Red Dress

by Bridget Finklaire

The flow of Rioja was oiling the wheels of conversation. Katy was taking small sips, aware that she hadn’t eaten much and wasn’t used to drinking more than a couple of glasses. Tony loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, and leaned back into the velvet banquette, his left arm extending across the top to reveal a very nice pilot’s style watch. “Shall I order another bottle?” His legs were apart and relaxed now.

  “I’ll get it.” She could feel his eyes following her, watching the curve of her hips in the tight-fitting trousers. She still had it, despite her age. He might like what he saw, but he didn’t have a chance in hell. She’d make her excuses soon and leave; lesson learned. “Another bottle of Rioja and a large bottle of sparkling water please.” The water would slow her down, she was already feeling a bit unsteady and needed to stay in control.

  The chat meandered on from school to some of the antics they got up to in their teens. Tony was red in the face laughing. “And I jumped on the ice and you screamed!”

  “I thought you could fall through and kill yourself!”

  “It was only a couple of inches deep, they’d drained it for the winter.”

  “I didn’t know that, I was stoned, remember?”

  Katy had broken her ‘three-glass rule’ and was giggling. Her hair was returning to its natural state as bits sprung up here and there. She loosened her belt a notch.

  “Tell me about the healing,” said Tony, leaning in towards her and fixing her with those eyes.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, “a bit of Reiki and some other stuff that I’ve learned.”

  “Wow, how does it work?”

  “I’m just the channel, the wire if you like, bringing it through from up there.” Her index finger was raised and jabbing towards the ceiling.

  “I love that sort of thing.”

  “Really?” Katy wasn’t used to it. Richard, the kids, and most of her colleagues, along with the school mums, didn’t have the slightest interest.

  “What do you do, I mean I know you’re MoD, but...”

  “Officer in the RAF!”

  Katy covered her mouth and stifled a smirk. “Bloody hell! You?”

  “Yep! I’m a freemason as well – hence the interest in your healing,” he said, filling his glass again.

  “I don’t really know anything about the Masons apart from the fact it’s a secret society.” She shivered slightly. “They’re a bit dodgy, aren’t they?”

  “I think you’d like it.” He was winking at her. “Symbols, allegories, sacred numbers.”

  “Numbers?”

  “Yeah, there are special number sequences that mean different things. Three, seven, nine, eleven, they’re usually odd numbers.”

  “What about six?”

  “Why six?”

  “Nicola Tesla. Three, six and nine. They’re my favorite numbers.”

  “You know about Tesla?”

  “I know about lots of things,” said Katy, leaning in towards him and cupping her glass in both hands, a broad beam lighting up her face.

  “Did you know that today is March 27, 2009?”

  “Yep!” She was quietly chuckling now and lolling on her chair as she kicked off her shoes.

  “March is three.”

  “Third month. I know, it’s my birthday in March.”

  “Sixth,” he said, staring at her.

  Her mouth dropped open. “How did you remember that?”

  He hadn’t, he’d seen it on a profile somewhere when he was researching her, and it had stuck in his mind. “I dunno!” he said. “Twenty-seven is two and seven, which is nine,” he went back to making his point about the date, while she propped herself up on her elbow, which slid away. She downed a glass of water, narrowly missing her mouth so that the first sip dribbled down her top.

  “And two thousand and nine, is two and nine, which is eleven.”

  “So, it’s a three, nine and eleven day.” The look of concentration on her face made Tony smile.

  “Yes,” he said, downing the last of his Rioja, “Three of the secret mason numbers.”

  “My birth year was a nine, so I’m my three favorite numbers! Six for the day, three for the month and nine for the year.”

  He smiled as she excused herself, tottering her way towards the Ladies’, swaying slightly as she moved from table to table. He emptied the bottle into his glass and drank it while he waited for her return.

  “Have you read Dan Brown?” he asked, tipping her wine into his glass.

  “Not my thing.”

