Cathexis

by Clay, Josie

  It had to be done, so putting on my glasses, I pressed the tiny nub and the locket opened gradually, like a mussel shell. There we were, my beaming youth intact, but Nancy's image attacked by a tea coloured corona, blotting the photo booth backdrop and eating into her hair, her beguiling expression left untainted.

  “I don't want this” I said gently and slid it back to her.

  Cheeks raging, she covered the locket with her hand.

  “I'm sorry” she said, “I didn't mean to upset you”, jaw muscles ticking in consternation.

  “You haven't upset me, sweetheart”, placing my hand on hers. “It was a nice thought, really. It's just that I don't need it and you should only have what you need. Perhaps you could sell it, it must be worth a bit”.

  “I wouldn't do that” she said.

  “Yes, you're right, save it for when you find someone yourself”.

  Her face twisted wryly and wanting to make her smile again, I said, “or re-bury it, for some other mop-headed treasure hunter to find”.

  Her mouth raised the motion of Nancy again, which her dimples seconded.

  “That's not such a bad idea”.

  “Talking of mop-headed, how come your hair isn't curly anymore? Did it grow out?”

  “No, I straighten it”.

  “Oh, that's a shame, I love curly hair”.

  “But when you have it, that's all you are, the girl with the curls. I don't want to be defined that way”.

  “Fair enough”, regarding her drawn back horsetail which had also changed from blonde to black.

  Purple clouds of school kids drifted past the window, reminding me I should get going and I caught the waitress's eye. Sasha unclipped a tiny beaded purse.

  “It's OK” I said, “I've got it”.

  “Thank you” she said. “And thank you for meeting me”.

  “Are you going home now?”

  “No, I think I'll go to the cemetery to take some photos”.

  I didn't like the idea of her alone in that vast, vegetal place, a notorious cottaging and junkie hotspot.

  “Be careful” I said. “There are characters at large who wouldn't take kindly to having their picture taken if you get my drift”.

  “I hear what you're saying”.

  The pointless door tinkle and we were in the street.

  “Listen, let me know how you get on with Potarto”.

  “I will” she said and hovered as I unlocked my bike.

  “Aw, come here”, spreading my arms and drawing her close, detecting the knock of her heart.

  “Who'd have thought” I said, “little Sasha, after all these years”. Eyes unexpectedly blurry.

  “Yeah” she said, “who'd have thought, big Nette”. And we laughed at the little girl who was gone.

  ‘Subject: Re: Left Brain’

  ‘Hi Minette

  ‘It was really nice to see you today. Good news! Rosamund says she'd be happy for me to volunteer. I thought I could be your factotum, your Girl Friday if you'd have me. I read the Marina Abramovich manifesto you mentioned. I have issues with a couple of points, i.e. I don't really need a mosquito net and also I completely disagree that artists shouldn't fall in love with each other. No seriously I get it – it's beautiful. Do you subscribe to her rules?

  ‘Best wishes,

  ‘Sasha x’

  ‘Subject: Re: Left Brain’

  ‘Great news! I'd love to have you. In answer to your question, yes I do except I have fallen in love with another artist and haven't suffered any detrimental consequences. Quite the contrary, all is good.

  ‘Take care,

  ‘Minette

  ‘PS Did you bury it?’

  ‘Subject: Re: Left Brain’

  ‘What's her name? And no I didn't.’

  The bouncing icon on my mental monitor …I didn't reply.

  Chapter 22

  “What the fuck is that bird's problem?” Dale wincing at the incessant peeps.

  The sludgy New River wormed its way around the two shimmering water bodies, cleansed by reeds. The inescapable fact of the tower blocks, like giant, dull spectres. Glittering sails schooned across the West Reservoir, but we preferred the East, its passive twin, given over to water birds and bull rushes.

  “It's getting on my tits too” I said. The creature would pause, a brief respite, before starting up its maddening clarion from another location.

  “What is it?” Dale said.

  “It's a Referee Bird” I said, with authority. And she laughed the sun from behind a cloud. A figure on the opposite bank, training a mega lens at the water, female by the way it moved, that and the long curly hair frilling out in the breeze. I moved towards myself in Dale's sunglasses and kissed her, shamelessly, in the open.

  “That Referee Bird is really winding me up, can we go home now, Mink?”

  “OK baby” I said. “How far do you think it is to the other side?” The tower blocks corrupted the scale. She saluted a hand to her brow.

  “Hmm, it looks about the same as the sound, three hundred metres or so”.

  “I can't wait to get back there”.

  “Me too” she said. “Let's go home and look at our wooden house”.

  A few extra jerky heartbeats before it connected that the young woman sitting on the farting sofa in Potarto's reception was Sasha, the looping curls threw me.

  “Wow, I didn't recognise you”.

