Party Wall

by Cheyenne Blue

  Carly fell on the plate with a squeal of delight, and had eaten three of the rosemary biscuits by the time Lily returned with a tumbler of wine and handed it to Freya.

  “Thanks.” Freya sipped and was pleasantly surprised by the rich robustness. “This is lovely.”

  “Thanks. A friend moved to Margaret River in Western Australia and now works in a winery. She sent me a mixed case as a gift.”

  “Good gift.” Freya took another sip. The wine rolled over her tongue in a blend of flavour.

  “She’s a good friend.”

  For a moment, a fleeting mist passed over Lily’s face, replacing her habitual half smile. Freya caught her breath. Sadness. That’s what it was. The familiarity of that emotion washed over her, and for a moment, a kindred connection twisted between them. Freya’s hand reached towards Lily’s and hovered, a second away from a comforting touch.

  Carly hiccupped, an abrupt sound in the silence that hung in the room. “Sorry.” She set her tumbler down on the table and hiccupped again. “Guess I drank that first glass a little too fast. Haven’t eaten much all day and it’s gone to my head.

  “Eat more.” Freya picked up the plate of biscuits and thrust it towards Carly, glad to have something to do with her hands. Her fingers tingled.

  “I’m a bad hostess. I’ll get you some water.” Lily disappeared and returned in a moment with a glass.

  “It really is good wine.” Carly’s irrepressible personality bounced back. “But I’ll go easy, I promise. At least I live close enough to walk home.”

  “What’s the name of the winery?” Freya asked.

  Lily reached for the bottle, which was nearly empty. “Crimson Creek,” she said, and passed the bottle to Freya. “My friend, Inga, designed the label. That’s how she got to know the owner. And now she lives there. Guess love can coexist with business.”

  Once again, the fleeting shadow crossed her face.

  “Where did she move from?” Carly sipped her water and helped herself to some of the dip, heaping it on a rosemary biscuit.

  “Sydney.” Lily shut her mouth abruptly.

  “So you knew her in Sydney?” Carly persisted.

  “She was my partner.”

  “Is that why you moved up here? Because your business partner dissolved the partnership in Sydney?”

  It must be the wine, Freya thought. Carly wasn’t normally this obtuse.

  “Partly. But Inga and I were civil partners as well as business partners. I thought we had it good, but then Inga got the contract for the winery’s advertising and fell in love with the owner, Cait.” Lily shrugged. “Inga fell heavily and instantly in love. It took Cait a little longer to reciprocate—partly because she knew that Inga had a wife: me.”

  “Oh.” Carly caught on in a rush. “I didn’t realise you were married. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Inga and I remained friends.” Lily lifted her tumbler. “Hence this wine. She sends me a case every now and then. I’m an early taste tester.”

  “It tastes perfectly good to me.” Carly winked.

  Freya studied the dark red liquid in her glass. The wine was magnificent. The thought slid through her head that it was magnificent, too, that Lily had had a wife. Had. Loved and lost. Just as she had. Her lips thinned. Not as she had. Lily had had a wife who had left her for another woman. She’d had a wife who… No. Not the same at all.

  “I’ll leave the bottle. Let me check on dinner.” Lily disappeared, leaving Freya and Carly alone.

  “She’s gorgeous.” Carly hiccupped gently and stared after Lily’s backside, retreating through the living room to the kitchen. “Pity I’m straight.”

  “And married.”

  “Yeah. That too. But sometimes I wonder why I am.” Her gaze fastened on Freya. “You’re not straight, though. And you’re not married. You could—”

  Freya heaved an exasperated breath. “Meaning?”

  “You could ask her out.”

  “We have nothing in common. Nothing except the wall between our flats.”

  “Yoga. You’re both vegan. You both dress like rejects from the sixties. You both like women.”

  Freya ignored the insult to her dress sense. “And there you have it. Carly, you like men, right?”

  Carly nodded, her head bouncing like an enthusiastic two-year-old’s who’d been asked if she wanted lollies. “Oh yeah.”

  “Well, if a man came in here, and you had nothing in common with him except that you both like to fuck the opposite sex, would you ask him out?”