  “You’d like The Da Vinci Code.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know, trust me.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “You’ll get through it quickly.” Tony checked his watch. “Oh shit, it’s 9 o’clock! I’d better message Lauren and get out of here pronto.”

  “What?” Katy had lost track of time. “Flip. I’d better text Richard, he’ll wonder where the hell I am.”

  Grabbing her mac and bag, she marched precariously out of the pub, Tony at her side, gallantly escorting her to her train. She sat back, watching him wave from the platform as the carriage sidled out. He stayed there till his outline was so diminished it was just a fuzzy figure in a crowd. He fancied the pants off her, but she didn’t feel the slightest urge towards him.

  Taking her phone out of her pocket, she rang Tara.

  “I met him!”

  “Who?”

  Katy laughed. “Tony. He’s nothing like I thought he’d be.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Don’t worry, he holds absolutely zero attraction!” She was giggling.

  “You sure about that?”

  “I drank a bit too much.”

  “I hope you didn’t let your guard down.”

  “He’s an old-fashioned, short-arsed, baldy.”

  “Why did you go?”

  “Dowsed and got a yes. He told me about the Masons and Dan Brown.”

  “Just be careful. I don’t have a very good feeling about the Masons, or Tony for that matter!”

  The train lumbered into Turnham Green station as she finished the call. Katy rose unsteadily to her feet, grabbing the handrail and recovering her balance as the train jolted to a halt. She hadn’t gone shopping. There was no food in the house and Freddie was going to go mad. Wobbling along in her new kitten heels, she weaved through the neat suburban streets, the crisp night air bringing her to her senses. It had been a totally unproductive afternoon. He hadn’t even divulged any masonic secrets. All he’d done was recommend a best-selling book she’d so far managed to avoid. The dowsing must have been off.

  Katy took a deep breath and bracing herself, plunged the key into the front door. The familiar jangle of chimes woke Richard, who’d been snoozing on the sofa, the Evening Standard slipping off his lap. Jonathan Ross’s voice was blaring into the darkness from a flickering screen.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” said Richard, blinking into the light that Katy had just switched on.

  “Went to meet an old friend from school.” She’d never been very good at lying. Better to stick with the truth. “Waste of time, actually.”

  “Why so late?”

  “You know me, made the best of it, had a couple of glasses of Rioja and lost track of time.”

  “A couple of glasses?” Richard was looking at her ruffled hair, the loose belt, her discarded shoes. He wasn’t that emotionally constipated, even Rich could tell she was drunk.

  “Where’s Tilly?” she asked, diverting the conversation away from her state of inebriation.

  “Staying overnight with that girl from school.”

  “Eva? She’ll probably go into town with her tomorrow.”

  “Seems to do what the fuck she likes.”

  “Rich, she’s sixteen! That’s what teenagers do!” Sweet sixteen. Katy had been off the rails by then, she hoped Tilly would pull through okay.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Just going to get out of these clothes before
sorting out supper.”

  “We’ve eaten. Freddie made some fancy cheese on toast thing.”

  “Oh. Okay. Did he make any for me?”

  Richard grunted and returned to the television while Katy made herself a piece of toast before heading upstairs to change.

  Freddie was in his room, listening to music. She knocked.

  “It’s me. Can I come in?”

  The room smelled of socks and teenage boy. His clothes were strewn across a chair in the corner, his schoolbooks crammed under the bed. His battered guitar was pinning down an unruly pile of papers on the small desk. Freddie was stretched out, his full six feet languishing on the bed, one earphone dangling so he could hear his mum. She didn’t want to smother him and knew she needed to back off. A young man needs his father and he couldn’t cling to her apron strings. She had to cut him free and let him go, but she missed the closeness, the tenderness, the connection. The innocent little boy was growing up.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just a bit tipsy! You?”

  “Just chilling. Got a big match tomorrow.”

  She should go and watch him, but that was Richard’s domain, the only thing he contributed, apart from money. Father and son needed to bond, and it was best if she wasn’t there.

  “Okay. Don’t stay up too late then,” she said, giving her son a quick hug before leaving him to it.

