would be a muesli bar on the train for lunch, at this rate!

  “Oh, are you getting divorced?” said the young assistant in the sing-song voice of a nine-year-old. “Because you’ve got a joint account and it’d be better to separate it now, before proceedings.” She pushed her spectacles up with a chubby finger, and peered at Katy, who, by now, was losing her composure.

  “No, I’m not getting divorced!” she said, the force of her voice taking them both by surprise. Katy clenched her fists inside her jacket pockets, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. “I’m changing my name because—” she gritted her teeth as the thought hit her. Because I’ve had my soul contract read and a woman in Stoke Newington says I’ve got to change it if I want to be a leader for a new evolution in consciousness. Her face reddened as she looked down at the floor. “For professional reasons,” she said, smiling weakly at the assistant.

  Katy told everyone the same story. “I want a more unusual name than Stone. Something that’ll stand out in Harley Street.” It was a convincing lie that she hid behind as she tried to forget the original impulse.

  Katy felt out of kilter, unbalanced, as if she wasn’t there. Was this madness? It felt as if she was witnessing her life at a distance and through a haze. “I feel like I don’t have a body sometimes!” she told Terry. “Like I’m drunk or stoned. The world’s gone a bit fuzzy and I’m living in my head.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know! I’m not myself. I’m usually so in control!”

  “Perhaps it’s a good thing to be less controlling?”

  “I don’t mean it like that. I’m not as efficient as I was. I can’t make decisions like I did.”

  “That could be adrenal fatigue – you’re always on the go and your mind’s never at rest.”

  “Yes it is! When I meditate!”

  “For half an hour a day?”

  “But I’ve always been like that. It makes for a good therapist, having an analytical mind!” Katy’s voice was rising as her body tensed. She was gripping the arms of the chair with her hands.

  “You’d be even better if you could switch off and let things percolate,” said Terry, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands.

  “I can’t make up my mind – about ordinary things, like whether to buy lamb or chicken.”

  “Is that important?”

  “I get easily swayed by other people’s opinions and I’m thinking things through too much,” she said, picking at her nails. “I need to make instinctive decisions, but I can’t!” She furiously fiddled with her earring, then ran her fingers through her well-groomed hair. “My mind’s elsewhere, as if I’m absent from my own life!”

  “You sound lost.”

  “And I keep losing my temper, which isn’t like me! I got angry with the woman in the bank the other day. She was only doing her job, but I could feel this aggression spiraling from nowhere.”

  “Adrenal fatigue. You know the score – fight or flight. You’re either going to get angry or jittery or both,” said Terry, his warm eyes searching for signs of recognition. “Tiredness is tracking you down, isn’t it?”

  Katy’s eyes began to well up. She was cross with him for being right and she felt like a fool. Fighting to get a grip on her emotions, she realized it was useless trying to control them. For God’s sake, Katherine, this is so unprofessional, she told herself, looking furtively at Terry with his kind eyes and open face.

  “You don’t need to feel bad, Katy. Guilt demands punishment but what have you got to feel guilty about? Being human? Showing emotions? It’s only adding to your already stressful load!”

  “I know. It’s just that everything seemed so fixed and solid and now it’s givi
ng way.”

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  “Uncertain. Disoriented. Like I’m sliding on a slippery surface.”

  “And you hide it stoically?”

  “Yes,” she said, her head bowed, her body curled forward. “I suppose I’m keeping up appearances.”

  “Maintaining a shiny veneer?”

  She nodded.

  “What about the real you? What’s happening on the inside, Katy?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifted her head, her pursed lips smiling, her watering eyes betraying her.

  Meditation was keeping her sane, bringing down her rocketing stress levels, and giving her time to reflect. It was almost a week later, around midnight that she sent a message to Dinah.

  “Is it possible the name change is disrupting my life? I can’t concentrate and I’m feeling angry and anxious. I’m not myself. Just want to burst into tears. Do you think I’ve made a mistake? Could you double check the details? You did get the spelling of my name right?”