  Carly gazed at the ceiling. “Depends what he looked like. But if I was in the market, was horny, and he was available, yeah, I would.”

  Freya snorted. “I’ll ignore that. Your standards are not that low.”

  “Neither are yours,” Carly retorted, “which is why you should look at what’s under your nose before someone else snaps her up.”

  “Snaps who up?”

  Lily moved lightly for a big woman. Her bare feet had made no sound on the wooden boards.

  “Snaps you up.” Carly smirked in Freya’s direction. “I was just telling my lesbian friend here that she should snap up the gorgeous lesbian living next door.”

  “It doesn’t quite work like that, Carly.” Lily’s smile flickered for a second before she composed her features.

  “Exactly what I just told her.” Freya’s glance bounced off Lily’s.

  “Just because two women are both lesbian, doesn’t mean they’re going to hook up.” Lily’s glance had become a gaze. Freya was caught by the warmth and amusement dancing in her brown eyes.

  “Were you listening?” Carly’s surprise was comical. “That’s exactly what Freya said.”

  “I didn’t need to listen. I’ve heard it before. I bet Freya has too.”

  “Sorry.” Carly didn’t look it.

  Lily gestured back into the flat. “I came to tell you that dinner is on the table.”

  When they were seated, Lily lit the large candles at either end of the table and pointed to each dish in turn. “Cauliflower with mustard and soy yogurt. Mushroom curry. Dahl. Brown rice with coriander, and poppadums. All vegan and gluten free of course and no added sugar.” She glanced at Freya, still seemingly amused. “As you requested, ma’am.”

  The warmth in her eyes was catching, and Freya found herself smiling back. “It looks fantastic.”

  With Carly’s more outspoken comments reined in, the conversation flowed. Freya was grateful for her presence at the table. Not that she would be here if Carly wasn’t. Had the invitation been for her alone, she would have refused. As the conversation wound through books they had read—many in common—movies they had seen—not so much—and the pleasures of living in Grasstree Flat, Freya had to admit she was enjoying herself. Lily was relaxing company. She threw her head back to laugh wholeheartedly at something Carly had said, and Freya was captivated by the expanse of brown throat, smooth, soft-looking. Lily swallowed a mouthful of wine, and the movement as she swallowed, the ripple under the skin, made Freya want to press her lips to that place. What would Lily feel like? What would she be like in the throes of passion? Would she be as wholehearted about that as she was about everything else? She set her tumbler carefully to one side. She must have drunk too much wine if she was even thinking like that.

  Carly held out her tumbler for more wine. “So, Lily, tell me what we can expect in your first sexuality workshop next week?”

  Lily dribbled a small amount into Carly’s glass. “Nothing confronting the first time. I don’t want to make anyone nervous. The workshop isn’t going to single anyone out or put anyone on the spot. We’ll do some group exercises aimed at being comfortable in your own skin, learning to ask for what you want in bed.”

  Carly leant forwards, seemingly captivate
d by Lily’s words. “I need that. Andy and I have been married for twelve years now. Sex was good at first. Now… Well, I think we’re in a rut. And the more I ask him to… do stuff… he just refuses. So I don’t go down on him in retaliation. And now we’re both sniping at each other.”

  Freya sat back in her chair. The conversation was rapidly heading outside of her comfort zone. Sex belonged in the bedroom, not around the dinner table. She tilted her chair back and stared at the ceiling. The paintwork was fresh, a paler primrose than the walls. Lily must have painted the entire flat before she moved in. It had been dusty cream when Diane used the space.

  “I’m hoping to learn ways of getting the communication back,” Carly continued. “We can’t go on the way we are. I worry about our marriage sometimes.”

  Freya sipped. It really was a very fine wine. And from what Lily had said, the winery was owned by women. By lesbians. She would have to look it up, maybe order some.

  “I hope that’s what you’ll learn.”

  “What about you, Freya?” Carly propped her chin on her hand. “Are you going to come with me?”

