Her Melting Point

In the Cold Light

Some strange noise crept into her hearing, and something was softly poking her backside. In her 17.29% awake mind that added up to the cat demanding its breakfast. By the way, 1729 was her favourite number, obviously because of that anecdote about Srinivasa Ramanujan Aiyangar, the famous mathematician, praising it on his deathbed.

"Alright, alright, mawkin," she muttered. "Tar- What's it- Tar... tar?"

She couldn't quite recall the name - and then all the memories rushed in: the cat under the settee; the lush melodious Italian phrases pouring out of him; the first kiss on the floor; and then that part, already on her bed, when he picked up her legs, under her knees, and pushed them apart and-

Jackie gasped, and floundered, and sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest.

Alexander slept on his back, one hand tucked under his pillow. His other palm was open where her buttock had been resting just a second ago. It hadn't been the cat pawing her, she deduced, after watching his fingers twitch and curl up a couple of times. Also, the noise that had woken her up was a doorbell.

Another trill carried through the cottage; and Alexander groaned and scrunched his face. Jackie decided that each of the present conundrums in her life needed to be addressed separately, and she rolled off the bed. She rushed to the wardrobe; realised that she'd spent the night starkers, which might have been the first time in her adult life; and she grabbed her kimono robe; wrapped in it, tying the belt extra tightly; and tumbled down the stairs.

"Good morning, Ms. Burns," a pleasant grey-haired woman on the threshold greeted Jackie after she jerked the door open.

Jackie forced a polite smile onto her face and frantically tried to smooth down her hair.

"Oh please don't worry." The visitor gave out a lilting laugh. "I've been battling my own ginger curls every morning for many, many more years than you. More than I care to admit."

She elegantly swept her snow-white fringe off her forehead. Jackie didn't know what her hair looked like at the moment, but definitely not as stylish and deceivingly effortless as her guest's short asymmetric cut. All of the woman's appearance - her hair; her stylish outfit of a pair of linen trousers and an elegant short-sleeved turtleneck; the light make-up - made Jackie even more insecure about her dishevelled state.

"You look lovely, by the way," the older woman added. "You've got sort of a- How should I put it? Glow, perhaps?"

Jackie pulled the two sides of her robe's collar closer together. She could only hope that she'd managed to hide the bite mark on her shoulder before the other woman noticed it.

"Morning. May I help you?" she asked.

"Oh how rude of me. I'm Hazel Harewicke. I'm one of your cat's former humans." The woman smiled cheekily. "I'm Ephemia's Aunt."

"Jocelyn Burns," Jackie mumbled and stretched her hand to the woman. "Pleasure to meet you."

The woman's handshake was firm and confident - and then she flipped Jackie's hand and peered at her palm.

"Goodness, dear, this is the most gorgeous Aquarius hand I've seen in a while."

"I'm a Taurus," Jackie blurted out. "I mean, thank you."

Ms. Harewicke chortled. "Dearie, your closeted new-age nutter is showing. And an Aquarius hand is just a term for the shape: a square palm and long strong fingers of equal length."

"Oh I see."

"If you're interested in palmistry, it's my sister Thelma you should be talking to," the witch sing-songed. "I'm here to invite you to my yoga class." She handed Jackie a tastefully designed flyer. "It's held in the Frake's gym on Tuesdays and Fridays if you prefer more formal, modern surroundings; or we hold smaller, more intimate sessions by request. The class is for those identifying as female and-slash-or those in the second half of their bleeding age."