“Did Doug say something?” Rebecca asked as I turned off the radio.
I hated the radio. I hated the nattering between songs.
“He asked me if I would go to France with him,” I mumbled, digging
for something resembling music in her glove compartment.
Rebecca sucked in her breath. “Does he not get the message about
it yet?”
“Evidently not.” I held up a CD, raising my eyebrows. The Spice
Girls?
“Hey, they were cool.” She took it off me and shoved it in the
player. A moment later I was hollering “Wannabe,” like I had a clue what it
meant.
We stopped at a traffic light, still bouncing about inside as rain
started to sprinkle onto the windows. “Fancy a drink while we wait?”
“Er . . . I have this baby to control and we have guests.” Rebecca
rested her head on the wheel with a groan as “Two Become One” wafted out at us.
“Surprise guests.”
“Doug sabotaged girls’ night.” I sounded more irritated than I
felt. Was I really angry with him? What had he done wrong other than be sweet?
Okay, he wanted his own way so there was an ulterior motive but still, he was a
sweet brat.
“She tried to seduce me.” The red light turned to green and
Rebecca pulled off. “I said no.”
I did a double take and squinted to see if Rebecca was playing
with me.
“Last weekend when you were at Doug’s.” Rebecca turned and laughed
at my expression. “I was so freaked out . . . so embarrassed, I didn’t even
tell you.”
The city lights twinkled in the raindrops, misting up the
windscreen. There was nothing quite like a rainy London night. Rebecca could
have named all the buildings but to me they looked like a mass of brick jutting
up into the night. Buildings were her thing.
“You turned her down?”
“Yeah . . . her come on was cringe-worthy . . . I mean, I’m not
fussy but she’s . . . she’s—”
“A bitch?”
Rebecca nodded, overtaking a bus that seemed intent on blocking
the whole road. “That too.” She sighed. “Never once in ten years did she act
anything other than professionally towards me. I don’t get it.”
“So why now?” I didn’t understand the shift myself. To all intents
and purposes, she resembled a piranha in a foot spa to me. “She’s a beautiful
woman . . .”
“And was married to the director, Pip.” Rebecca bit her lip. “What
do I do?” She tapped the wheel, her eyes on the Mercedes in front. “I haven’t
felt this trapped since . . . well . . . since college.”
Seeing her cocky aura shatter was enough to terrify me. Rebecca
had been all set to head off to university and start her degree but her father
had found out about her sexuality and booted her out, cutting her off from her
funding and her dream. Horrid man.
“I wanted to tell you but you’ve been . . . well . . .”
“Distant?” I was a crappy friend, a really crappy friend.
“Yeah.” Rebecca knocked off the CD as we both scanned for a
parking space. “Anyway, she told me that no wasn’t acceptable.”
“Over there.” I pointed to a free space, with a celebratory grin.
It was akin to finding the right pair of shoes on discount and in the right
size. Go, Saunders. “It looks like she meant it.”
“She was still married, Pip.” Rebecca’s voice wobbled. “I like the
director.”
“When has a ring stopped you?”
The rain blasted me in the face as we got out and hurried into the
warm ambience of an Italian villa. At least it was on the inside. Outside it
was sandwiched between a barbers and a DVD rental store.
“I don’t touch women who are, or have been, married. I would never
knowingly do that. It just feels wrong.”
For once, I believed her words. It wasn’t something I had noticed
but when had I bothered to look? Why did she suffer my company?
“Last thing I needed was for her to show up tonight.”
I patted her hand as we took a seat at the bar. Giovanni, Gino’s
son, hurried over to us. “Orders, ladies?”
Covering up the pink showing under the coat, I smiled. “Take away
if you don’t mind. We have guests.”
He smiled, his brow shiny. He whipped out a handkerchief to mop
it. “Wonderful, usual for you two?”
We nodded.
“Extras?”
I counted the orders on my fingers. “Pasta e fagoli and . . .”
Crap, I’d forgotten to ask what Doug wanted. “Hold on . . .” I looked for my
mobile. Crap, it was on the table. “You got yours?”
Rebecca shook her head. “You can’t remember his favourite?”
“Yeah, any dish that involves as many types of meat on it as
possible.” I sounded irritated again. I hoped Rebecca didn’t notice.
“Meatballs with spaghetti, thanks,” she answered for me. It was as
good a shot as any.
Giovanni smiled and hurried off while I tried to study the beer
mat with fascination.
“I spilled,” Rebecca said, her voice low. “Your turn.”
“It’s nothing.” Her eyes seemed to burn into my cheek until I
looked at her. “It’s nothing . . .”
“Tell me.” She leaned on the bar. “Or I will get you hammered and
drag it out of you.”
“Do you want me to tell Doug to make her leave?” I wasn’t sure how
I could make good on that promise as I had no phone but maybe Giovanni would
let me use his. He’d once given me extra breadsticks. Maybe he’d be charmed by
my fluffy attire.
“She said I give in or she will tell the director that I came onto
her.” The sound of defeat ebbed from her and I leaned my head against her
shoulder.
“That sucks.” Miss Evans was indeed a bitch.
“Yeah.”
I nudged her shoulder. “I like your hair.” She looked at me and
raised her eyebrows. “I mean it, it’s growing on me.”
“Liar, but thanks.” She prodded me in the ribs. “Now, spill it.”
Fear, guilt, tension, and that flash of excitement shot through my
stomach and once again I broke out in a sweat. My neck itched and burned. The
secret had been buried for so long that to speak a word, to actually say the words
out loud, felt like unleashing a slumbering beast. Two sides to every story,
maybe, only one side of mine led to the other and I couldn’t even think about
it without getting nauseous.
“Could it be worse than my sad tale?”
Little did she know. “Yes.”
