Caught by Love: A Lesbian Romance

by Jade Winters

  “Right. First things first, I’m sure you’re curious about who does my decorating,” Dr Cross said with an understanding smile. Hannah nodded sheepishly, drawing a laugh from her therapist. “Well, I started my practice as a child psychologist and although I’ve long since branched out to working with adults, I still treat a great many younger minds. Many of my older patients seem to enjoy the relaxed environment as much as the children, so I elected to save money on repeat renovations and stick with my original office theme.”

  “Ah, I see,” Hannah said, realising that she did indeed feel more relaxed since she’d entered the office.

  Dr Cross nodded and reclined slightly in her bean bag as she removed the lid off a little black pen, her notebook at the ready.

  Hannah placed her hands on her lap, lacing her fingers together as the woman scribbled something on her pad.

  They first spoke about Hannah’s background in film and Dr Cross surprised her when she admitted having seen a couple of films she had directed. She never mentioned Naomi’s passing until fifteen minutes in.

  “First, let me say I’m very sorry for your loss,” Dr Cross said in as soothing voice as she leaned slightly forward.

  Unprepared for the surge of mixed feelings, blood rushed to Hannah’s cheeks and words began to tumble from her mouth. “Er, If I’m honest . . . I can’t believe I’m actually here doing this.”

  “I can only imagine what a terrible shock your partner’s sudden death must have been,” Dr Cross replied with a thoughtful expression covering her features.

  Hannah nodded before closing her eyes briefly.

  Dr Cross continued, “It makes it all the harder the way Naomi died. Sudden Death Syndrome just doesn’t make sense. It’s not something one can easily wrap their heads around.”

  A million thoughts raced through Hannah’s mind. As her eyes filled with tears she said weakly, “I just want to know why it happened to her?”

  Dr Cross leaned over to a small table beside her and lifted a box of tissues off it and handed them to her. “Hannah, it’s only natural to be thinking that. The question why is an implacable part of life—the search for the whys could go on for a lifetime. What I think is important for you is not why but how? How do you move on from this tragedy and go on to living a more meaningful life.”

  Hannah looked at her with a glassy, glazed stare. “I don’t think that’s even possible. It’s been a year but it still feels like yesterday.” The fear, anger, despair, sheer hopelessness and guilt still plagued her. Her misery was so acute her heart ached.

  “From my experience of the grief process, it is very different from an expected or anticipated death. In reality, we just don’t expect normal healthy people to die. So when they do, the shock to our system can be quite traumatic. It can shake the very foundations of our lives. There isn’t a time limit to grief—it can take some people months or years to come to terms with the death of a loved one. A year can feel like a second.”

  Hannah looked down at her open palms, slick with sweat. “Believe me, it feels like a second.” She paused before continuing, looking up to meet Dr Cross’ eyes, her chin trembling. “The worst thing is, if Naomi could talk to me I know she’d tell me to buckle up and be strong. She’d be angry with me if she saw the state I was in.”

  Dr Cross hesitated before she spoke next, carefully weighing her words. “Is that why you’ve come to see me because you think by still grieving you are somehow letting Naomi down?”

  Hannah’s face took on a grave expression. “Partly, and because I know that I have to move on, but I can’t do it alone.”

  “I will be here for however long you want me to be.”

  Hannah’s eyes softened, lighting up with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  Dr Cross scribbled some more notes. “So, Hannah, tell me, how do you spend your days?”

  Hannah glanced around the room, finally settling her gaze on the window covered in sticky smiling faces. “I’ve only recently come back to London from Cumbria. There, I spent a lot of time walking and thinking.”

  “Did it help?”

  She stirred uneasily in the cushion, clenching her hands into balls. “The walking did, not the thinking. I just kept going round in circles.”

  “So what are your plans now you’re back?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Do you have any projects lined up?”

  Hannah let out a heavy sigh and shook her head.

  “Are you planning on returning to work any time soon?”

  “Nope.”

  “Doesn’t it make sense that if you want your life to return to normal you need to start doing the normal every day things you used to do. Get back into the groove of life, so to speak.”

  Hannah leant her head backwards, taking a clump of hair in her hand as she looked up at the ceiling. “I know I should but—”

  “But?” Dr Cross asked encouragingly.

  Hannah snapped her head downward and looked straight at Dr Cross, her gaze unflinching. “But, I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  Hannah threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t know—everything. I just have this gnawing feeling inside, it paralyses me.”

  “Does it make you feel incapable?”

  Hannah rose from her cushion and walked over to stand by the window, which had a direct view of Saint Paul’s cathedral. “Yes,” she said biting her bottom lip as she looked across at the crowds of people congregating on the church’s steps.

  “Did you suffer from feelings of doubt when Naomi was alive?”

  Hannah turned to her, pulling down the long sleeve of her top until it stretched over her hand. “Yes, but it never stopped me in my tracks like it does now—I just feel like nothing is worth doing any more.”