  Alone in her bedroom, Katy slipped off her clothes and wrapped herself in a thick bathrobe which did nothing to stop the chill that hung around her. It would be Easter soon and they’d be going away. Perhaps the break was just what she and Rich needed.

  Chapter 18

  April 2009

  Katy had packed everything for their holiday, including edible paints for decorating boiled eggs, and a hoard of chocolate for a traditional Easter egg hunt. Tara had lent her a copy of ‘The Da Vinci Code’, which she’d tucked into the side of her bag. She’d left a couple of lights on at home, put a holiday message on her emails and another on the answerphone. Constantine (the house) was tidy and Beauty (the car) was loaded. All Richard had to do was sling his guitar in the back and drive, his usual road-rage spilling over from the offset. Phrases such as, “Decided which lane you’re in, beer-bottle specs?” and “For fuck’s sake, turning right at Bristol, are we?” peppered the entire journey, along with the frequently used “Twat-monger!”

  The pretty stone cottage was half-way down a steep and narrow country lane, overgrown with hedgerows either side. Its leaded lights and stone mullions, mottled with lichen, were framed by wild, rambling roses. There was a picket fence with a gate, bordering a tiny strip of gravel at the front, and a small, mature, and somewhat overgrown garden at the back. It was the perfect hideaway. Within easy walking distance of two pubs, each serving excellent food and local real ales, read the information sheet. There were a couple of walking maps, a birdwatching book, a battered old draughts set, a pack of cards and several leaflets for local markets, shops, and places of interest.

  Freddie and Richard unloaded the car while Katy hid the bag of Easter eggs and inspected the tiny kitchen. Tilly helped her unpack and organize the food.

  Later that afternoon, the country air began to work its magic on Katy as she sat on a rickety bench outside, listening to the chorus of birdsong and the bleating of sheep far off across the valley. Richard sat next to her, reading a novel. The kids were off exploring somewhere and there was nothing to do except give herself up to the warm afternoon. If she got herself relaxed enough, she might be able to initiate something in the bedroom. She’d been working with positive suggestion hypnosis and was confident she could resurrect some intimacy with Richard. He was at his best on holiday when he could unwind and enjoy the fruits of his labor. They’d probably sing along to his guitar-playing later as he rattled through some covers. It was times like these that his old sense of humor would return and have them all in stitches.

  As the light began to fade, they returned to the cottage. Katy lit a fire in the hearth and sank into the chintz sofa with her book. She supposed she’d better read the bloody thing.

  “Mum, are you getting anything to eat? I’m starving,” said Freddie, sometime later.

  “In a minute.”

  “Mum. It’s gone 8 o’clock!”

  “Hang on, just finishing this page,” she said, prizing herself away. “Bacon and eggs?”

  The washing-up could wait. The story was hotting up, and she sat feverishly reading into the night while the rest of the family watched a film on the small television.

  “You coming to bed?” said Richard around midnight.

  Reluctantly putting down the paperback, she climbed the small winding staircase, and missing her footing on an uneven step, she jarred her back. The mattress was hard, and by morning, she’d seized up. The emotion behind back pain, she recalled, was feeling unsupported.

  A gentle walk loosened her up and a half pint of real ale eased her aching muscles, but by the evening she’d stiffened up again. “This bloody mattress,” she muttered, wedging a pillow under her knees.

  The following morning, Katy could feel her mind unwinding. Pub lunches, fresh air, board games and television – it was the perfect retro mix. She needed three months of this: no clients, no emails, no phone calls and no big house to run. Her book was better than she’d expected, and her nose was buried in it for hours.

  “Come on, Mum, are you going to read that thing all holiday?” moaned Freddie. “I thought we were going for a walk by the lake?”

  She had promised, she supposed. Gingerly leaning forward, she winced and pulled herself out of the sofa before straightening her back. She wished she could stay there, reading, perhaps falling asleep later, on those soft cushions. Taking a deep breath, she pulled on her boots, took her coat from the peg behind the door, and grabbed her bag. “Okay, let’s go!”