  “I've decided not to be straight any more”.

  I baulked at her innuendo, her smile seemingly guileless. Hair, looser than her mother's and Dale's for that matter, similar to the circular black biro doodle of Dale's pretty horse with the perm. A style change too; gone the battered court shoes, short skirt and woolly tights, the ridiculous tiny denim jacket over the lopsided t-shirt, a ragbag of Primark and indecision. Now a classic burgundy cardigan, a fitted black shirt, grey skinny cords and black Chelsea boots.

  “So do you like my hair?” she said, matching my stride.

  “You look great” I said, “older”. Young enough to take this as a compliment. Her demeanour also altered; chatty and confident now, the self-conscious measured incarnation a phase she must have navigated. I'd seen this before in my girls, trying on identities for size and shedding them just as quickly. I'd done it myself.

  She hummed ‘Love Spoke’ by Astrid Apple, competently soaking and stretching watercolour paper onto boards. I wondered how she knew the melody so intimately, conceived of twenty years or so before she was. She was biddable and good company, efficient and thorough. I got home earlier as a result.

  “Does Nancy know about this?” Dale said warily, brain whirring, after I'd enthused about my new helper.

  “I assume so”.

  “I think you should check, Mink”.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I'm not sure” she said. “Nancy could view this as some kind of vengeful act, stealing her child or something”.

  “Oh my God, do you think so? After all these years?”

  “Look” she said, “you don't need me to tell you how careful you've got to be where children are involved. I'd just square it with her, to be on the safe side”.

  “Shit, I'm going to call her”. I still had her landline. Dale made herself scarce.

  “Hello?''

  “Hi, is that Nancy?”

  “No, who's calling please?”

  “Is that you Sasha?”

  “Yes, is that you Minette?”

  “Yes”, a little relieved.

  “Hi, how are you?”

  “I'm fine, listen, is your mum about?”

  “No, she's at work, why do you want to speak to her?”

  “You have told her that you're working at Potarto with me?”

  “Course”.

  “And she's cool with it?”

  “Totally, why wouldn't she be?”

  “Er, no reason, but could you get her to call me on this number?”

  “Sure ...Minette? I did OK today didn't I?”

>   “Yes you were excellent”

  “See you tomorrow then”.

  “Bye, Sasha”.

  “Bye, Minette”.

  The ramifications plagued me.

  “God, I'm so stupid”, thumping my fist to my skull, finding all manner of increasingly ignoble and perverted motives. 'CHILDLESS WOMAN, MID-FORTIES, STEALS DAUGHTER OF EX-LOVER'...'LESBIAN COUGAR LURES TEENAGER!'...'MY KINKY GAMES WITH PAEDO LESBO!'

  I reeled off the headlines. Dale twinkled affectionately.

  “Minky, your intentions are good, always, and if Nancy knew anything about you, she'd know that”.

  “Do you think?” I was sceptical.

  “Definitely”, placing her big hands on my shoulders, thumbs working the knots. “I'm sure if you just talk to her it'll be fine”. Fingers uncoiling me. “Better?” she said.

  “Better”.

  ...but still the icon bounced.

  Chapter 23

  As Sasha became the exemplification of diligence and industry, I read in the subtext her hot, squirming secret, which both touched and prodded; she was infatuated, bless. Heady on hormones, more forthright and occasionally downright inappropriate with her endless probes.

  'Have you had a lot of girlfriends?'

  'Do you have a type?'

  'Are you active or passive?'

  I couldn't help but snort at the last one and informed her this usually didn't apply to lesbians.

  Turning it around, was she questioning her own sexuality?

  “I'm bisexual” she said, haughtily, “but I don't really know because I'm a virgin”.

  Having explained the act only crystallised the concept, not formulated it, she shrugged. “Yeah, but look at my mum, she was with my dad for years and then falls for you. What does that make her?”

  “Restless” I said and she sniggered, slowing her wiping and wringing, preparing to prospect deeper.

  “Minette, do you think my mum is beautiful?”

  “Well, yes I did. I'm sure she's still a good looking woman”.

  “Would you ever, how can I put it, revisit her in that context?”

  “No, never” I said. “And now you're overstepping the mark”.

  She withdrew, clearly satisfied with the hoard she'd unearthed. As she walked like Nancy to the door, I shouted “Hey you, get your mum to call me”.

  “OK” she said. “Bye”.

  “I think Sasha has a crush on me” pushing tramlines into my mash.

  “Aw, sweet” said Dale. “Can't blame her”.

  “No, I'm worried”.

  “Why?”

  “She's changed in the past few weeks, it's as if she thinks she has some kind of ownership over me, like I owe her something”.

  “Do you think she blames you for her parents' breakup?”

  “No, it's not that”.

  “You so need to talk to Nancy”.

