Red Dress

by Bridget Finklaire

  “That’s interesting.”

  “It’s by design. Everything’s linked, therefore everything’s affected by a change in the system. Patterns in nature repeat at different scales and levels, because they’re all coming from a Higher Blueprint. There’s an infinite space to explore within the inner realms of your mind, because it’s connected to the Mind of Creation, which is also out there, in infinite space. As the Hermetics said, the universe is mental.”

  Katy laughed out loud. “It certainly is mental! Totally mental!”

  Freddie had just emerged from the bathroom below. “You’re bloody mental!” he called up, “Talking out loud to yourself like that!”

  “It’s okay, Freddie! Just thinking something through.”

  He scampered into his bedroom and shut the door.

  “Go on,” she urged the Voice.

  “The Divine Mind is infinite and everywhere, even in the farthest reaches of space. That’s consciousness. There’s an infinite cosmos to explore out there and an infinite mind connected to what’s in here.” Katy could almost feel a gentle hand touching her crown as she heard the words ‘in here’.

  “Your mind is unfathomable, and so is the Mind of the cosmos. You’re simply poised right now as a gateway between the two. Because everything is connected, there’s really only One grand creation, and everything in the One is a unity of realities which are moving at different rates, from sub-atomic particles all the way up to super-galaxies. Like wheels within wheels.”

  “Like the cogs inside an old watch? Small ones, large ones, some inside others, all of them connected, all of them moving at different speeds.”

  “Not bad. Now, imagine that in multiple dimensions and colors.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Imagine one infinite, living, interconnected, constantly expanding and positive existence of LoveLight.” The Voice could see Katy was struggling. “What’s important for you right now, is that constant change and constant motion is the only constant in the universe. Change is evolution and evolution is change.”

  “Hmm. Deep.”

  “I’ll bid you farewell with that, dearly beloved Katherine.”

  “Wait! What about the Aura Soma and the SRT?”

  “They’re both tuning you into the correct frequency.”

  “Like me tuning into Radio 4 after Richard’s left it on Sports Live?”

  “Yes! You’re grounding the vibration of your new name by making an energetic pathway for it.”

  “I’m making it real, making it fit?”

  “Realizing it. Yes. You’re matching yourself to the new frequency, and the Aura Soma and SRT are helping you clear the things that are getting in the way. That, and your sessions with Terry.”

  “You know about Terry?”

  “Omniscience.”

  “You’ve been listening in? Is that room bugged?”

  “I see and hear everything, and there is no judgement. I see that you’re realigning your system to synchronize with the vibration of your new name and its potential. Changing your name has sent out a signal, like a radio signal, and it’s been received on High.”

  “What will happen?”

  “You’ll be able to receive, carry and transmit the new frequency, extending it into the world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The vibration of your name is a carrier wave for your higher purpose.”

  “And what’s that? To teach, like the soul contract said? But how?”

  “You’re growing into the person you need to be, to carry out that mission. The first step is to clear the things that are blocking your frequency!”

  “The sink-plunger… And I have no idea what’s going to be dredged up as it plumbs the depths! It could be a slimy matted knot of misery, pain and sorrow!”

  “I’m afraid so, but I’ll be guiding you through the conflicting emotions, rest assured!”

  It wasn’t much assurance. A disembodied voice that she wasn’t sure was real would be counselling her? Could she trust it?

  “Do you feel threatened, manipulated or afraid when I speak?”

  “No.”

  “What do you feel?”

  “Warm, joyous, loved.” She paused. “Safe, even.”

  “Have I ever coerced you, forced the issue, persuaded you against your better judgement?”

  “No! Never! You’ve always been very polite.”

  “Do you ever feel at ease, calm, blissful when you’re in my presence?”

  “Yes!”

  “So, what is your inner knowing, your innate discernment?” Katy smiled. The Voice was gone, but she could almost feel it smiling back.

