Red Dress

by Bridget Finklaire

  Katy and the others were rapt.

  “The soul picks up discordant energies, vows, curses, blocks, limiting beliefs, programs, patterns, you name it, as it travels its path through different experiences. We’re going to clear those blocks – some of which have been around for millennia.”

  “Is High Self the same as the I Am Presence?” asked a dark, olive-skinned woman with a middle European accent.

  Katy could see them coming to blows over semantics. High Self, Soul, Overself, Greatness, Divine Self – were they all the same or different? As a therapist, she’d worked on her ‘self’ – the person she identified with – me, myself and I. Now it seemed she was to work on a greater Self that was yet to be understood.

  By tea break, Katy had cleared ‘sexual relationships and love’ which had apparently been blocked ninety-five percent at soul level. A swing of the pendulum, a few words directed at High Self – and several lifetimes of thwarted love and sex were done away with. Jane had checked for accuracy, her pendulum confirming one hundred and ten percent clear. “I know what you’re thinking,” she’d said, “how can it be over a hundred? Well, we’re working on different dimensions.”

  “So is that good?” Katy had asked, “I mean, is it cleared?”

  “Yes! It’s marvelous! You’re spot on!”

  Katy beamed. “Powerful stuff!”

  “And very high level.”

  Reflecting on it later as she savored a cup of orange-colored ‘builder’s tea’, she started to wonder about the whole thing. What utter bullshit, she could imagine Richard saying, and he was probably right. All she’d done was waggle a pendulum around. If anything were to happen, like suddenly wanting to jump on her husband and make passionate love, then it had to be placebo. The part of her brain that believed it was cleared would rewire the part that continually recoiled at sex with Rich – and as a result it (and hopefully she) would dutifully perform. Perhaps they should investigate placebo, because it could be the golden panacea the world had been looking for all along. Sham knee operations that worked, the lifting of depression and even the curing of cancer had all been documented under the mysterious ‘placebo effect’. Katy felt a pang of guilt as she returned to her original train of thought. She’d lost interest in Richard years ago. Was it her problem or his? The man she’d met had changed, his ideals faded and gone, along with the chemicals of romance. The wall-of-suit that had swept her off her feet had very quickly turned into something else. She’d sensed his steeliness, his fear of vulnerability, his lack of connection, as if he were far away. The foul breath in the mornings, the farts at night, and the glimpses beneath his armor, had eroded her affection. It had happened so slyly that neither had noticed. The charm he’d used to win her over had dwindled once they were married but she’d done what she could to make it work. It was probably her fault – that’s what had led her to therapy in the first place. If only she could change, it would be okay.

  By the time the group returned for their final session, the right side of Katy’s head was starting to pulse as a wave of familiar nausea rose from her stomach. In just a few hours her head would feel as if someone had put a pickaxe through her right eye. The two paracetamols would be about as effective as using a dandelion clock to hit a cricket ball.

  The bearded man was having an asthma attack. Everyone dropped what they were doing to help out. “It’s past life,” said Jane, getting out a set of tuning-forks. “We need to clear it.” She placed the tuning forks over his body. “I can’t breathe!” he spluttered. Clutching his chest and turning red, he drew a thin, raspy stream of air into his lungs. “I’ve never had asthma in my life!”

  Something was formulating in Katy’s mind. “We need to heal him collectively. We were all there – we’re responsible for this, it’s karmic.” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, her cheeks coloring at her own stupidity.

  “Yes,” said the Indian lady. “I’m picking up the same thing. We drowned him.”

  “It was in the Middle-East somewhere,” said the shy young woman.

  “We’re one soul group,” said Jane, hovering with her tuning forks. “We’ve moved through many lives together, sometimes as family, friends, spouses, and sometimes as adversaries.”

  The asthma attack stopped, and everyone went back to the final clearing of the day.

  Katy’s ‘career and money’ was forty per cent blocked. She gulped – she supported Richard and the children emotionally and practically, but it was he who largely supported them financially. The pendulum swung: one hundred and fifteen percent clear.

