Red Dress

by Bridget Finklaire

  Katy had to concede the Voice was right. The hammering in her head was easing up.

  “A new pair of shoes only brings fleeting happiness,” said the Voice, “and you’re after something more, aren’t you?”

  Katy rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “Well, yes.”

  “An exotic holiday, a promotion at work, a nice piece of jewelry, chocolate – that sort of happiness depends on external stimuli and is fleeting.”

  “Yes.”

  “People seek happiness outside of themselves because they don’t believe it exists within, but the true wellspring of joy is that which you cultivate on the inside and take with you to the outside.”

  “I think I’m starting to get it.”

  “On your walks and when you meditate, you’re connecting to nature, to the eternal, the mystical, to something far bigger and better than a new pair of shoes and a bar of dark chocolate.”

  “There is no path to happiness; happiness is the path.”

  “The Buddha. Quite so. As you release the past, Love, Light, Life can flow again.”

  “Like unblocking a load of interconnecting pipes?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it!” chuckled the Voice, “Life-force, like water in pipes, can start flowing again.”

  “Why do you say it with that emphasis?”

  “Light, Love, Life?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m talking about a superluminal, generative, creative Light, not the sort you see with your eyes.”

  “Oh!”

  “You can feel it. It’s the feeling you get at the end of your meditation.”

  “Mmm.”

  “The three are connected as a trinity, as all Higher Truths are.”

  “Like Father, Son and Holy Spirit?”

  “Or Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, or Abraham, Isaac and Jacob! But it’s not limited to religious concepts - what about electron, proton and neutron?”

  “But how is Light connected to Love and Life?”

  “They’re three in one. Love is an emanation of Divine Light which generates Life.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You will one day. For now, keep clearing those pipes. Fill them with light, become en-light-ened, and love, life and happiness will flow.”

  Chapter 16

  Katy flung open the wardrobe doors and removed every scrap of sky blue and baby pink, except for the dusty-pink, wool jacket, and blue check trousers. Everything else went into a bin liner. At last, a look she could live with! Navy suited her and she loved the jaunty look of blue and white stripes and sailor’s collars. There were plenty of things in her wardrobe, no need to buy anything, apart from those shoes she fancied. Selecting a crisp, white, linen shirt and a pair of beautifully cut sailor’s style pants, she showered and dressed. The trousers must have shrunk, she thought, straining to button them up. “Bloody hell! I’ve got to stop eating chocolate,” she muttered, discarding the outfit, and donning a dress instead.

  Downstairs, in the kitchen, she slipped her hand to the back of the fridge. She’d better throw it away right now, but there were only two squares left, what harm could they do? There was an unopened packet, but it was her favorite brand. Maybe she’d keep it – open it to celebrate getting back into the sailor trousers!

  Katy sat at the kitchen table with a cup of fresh mint tea, reading the notes she’d made at Lavinia’s. Finding clarity from the light, she’d written. The blue and clear bottle is about transforming suffering, freeing yourself from distractions, limitations, and obstacles. This leads to peace and stillness, and when all is still, you’ll find clarity.

  Clarity about what, she wondered as she looked at her diary? The chocolate lady was first up today, then a double session with Seamus, followed by a woman who was ‘beside herself’ because she couldn’t afford to heat the swimming pool at her second home! The final client was the man from the museum who was struggling with the feelings that were being unleashed.

  * * *

  The small bald man finished his group session at The Priory and hailed a taxi.

  “Paddington Station, please!” He smiled.

  Sitting in the back of the black cab, he felt better than he had in years. His legs open, feet flat on the floor, hands relaxed, it felt as if layers of guilt and shame were falling away. These monthly group sessions had been good for him. Things weren’t perfect by any means, but he knew he could dodge whatever his wife might throw at him. His daughter was settling at school and he’d eased himself off the worst of his habits. Something good was about to happen, something wholesome that would bring him a new lease of life. He could feel it in his bones.