“Good.” She motioned to the bartender. “Double whiskey for my dear
friend and a lemonade for me.”
“It won’t work.”
Nudging the glass towards me, Rebecca batted her eyelids. “It’s to
calm your nerves.” She smiled a cocky smile. I needed to tell her at least some
of it. I couldn’t just daydream my way through every single day. I was going to
get married, at some point. I needed help, support, therapy.
Rebecca took my hand. “I’m on your side what—”
“I fell in love with another woman.”
Rebecca slipped off her stool. I grabbed her to stop her
clattering to the ground.
She retook her seat and stared wide-eyed at me.
“Well . . . say something.”
“In France?” Her brow wrinkled up her nose, her voice squeaky.
“Like a female woman?”
Now she was just being daft. “Yes, I fell in love with another
woman.” Didn’t those words sound freeing and terrifying all at once? This was
how people who had committed crimes felt in confession, I was sure. “In fact, I
had a yearlong affair with her.”
“You’re . . . but you’re not . . . I mean . . . you love Doug.”
“Of course I love Doug.” What the relevance was in that I didn’t
know. “It was years before him.”
“Like . . . a love affair . . . I mean . . . like . . .”
For someone so keyed up on seduction, she looked more shocked than
I had expected. “It was a long time ago.”
“Oh shit.” She put her head in her hands. “This woman still lives
there?”
My whiskey arrived.
Rebecca downed it.
“Oh shit . . . Oh, this is bad.”
I stared back at her. Great support. “You’re not making me feel
better here.”
Rebecca signalled to the bartender again. “Pip, he is totally set
on you.” She bit her lip. “It’ll break his heart.”
“Why does he need to know?” I frowned at her and folded my arms.
“I haven’t cheated on him.”
“But the woman still lives in Marseille?” The second time she’d
asked the same question.
Another whiskey arrived.
She downed that too.
“Yes, but it’s a big city.”
Holding up her fingers to order another, Rebecca looked at me as
though I would grow tentacles at any moment. “So . . . are you saying that you
are . . . I mean . . . is that why?”
“For a gay woman, you’re a terrible confidante.” The third double
arrived. I placed my fingers over the glass. “I love Doug. I am marrying Doug.”
“And the woman, I mean, she must have been some woman.” The way
she hung on the word “some” was reminiscent of a teenage boy. Shocked hadn’t
made her less smutty it seemed.
Giovanni hurried over with our order and I pulled Rebecca away
from the double before she grabbed for it.
There were women, then there was
her
.
“I think I . . .” I wasn’t sure how I could explain all that had
happened as we headed out into the downpour. What words could adequately
describe
her
? “I mean . . . I don’t know . . .” How to pinpoint why she
had overwhelmed my senses. “You see . . .” How to justify how one woman had
untied every knot in my heart and shred every resistance I’d had. “She was
French.”
Rebecca took the bags as I got in the driver’s side. “That’s it?
You land that on me and put it down to the woman’s nationality?” She shook her
head as I pulled off. “There’s a load of people living in France and you
weren’t ban—”
I shoved a bread roll in her mouth. “You’re so crass.”
“How did you keep that secret?” Rebecca chomped on the roll. “I
mean, how did I not get any vibes from you?”
I turned right, the rain got heavier. “There are no vibes to find.
I don’t feel anything for any other woman, I promise.” That was the truth. I’d
never felt even an inkling towards anyone else, full stop. I’d been oddly
surprised I was actually attracted to Doug. He wasn’t
her
but he was
nice. I liked nice. Nice didn’t make my brain dribble out of my ears.
“You sure?”
“Trust me . . .”
Rebecca and I had watched countless romantic films and I’d even
read a couple of the steamy novels she so enjoyed. I wasn’t revolted and I
wasn’t overawed. Perhaps I was not that kind of woman. My relationship with
Doug was steady and comfortable.
“I love Doug, there is no question about that. I’m marrying him.
That is all that matters.”
“You’re right not to tell him.” I was glad she agreed with that.
“He’ll think I’ve been getting it on with you too.”
“It would be like kissing my arm.”
Rebecca frowned. “Hey, I’ll have you know that I can kiss better
than any French chick.”
Not her, not those long languid kisses that permeated my dreams.
Not the sweet promising caress or the hot heavy demand—
“It’s red.” Rebecca flicked my ear, snapping me to the present.
“Red, right.” I stopped the car.
“You have that look again.” She frowned. “You’re thinking about
her, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m thinking about Doug.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.” I was glad she was eating her way
through the rolls, hopefully it would soak up the two doubles. With Miss Evans
around, she needed her wits about her.
“He’s on a promise.” I flashed her a dazzling smile, the light
turning to green. “It’s only fair as he was trying to help.”
“Right.”
I shoved another roll in her mouth. “Stop looking at me like
that.”
“I can’t help it. You just told me that you had a sordid affair
with another woman.” She laughed around her roll. “I mean, you, the upstanding
moral compass.”
“Maybe I was experimenting.” I pulled into a spot close to our
flat. “That’s what they call it, right?”
Rebecca shook her bread roll at me. “Oh no . . . experimenting is
a night, a few too many drinks . . . it’s not twelve
months
.” She
chomped another piece as we got out of the car and I took the bags as she
locked it. “Experimenting is not getting in a cold sweat at the mention of the
country.”
“Fine.” Rebecca took a bag as we entered the lift. “Whatever it
was, it’s in the past. I would really prefer it if Doug and I didn’t bump into
her. Me
not
going to Marseille guarantees that.” It also guaranteed that
I never had to face what had happened. Oh, that rolled my stomach.
“Hey, you got no annual leave . . . none . . . I told you that
I’ve got your back.”
“You also got my whiskey.” I opened the door and we stood in the
entrance hall. Hmm . . . so the lift was working as well as always.