Out Late with Friends and Regrets (6 page)

“Sure. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. But it must have occurred to you, surely? No, never mind, obviously not.”

“My brain’s in freefall right now. I need time to get a handle on this.”

“Right, no problem. So tell me how Anna’s getting on with her drama.”

The Harford ringroad gave Fiona plenty to think about, as she looked out for her turning in the twilight rush of commuter traffic. But the elephant in the passenger seat waited its turn patiently, and glanced across at her when she was back on more familiar roads.

“I’m not,” she said aloud. “I’m really and truly not.”

She and Rosemary had parted on affectionate terms; Fiona’s momentary urge to distance herself wasn’t really about Rosemary. She just wished the subject hadn’t arisen. Never mind, Fiona would be hosting for a change in a couple of weeks, and by that time she would be able to smile the idea away, talk about it dispassionately; an amusing conjecture without foundation. She had definitely overreacted.

Following an initial decision to give Lynn’s classes a couple of weeks’ break, she chided herself for being an idiot, and changed her mind.

She struggled through aerobics for half an hour, then had to make an undignified rush for the changing rooms from the very visible pole position she had occupied in recent weeks; it made her exit horribly obvious. She sat on the bench in the little cubicle, shaking, red-faced, assailed by physical sensations which felt like a grotesque combination of panic attack and imminent orgasm. Trying to think herself down, she leant back against the partition with her eyes closed, emptying her mind, until her body quietened. She sat for a while. Then dressed, slowly.

She was just checking for her keys in her kitbag
 
as she made for the outer door, when her classmates began to file in; “Hey, you OK?” and “D’you want to come for a cup of tea?” were offered with friendly concern. Then Lynn put her head round the door, and Fiona felt her face colouring again.

“Are you all right, Fiona?” she asked, coming in and touching her on the arm.

Fiona avoided looking her in the eye.

“Just got my period unexpectedly, er, Lynn,” she replied, “think I’ll just go home and get to bed with a hot water bottle. Sorry.”

“You take care now. Bye.”

“Bye Lynn. Bye folks,” said Fiona, and left.

“I guess it
is
a sort of crush. With Lynn, I mean,” said Fiona.

Rosemary hadn’t mentioned it. She had arrived mid-morning, and Fiona had taken her for an energetic walk along the lanes, which gave them a good appetite for the lamb dish which she thought hadn’t turned out too badly. Conversation was animated, fun, fluent, just like it used to be at school.

But over coffee it just came out.

“You reckon?” said Rosemary, “You’re sure I haven’t talked you into it? I’ve been feeling rather bad about saying anything when you’re at a vulnerable stage of your life. I just thought you’d pretty well worked it out for yourself.”

“I’ve been feeling very restless. I could be a bit gay, I suppose. It honestly never occurred to me. But now I can’t get the thought out of my head, and you know that thing where you come across an unusual word and then it’s in everything you read?”

“Newspapers and telly full of lesbian gayness, you mean?” said Rosemary.

“Yes. I can’t seem to get away from signs and portents and cosmic nudges.”

“That’s because it’s lodged in your subconscious.”

“I know, but how will I ever get to know for sure? Especially as most of us apparently fall into that great swathe between a hundred percent straight and a hundred percent gay. There’s no test.”

“Oh yes there is. Very simple. Take it in the comfort and security of your own home. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Dunno why I should,” said Fiona, “this is all your fault.”

“‘Implicitly’ was more the answer I was expecting.”

“Hmm. All right, I’m ready for my close-up, Herr Freud.”

“OK, shut your eyes.”

“Ye-e-es.”

 
“And think of Paul,” suggested Rosemary.

“I’d really rather not, if you don’t mind.”

“Any nice-looking man, then.”

Not that she knew any. Johnny Depp, perhaps.

“Right.”

“He’s looking you in the eye and taking his clothes off.”

“Yes. What now?”

“Get rid of him. Now it’s Lynn.
She’s
looking you in the eye and taking her clothes off.”

“Oh no!”

“Why not?”

“
I
want to take them off. Oh my God, I
so
want to take them off!”

Fiona’s eyes were still closed when she felt Rosemary put her mouth on hers, and her head filled with fluff. She sank into the kiss, relaxing into its sensuality and delight. It lasted a long time, but still not long enough. She came to as Rosemary gently distanced her, hands on her arms.

“So now what do you think?” asked Rosemary, but Fiona just shook her head; “Was I right or what?”

“I think you might well be right,” whispered Fiona, “even though I knew it was you, I went completely funny. It felt - ”

“Right. Natural.”

“Yes.”

“Powerful, even. I’ll tell you, Fee, the way you held me, you were taking charge as if you were born to it.”

“I’ve never felt like that. I want to feel like that again.”

“And that was just in the way of a test-drive for your libido. Tell you what, girl, you need to get out there, and find out if it’s just instructor-worship, or if you really are a disgusting deviant whose awful practices could threaten the foundations of our society.”

“I quite like the thought of being a deviant. Especially if I can wear a leather doublet.”