  Dr Cross looked up at her, slightly twisting around so her body was angled straight at Hannah. “When the death of a loved one happens, it’s only natural that we re-evaluate what’s important to us. Was work something that was a high priority in your life?”

  Hannah dropped her head as her eyes looked up. “Yes.”

  “Do you think your commitment to your job stole precious moments you could have shared with Naomi?”

  Hannah laid her hand against her breastbone, moving it up to the base of her neck, a pained expression on her face. The therapist had hit the nail on the head. A lot of the guilt she felt was centred around that issue. The amount of time she had put in to her last film at the expense of time that could have been spent with Naomi, still clouded her memories. “Yes, before she died,” she said, her voice unsteady, “I was so wrapped up in my own world that I didn’t see it coming. If I’d been paying more attention to her, maybe what happened wouldn’t have.”

  In a caring voice, Dr Cross said, “Hannah, I don’t think you could have done anything to prevent her death and unfortunately we all have to work. Also, it’s healthy to spend time away from your partner pursuing your own dreams. I’m sure she was very proud of you for achieving what you have.”

  A slight smile played on her lips. “She was.”

  “Well, there you go. If we all went around staying close to someone for fear of them dying, nothing in the world would ever get done.”

  Hannah was swimming through a haze of emotions looking for something of substance to grab on to. “So do you think going back to work will help me?”

  “I most certainly do,” Dr Cross said with firm conviction. “When dealing with grief it’s important to maintain some sort of routine. Even though there will be days when you want the ground to swallow you up, you have to forge forward. It is only then can you replace your old life. I know it sounds heartless to tell you to give up memories of a life you treasured, but the reality is, that life is over and what you do now is going to create new memories for a new life.”

  Hannah walked back over to her bean bag and slumped down into it. “I don’t know if I can.”

  Dr Cross looked at her kindly. “The world still spins regardless of how m
uch we hurt, Hannah. Life keeps going forward. That in itself is a lesson for us all. Reality is showing us there’s no going back no matter how much we pray for it.”

  Hannah let out a heavy sigh as the thought of work opened another can of worms. She swallowed hard. “I have a script that Naomi wrote before she died.”

  “Okay,” she said, her eyes looking at her enquiringly.

  Hannah lowered her eyes to her hands. “The problem is, she gave it to her best friend, not me.” Though she had searched for it she still couldn’t come up with a plausible answer as to why she had done that.

  “But you have it now?”

  She looked up, her face clouded with uneasiness. “Yes.”

  “Why’s that a problem?”

  Hannah tried to conceal the mixed emotions she felt. “Let’s just say, I’m not exactly on good terms with this friend.”

  “I see. So what are you going to do with it?”

  Uncertainty made her voice suddenly sound feeble. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know what Naomi’s intention was for it?”

  Hannah shook her head. “No, her friend wasn’t sure.”

  “Is there a possibility that you could do something with it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it something you could take on emotionally?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, stealing a slight glance up at her therapist. “I would love to but I need to give it some more thought.”

  “Well, I can’t think of a better project to do if I’m honest with you. Hannah, I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. Draw on that inner strength to move on,” Dr Cross said glancing at her watch.

  Therein lies the problem, Hannah thought. How am I going to find the strength so I can use it?

  “Do you think you’d like to make another appointment for next week?”

  Hannah didn’t hesitate before answering with enthusiasm. “Yes.”

  She couldn’t believe how quickly the hour had gone by. Hannah reached over and shook her outstretched hand before Dr Cross withdrew her business card from the folder she was holding and handed it to her. She looked down at it. The appointment was for the following week at the same time. Stuffing it in her jacket pocket, Hannah stood and headed towards the door with a smile on her face.

  As she made her way to the lift she was bewildered by how much she was looking forward to their next session.

  Chapter 8

  Leah drew back the heavy grey window length curtains in one swift movement, letting the brightness of the sun stream into the living room. Hannah let out a muffled groan from the sofa. This was the second day in a row her head throbbed from too much alcohol.

  “Rise and shine,” Leah’s voice shrilled.

  “Do you ever sleep, Leah? What time is it?”

  “8:00AM and yes, I do sleep—early to bed early to rise, as the old saying goes. Now come on, lazy bones, we’ve got lots to do today.”

  “Like what?” Hannah mumbled.

  “Like sort this house out, remember? We spoke about it the other day. You told the cat charity that they can be expecting a load of stuff from you today.”

  “Remind me why I did that?” She let out a groan.

  “Because,” Leah answered, tugging the quilt off her, “you said you were coming home to restart your life and I’m going to make sure that’s exactly what you do. So come on, hit the shower and I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “Oh, God, this is worse than living at home.”

  “Now, let’s not be silly. Nothing can be as bad as that, believe me, speaking of which, my dear mother got a clean bill of health the other day.”

  “Oh, that’s great news, she must feel relieved.”

  “You’d think so wouldn’t you, but it’s only a matter of time before some other aliment will creep up on her.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her. We’re all going to get old someday.”

  “She’s not that old, though, is she? If I ever become like her, you have my permission to smother me. Now, do you want breakfast?”