  Dinah’s answer came back:

  “All the details are correct. It’s usual for people to experience disruption when they change their name. You’re altering the vibration and energy of who you are. If you want to transform your life, you have to let go of the old way of doing things. You have to release who you’ve become, so you can be who you’re destined to be. The old has to break up to give way to the new.

  Ground the vibration of your new name. It’s tipping you off-balance as the energies come in. Bring them through and root them. You’re drifting in no-man’s land between Stone and Fralinski. Be gentle with yourself.”

  How the hell was she going to do that!

  Chapter 3

  It was a clear night as the first chill of autumn descended over the fields. A waxing moon cast an eerie glow across a long gravel drive, at the end of which stood a lonely house with gabled roof and leaded lights. Apart from a distant car and a soft rustling in a hedgerow, everything was deathly quiet. Red roses had faded long ago as summer slipped away, their desiccated petals lifeless along the path to the front door. Heavy curtains, designed to shut out prying eyes, hung at each window. A child dreamed sweetly in her bedroom, pretty in pink, while the lady of the house, slept deeply under a sumptuous duvet, her long dark hair splayed over the pillow, the capacious sleigh bed dwarfing her tall, rangy figure.

  A single flickering light shone from the attic window where a balding man was silhouetted, a bead of sweat catching the moonlight on his pate. Glassy eyed, he stared at the screen, trawling the internet, one hand on the mouse, the other in his lap. He’d locked the door and plugged in the earphones, but his heart was racing nonetheless. He took a generous gulp of brandy from a crystal cut glass. His breathing quickened, his prey was in sight. Almost there, tracking it down, this one thing that numbed his miserable existence. He watched the naked bodies writhe on the screen as he fumbled with his right hand – the only relief from a life in which he felt so trapped.

  He fretted, mopping his brow with his handkerchief then casting a worried look at his watch. Burying his face in his hands he leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his torso bent over. Tomorrow he’d be in London. Maybe he should see someone – a professional who could help. He just wanted a relationship that worked. Recovering his composure, he punched ‘psychotherapist central London’ into Google.

  * * *

  At number 11 Sycamore Road, Richard was already snoring when Katy tip-toed her way upstairs with a cup of cocoa. Passing the large mirror at the top of the landing, something caught her eye. Must have been a shadow, she thought, glancing back at it. “I’m sure I saw something – a flash?” She scrutinized her reflection.

  A soft Voice made her jump. “Good Evening!” it said.

  Holding her breath, her eyes widening, she gingerly looked around. Nothing. The Voice, gentle, loving, spoke again. “It’s okay – you’re perfectly safe.” She had the crazy feeling it was coming from the mirror. Turning, she observed her image gazing back at her, looking quite normal. But wait! There...something glimpsed from the corner of her eye. When she looked straight at herself, she saw only her own striking features staring back. And another thing, she sensed it in the mirror, but it sounded as if it came from behind her, or maybe above. It’s in my head, she realized.

  “ Hello, Katherine!”

  The Voice filled her now with a mixture of fear and warmth. It seemed strangely familiar as she listened, lifting and comforting as it rose and fell with easy, confident intonation. “I’m here to help you. Are you ready?”

  “Ready for what?” asked Katy, trying to keep her wavering voice calm. “And who are you?”

  “Are you ready to learn what I’ve come to impart?”

  “Depends on what you’re imparting!”

  “Wisdom.”

  “But who are you? And where are you?” she said, her eyes darting from side to side.

  “I am that I am, but that matters not. I’m here with you. I’m part of you, as you’re part of me. I exist but not as you would understand existence.”

  “Good God! Are you going to carry on talking in riddles with that 1930s accent?”

  “Does it displease you?”

  “No... It’s just odd!” said Katy quietly, not wanting to be overheard. “This could be dangerous – what in God’s Name is happening?”