  “One more thing before you go!” she said, “What are Akashic records? Jane Joyheart talked about them.”

  She waited in the silence, her ears straining, her mind ready.

  Chapter 14

  “Helen, come in here a moment,” warbled Richard into the phone as he hastily licked sherbet lemon shards from his fingers.

  A few seconds later, his secretary came bustling into the office, her face beaming. There was something in her manner that reminded him of a faithful old dog. If you treated someone well, you’d get more out of them, he thought – keep your allies close and your enemies even closer. That’s how he’d cemented his most strategic relationships.

  “Close the door and sit down,” he said.

  Helen clutched at a shorthand notepad, pen poised, ready for his dictate.

  She was experienced, this woman in her practical black slacks and tweed jacket, but it hadn’t always been the case. He’d plucked her from the typing pool, the mother who’d returned to work once the nest was empty. She’d been all fingers and thumbs with the new technology, and something in him had taken her under his broad wing. He’d always been a sucker for the underdog, especially if they showed potential. He’d give them a hand-up if they were willing to work at it. And if they weren’t? He’d drop them right back where he found them. He had no time for people who couldn’t rally round him.

  “I’d like you to take my credit card shopping to one of those fancy jewelers in Old Bond Street,” he said, winking at her. “I need two bits of decent bling. Get something gold and dainty, tasteful, maybe with a small diamond,” he added, “and something impressive in silver, will you?”

  “I don’t know if I could—”

  “I trust you, Helen. You’ve got an impeccable track record and I know you’ll do the right thing. Here’s the pin number, keep it secret, don’t write it down and don’t give it to anyone.” He could change the pin later, and besides, he was covered by insurance, he reminded himself.

  “Yeah. Of course. Thanks,” she said, accepting the slim plastic card. “What’s the budget?”

  “Whatever it costs.”

  “In Bond Street? You sure?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  “Keep the whole lot under £3,000 if you can.”

  “Gift wrapped?”

  “Separately, discreetly,” he said, his eyelid twitching slightly, “and be back by…” He glanced at his watch. “Five.”

  Helen closed the office door as she left. He visualized her taking her thick coat from the stand and that functional handbag from beneath her desk. Listening for the muffled sound of her sensible, flat-shoed footsteps receding down the corridor, he unlocked his desk drawer and removed an envelope, which he zipped into the side pocket of his briefcase. She’d be back in a few hours with the two gift boxes. Stuffing a sherbet lemon into his cheek, he turned his mind to more important matters. He had a few phone calls to make and an ‘off the record’ comment for the Times diary, which he knew would set a hare running. ‘Misdirection,’ he mused.

  A little before 5 pm, the intercom buzzed. “Mr. Stone – I’m back with the bits and bobs.”

  She hastened into the office and handed him a turquoise paper bag tied with white ribbon.

  “The little box is a pair of gold stud earrings with small diamonds, and the big box is a solid silver bangle,
quite unusual.”

  “Good work, Helen,” he said, untying the ribbon. “And the credit card?”

  “Oh yes, of course!” she said, burying her hand in her pocket and extracting the prized piece of plastic.

  “Thank you, Helen. You can leave this till tomorrow,” he said, gesturing to a pile of papers on his desk. “If you hurry, you’ll miss the worst of rush hour.”

  Almost curtseying as she left, Helen closed the door. Richard discarded the bag, locked the small box in his desk drawer and placed the larger one in his briefcase, along with the envelope, and left the office.

  Picking up an Evening Standard at the station, he slipped down into the cold, windy subway. With any luck, he’d be home by 7.30 pm.

  The cursed wind chimes rattled as he opened the door to number eleven. He knew Katy would be home. It was her admin day, well that’s what she called it, more like a day off, he thought. “Anyone home?” he called upstairs.

  “Coming!” his wife sang out. “Let me just finish this last invoice.”

