Red Dress

by Bridget Finklaire

  “Well, I remember thinking how great you looked in your ripped fishnets and punk gear!”

  “Did you, now?” said Katy, flashing him a coy smile.

  The banter continued. She could see that Tony was watching her totter along beside him, just as he had back then. Further along the river, she began tiptoeing in an effort not to sink into the towpath.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her face was wincing with every step.

  “Hold onto my arm,” he said, offering it. “Just to steady yourself over this rough ground. It can’t be easy in those sexy heels.”

  “They’re killing me.” Her face reddened as she took his muscular arm, letting him lead her to a patch of tarmac.

  “Hold onto my shoulder while you take them off!”

  His voice was so tender it took all she had to stop the tear that was forming from brimming over. She could hear Richard’s voice in her mind’s eye “For fuck’s sake, why did you wear the sodding things?” Teetering on one foot then the other, and hanging onto Tony’s broad shoulder, she removed the boots.

  “Come here,” he said, blowing into his cupped hands then rubbing them together to make them warm. He squatted down, caressing one foot then the other, gently massaging them back to life. The tear spilled down her cheek, washing away the last scrap of mascara. She wiped it away with her ring finger before he noticed.

  The sun was dipping lower in the sky and long shadows danced ahead of them as they ambled back, she in her muddy, stockinged feet, carrying the boots in her hand. The kids would be back from school and Richard would be home in a few hours. She must tear herself away and drive back to reality. Her feet had recovered, and she stopped at a bench to wipe off the worst of the sludge and ease the boots back on. Sitting next to her, his knee almost touching hers, Tony offered his handkerchief and watched as she grappled with the shoes.

  “My train’s leaving soon.” He turned towards her, his cobalt eyes penetrating.

  “That’s okay. I’ve got to get going.” Her mouth curled upwards at the corners as she gazed up, lingering a little too long before turning away. They stood up. She could feel herself being drawn closer, as if caught in an undertow. Watching Tony’s body language, she felt sure he would lean in for a kiss at any moment. The magnetic pull was palpable. She froze. It wasn’t what she wanted, she was married, wasn’t she? But she was wrong. Tony stepped back, smiled, and gave her a curt wave as he said goodbye, before disappearing into the crowd.

  Katy let go of the breath she’d been holding, her pulse still racing. How could she have misread it so badly? Of course he wasn’t interested! He had a wife and kid at home! And she had a husband, and two teenagers. It had been a lucky escape. Drawing in a lung full of fresh air, she tapped her chest with the flat of her palm and traipsed back through the puddles to the car.

  Van Morrison was still singing as she left Windsor and headed home. She’d been playing a stupid game, and it was time to stop and go back to Richard. No Guru had turned sour as it reached its last few tracks. She’d forgotten it did that. The M4 was a nightmare, but it didn’t matter. It gave her time to pull herself together and take stock. Van the man was singing about obstacles now. It was one of her favorites, this album, with its sweet beginning and bitter end. Life would resume, she knew that. Turning into Chiswick High Road and passing the familiar shops, reality came sharply back into focus as Morrison sang the final song, Ivory Tower. How apt, she thought, listening to the lyrics. By the time she’d reached Sycamore Road and found a parking spot, she’d put the surreal afternoon behind her. She lifted her head high, took a deep breath and trooped up to the house.

  Hurtling through the front door, wind chimes reeling from the blast, she called out cheerfully “Everything okay? How was school?”

  “Alright. When’s dinner?” said Freddie, emerging from his room.

  “Soon. Is Dad home yet?”

  Richard was outside fumbling with his keys. Moments later he was standing next to her in the hallway.

  “Sorry I’m late. Traffic on the M4,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “Been to Windsor. Had lunch with an old friend from school.” Richard walked past her with a cursory nod, while Freddie retreated and closed the door.

  They weren’t the slightest bit interested. She could have told them she’d had sex in an alleyway with 007 and they wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. After hanging up her coat and pulling her boots off, she ran her fingers through her hair and plodded into the kitchen.