  “Quite the contrary. It’s perfectly safe and most definitely in God’s Name. Would you like me to continue?”

  Katy’s eyebrows shot up as she instinctively took a step back. A therapist hearing voices in her head – what if it got out?

  “It won’t.”

  “How did you—?”

  “Thought communication. That’s how I’m talking to you.”

  What if it’s all nonsense?

  “It’s not nonsense. It’s very real.”

  Hearing the voice of Wisdom? This was madness!

  “Not at all,” the Voice replied patiently. “I’m communicating with you directly from a Higher Plane.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do. Can I begin?”

  “How long’s it going to take? I was about to meditate!”

  “Oh! Meditation! That’s wonderful. I’ll talk to you while you’re meditating.”

  “But...”

  “It’s okay, there’s no such thing as time where I come from, so you’ll still have plenty of earth time to meditate and get to bed before midnight.”

  “Oh.”

  Katy walked uncertainly into her office, not daring to look back. Fishing out her meditation stool from beneath the couch, she positioned it in front of the window. Kneeling down in the thin, pale moonlight, she drew her cardigan against the chill of the autumn evening. Her eyes closed, her breathing steadied.

  “You know you’re a powerful creator, don’t you?”

  “I can create a hell of a scene with Richard, if that’s what you mean?”

  “You were made in the Image and Likeness of God!”

  “So, He’s up there in heaven, trying to stick to his low-carb diet and get to yoga three times a week?”

  “He?”

  “Does He sneak off on Friday evenings for a naughty cigarette and a glass of vino with the girls?”

  “God is beyond gender – He, She, It, They – because the Godhead is collective too – the many and the one – the different facets of the same diamond, so to speak. We’ll call Him ‘Father’ because of the fathering principle in creation – the yang – the ‘doing’, the ‘externalizing’, the ‘administering’. ‘He’ is more useful in conversation don’t you think? But He’s by no means limited to the masculine. He’s Supreme, Ultimate and Absolute. Three-in-One.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s not some old fogey with a long white beard, sitting on a fluffy cloud like a saintly Santa, giving presents to the ones who’ve been good.”

  “Richard’s told me about the Catholic God of hell and damnation – thinking up penances for
people who’ve broken the speed limit or coveted their neighbor’s ox or diddled their tax return. No thank you, that’s not my idea of a Divine Being!”

  “Nor is it mine.”

  “Cut to the chase, will you?”

  “God’s a powerful creator and made you in His Likeness.”

  “I get it. He’s just like me.”

  “No. You’re like Him. You create everything in your life – the good bits, the bad bits, the things you know about, the things you don’t know about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a powerful creator, just like the One who created you.”

  “I thought God was a light within?”

  “In a way He is, but that’s not the entire picture. He’s everywhere and everything, inside, outside and beyond. In fact, He’s more of a verb than a noun!”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s a Divine Creative Eternal Force, constantly creating and re-creating. A Thinking Intelligence, powered by Love and Light. He’s beyond gender, beyond time, and beyond explanation.”

  “Why are you saying it like that? Love and Light?”

  “Because it’s not just the love you feel for your children, or your dog, or dark chocolate, it’s a much Higher Force in the Cosmos. The Light is way beyond the limited spectrum of the light you have here, so I’m trying to distinguish...”

  “Oh... I’ve got to meditate now. I’ll be tired in the morning.”

  “Time is suspended while we’re having our little chat, but if you’d rather I stopped...”

  “Just finish your point, then let me be.”

  “God is beyond description – ineffable – you can’t really comprehend! But what I can tell you is that humans are part of a vast, never-ending, Divine, Intelligent, Creative Energy. A Divine Mind, if you like. A Higher Thought Process. The Godhead, or more precisely, Elohim, created you humans from itself, from its own emanated coding of Love-Light-Life. You’re made of God’s Thought Forms, made of Love, made of generative Light – everything is. And your minds are connected to a much Greater Mind Force than you can possibly imagine.”