  There was always something more important than him. She should have been dropping what she was doing and greeting her lord and master! God knows, he worked his arse off for this rabble, he thought, thinking of the envelope. The least they could do was acknowledge his home coming. “Tilly? Freddie? I’m home!”

  “We know, Dad,” said Freddie, sidling out of his room. “What’s for dinner, Mum?”

  “Takeaway. I haven’t had time to cook. Fish and chips?”

  “Yay! Tilly! We’re having fish and chips – from the chippie down the road?”

  Richard rolled his eyes and snorted. “I suppose you expect me to get the bloody things?”

  “No! I’ve been cooped up in here all day. Tilly, Freddie – want to come with me?”

  Richard was left alone in the kitchen with his briefcase, which he opened, fishing out the envelope and the gift-wrapped box, and placing them on the shelf next to the television in the snug. His shoes were pinching and he eased them off, carrying them as he headed upstairs. The bedroom dwarfed him, and he shivered, trying to shrug off a feeling of emptiness. The house was silent. He put his shoes on the rack, loosened his tie, hung up his suit and took his shirt off, dumping it on the bedroom floor. It lay crumpled in a heap, dejected, unwanted and alone, with only a pair of dirty socks nearby for company. A freshly ironed shirt was selected from the wardrobe, which he hung on the handle while he searched for a tie and suit to match. The art of war, he said to himself, is to know your enemy, and besides, you only get one chance to make a first and dominating impression.

  The fish and chips were served just as he liked them – soggy, with plenty of salt and vinegar. It was a pity these fancy southern chip shops didn’t do mushy peas and gravy, but there were some sacrifices he’d had to make in order to rise up the ranks and be somebody. He couldn’t let the past catch up with him now. He watched the family stuffing their faces.

  I’m the silverback of this troop, he thought, ramming a huge portion of battered cod into his mouth, and licking the grease off his fingers. He could see Katy wincing at him from the other side of the table, her, with her finicky fish knife and fork. Bloody posh Home Counties.

  “Stop fussing with that oily paper, will you?” he said as Katy packed the remains into the bin. “I’ve got something for you.” He stood up, reaching through the archway into the snug and returning with something in his hand. “Here you go. Don’t tell me I never get you anything,” he said, proffering a package.

  Unwrapping its white ribbon, fingers impatient, she peered into the box. Her eyes widened. “Richard! It’s gorgeous!” She smiled and slipped the heavy silver bangle onto her wrist. “I love it,” she said, showing it off in the kitchen spotlight.

  “I’ve come into a bit of spare cash,” he said, holding out the envelope. “Here, treat yourself to a nice new outfit. That lime green thing ought to be shot.”

  Katy took the envelope, hurled her arms around Richard, and kissed his slobbery lips before hugging him close. “Thank you!” she whispered.

  “Don’t ever accuse me again of seeing someone else!” he said, stroking her hair, a smile creeping across his face.

  For once, she decided to stay with him in the snug. He smiled to himself before spotting her laptop. “Put that bloody thing away will you,” he said. “It belongs upstairs!” He sank into the settee and picked up the TV remote.

  As Katy sprang up the stairs, Freddie seized his moment.

  “Dad?”

  “What?”

  “I’m worried about Mum.”

  “What is it now?” he said, slamming down the remote control.

  “I heard her talking to herself outside her office.” Freddie spoke rapidly, his words unclear, his head bowed slightly. “Something about being mental, and I’ve heard her muttering up there before. I think she’s talking to the mirror.” His hands were clasped in front of him.

  “For fuck’s sake,” spat Richard, nostrils flaring.

  Freddie backed out towards the kitchen. “Just saying, Dad.” He was peering at his father from beneath a curly fringe. “Maybe it’s pressure, I heard on the television…” He saw the look on Richard’s face and his words petered out.