  She’d better rustle something up. She used to love cooking, but her heart wasn’t in it. Tilly was fussy about red meat, Freddie was pure carnivore, Richard hated anything milky, and she was avoiding wheat – it had been giving her stomach-cramps lately. When had it all become so complicated?

  After supper she joined Richard on the sofa, watching the news and current affairs. It wasn’t her thing, but she had to reach out to her husband.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  “Tiring.”

  “Any news?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve booked that holiday in Mexico.”

  “Good. Will you let me listen?”

  There was a chill in the evening air. Katy wrapped herself in a thick, blue fleece. Richard was sitting forward, his elbows on his knees, his jaw set, watching Jeremy Paxman annihilate another politician.

  “Might as well get sorted for tomorrow,” she said. Richard made a grunting noise and she left him to it. After saying goodnight to the children, she pulled her weary body up the final flight of stairs to the office. She wanted to get close to her husband, but it was like kindling a fire that had long been snuffed out. The wood was damp, rotten – it was never going to catch. Collapsing exhausted onto the swivel chair, she checked her emails and made a list for the morning. The phone buzzed.

  Great to see you today. So enjoyed the afternoon. Can’t wait for next time. Sleep tight. x

  She wasn’t sure what to make of the single kiss. It both elevated and troubled her. The thrill of the chase, the prey in sight, the lioness poised, but it was just pretend, just a silly game. She didn’t want Tony. He was a diversion, she knew that, an escape from the routine, but that was all. It had to stop before someone got hurt.

  Pulling the meditation stool from beneath the couch, she sat, back straight, hands in mudra, and closed her eyes. The real Katy had been under wraps for too long, quashed by her circumstances, unable to express herself. Tony had validated her, reminded her she was a sensual, attractive woman who deserved to be cherished. He’d awakened the dormant sense of adventure that Richard had stifled. She’d been subsumed into her husband’s world, lost to his needs, serving everyone else. But what about her? She needed to share the load, be heard, appreciated, acknowledged. Weariness overcame her as she sat ruminating. Breath. Hara. Stillness. A sickening rose up from her stomach and her eyes began to prickle with the heat of her tears. Silently, they flowed, trickling down her cheeks and dropping from her jaw. She didn’t even know why she was crying. Breath. Hara. Let it go.

  Chapter 22

  Wednesday, 22nd April, 2009

  Tony walked into the familiar meeting room at the Priory and took one of the seats which had been carefully arranged in a circle. He’d be finishing these monthly group sessions soon, he was sure. Today, he was going to ‘share’ as they called it. God knows, he’d listened to enough stories, it was time to tell his.

  “Hi. My name is Tony, and I’m an addict,” he said, placing his foot on the opposite knee. “Except, I think I’m getting over it. I haven’t been on a porn site for three months, and it’s all down to finding a bit of happiness.”

  “Once an addict, always an addict,” piped up someone from the circle.

  “You’re never over it completely. I’ve been coming here for nearly ten years!” said another.

  “Would you like to share something today, Tony?” the therapist said firmly, casting her eye around the group.

  “Righty-
ho!” He took a deep breath and started. “After my mum died, I was lost, didn’t really know what to do. I got in my car and drove round the Surrey countryside where I grew up. In one of the villages, there was this imposing house with a big bay window. I recognized it immediately, of course. I could picture the big kitchen.”

  “Your childhood home?”

  “No. Last time I was there, I was seventeen, and I was being seduced by a naughty little minx who told me she just wanted a kiss and a cuddle!”

  One of the men in the group was guffawing. Tony waited for him to shut up.

  “Exactly, mate, and she was only fifteen! We hid in her bedroom – bloody terrifying with her mother downstairs. She was a right old...well, you know.”

  The therapist coughed.