  It was more fun than she’d thought, tramping through the meadows to the lake, then on to The Bell Inn. The leaflet was right, excellent food and great real ales. Katy chose a half pint of local IPA and a confit of duck with mashed root veg.

  A round route took them back along the edge of a deciduous forest before dropping into the valley where the cottage nestled. Out of breath from the climb through the woods, they rested for a while. In the stillness of the late afternoon, Katy perched on a fallen log while Richard checked his phone and wandered off to make a call. The children were exploring in the undergrowth and she sat alone, surrounded by magnificent beeches. Clear open skies stretched out beyond the line of trees, and a silver strip of water glistened in the distance. Her life wasn’t bad and nor was her marriage. She and Richard got along okay, they knew each other, like a comfortable pair of old friends. The kids were doing alright, nothing to worry about, no drugs, no problems at school. They were pretty well adjusted. She and Rich were a good team, and they were doing a sterling job. She closed her eyes and watched the dappled patterns of color dance over her eyelids as she drew in a deep breath of earthy air, blowing it out slowly through her lips. The corners of her mouth turned upwards and a warm glow ran the length of her body.

  Back at the cottage, she picked up the paperback, wondering why she hadn’t read it before. Richard had scoffed at how badly it was written. “You know the critics panned it don’t you?” he said. He was proud of reading only the classics, novels of literary note, whatever had won the Booker and a handful of modern authors. Despite his overt criticism, she was consuming page after page, the plot driving her forward, the esoteric world of MOSES (the Movement of Spiritually Enlightened Souls) being laid bare in print. He’d written about their world, thought Katy, thrilled by the adventure, fascinated by the symbols, and locked into the romance.

  “When’s supper?” said Freddie. “I’m wasting away!”

  He ate twice as much as Katy and Tilly put together, but never put on an ounce of fat. Wrenching herself away from the action, Katy put the novel down and sloped into the tiny kitchen. Opening the cupboard doors, she stared at th
e basic stock of groceries. Nothing inspired her. She turned to the minuscule fridge, rummaging through the shelves for a moment before snapping into action. Thirty minutes later, they were eating ‘croque monsieur’ with rocket and watercress salad. It was a holiday after all, so damn the wheat-free, dairy-free regime.

  “Is that all we’re having?” moaned Freddie, his face in shock.

  “You can finish the last of that crusty loaf,” said Katy. “The butter’s in the fridge.”

  He slathered a huge hunk of bread with thick slices of cold butter and chewed through it hastily. Every scrap was consumed before the table was cleared.

  “What are we having for afters?” Her son was never satisfied.

  “Special treat!” she said, eyes twinkling. “Treacle Tart!” Pulling it from its white paper bag, she smiled triumphantly and placed it on the table. “Got it at the baker’s next to the pub.” She winked.

  After a post-dinner game of Knockout Whist, the family settled by the fire to watch the latest Bond movie. Katy buried herself in the world of Robert Langdon. Every time the story mentioned secret societies or codes, her thoughts would turn to Tony. Dull though he was, there was something electrifying about the mysteriousness of his world: The RAF and the Masons, neither of which were familiar to her. Come to think of it, she’d never had the slightest interest in either until now! She was a hippy at heart, and as for the Masons, she’d only ever heard odd snippets. Perhaps there was a side to Tony that was yet to emerge? Could he be a member of MOSES, because something was pulling her towards him? Maybe it was a spiritual connection because she certainly wasn’t interested physically!

  It rained the next day, and the family entertained themselves at the small cottage. Around 9.30 pm, Katy read the final page of The Da Vinci Code and snapped the book shut. An empty feeling engulfed her. The mystery was solved, the excitement of the thriller concluded. She reached for her phone.

  Finished it! Brilliant. Was familiar with the concepts. Thanks for recommending.

  The family were engrossed in a television series that she’d now missed too much of to catch up.

  Feeling lost, she poured herself a glass of Montepulciano and stared at the TV screen. Her phone buzzed.