  Plating her fork so she could take my hand.

  “Perhaps you need some distance, I hope you're taking next Saturday off for your birthday”.

  “Yeah, I might ‘phone in sick next week, I'm feeling kind of claustrophobic”.

  “Good” she said. “Hey, don't you have Nancy's mobile?”

  “Sorry, the number you have dialled is no longer available” I said in my best Celia Johnson.

  “Subject: Symptoms”

  Ola Minette

  ‘I hope you are skiving and not really sick, but if it is a genuine case, get well soon :-) You'll be pleased to know I've been working on my folio and am nearly ready to show you. I thought I could pop round to yours when you're better. I'd like to meet Dale as well. Don't you think it's marvellous and strange that you have such a pivotal role in my life again? It makes me think that God or something weird has had a hand in it, though I'm pretty sure you don't believe in the big man.

  Sorry I have to go now, I think I'm coming down with what you have (ha ha) light headed, can't eat or sleep, etc. Sound familiar?

  ‘Lots of love, S x’

  Swivelling the monitor towards Dale's evaluating moonbeams, I watched them flick across the implication.

  “Shit, Mink, you need to have this out”.

  “Yes, but what has she actually said, nothing, it's too oblique”.

  Dale working on my tits, doing everything right, but me, disconnected, floating above, observing our nakedness, watching as her hand slid down between my legs, kissing me lyrically, her buttocks tightening as she rode my thigh. From somewhere on top of the wardrobe, I could see her wetness on my leg. She paused, puzzled, encountering something untoward, something arid.

  “Baby, what's wrong?” she whispered.

  “I'm sorry” I said. “I'm distracted”. Two tears fled my eyes and crackling, took refuge in my ears.

  “Hey, sshh” she soothed, “it's OK”.

  “It's like something has polluted me”.

  She pulled the covers over us and wrapped me in her arms. Fishing pyjama bottoms from under the pillow, she dabbed my eyes.

  “Minky”, breath on my cheek, huskiness buzzing my ear drum. “I want you to know that I love you and will always love you, no matter what you do or what you've done, no matter where you are. I'll never leave you”. Her eyes, a serious silver. “I've always believed that you shouldn't make promises you can't keep and that's why I've never said these words to anyone before and that's why I'm saying them to you”.

  Chin quivering, more tears plugged my ears.

  “You're like some kind of angel”.

  “We're Nephilim, remember”. And stroking my cheek with the back of her fingers I felt her power as if being blessed. “Your eyes” she said, “so sad and blue. Do you still feel polluted?”

  “I shook my head”.

  “Shall we test it?”

  I nodded. Dale overriding everything.

  ‘Subject: Sick’

  ‘Bonsoir Minette

  ‘I take it from your lack of response that you must be really sick. Just let me know if you need anything although I'm sure Dale is taking good care of you. I think I saw her today, you do have a thing for girls with curls don't you. I went to our place of work by the way and helped that Imogen woman pugging clay. She's clueless isn't she, not like you, you're an excellent teacher. Minette there's so much I want you to teach me. I've been told I learn quickly. ;-)

  ‘I'm still not feeling myself though (ha ha). I'm happy with my folio, it's ready when you are. Please let it be soon, I miss you.

  ‘XxSxx’

  Adjusting my goggles, easing myself into the tepid, oblong jewel, only me disrupting its glass. Dunking my head, I pushed off, arms stretched ahead, one hand on the other, undulating like a mermaid before curling my arm in a languid arc. A length on the gas stored inside me, tumble turn and tilting, refuelled, taking in the clock. Being here not much of a risk, unlikely to be spotted. Dale was at work so I allowed myself a leisurely hundred and twenty, after which I sat in the steam room amid the satisfying tick of my legs.

  Jet washed and buffed, I cycled home through Clissold Park where I spotted the inevitable kinky haired woman throwing a ball with a scoopy stick for a little black dog. I pictured us with coffee at the park cafe while I explained how her daughter had inveigled her way into my life and attached herself to me emotionally and how ...and how what? And how I felt responsible? And how it scared me? Nancy's incredulous face dissipated in the trees and I pedalled home.

  ‘Subject: Sick’

  ‘Naughty naughty! Someone is swinging the lead after all or perhaps you’re better. This makes me happy because it means you'll be back at work soon and we can resume our fascinating conversations. You know so much it's amazing! (I also love to hear your voice). I can honestly say I've never been so 'me' before in someone else's company, it's like I've known you all my life (oh yeah I have). I understand now time had to elapse so I could transform from a child into an adult and come to you as a woman. I also know that you feel the same way, I see it in your eyes. I've waited so long for you but I appreciat
e it must be a secret from Dale. That's why you don't reply in case she reads your emails. I expect you will delete this one, I can live with that. I trust you will know what to do.