  “I’ve already said no.” Somehow, it was harder to be snippy, to be abrupt, and well, rude, when she was sitting in Lily’s flat, eating Lily’s delicious meal.

  “Why not?” Carly’s tactless side simmered to the surface again.

  Freya raised a shoulder. “You know why if you stop to think about it. Besides, I’m not in a relationship.” She skewered a glance at the wine glass in Carly’s hand. Should she be drinking if she was trying to get pregnant? She didn’t know.

  “Do you have to be in a relationship to come to your class?” Carly directed the question at Lily.

  “No. Single people are equally as welcome. But if you don’t want to attend”—her warm brown gaze nailed Freya with its intensity—“then no one is going to make you. It’s not for everyone. Now, who’s for dessert?”

  The abrupt change of subject was sufficient distraction for Carly. “I have never turned down dessert,” she proclaimed.

  “Good. I hope you’ll like this one.”

  “I’ll help you with the plates.” Freya rose too.

  Lily’s kitchen was cluttered with dirty pots and pans, and knives and chopping boards were spread over the bench. Lily moved to the fridge. “Is Carly okay?” Her voice was muffled by the fridge. “I don’t know her well at all, but she seems unhappy about something. I don’t mean to pry and I don’t want you to break a confidence, but I wondered if there was anything I could do to help.”

  Head tilted on one side, Freya regarded Lily’s back. “She’s having a bit of a rough patch in her marriage. She seldom drinks much—she’s a two-pot screamer—so I think the wine has gone to her head.”

  “She’s only had a couple of glasses.”

  “That’s one more than she usually has. I don’t think she’s in a good headspace at the moment. I’ll walk home with her, see if she wants to talk.”

  “That’s good of you.” Lily turned, a dense-looking cake in her hand. She went over to the stove and turned on the gas. “Here, stir this, will you?”

  With her back to Lily, Freya found talking was easier. Easier to focus on the words, on the warmth in Lily’s voice, if she wasn’t looking at her nemesis. “Carly’s not normally this much of a lush. She’s usually the one drinking mineral water.” She concentrated on stirring the contents of the pot—some sort of lemon syrup.

  “On the sign-up form for the sexuality class, I asked participants to write what they hoped to get out of the class. Carly wrote she hoped to improve her marriage. I don’t think I’m breaking a confidence telling you that.”

  Freya nodded. “Andy’s not the worst. Somewhat uncaring, takes her a bit for granted. Like most men.”

  Lily was silent for a moment. “And some women.” The rawness in her voice was unexpected.

  Freya kept stirring. The timbre of Lily’s voice reverberated in her head. It had been pained, as if Lily had personal experience with a relationship that wasn’t that great. She probably had. She was maybe early thirties. Few people reached that age unscathed. And, Freya remembered with a jolt, Lily’s wife had left her for a winemaker in Western Australia. A maker of very fine wines too, not that that had any bearing on Lily’s pain.

  She’d stopped stirring whilst she’d thought, and she moved the spoon around again to free up the sugar sticking to the bottom of the pan. “Did your wife…?” It was hard to continue. Not because she didn’t have the empathy for conversations like this, not because she didn’t want to reach out to someone. No, she did that often in her life and her work. It was because that person was Lily. Lily, whom she’d been practically feuding with. Freya hesitated and the spoon moved faster. She could stop the conversation right there. She could ask Lily some inane question about the syrup she was stirring. She could make a snarky comment about there obviously being a lot of sugar in the syrup when she’d expressly said she didn’t eat much sugar. That would be on par with how she’d treated Lily so far. She opened her mouth, but the words died unsaid. That would be callous.

  She cleared her throat. “Did your wife take you for granted?” She turned around abruptly enough that drips of syrup fell from the wooden spoon to splatter the stovetop.

  Lily’s mouth turned down in a rueful way. “No. I wish that had been the case. I was the one who took her for granted. And look what happened. She left me. Left me for someone so very like me in many ways, but so much better in one: she had time for Inga. She cared for her, appreciated her. Listened to her. Really listened, not the half-arsed ‘yes, honey’ that many people do.”

