~
Freedom
Tia stood stiffly in the long queue for coffee, her heart madly banging in the tight confines of her chest. No matter how forcefully she imposed scenes of still ponds, quiet summer days or plain old silence in a dark room, her breathing would not slow down. She should be in her home, soaking in a deep, hot bath generously sprinkled with soothing lavender crystals, not stood waiting in the cold for poor, lukewarm coffee hoping to goodness she wouldn’t miss the train to work.
She wiped her glasses again and looked at her watch for the fiftieth time in five minutes. It was a little after eight. The grubby white clock that hung askew on the train station wall matched her watch. And even if both her watch and the station clock were somehow wrong, the arrivals and departures monitor had her morning train listed as being due to arrive in one minute. And even if the monitor was somehow broken, the station was full and everyone around her was rushing toward the platform. It was without a doubt first thing in the morning.
A woman roughly pushed past her.
“Sorry,” Tia said, quietly.
Wait a minute, the woman hadn’t pushed past her, she had rudely pushed in front of her. Who did the old bat think she was? She should say something, stand up for herself. Instead, she dug her chipped nails into the palms of her hands. What would be the point in making a scene?
The man at the front of the queue left, latte in hand, and ran for the platform.
“Erm, now, let me see,” the woman who had pushed in front of her said loudly. “What do I want?”
A poke in the eye? A stamp on the foot? A dig in the ribs? Take your pick.
The woman screamed, doubled over, hopped and then held her face in her hands. Tia’s hand darted out to help her.
“Don’t you touch me,” the woman shouted hysterically.
“What?” Her blood ran ice cold. “I … I didn’t do anything.” She shook her head vigorously; her eyes locked wide, as she slowly backed away, turned, and bolted for the train.
Tia wrapped her raincoat around her and tightly folded her arms as the doors slammed closed, sealing her in. As the train pulled away, she caught sight of the rude woman stood on the platform, shaking her fist and shouting; her face red and contorted. Tia couldn’t help it, the laugh formed like a bubble in her stomach and burst out of her mouth. The old witch shouldn’t have pushed in.
She turned and faced a dozen tired, sullen faces glancing wearily at her. A couple of boys listened to mp3 players, workmen in their dusty shirts and ripped jeans sat on tool boxes, while suited men and women strained to read newspapers, or just stared blankly at the carriage’s grubby, wet floor, masterfully avoiding each other’s glances. Oh, this was joyous, she was wet, the people around her were wet, the person next to her had seriously bad breath, she was perilously close to running late and … actually, no, she wasn’t going to be late. She had in fact caught the train and she was in fact going to make it to her desk on time.
A faint aroma of fresh mint filled the carriage.
The train stopped.
“Sorry for the delay,” the driver said, “this is due to …”
The sound faded to silence. Her mind’s eye saw Nick marching toward her, a giant watch the size of a tractor wheel on his wrist, each tick of the second hand a hammer blow to the head. Her fingertips tingled.
It was eleven minutes past nine. She furiously shook her umbrella, yanked the door open and just as she was about to pelt it into the office, she saw Nick goose stepping in her direction. She jogged into the office, her head hung low, and ducked out of sight into a little, tucked away room. As her glasses steamed up, she prayed the weasel hadn’t seen her.
The door was wrenched opened. Nick pursed lips and exaggerated a stare at his bony wrist.
“I’ll talk to you later, Tia,” he said.
“Sure,” she whispered, her hands held in front of her, feet side by side.
The door slammed closed.
“That bloody man,” she spat, as she shook off her coat.
“I’ve often wondered what it would be like to just say a word or two and have the whole world understand you.”
“Michael, I’m sorry.” She turned to Michael, lovely Michael, hotter than hot Michael. “It’s Nick, he’s such a …” She took in a long, slow breath. “I don’t want to swear.”