“Only if you’re thinking of joining the bondage branch of the sisterhood, you fruity old tart.”

Fiona guffawed, then her smile faded, and her face became thoughtful.

“What shall I do, Rosie?” she asked, “After all, we could have got it wrong.”

“Give it a try, my darling. Online dating. There must be loads of sites, not to mention ads in the lesbian mags. Even the Harford Evening Times has half a page of lonelyhearts, including a Women Seeking Women section.”

“Oh, you’ve looked, then!”

Rosemary’s mouth twitched.

“Of
course
not, I just know. Actually, I find it quite interesting, the things people put about themselves. Women seem to be more honest, on the whole.”

“I don’t get the Harford paper, but I guess I can buy it online,” said Fiona, moving across to her desk and opening her laptop.

“Listen, Fee, there’s no way I’m trying to push you into anything. All I’m saying is, this might – just might – be one route. If you’d rather not, well, there are other things you could do to open up your horizons, and meet new people.”

“Yes, charity work, book groups... not that there’s anything wrong with either, but – ooh, look at this one!”

Fiona had found the paper, and after a few moments, the page.

“
‘Sincere butch woman, 40s, seeks feminine companion any age. Hobbies fell running,
birdwatching, outdoor pursuits. Must like dogs.’
She sounds quite a girl. Not for me, though. But, honestly, I really do fancy giving the gay thing a whirl. I don’t have to carry on with it if it doesn’t work for me, do I?”
  
 

“Honestly, even if you end up with just a good friend or two, or entry into a new social circle, it would be lovely - you haven’t exactly got a network right now, have you?”

“Sad but true. Jilly No-mates. Except for you, Rosie. I’m just so bad in company.”

“You’ll have to work on that anyway, Fee. Social skills need practice. Although you seem pretty relaxed in my company now, which you weren’t at first; it won’t take long to get you comfortable in a roomful of strangers. And you could always see if Lynn needs a sympathetic shoulder.”

“Absolutely, definitely not. That would be so
wrong
– and so potentially humiliating!” She had no intention of sharing the strange experience of last week with Rosemary.

“OK, just pulling your leg! Your first toe in the water would need to be as risk-free as possible. Why don’t you try an ad in the Harford paper to start with, then at least most respondents would be local enough to meet in town, rather than hundreds of miles away. You could put one on an internet site later.”

“Hmm,” said Fiona, “That sounds like a plan. I’ll have to mention that I prefer not to run uphill if possible, haven’t got the patience to watch birds and don’t own a dog.”

“And
indoor
pursuits are far more your thing!”

“I hope. Anyway, Rosie, I guess I have to thank you, you rotten bitch. You’ve turned my world upside down, and I’m terrified. But still grateful.”

“That’s good. But now it’s time I was off home. You’ll keep me up to speed every step of the way? I’ll need to know everything.”

“Erm,
everything
?”

“Oh yes. Every single detail. After all, I
am
your sexuality supervisor, and will require full reports in the furtherance of your own best interests.”

“Not in any sense a prurient closet bisexual who wants to relive old thrills by proxy?”

“Of course not, Fiona.”

“Of course not, Rosemary. Didn’t think so for a second.”

When big things happen, your first waking moment gives you a hint; no hard information, just a subliminal flash across the mental retina, an emotion, a feeling. It can be your first day as a parent, a prisoner, a prizewinner, an orphan. Or like when you wake up and in a second or two remember that it’s your tenth birthday, and that from now on it’s double figures all the way.

Fiona woke. Then the moment.

“I’m gay,” she thought. “A
lesbian
.”

“So how do you feel about it?” she asked herself aloud, sitting up so as to be able to pay better attention to the question.

“Actually, pretty good,” she replied, “if it’s true. It explains a lot.”

“And
do
you think it’s true?” she demanded, adopting what she imagined to be the smile of Jeremy Paxman with the scent of blood in his nostrils.

“I shouldn’t be in the least bit surprised!” she declared, throwing the covers wide, and leaping to her feet on the bed. She began trampolining on it, slapping the ceiling with every bounce.

“Gay, gay, Fiona’s gay,” she chanted, landing on her bottom on the last word.

Over breakfast she searched gay, lesbian and bisexual dating websites, feeling embarrassed and furtive, and was astonished at their number. She was hoping that she could look at some of the entries, but all required an email address and a sign-up process. Never mind; she could always try them later, if the Harford option blew out.

In her lunch hour she studied the shelves of WH Smith, and was surprised to see Diva, a very obviously lesbian magazine, on sale. She had never noticed it before. She picked one up, and it felt sticky, though that was probably just her hands.
 
She added the Harford Evening Times and some popular women’s magazines to sandwich it, and affected nonchalance as she queued at the till. The checkout woman’s eyes flicked up to meet hers for a millisecond, as the magazine’s cover, featuring the androgynous charms of a highly-tattooed brunette, emerged in turn for scanning. Eyes down, tense, and hoping the woman wasn’t a customer at her own shop, Fiona hugged the pile to her and hurried back to work. But there was a thrill in it too, a thrill in the feeling of difference, that she hadn’t expected.