  “No. I feel a bit rough.”

  “I should think so. I see you had a liquid dinner last night. Am I going to have to force feed you? You’re a bag of bones as it is,” she sang out cheerily as she headed towards the kitchen.

  “Okay this is getting weird now—you’re seriously starting to sound like my mother,” Hannah muttered to herself as she reluctantly rose from the sofa and walked to the shower room.

  Half an hour later, feeling replenished by the full English breakfast she had surprisingly managed to eat, she was feeling a little better.

  Leah was standing in front of the sink, rinsing the dirty dishes under the running tap before placing them in the dishwasher. “I called you the other day but you didn’t answer. I didn’t come over because I thought you might want to be left alone.”

  “I had a visitor.”

  “Oh, that’s nice, anyone I know?”

  “Alisa.”

  Leah froze in mid air. The water dripped from the plate onto the porcelain tiled floor, forming a small puddle. “What! What did she want?”

  “Don’t worry, she wasn’t here to cause me any grief she just wanted to give me something of Naomi’s.”

  Leah looked at her questionably. “And what was that?”

  “A script.”

  She rested the plate on the draining board and walked to stand in front of Hannah. “Come again?”

  “Naomi had written a script that she didn’t even tell me about. She gave it to Alisa to read.”

  “And where is it now?”

  Hannah pointed in the direction of the living room. “By the sofa.”

  “I see.” She leaned past Hannah for the kitchen roll and dried her hands.

  “It’s a lesbian romance. Can you believe it? After all those years, she swore she would only write material that was of commercial value, she went and did a sneaky one behind my back.”

  “What’s it about?”

  Hannah slipped off her stool, picked up the milk bottle and walked over to the fridge. “The usual, a couple madly in love until one of them gets caught up in an affair. It’s a very sad but sweet story. I’m just glad I never went through any of that turmoil with Naomi, I don’t know what would have been worse, her untimely death or her being unfaithful.” She opened the fridge and put the milk away.

  “Well, you had nothing to worry about on that score—she only had eyes for you.”

  Hannah closed the door and turned back to Leah who had moved back to the sink. “I know and I’m eternally grateful for that.”

  “So why did Alisa bring it to you now?”

  “She said she had been in touch with you. You never told me?”

  Leah didn’t skip a beat as she bent over to place the last of the dishes in the tray. “I didn’t think you were in any fit state to be bothered by her. Do you remember what you were like at the funeral? Anyone would have thought she was the devil’s spawn the way you reacted to her.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She lowered her eyes to the ground as a surge of guilt rushed through her. “I really should have apologised to her for that.”

  Leah slammed the dishwasher door shut and rose to her full height. “Nonsense, she deserved everything she got.”

  Hannah’s eyes shone like those of a confused child. “I’m beginning to wonder if there was more to it than what Naomi told me. I mean, why would she give Alisa the script? Why wouldn’t she even tell me they were back on speaking terms?”

  “That’s something we’ll never know but I wouldn’t believe a word that comes out of Alisa’s mouth. Remember, she’s very good at her job as an actress. So what are you going to do with it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still trying to come to terms with it, if I’m honest with you.”

  “Look, Hannah, let’s not get sidetracked from what you came back here to do. Alisa is in the past now. You have to make a new start. I’m here to help you do that.”

 
Hannah smiled at her, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. “I know you are.”

  “Good! So when you’re ready, where do you think you want to start first?”

  The smile slowly faded from her face. “I think the paperwork—you never know, I might find she’s been hiding a shocking secret from me.”

  “Come on now, you know Naomi wasn’t that sort of person.”

  “Yeah, I know.” But did she? If she’d written a whole script without telling her, what else could she have been hiding?

  Chapter 9

  Alisa was a regular face at The Moors restaurant. She liked nothing more than to relax on the terrace which was a stone’s throw away from the River Thames, watching the yachts as they aimlessly sailed by. The atmosphere was always relaxed, with classical music playing instead of the usual loud senseless pop songs that drowned out any attempt to have a conversation. She sat at a wooden table with a thick white linen table cloth and a small basket of sliced French bread placed in the centre which remained untouched.

  Bobby sat opposite her, a smile beamed on his tanned face.

  “I must say, you have made me a very happy chappie today. Can I ask what changed your mind?”

  “Like you said, Bobby, I need to move on and there’s nothing better than work to keep me focused.”

  “Good girl. Just because you’re getting on with your life doesn’t mean you’re sullying Naomi’s memory—quite the opposite actually.”

  “Okay, there’s no need to try and twist my arm, I said I’ll audition for the part.”

  Bobby raised his eyebrows and smiled. “When shall I set it up for you?”

  “As soon as you can.”

  He stood up fishing his mobile phone from his jeans pocket. “Fantastic, you order the food and I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “You’ll find out in a minute,” he said.

  Alisa picked up the menu as he walked off, his head bent over as he busily pressed numbers into his phone. Though food was the last thing on her mind she knew she had to eat something, she’d been abusing her body too much these last few months.