Michael smiled at her; he was always warm and kind with her. Why wasn’t Craig like him? Actually, Craig could go to the deepest depths of blazing hell and so could Miranda for that matter. In fact, tonight, she was going to have a clear out. Her wardrobe had absolutely no need for size ten shoes, crisp white double cuff shirts or trousers that needed dry cleaning. Her building’s bins had just been emptied; she felt a delicious urge to fill them to the brim. Actually, no, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be at all fair on the other residents, her dear and charitable neighbours. Ah well, she’d just have to have a wild bonfire instead.
She grinned, broadly. The thought lit her chest with a glow that took her back to the deliciousness of morning coffee. Now there was a story she could not wait for Michael to hear. It was just as outrageous as the one that included graphic details of what she would do to him given half a chance and an empty bedroom room. She squeezed her eyes closed, as an image of Miranda climbing off Craig flashed across her mind. Her throat constricted as she slumped resentfully in her seat and turned to her computer.
“Yes, is that the I.T. helpdesk?” Tia asked, as she cradled the slim phone against her shoulder. “I can’t get into my email again … It won’t open … It just … erm … actually now it’s working.”
All the documents she needed printed out smoothly. Her in-tray was close to empty. She knocked a plastic cup of water over her keyboard. Her heart remained untroubled.
“I mean really,” Marie said, to Tia’s right. “What does George Christian see in the tramp? She’s only been in one film and that was some foreign, subtitled rubbish …”
“I know, I know,” Julie interrupted, stood next to Marie. “I even heard he’d been with that slag model, Lia Bright, the one in the shampoo ads. She’s only had half of Hollywood in her bed …”
“Yeah, but you know what,” Anna said, nudging Julie, “if I had her figure and looks and George Christian between my sheets, I tell you, I certainly wouldn’t kick him out bed if I’d heard he’d been with a few tarts …”
Tia sank in her chair and rubbed her temples. The grating noise was loud and unrelenting. How could they go on so without pause? A smile lazily curled upward as she imagined Marie, Julie and Anna talking domestic politics with as much zeal.
“Yes, but darling, if he did in fact divert the funding to health,” Marie said, “I feel sure the public would be deeply grateful. Our health system, that which belongs to you and I, is far more important to the nation than a new motorway.”
“Honey, I do genuinely see your point,” Julie interrupted, her hand held politely aloft. “But the Chancellor’s proposing to cut funding from not just one perhaps isolated project, but from three major expansions of the network. Surely, if one doesn’t recognise the need for greater road capacity now, this will impact on an already fragile economy in few short years.”
“You know, ladies, it may not be considered an election winner,” Anna said, “but I sense a shift in the public mood. I feel that higher fuel and health duties to pay for these and many more highly valued projects to come would win support. The state’s infrastructure at all levels needs to be maintained with the utmost care.”
She stared at her screen. She was not looking at the spreadsheet. Her phone rang.
“Tia Green.”
“Sweetie, it’s Miranda.”
She slammed the phone down and fled from her desk.
Black coffee dripped onto the white tiled floor as it spilled over her mug as Tia vigorously stirred it. She paused suddenly and laughed hesitantly, her eye twitching, as she then added another two spoons full of sugar, then another two, and another two. She sipped the coffee, rhythmically, over and over. It was so good. Sugar on the brain, what a wonderful way to erase the image of Craig climbing off …
“So -” She jolted, spilling coffee on her arm. “- why were you late?”
Pain sped through her, her breathing raced as she slammed the mug on the counter, and slowly, deliberately turned to face Nick. He stood in the tight doorway, his arms folded. She rubbed her sore arm as wrath torn her apart.
“Well?” he asked.
“My train was delayed. It was not my fault,” she said, in a low measured voice.
“They’re always conveniently delayed, Tia. It’s an old tale. With this much work to do you will make an effort to catch an earlier train.”
She ground her teeth.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve been late this month, is it?”
Her face flushed.
“Your appraisal is due tomorrow, I’ll be the one writing it.”
She hated him.
Nick looked back into the corridor, and then stepped into the kitchen until they were toe to toe. His face softened.
“You know, it’s not me, it’s the pressure Rita puts on me.”