  “I slipped off her bra, and she unzipped my jeans. Rebel Rebel. I’ll never forget it. The song was playing in the background. I always remember the line at the end because it suited her. She was hot and I did love her. I was mad to let her go! That gorgeous arse, and what a dancer! Listened to rock music. She was every schoolboy’s dream. I liked her, too, you know, she was bright, easy-going, easy to talk to, even for a tongue-tied teenager!” Tony looked down as he collected his thoughts. He didn’t want it to turn smutty, but the memory was arousing him. He had to calm down.

  “Are you okay, Tony?” asked the therapist. “Ready to carry on?”

  “I decided to track her down, but I couldn’t find her, not till she changed her name.” He looked up. Most of the group were leaning in, with quizzical looks on their faces.

  “Her married name was Stone, but she’d changed it back to her maiden name, Fralinski. It was dead easy after that.” He was smiling as he recollected the evening he’d found her. “I’d had a couple of glasses of vino, followed by a particularly good brandy, and gone up to the attic room. That’s where I, you know, indulged my habit, but afterwards, I felt guilty. I knew I had to get help. I typed ‘Therapist, Central London’ into a search engine and bang! I couldn’t believe my eyes when her name popped up. My heart was in my throat, I mean, my wife and daughter were sleeping downstairs. It took a couple more brandies before I plucked up the courage, but I did it. I contacted her.” He paused.

  “And?” said a couple of the group members in unison.

  “I didn’t hear anything for eleven days, and I realized that was it. Went on a bit of a bender, I have to admit. That’s when I had my first session with Dr Watkins.”

  “So, you never heard from her?” asked the therapist.

  “All of a sudden, there it was! I thought she didn’t want to know, but she sent an email!”

  Tony smiled and let out a small laugh. “I got this warm, cheerful message. She hadn’t changed much. I wrote back, and it became a regular thing.”

  “So, you’re pen-pals?”

  “More than that! I met up with her in Hammersmith last month and again in Windsor yesterday.”

  One of the women took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. Tony looked down and smiled, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “I hardly recognized her at first, but she looked fantastic!” His ears were turning pink at the thought. “Radiant! Still had that same dazzling character. Knows her wines, too, she ordered a Rioja!” He was lost in his thoughts for a moment. “I kept thinking she’d leave, but she didn’t. It all seems too good to be true, so I’m pacing myself. Don’t want to presume too much, just seeing what unfolds. No expectations, but I’ve had such an incredible time. It’s brought back great memories.”

  “And it’s helped with your addiction?”

  “Yes. I was unhappy, that’s why I’d resorted to porn, but I know it’s behind me now.”

  Most of the group were either sobbing or smiling. The session continued as others shared. At the end, some of them came up to slap him on the back and congratulate him. A few gave him a big bear hug. “Great share, mate!” said one, with a faltering smile. A sour-faced man hung around till he got his chance. “I don’t think you understand the nature of addiction. I’m telling you, you’ll be at it again soon. People don’t just get better because they’ve fallen in love, you know!” He shook his head, pushing his hands into his pockets as he walked away. Tony knew he was wrong. Meeting Katy had rekindled something. The lifeblood was pumping through him, and he was full of vigor.

  * * *

  It was almost 6 pm on Wednesday when Katy left the house. Tara had called on the spur of the moment to invite her over, along with Shanti. Ben was away on business, and Tara’s children were already in bed when she rang. The three of them would have a good chin wag over a glass of wine and a Chinese Takeaway.

  An hour and a half later, they were sitting in Tara’s kitchen. Katy told them about Tony. “I’m seeing him again next month,” she said, having got them up to speed on Windsor.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Tara, pursing her lips.

  “There’s nothing in it. It’s just a bit of fun!”

  “I’m sure Richard wouldn’t think it was fun if he knew.”

  “He does! I told him I’d met an old friend from school!”

  “You didn’t explain the extent of the friendship, though, did you?”

  “Come on, girls!” said Shanti, pouring another glass of plonk.

  “Marriage means something,” Tara said, before remembering Shanti was divorced. “Well, it does to most people.”

  “But I’m not doing anything!”