  Jane closed the session. “We’re honored to be doing this work,” she said. “We’re wiping the slate clean, not just for ourselves, but for others. By opening the Akashic Records, we’re clearing the negative impact of what happened in the past, for everyone involved in the event. Cause and effect – we’re clearing the cause.”

  Everyone was chatting as they spilled out towards the car park. They were heading for The Jolly Farmer, except for Katy, who swung back towards London, her head throbbing, her shoulders sore. Instead of listening to her eclectic music, she sat in silence, accompanied only by her own bubbling thought process. It was guilt, she realized, that made her drive all the way back, only to repeat the process tomorrow. She was anxious about Freddie and Tilly and fretting that Richard might notice the chasm growing between them. If only he’d join her on this adventure, but there was no chance. She knew he disapproved and was bound to laugh at her later. Besides, he was incapable of looking after himself, let alone the children! He might be a big cheese in the City, but he was useless at everything else.

  I can’t trust him, she thought, he’s not part of the group – the Movement of Spiritually Enlightened Souls – M.O.S.E.S – Moses! That’s what she’d call this secret society she found herself part of! It was safe to be her when she was with them! After all, you couldn’t talk to normal people about this stuff.

  Katy found a parking space at the far end of Sycamore Road. Her head reverberating with shots of pain, she slid the key into the front door. The smell of lasagna and cabbage hit her before she could see the devastation in the kitchen – pots and pans everywhere, dirty plates on the table, newspapers scattered across the floor, and Freddie’s sports bag hanging open on the back of a chair.

  “Hello?” Nothing. Turning around, she saw a note on the fridge: Gone to watch the rugby. Back later. R x

  The phone rang several times before he answered. She could hear the bustle of people chatting and laughing in the background, the crystal accent of a woman nearby and the chink of glasses.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s me. I’m home. Where are you?”

  “Just, err at The King’s Head.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Soonish.”

  “Where’s Tilly and Freddie?”

  “Freddie’s staying at Tom’s and Tilly’s gone to a party with Joe.”

  “I thought they’d split up?”

  “Apparently they’re back together.”

  Joe was Tilly’s erstwhile boyfriend. Katy could sense she’d outgrown him but couldn’t quite let go.

  Surveying the damage – tangled beds, towels and clothing languishing in lazy heaps, half-filled cups of cold coffee – Katy maneuvered through the abandoned house. Tilly’s room looked like a burglar had rifled through it and left in a hurry. She closed the door, put the towels back in the bathroom, yawned, and rubbed the back of her neck. It had been a long day and she was spent, bankrupt and on the brink of being overdrawn.

  Standing on the top landing, she whispered, “Are you there?” In the mirror she saw her face crumple in silence. Wiping away a tear with the back of her green sleeve, she wandered into the office and fired up the laptop. The enquiry form which had been hanging around for eleven days was still unanswered.

  Wow! A Harley Street therapist and healer – you always were amazing. Go for it, girl!

  He’d written it at precisely 11.
11 pm, she noticed. Probably found her when she’d changed her name. He’d recognize Fralinski, but not Stone. An odd sensation rippled through her as she cast her thoughts back to the wild teenager. He hadn’t crossed her mind in all those years, not once, until eleven days ago. In the quiet of the house and heavy with tiredness, she wondered what he was like now? What he was up to? She imagined those thighs, that bottom! Of course, he’d be married now, with children, just like her! She was curious, it came with the territory – knowing people’s business was her business. She’d reply, telling him about Richard and the kids, about her London life, her career – that would impress him! He’d wonder why he’d left her all those years ago!

  They’d been young and it had only lasted a few weeks before he’d ended it for no apparent reason. The fifteen-year-old had told herself she’d been stupid to think that he’d loved her. In the privacy of the family bathroom, copious tears had fallen, but nobody would ever know. It had been her secret. Putting it all behind her, she had moved on, only her closest friend seeing through the cheerful mask. With head held high, she was dating someone else within a few weeks and Tony was history.