  “Heard what? What pressure? A part-time job as a therapist?” Richard boomed, his eyes widening. “Let me know if you catch her again,” he said, looking into the distance and squinting slightly, like he always did when he was scheming. “I think her supervisor ought to know about this.” His nose wrinkled as if he’d smelled something bad and his eyelid flickered involuntarily.

  Chapter 15

  Three months later – February 2009

  Katy had taken on a clutch of new clients. There was an impeccably dressed City Lawyer who didn’t believe in herself. She’d only got to where she was by pure fluke, she’d said, and was worried someone was about to find out. Of course, it was all in her mind, and when Katy explored further, they unearthed an over-critical father who had always belittled her. That evening, Katy had recorded a hypnotic induction for herself, going back into her own childhood and healing old hurts. The same week, she was scheduled to see a Super-Head who’d taken over a challenging school in one of the failing London boroughs. The session was cancelled last minute due to time pressures. The following week, the same woman fell asleep in the chair as Katy probed further. There’s way too much on her plate, thought Katy, a ridiculous work schedule, two children and a husband who seemed to do nothing but watch telly. “You can’t go on at this pace,” said Katy, “or something’s going to give.” Together they explored the need to be accepted, seen and recognized. Between them, they re-scheduled her week, Katy encouraging her to delegate, drop her standards at home and carve out down-time for herself.

  Later, there was a polite gentleman who called and booked a session the following week. He turned out to be a meticulously dressed and urbane museum curator, who refused to let his bullying wife ruffle his feathers. He’d maintained control over his own feelings, pressing them beneath the veneer of his outward appearance and telling himself and everyone else that he was ‘fine’. The musculature of his face and limbs were taut and even his clothes were restricting him, with his buttoned-up collar and tightly laced shoes. Katy’s teeth were clenched as she took notes, her stomach pulled in beneath a tight belt, her legs neatly wrapped and crossed, but she noticed none of that. Her attention, as always, was on her patient and how she might help him.

  There had been a scary session with Terry when he’d told her that Richard had been in touch. “Your husband and son are concerned about you, Katy.”

  She’d sat frozen in the chair not knowing what to say while Terry had investigated further. She’d felt uncertain. What if it had all been in her mind? Perhaps she’d been hallucinating, making it all up. Strange things happened when people overdid things. Maybe she wasn’t as strong as she thought. Terry had convinced her to take time off. He was right, of course.

  “I was shocked by your time diary,” he
’d said.

  Sighing with relief, she’d realized he hadn’t clicked that she’d made it up! Thank goodness he didn’t know the truth, which was far worse!

  “Now, what’s all this about the mirror?”

  The story she told was that she’d been thinking out loud at times, practicing client conversations in the mirror. None of them was going to buy into the notion of the Voice, after all! It took all she could muster to convince herself she wasn’t going mad.

  “I hadn’t realized anyone had been listening,” she’d told Terry.

  They had closed the subject and begun working through the overwhelm that gripped her every waking hour and the fear that if she stopped, her life would fall apart. It takes time to change an ingrained habit, she’d reminded herself when she felt the pressure mounting. Terry had closed the session by insisting she take a holiday. “Not at home,” he’d cautioned. “You’ll end up doing paperwork or painting the house. Get away completely, out into the country. Walk in nature, read a book, lose yourself.”

  Katy had become aware of how often she told herself and just about everyone else that ‘she didn’t have time’ or ‘was running out of time’ or ‘was really busy’. She recalled the Voice telling her that her dominant thoughts were sowing seeds. Struggling to find different phrases, she’d tie herself in knots in an attempt to plant something new, but the truth was, she was busy and time starved. “My schedule is quite full at the moment.” Trying to find ways to change the empty ‘box life’ she’d shoe-horned her way into, she’d set aside time to connect with nature by walking in the woods at the weekend. The constant pace of life, like a treadmill that was running slightly too fast, was exhausting, and quite possibly contributing to a slow death. The mounting incidence of chronic illness during midlife had not escaped Katy’s notice.