She nodded her head as she backed into the kitchen counter. He ran his hand over her arm, his fingers skirting the damp patch. It was as though every cell in her being had locked.
“I want to give you a great appraisal.”
An image of Nick running through the office naked popped into her head. He was slapping his buttocks, making train noises and lifting his knees up high as he ran. Nick stood back, slipped out off his crumpled jacket and dropped it on the floor. He pulled his red pencil thin tie loose and unbuckled his trousers.
Tia stared agape. “Nick, what are you doing?”
He quickly pulled off his white shirt, kicked off his shoes, comedy socks and trousers. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his faded shorts.
“Nick.”
She turned away as his shorts landed on the floor.
“Woo, woo, woooooo,” he hollered, turned, and ran through the office toward the main door. He slapped his buttocks and lifted his knees up high as he ran out into the street and disappeared out of sight.
Tia’s body was numb as she slid down the kitchen counter and sat on the floor, staring at the little pile of Nick’s clothes.
“It’ll be all right,” Rita said quietly, as she handed her a clear plastic cup filled with freezing cold water.
She gripped the cup with both hands and gulped at the water, spilling much of it down her chin.
“Would you like some more?”
She nodded sharply, her gaze low and fixed on her senior manager’s untidy desk.
“Maggie, would you?”
“I’ll bring two,” Rita’s secretary replied, as she left the small office.
Tia looked up into Rita’s warm hazel eyes. Her boss had a weather worn look about her, but instead of it giving her an air of the bitterly defeated, which she had always assumed was the case, it had in fact shaped her into a soft and beautiful woman. There was genuine compassion emanating from her. How had she not seen or felt this before?
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
She nodded again. “Have you … found him?”
Rita sighed. “No, we haven’t, but I just received a call from the police for they have.” Her brow furrowed. “He just took his clothes off in front of you?”
Tia looked down at the threadbare carpet, her cheeks burning. “Yes.”
“What would possess him to do that?” Rita leant back against her desk back, shaking her head. “In all my years I’ve never seen the like.”
Flashbacks. That was plausible, wasn’t it? Was she seriously going to suggest this? “Perhaps …” No, she couldn’t. Could she?
“Tia?”
Maggie quietly pushed the office door closed and handed her the cups of water.
“Thank you,” she said, and gulped one of the cups dry. No, her mind was made up, she simply could not. It wouldn’t be right. Things were bad enough without her heaping more manure onto it.
“Tia, what were you going to say?”
“I … well, I read somewhere that sometimes people who have taken … say drugs, can have sudden flashbacks and do strange things.” There, it was done.
“Yes, you know I’ve heard that too,” Maggie said, as she stroked her chin.
“I’ll have to mention it to the police when they get here,” Rita said.
“Maybe they would test him anyway,” Tia said. “I mean, if it’s obvious to us then it must be to them too.” That had to be true, didn’t it? That made what she had said okay, right?
“Still, it’s certainly worth a mention. Tia, the police may need to talk to you, but after that, would you like to go home?”
She shook her head sharply. Right about now Craig and Miranda would be mauling each other beneath her fresh white linen. Her brow creased, she put her head in her hands as emotion rose in her throat. Why had they betrayed her? She wanted to curl up in a ball and howl. No, no and absolutely no to public displays of pathetic weakness. She needed some air, a rest, a walk … actually, what she needed was a little therapy.
“Maybe I could just take an early lunch.”
Rita smiled warmly. There it was again, that wave of compassion.
She held out the short black skirt before her. It was perfect, divine. She had just the pair of delightful, strappy party heels to go with it. All eyes would be on trim Tia as she danced sensuously on Saturday night, her trusted … oh, come on, even if it was black she’d look fat in it. It would certainly show off something: stumpy tree trunk legs that stuck out from below a giggling mountain sized arse covered in black material stretched to near tearing. Not to mention the fact she couldn’t afford it. A tin of peas would be luxury.