  The taxi dropped him off, and after crossing the concourse, he grabbed a Cornish pasty from a stall by the platform. He pushed through the turnstile to his train and found a seat. Having eaten the pie, he dusted the crumbs from his lap and stretched out his legs. The rocking of the carriage as it eased out of London, lulled him, and his eyelids grew heavy. He knew what he wanted, and he knew it would work out, just as it always did. There was a distant stirring in his loins as his eyes closed and surrendered.

  * * *

  Richard sat at a small table in the corner of a busy Smithfield restaurant, watching Emma as she picked at her roast beef salad, her slender hands holding the cutlery with such poise that he couldn’t help reaching out to touch them tenderly.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said. The little box had been in his briefcase for months, waiting for precisely the right moment.

  “For all your hard work on the acquisition.” He pushed the small turquoise package towards her. Recognizing it immediately, she put down her knife and fork and flashed him that smile of hers, all white, even teeth and glossy lips.

  “Oh! You shouldn’t have!” she breathed, her eyes sparkling in that way they did.

  “Go on! Open it now!” he said, noticing she was about to slip it into her expensive handbag. Her long fingers picked languorously at the white ribbon, unfurling the bow carefully. She took the box in one hand and the lid in the other, her fingers perfectly placed, as if posing for a manicure advert. Looking him in the eye, her mouth open in anticipation, she gradually inched the top off. As she peeped into the box, she gasped, covering her mouth with a flawless hand.

  “Thought they’d go with that necklace,” said Richard, eyeing up the small diamond that hung just above her cleavage.

  “You noticed!” she said wrinkling her forehead and drawing her eyebrows together. She stood up to hug him. “Thank you!” she breathed. “They’re beautiful.”

  Chapter 17

  March 27th 2009

  It was almost the end of March and Katy had taken Friday off to deal with mounting paperwork and bills. This new regime of Terry’s meant she wasn’t keeping on top of the bookkeeping.

  Before burying herself in invoices and receipts, she took a quick look at her emails. Anything to delay the inevitable, she thought. The Easter holiday cottage in the Cotswolds had been confirmed, and the company she’d approached about Mexico had emailed a quote. The plane tickets to Barcelona for the Conference for Evolution in Human Consciousness had been sent, and Shanti had forwarded details of the hotel booking. She was about to sign off when a familiar MoD address popped up on her screen. Her pulse quickened.

  I’m in town this morning. Leaving Whitehall after lunch. You’re probably busy, and it’s a bit of a long shot, but fancy meeting up for that cup of tea?

  Katy’s heart hammered rapidly and she stood up. Shit, she thought, what do I do now? Pacing up and down, a determined look on her face, she weighed the pros and cons. She couldn’t, could she? She was too flipping busy, and all this paperwork! But it was Friday and she could catch up tomorrow. No, there was too much, it would spill over into the weekend. A cup of chamomile tea would settle her, help her to think. She hurried down to the kitchen.

  Standing in the snug looking out of the French windows, she blew onto the hot liquid. She needed to get groceries later, she rem
embered. There wasn’t any food in the house, and they’d be home later, hungry and expecting dinner on the table. After all, she’d taken the day off to catch up the backlog; they were bound to expect her to cook. Katy flung open the door and stepped into the small, walled garden. The roses were just coming into bud, she noticed. Mug in hand, she walked the length of the brickwork patio. What if it was a waste of time and they had nothing to talk about? If she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to go. What if he had the hots for her and she had to wriggle out of it? Or worse, if he didn’t have any feelings at all and she did? It could be awkward, and it would be a waste of her afternoon. It was Friday and she was tired, for God’s sake. Tara’s words came swimming back. Terrible idea. That’s right, she had plenty of friends she’d rather see. It was one thing to exchange emails, and quite another to give up her precious time to see him in person. Heading back inside and closing the French windows against the cool spring air, she’d made up her mind. She’d stay at home and get the accounts finished.