  Lily turned back to the counter, leaving Freya with the impression of deep dark eyes and an aura of sadness.

  “I’ve made pistachio lemon cake.” Lily pushed the plate towards Freya. “Wheat-free and vegan. I know you said you don’t eat much sugar, so if you would prefer to leave off that lemon syrup you’re stirring, I can cut some slices for you before I pour it over the rest.”

  “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.” Freya gave the syrup a final twirl with the spoon. “But I’d enjoy this, I think some sugar every so often doesn’t hurt.”

  Lily’s smile reached her eyes, turned them a deeper, warmer shade of brown, like the sheen of tree bark after rain. “I’m glad.” Their gazes met, clung for a moment, and Lily was the first to break away. “Carly will think we’ve forgotten her.”

  Chapter 8

  Far from missing them, Carly had moved to the couch and sprawled with her head against the back, sound asleep. Tiny whiffling snores rumbled from her open mouth.

  “Should we let her sleep?” Lily set the plates on the table.

  “I think she’d be more upset if she missed dessert.” Freya sat next to Carly and put a gentle hand on her knee. “Carly, wake up. Sugar time.”

  Carly muttered something and turned around, bringing her feet onto the couch and resting her head on Freya’s lap.

  Freya huffed a sigh and put a hand on Carly’s shoulder. “Carly, there’s dessert.” She needed Carly awake. She didn’t have to be a fully functioning part of the conversation, but she wanted her for protection. Protection against the intimacy and unexpected rapport forged with Lily in the kitchen. She’d been a heartbeat away from asking Lily more about her wife. Wife. She didn’t want to think too deeply on that one.

  And if she learnt more about Inga, the next step would be some sharing of her own background. Her past relationships. Relationship, she amended. Singular. With Sarah. For although she’d had several relationships in her life, only one mattered. Only one still had the potential to rip her heart into tatters.

  “Wassup?” Carly sat up slowly, blinking. She looked around at the other two. “Dessert? Did someone say dessert? Please tell me you haven’t eaten it all.”

  “Far from it.” Freya’s comm
ent came out harsher than she intended. “Plenty here for you, Sleeping Beauty.”

  Carly swung her feet to the floor and returned to the table. Lily cut a large slice of cake for her. “Dig in.” She cut a second, equally large slice and gestured to Freya. “Here’s yours.”

  There was silence as they ate, but it was a comfortable one.

  “That cake was amazing.” Carly, who’d woken up considerably, pushed her empty plate away with a sigh. She set her elbows on the table. “So what did I miss?”

  Lily grinned at Freya. “Nothing much. We were discussing cake, and Freya said she’d walk home with you.”

  “Was I that obnoxious?” Carly’s lips twisted ruefully. “Sorry. I’m okay now. I’ll get home by myself.”

  “It’s a fine night for a stroll, though.” Lily poured water and sipped. “I love walking on nights like this. Stars. Few streetlights. Cicadas and frogs on a warm evening. Makes me wish I had a dog.”

  Carly glanced sideways at Freya. “Wonder how Dorcas would take living next door to a dog?”

  “I’m not seriously thinking of it.” Lily smiled in Freya’s direction. “Dorcas is safe.”

  Freya’s fingers tightened on her water glass. She took a deep breath. There had been another woman whose concern for Dorcas’s wellbeing had prevented her getting a dog. She swallowed hard, aware Carly was staring at her, a small frown creasing her forehead.

  “That’s what Sarah used to say.” The words welled up from within. Somewhere deep. Somewhere she normally kept locked up tight, buried under a welter of denial, an unwillingness to let them loose. Dimly, she saw Lily’s questioning face and Carly’s worried one. Carly knew well what Freya was thinking right now, as after all, Carly had been there when Sarah faded away. Carly had been there at the hospice when Sarah breathed her last. Not in the room with Sarah, but out in the waiting area. Deep in the middle of the night, Carly had come to be with Freya leaving Andy snoring at home. Carly had waited whilst Sarah slipped away so that she could hold Freya, offer wordless comfort, offer reassurance that although the world had ended, although Sarah was gone, Freya was not alone. She was still loved.