God, if only she was a size eight. And while on the subject, if only she was a tall, curvy bombshell instead of a bumpy, little thing in desperate need of some serious exercise. If only she had light, bouncy blonde hair instead of the boring straight brown mess lumped indifferently on top her itching scalp. If only she had luscious full red lips and crystal green eyes instead of pale thin lips and sagging black bags under mud coloured eyes. A sprinkling of faint freckles over silken skin would be nice as well, instead of thick cheap make-up to hide the three huge spots that were on the verge of erupting across her face. A cute, little heart shaped bum to go with her full, well shaped …
Her clothes went baggy. She dropped the skirt on the floor. And then fainted.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Sweat poured from her temple. She clung to the edge of the sink, her knuckles white. A nail broke against the porcelain. Oh God, no, she loved her nails, at least, that was what she was supposed to think, if only … the nail repaired itself. Her mouth was open but sound did not form.
She raised her head with forceful effort to face her reflection in the streaked mirror. Her glasses lay discarded on the wet counter; her crystal green eyes had no need for them. Perfect visual acuity picked out detail like snapshots. She was a foot taller. Her figure was a trim and sensuous hourglass. Light blonde hair fell in bouncy waves. Lips were a luscious full red. An exquisite, unblemished face was blessed with a sprinkling of delightfully faint freckles.
As her breathing raced her mind sank into white hot fear. This had to stop. She had to calm down or there was going to be another collapse. Control had to be imposed, order needed to be restored. Her heart began to slow and her breathing began to ease. A flat untroubled surface gradually returned to her mind and her skin dried as if by the light of a summer sun. A restful sigh floated from her lungs. There, now that was much better.
She looked down at the coarse cotton of her short and baggy blouse. It was no longer possible to tuck it into her trousers, for the waistband was far too big. The trousers were also far too short; she could see her lower legs through laddered tights. Actually, that was all nonsense; her clothes gently hugged her figure as of course they would. Her blouse was a one-off designer number in cream. Her tailored trousers were an elegant cut that accentuated her flawless curves and showed just enough ankle to be playful. And her feet were magnificently displayed in low cut black heels with open toes. How about a cute little gold ankle chain? No, definitely not: too trashy.
She closed her eyes and took in a long, slow breath. A delightful aroma of freshly cut roses drifted over her. She was cleansed and fit, her toned muscles full of vitality. The pain of looking upon her dull, downtrodden reflection was a discarded shadow from another lifetime now thankfully quashed. She was perfection itself. Her heart broke with joy.
The bathroom door opened. Hell fire, her colleagues were going to go lose their sanity when they saw her. Come to think of it, would they even recognise her? Her lips curled into a faint smile. Of course they would recognise her, they wouldn’t know any different. But to complete the picture, she needed a tear, nothing overly dramatic, just a suggestion of ongoing distress.
“Are you all right, Tia?” Rita asked, as she placed a comforting arm around her shoulder.
Did her weak nod indicate continued unrest?
“The gentleman who brought you back from the shop has just left. He was concerned for you, as we all are.”
“Thank you.” A burst of bright, intoxicating pleasure burst in her chest. “If it’s okay with you, I’d now like to go home.” But not on my own.
“By all means, but I insist, you’re not going on your own.”
“Oh?”
Did he make love slowly, tenderly?
“I’ll ask someone to take you home.”
Or would he be passionately rough with her?
“Uh-huh.”
Either would be fine.
“Shall I ask Michael for you?”
She smiled.
Tia kicked the door to her empty flat closed and pushed Michael toward the bedroom.
“Tia, no, please, this can’t possibly happen.” Michael shook his head and raised a defensive hand. “I can’t do this, I have a pregnant wife.”
“Hush.”
She slung her arms around his neck and kissed him. His lips were locked. Or were they? Her senses exploded as he kissed her like no other had. She couldn’t wait any longer. She pushed Michael on the bed and climbed on top of him. As he ripped her blouse open, scattering the buttons, she tugged at his belt buckle.
The next morning, she awoke to find him staring down at her with puppy eyes that overflowed with love.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered huskily.