  Up in the office, invoices sorted into piles, calculator out, a nagging doubt persisted. All work and no play, she should go! Have a bit of fun for once! Katy pushed it to the back of her mind and pulled up a spreadsheet. All work and no play. Puffing up her cheeks, she let out a long stream of air and started on the ‘income’ column. All work and no play. Third time. Reaching for her pendulum and charts, she made space amidst the slips of paper. “Should I meet up with Tony Verde?” she asked. The crystal swung on its fine chain and nodded a definitive yes. She must have worded it wrong. “Is it in my best and highest interest to meet Tony Verde this afternoon?” It moved up and down wildly in an emphatic yes. Pursing her lips and holding the chain between a pinched finger and thumb, she thought for a moment. “Is it beneficial, given I’ve got all this work to do and I’m tired, to give up this afternoon to meet Tony Verde, the Tony Verde from school that I’ve been emailing?” Still the crystal swayed to and fro in the affirmative. Katy didn’t give up. “How beneficial?” she asked, waving the pendulum over a fan-shaped chart, which ran from zero to one hundred percent. If it were over fifty percent, she’d consider it. The crystal shot straight to a small figure eight on its side, just beyond the one hundred mark. Infinity? Katy frowned deeply and shook her head. It can’t be, she thought. “Is it infinitely beneficial?” she asked of the small object in her hands. Yes, came the irrefutable answer as it rocked back and forth. God knows why it’s infinitely beneficial, but that’s what I’m getting, she thought. There must be a reason and she’d better find out what it was! He’d be coming from Whitehall and going home via Paddington. She looked at her tube map before replying.

  I’ve taken the day off to catch up paperwork. I could meet you around 2.30 pm. Let me know where. Perhaps Hammersmith? It’s about halfway and I don’t fancy going all the way into town. My mobile number in case you need it – 07936 611339

  There was no response. Maybe she’d left it too late. It wasn’t meant to be, and she might as well carry on with the invoices, she thought, sighing with relief. Her phone buzzed.

  Hammersmith perfect. Can you make 3 pm?

  She wondered if he knew it was a big station with two entrances.

  See you 3 pm, Hammersmith.

  He’d work it out.

  Three hours later, wearing a navy and white striped, tight-fitting Breton jersey with midnight blue, high-waisted, linen trousers under her cream mac, Katy left the house, hair straightened into place, make-up on, new blue and white shoes pinching slightly.

  Arriving at Hammersmith station six minutes early, she headed for the main Broadway Centre exit, and looked around in case he was already there. Her hands were trembling, her mouth dry, the blood coursing through her. She shouldn’t be doing this! What if they didn’t recognize each other? She walked the length of the small mall of shops from the tube to the street exit, looking furtively around. Having noticed nothing out of the ordinary, she trudged back to the coffee shop just outside the underground barriers. Standing with her back to the window, she watched the stream of people passing through. Feeling uncomfortable, she straightened her raincoat, smoothed down a stray curl, then placed one foot slightly in front of the other in a pose. She was pulling her already flat stomach in, lifting her chin somewhat and trying to look casual. Focusing on the ever-increasing torrent of commuters, she noticed that some were jostling for position outside the café. Perhaps they were waiting for loved ones or meeting friends. Katy’s eyes were fixed on the gates, waiting for a man with a golden thatch of wavy hair, maybe greying at the temples, a few crow’s feet around his startling blue eyes. She envisaged him striding manfully in his suit. Oh my God, last time he’d seen her, she’d had wild, long, curly hair! She’d forgotten to tell him it was straightened, as far as the unruly mop could be, into a tamed, short, choppy bob. The station clock showed 3.03 pm. He was late. Maybe he was the other side, waiting at the wrong entrance? Katy chewed the inside of her cheek and checked her phone before slipping it into her mac pocket and furling her hand around it just in case. Her pulse was racing, and her mouth felt like blotting paper.

  Some short, bald guy sporting rather unfashionable gold-rimmed glasses was standing next to her, trying to stretch up on tiptoe to see above the taller woman in front. He was nervously fiddling with his left cufflink, then jangling change in his pocket.

  It was nine minutes past now, and Tony was late; her pet hate, given the regimented timekeeping she forced herself into. I knew I shouldn’t have come, she grumbled to herself.