  “Toast!” she said out loud, smiling at the use of his word. There weren’t many people from school she’d like to hear from, but he was one of them.

  Tony! What a surprise! How lovely to hear from you! Fill me in on the last 32 years!

  Best – Katy.

  She hit ‘send’ and with perfect mistiming, her own voice of reason entered backstage: ‘You shouldn’t meddle with old flames!’ I bet he’s a nobody, she chuckled to herself, closing the laptop and making her way to bed. Richard barged in, setting the chimes jangling just as she was dozing off. The thud of his shoes grew louder, the aroma of smoke, booze and something faintly resembling Chanel No.5 followed him into the room. “I’m asleep!” she murmured, as he undressed before slipping into bed. Curling her legs up to her chest, she rolled away.

  At around 3.30 am, Katy became aware of something. She’d just cleared sex, love and relationships and had been working with the green Aura Soma – which had been clearing the green heart chakra, the seat of love, and she’d been dressing head to toe in green. Her final, momentary thought before plunging back to sleep, was ‘Tony Verde! Verde means green! I lost my virginity to that bastard.’

  Chapter 10

  Katy lay in bed, clinging to the remnants of sleep before the imminent intrusion of the alarm. Anthony Verde! He was one of the cool kids at school: Shoulder length golden hair, wavy and luxuriant like a mane, framing a strong chin which bristled with stubble. A rebellious streak fueled his reckless regard for rules. He was dangerously different. Instead of Donnie Osmond and Slade, he was into Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and David Bowie. It was 1977. Even his school uniform looked trendy on him; the puce blazer perfectly complementing his pale skin, the upturned collar rakish, the sleeves pushed up to reveal muscular forearms. The two-year age gap added to the intrigue. He was someone to be admired back then, thought Katy. At fifteen she’d been pretty cool herself – daring, different, with a street cred that belied her polished accent. Tony had joined the sixth form from one of the local schools that stopped at Year Five. He was fresh meat for the older girls, their hormones spilling out along with their cleavages, which he ogled with his cerulean eyes. Katy had studied him from a distance, picking up the gossip in the playground from the giggling geeks in their gingham dresses. They were hopelessly square – shy, girlie, rosy-cheeked, and winsome – blushing at any male attention. Katy hadn’t been like that. She’d feigned an interest in rugby just to watch the testosterone-filled figures running up and down the field in their tiny shorts. With zero interest in the game, she’d eye up the bottoms in the scrums, imagining them in the shower post-match. Any decent player had her attention. She couldn’t tear herself away from Tony’s muscular legs with their curly blonde hairs and the pert bottom that stuck out, fleshy and perfectly formed like a peach. Of course, she’d known it was all hopeless – he was in the upper sixth and she was just a fifth former.

  Katy rolled over and opened an eye, peering at the clock. There was still time, she decided, pulling the duvet up around her ears and sinking back to her thoughts.

  She’d lost touch with everyone from school after that one disastrous reunion. Of course, it had been the right decision to put it behind her and move on. The event had been dull, the turn-out disappointing and the venue an anonymous hotel furnished with plastic seats and a sticky dance floor. It was the 80s and she was single. Perhaps her old partners in crime and former conquests would show up, she’d thought, but it was the ones she didn’t remember that had stood at the cheerless bar or tapped their feet to Wham!