She grinned stupidly as her heart danced. And just to be sure, she turned to her ornate full length mirror. Yep, she was still blonde, still had freckles and still had a radiant, flawless smile. She lifted the sheets. And boy did she have wonderful breasts.
Michael frowned. “Are you okay?”
She turned to him. “I’m fine.” And kissed him. “We’d better get up or we’ll be late for work.”
They held hands as they strolled to the train station, a teenage giddiness in her stride. The sun shone upon them from a pristine, cloudless sky, a faint breeze kept her skin just the right side of cool.
The woman pushed past her in the coffee shop queue.
“Sorry,” Tia said, quietly, flushing with rage. With her right hand, she softly brushed the still air. The gust of wind blew the woman to the right; she lost her balance and fell over with a scream.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, red in the face, as a man helped her back onto her feet.
“I was merely assisting in the movement of a filthy cheat from the position she had stolen.”
“What gives you the right?”
“Oh, there’s no particular right.” Tia giggled. “It’s just that I can.”
It was a pleasure to see the rude old bat miss the train by a whisker, while sipping a luscious morning brew, which was truly the finest blend she had ever been served. She laid back into the antique cushions and rested in Michael’s arms. The rest of the grubby train may well be full to bursting with passionless zombies, but she shared a marvellously spacious, exquisitely furnished, first class carriage with her man.
They stepped onto the terminus’ dusty train platform. As they left the aging station, she glanced at her gold, diamond encrusted watch. It was ten past nine. Ah well. Her pace slowed, as her fingers caressed the palm of Michael’s hand. She passed the dirty blue cabs lined up at taxi rank and stepped from the forecourt into a muggy, polluted morning. Suburbia surged from the over ground trains into the claustrophobic high-rise forest, chasing after overcrowded busses, squeezing into packed trams and pouring onto cramped underground trains.
This was ridiculous. It was nonsense. It was a pointless, unending, relentless march to the far reaches of nowhere. It was too much. She hated the stinking city. She loathed the rat race it created. And she quite simply could not face one more day in the office, her overflowing in-tray, the gossiping girls, the loathsome I.T. And then there was Nick.
She stood dead still as humanity surged around her.
“I dreamt of a free and better life,” she sang at the top of her voice. Blimey, what a wonderfully warm, soulful singing voice she had. “I saw sunshine on golden rays.”
“To ease her long born strife,” Michael sang, extending his hand to her in a stage pose, “to live joy for all her days.”
“I am your guiding light for I did fight.” She twirled with a man in a pinstriped suit who wore a bowler hat. “I held true so very long.”
“She yearned and then she prayed.” A hundred voices sang to her as he held her aloft. “Her heart and will were strong.”
“I screamed, I yelled, I prayed.” He gently lowered her onto the bonnet of a car, as soaring strings filled the crisp, clean air. “Freedom for all, freedom.”
He span gracefully away as bus conductors, traffic wardens, businessmen, policewomen, builders, doctors, nurses and nuns smiled and danced with Michael and the man in the pinstriped suit.
“She is our guiding light who wills us all to fight,” the cab drivers sang in perfect harmony, huddled together, holding flat caps to their chests. “She’s a leader to believe in.”
Tia leapt to the ground and fell to her knees, her eyes skyward. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Freedom for all, freedom,” she whispered with her hands over her heart.
“Ladies and gentlemen, she is the brightest star in the galaxy today, and, as we are all aware, she rarely grants interviews. That is why, tonight, instead of my usual three guests, I am dedicating my entire show to only her.”
The audience frantically clapped and screamed.
“Yes, indeed, you know it to be true.” The chiselled presenter took in a breath. “My dear ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to welcome the enigmatic, the vibrant, the dearly loved, Tia Green.”
She gracefully entered from stage left. The audience were on their feet rapt with delirious abandon. Tia wore a fitted, designer silk blouse; tight blue jeans and brown leather cowboy boots. As she approached the beaming host’s sofa, she tossed her hair, threw a smile and gave her audience a little wave. The cheering reached fever pitch.
Her heart glowed.
~