  Taking an old-style mobile from the pocket of his grey mac, she could see the bald man next to her laboriously tapping out a message with one finger and hitting send. Katy’s phone buzzed in her pocket and she snatched at it, her stomach tightening. With mounting horror, it dawned on her. No, it couldn’t be. She turned to the stranger next to her. “Did you just text me?” The words shot out before she’d had time to think, let alone look at the message. Why had she said that? The text could have been from anyone! Her heart was thumping now. The bald man turned to her, his blue eyes staring through his glasses as he furrowed his pale, wrinkled brow.

  “Are you, Tony?” Katy’s mouth hung open as she felt herself stepping back involuntarily. It was a stupid question. She’d obviously made a mistake. “Sorry, my mistake!”

  “Yes,” came the uncertain answer, the voice small and faltering.

  Shit, thought Katy.

  “I’m Katy,” she said, forcing up the corners of her mouth and extending her right hand.

  “I was looking for the hair,” he said, feebly offering a limp hand.

  Me, too, thought Katy, flattening down her unruly mop. He was nothing like she’d remembered him. She must have been shorter back then because he was definitely taller, wasn’t he?

  “There’s a nice café on Fulham Palace Road,” she said brightly, her heart sinking. She could see from the blank expression on his face, that he hadn’t got the faintest idea where Fulham Palace Road was. “Shall we?”

  Tony seemed to have been struck dumb, his mouth hanging open, his eyes fixed on her. Beads of sweat were forming on his high, bald forehead.

  “Any good pubs round here?” he stammered, a lop-sided smirk breaking the gormless expression.

  Pub? At 3 o’clock in the afternoon? She supposed she’d have to entertain this short baldy from the shires, so she might as well get on with it.

  “Yah, there’s a couple of pubs on the Broadway,” she said, walking purposefully ahead. This was going to be hard work. She should have said no. Bloody pendulum: why had she trusted it? Hopefully, she could get away after the first drink. Forty minutes should do it. He was a clueless out-of-towner and she could make up some excuse about trains and rush hour.

  “After you,” said Tony, rushing to keep up with her London stride.

  Katy rolled her eyes. How could she have been so foolish?

  Holding the heavy glass door open, Tony smiled and ushered her into the pub. Katy walked straight up to the
bar and was about to order, when ‘Baldy’ asked her what she’d like. “A large glass of Rioja, please.” She’d need something to get her through this awkward dead-end.

  “Make that two.” Tony winked to the barman.

  “Will that be all, sir? If you want another glass, it’d be cheaper to get a bottle.”

  “Righty-ho! A bottle of Rioja then,” said Tony, extracting a smart, Italian leather wallet from his inside pocket.

  They sat at a quiet table nursing their glasses, Katy waiting for him to say something, anything. She took a large swig and jumped in. Somebody had to get the ball rolling. “So,” she said, taking a deep breath, “Hammersmith’s changed so much since I first moved to London.” She was looking around the pub, which had obviously been gentrified.

  Tony leaned forward as if to steady himself. Holding the stem of his glass, he swirled the rich, dark liquid.

  “It’s always so busy on a Friday, people leaving work early,” she continued.

  He sniffed at the wine then sampled it. “Not bad. Rioja’s always a good bet in a pub,” he said, his cobalt eyes boring into her.

  “You know your wines!” Katy smiled, pushing an errant curl behind her ear and taking the glass in her hands.

  “Bit of a hobby.” He took a gulp.

  “Me too!” Her face reddened slightly as she looked down at the coaster.

  The conversation moved on from Hammersmith and wine to school days, mutual friends, old haunts, and how they’d both changed.

  “What happened to that girl, whats-a-name, the one with the freckles who got caught snogging your friend Rob outside the Physics lab?”

  “I know who you mean,” said Tony. “It’ll come to me... Linda! She moved up North. Married a bloke that my sister used to go out with, can’t remember his name, but I know he’s a complete dick. More wine?”