  “Yes, you are. You’re being unfaithful. You made a solemn vow to be with Richard in sickness and in health.”

  “I only went to lunch!”

  “That’s not the point. You’re flirting with another man!” She took a swig of wine. “You think adultery is having sex? You’re already betraying Richard, going behind his back like that!”

  “I’m not going behind his back! I told him, and besides, we’re just friends, we get on. That’s all. He’s happily married to Lauren and didn’t even give me a kiss goodbye!”

  “Ah! So, you wanted to kiss him?” She shot Katy a withering look.

  “No! I didn’t! He’s not interested, and nor am I.”

  Tara made a soft growling noise and turned away to look at the takeaway menu. “What shall we have?”

  They scanned the leaflet and Shanti placed the order by phone. “It’ll be twenty minutes. They’ll deliver,” she said. “Come on, drink up, I brought another bottle!”

  By the time the food arrived, the conversation had moved on.

  “Tell me about the numbers,” said Katy. “I want to understand what they mean.”

  “Well,” said Shanti, taking a mouthful of stir-fried tofu, “There’s numerology itself, which is the study of the meaning of numbers, then there’s gematria, which is a Kabbalistic study of the Hebrew letters and their numbers and meanings.” She slurped at a tangle of noodles which hung precariously from her chopsticks.

  “Just tell me about numerology,” said Katy, chewing at a sparerib.

  “It was considered an important precursor to mathematics.” The last noodle fell, and she scooped it up again.

  Tara picked up a spring roll. “Get to the point, Shanti!”

  “It’s a pity the scientific world doesn’t recognize Sacred Mathematics and Sacred Geometries because that’s what the Universe is built on!”

  “I know, I know,” said Tara, licking her fingers. “They’re missing a trick.”

  “The soul contract uses numerology, doesn’t it?” asked Katy, picking out the cashews from the chicken dish.

  “Yup. Dinah looks at your date of birth and the numbers of the letters in your name.”

  “Does that mean I’ve changed my numerology? I remember Dinah saying something about nines.”

  “Yes. Nine is considered special because there are only two letters associated with it.”

  Katy was frowning. “Yeah, Dinah said.”

  “There are twenty-six letters in the alphabet,” continued Shanti. “The letters are numbered from one to ni
ne, then back to one. That means there are almost three rows of letters.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Tara fetched a pen and paper from the drawer and wrote the numbers one to nine along the top. Under each number, she wrote a letter, starting with A for number one, B for two, C for three, and continued until the row finished with the letter I under the number nine. A second row of letters began with J and finished with R. The third row stopped short at number eight. “See?” she said, waving the paper at Katy. “Every number has three letters under it, except for nine at the end. Three nines are twenty-seven, and there are only twenty-six letters.”

  “Your name, Fralinski, has an R and two I’s, so it has three nines,” said Shanti.

  “What about Katy?” she asked.

  Tara looked at the grid she’d made. “Let me see.” She ran her finger along the middle row. “K is two, A is one, T is two - it’s just below K - and Y is seven.”

  Shanti added it up. “Two and one is three, add two is five, add seven is twelve.”

  “And twelve is one and two if you look at the digits, which means you’re a three!” said Tara, taking another gulp of wine.

  “My favorite number!” shrieked Katy.

  It took a while to work out the numerology of their respective names, but they got there, despite the wine.

  “But what does it mean?” asked Katy.

  “I can’t remember, you’ll have to get a book,” said Shanti.

  “Give me the gist.”

  She sighed. “One is for beginnings and independence, two is for relationships and union, three is for fun and creativity, four, what’s four?”

  “Earth, being grounded, I think, but there’s a lot more to it than that, Shanti!” Tara poured out the last of the white.

  “I know, I’m just giving an outline. I think four is to do with work and logic. Five is about freedom, six is the perfect number for family love and harmony—”

  “And romance. Sixes are the romantics!” Tara chimed in.

  “That’s right,” said Shanti. “Seven is the spiritual quest, eight is abundance, isn’t it?”