  Katy winced as the memory crystallized. She’d made her entrance in a short, tight-fitting vintage number, red wine in one hand, black cigarette-holder in the other, a Camel smoldering in the holder as she sucked at it, her cheeks hollowing, her ruby lips pouting as she sent out coils of smoke. Her nails were painted crimson to match a quilted, gold-chained bag and patent leather stilettoes. She’d stopped abruptly at the sight, through her heavily kohled eyes, of the ‘Marks and Spencer brigade’ in their tasteful taupe. The evening might have held some sway if Tony or someone engaging had been there, but as it was, there was nothing to do but down her cheap plonk and ask for another. And another. The end of the evening was a blur, just a vague recollection of gyrating her bootie for every single male she could lay eyes on, despite vertiginous heels and mediocre music. That was pre-Richard, she reminded herself. The rebel had acquiesced, the wild woman had been tamed and the demons had been exorcised. You can’t be a revolutionary forever. There comes a point when you have to settle down, grow up and train your unpredictable nature. A smart career-woman had replaced the temptress; marriage to Richard had suffocated the hippy, and yoga had taken over from partying.

  An electronic alarm brought her musings to an abrupt end and she reached for her gown before braving the chill morning air.

  * * *

  It was a grey November day and Katy, dressed in scarf and hat, trudged through the sleet for her appointment with Terry.

  “Have you been keeping your dream diary?” he asked.

  “Yes, but nothing out of the ordinary, except...” she hesitated. Did she really need to divulge this? Terry waited, knowing it was best to let the silence hang if you wanted your client to open up.

  “I’ve been having lucid dreams at night.”

  Terry leaned forward, his expression deadpan. Katy shifted in her seat, her hand reaching up for her left earring. “It’s as if I’m being mentored.”

  Terry scribbled something down.

  She continued. “I think people become preoccupied with their misgivings, then give up on their hopes. Maybe that’s the root of a lot of problems.” She paused, her mind pulling it all together. “Depression, for example, anger, even. Can I give an example?”

  “Please!”

  “Say you want to – I don’t know – run a coffee shop! Instead of getting on with it, you start worrying that you don’t have enough money. You don’t know where it should be or how to set it up. Do you get my drift?”

  Terry pushed his spectacles up his nose with his index finger and nodded.

  “Then your friend tells you there’s no money in cafés and it’s terribly hard work,” she continued. “And your parents tut because they want you to be an accountant. Then you realize you’ll never be able to compete with Starbucks, and before you know it, you’ve snuffed out your dream.”

  “Are you feeling dissatisfied? Unfulfilled?”

  Ignoring his comment, she continued, “But if you’d had a bit of faith, you might have made it work. Not straight away, things take time, it’s like saying you want a baby!”

  “Do you want another baby, Katy?”

  “No. I’m just using it to illustrate a point. You can’t decide you want a baby then expect it to arrive the next day, can you? It would be impossible! But people don’t give up because of
that! They try for a baby then wait. Maybe they get pregnant in a month or two, and in another nine, they have a baby.”

  “And your point is?”

  “I think a lot of people give up because they think what they want is impossible or it’ll take ages – or maybe it’s because they don’t think they have what it takes or they’re not deserving? But there are loads of examples that prove just the opposite. All sorts of people who aren’t that good make it big time!”

  “And what is it that you want?”

  “I don’t even know anymore – but if I did, I’m starting to realize it might be possible.”

  “Give me an example that proves the opposite?”

  “Victoria Beckham! She’s living proof!”

  “Of what?”

  “That if you know what you want,” she sang the next bit. “And, as the Wannabe song goes, you have the balls to stick with it, you can make it work! Look at her! A famous husband, a career as a singer – and she can’t even sing! Then a designer, without ever going to art college...and that’s not all! She’s wealthy, she’s got kids and she’s probably a size 2.”

  “Are you jealous of her?”

  “No!” snapped Katy, her cheeks reddening. “The only thing that’s special about her is her dogged ability to stick with it and get what she wants! It’s infuriating!”

  “Because you don’t have what you want?”

  “Because I have to toil blood, sweat and tears to get anything, and it all comes to her on a plate!”

  “I’m sure Victoria – what’s her name? Spice? – I’m sure she didn’t just sit back and watch it all materialize! She probably toiled blood, sweat and tears too!”

  Katy screwed up her face and a lump formed in her throat.

  “Maybe I am envious. I suppose even Posh had to see the openings, seize the opportunities, and dare to take them.”