‘I’m sorry about the bathroom thing just now,’ said Natasha after they’d both had a few mouthfuls.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Mattie, shrugging, ‘that kind of crap sort of goes with the territory, doesn’t it? I know we’re in Paris and this is a very sophisticated hotel, I’m sure they see it all here, but sometimes it’s easier not to confront things full on, isn’t it? I can’t always be bothered.’
Natasha didn’t answer immediately, chewing her food and wondering what territory Mattie meant exactly. She was still mulling it over, when Mattie started speaking again.
‘You should have seen the bother I used to get into before I came out to my parents,’ she said, shaking her head and laughing. ‘I had to hide naked under my first girlfriend’s bed for over an hour one time, when her mum came in for a heart to heart with her and sat there yacking on. I thought she’d never go. It was so funny.
‘And then when I was at art college, my folks thought the woman I was living with was my flatmate. It was such a relief when I finally told them. They were a bit surprised – I guess I’d done almost too good a job of keeping it from them – then they were cool. My mum says now she always “suspected”. I don’t know if that’s true, but they’re fine about it, that’s all that matters.’
She paused for a moment, pulling her legs up onto the chair, and took a long sip from her champagne glass, looking right at Natasha.
‘But it seems like you haven’t come out to your family yet,’ she said.
Natasha looked down at her plate for a moment. She’d known this conversation would probably have to happen at some point. She’d just hoped it might not be during this gorgeous Paris interlude.
‘No, I haven’t,’ she said.
‘Any particular reason?’ asked Mattie. ‘I mean, they are a seriously cool bunch of people. Your mum is amazing, your sister has a trans nanny, for god’s sake … they didn’t seem like people who’d be upset.’
Natasha put her elbows on the table and rested her head on her fingers, rubbing her temples. Suddenly she didn’t have much of an appetite any more.
‘It’s not coming out to my family that bothers me,’ she said. ‘It’s the rest of the world.’
‘How come?’ said Mattie. ‘Surely it’s your family that’s the hard one? The industry you and I work in could hardly be more gay friendly.’
‘It’s gay friendly to men,’ said Natasha, sitting up straight again.
‘I’ve never found it a problem,’ said Mattie, frowning.
No, thought Natasha, at your level, it isn’t. But when you’re dealing with the highest elite of the modelling world, some of them from cultures where it’s still illegal to be gay, it could be risky.
All it would take was one big name who didn’t want to let a lesbian touch her face and her whole career could come crashing down, even if nothing was ever said publicly.
The camp gay man was an established feature of the high fashion scene, absolutely central to it, but there was still a weird double standard for gay women. She’d heard enough bitchy comments about ‘ugly dykes’ and ‘miserable lezzers’ to warn her well away.
It was getting better, but slowly, and Natasha wasn’t interested in being some kind of sexual-politics trailblazer; she just wanted to carry on doing what she did, at the level she’d worked so hard to get herself up to. So, for the time being, she was in the same bind as those Hollywood leading-man heart-throbs who had to hide in beard-crammed closets, or lose it all.
But she didn’t want to go into all that, not in the heavenly Paris bubble they were in – and that wasn’t the only issue. There was another reason Natasha hadn’t come out and maybe that was something she could talk to Mattie about. As well as finding her devastatingly attractive, she felt so comfortable with her, so she thought she could – and maybe she should.
‘The thing is, Mattie,’ she said, leaning over the table towards her, ‘the whole coming-out scenario, saying “I’m gay, I’m a lesbian” and all that, defining yourself by your sexuality, I just don’t feel entirely comfortable with it. I don’t even know if I am “fully” gay.’
She did the inverted commas thing with her fingers.
‘You were fully gay last night, sweetie,’ said Mattie, raising her glass, before draining it.
Natasha did the same and re-filled both glasses.
‘Last night I was a big old lesbian and I loved it,’ she said, ‘and I fully intend to be a big lesbian again in the very near future, but does that mean I have to formally and publicly identify myself under that label? Can’t I just be a person who really likes having sex with people of her own gender, but has also had relationships with guys? Not for a long time, it’s true, but I have enjoyed sex with men in the past, Mattie. Haven’t you?’
Mattie looked at her with no expression. ‘No,’ she said.
Natasha felt the hint of a chill come between them and her heart sank. Why the hell had she risked this conversation with someone she liked as much as Mattie? And so early on? Why did it matter how gay she was? It felt like some kind of crazy percentage game – I’m 85 per cent lesbian, I’m 100 per cent – but she’d dug herself in this far, she might as well keep going to try and salvage it.
‘Have you ever had sex with a man?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Mattie, shaking her head very slowly. ‘That is a concept that has zero appeal to me. I have loads of men friends, but I’ve never met a man who triggered any sexual attraction in me whatsoever.’
‘Do you mind that I have?’ asked Natasha, gazing across her barely eaten breakfast at Mattie, trying not to let a catch of tears come into her voice. Why had she started this? she thought again.
Mattie looked back at her for a few more moments and then Natasha saw her expression soften.
‘Look, Tashie,’ she said, gently, ‘it’s not a concept I particularly want to linger on, because I don’t really want to think about you ever having sex with anyone else other than me – male, female or anything in between, before now, or after. Just me. And a lot of it. OK?’
She stood up and went around to Natasha’s side of the table, unlooping the belt of her bathrobe on the way and letting it fall to the ground. Then she untied Natasha’s robe and after pulling it open climbed onto her lap, pressing her naked body against hers.
‘And now I’m going to remind you how a real lesbian does that, OK?’
For a moment Natasha was too surprised – and happy – to speak. So she just smiled and surrendered to Mattie’s kiss.
Cranbrook
Tessa woke up to find herself in an empty bed. That was unusual, because she always woke up first, at 7 a.m., conditioned by years of child rearing and school runs, then she’d get up and start breakfast for everybody.
Her brain not yet quite fully awake, she tried to remember if Tom had said anything about needing to get up early the night before … Tom. It hit her like a punch to the stomach and she rolled over on her side, bringing her knees up towards her chest, trying to push the memory away. At the same time it sunk in that she wasn’t in her own bed either. She was in one of the guest rooms on the top floor of the house.
The night before something had happened for the first time in all their years together. Tom had initiated sex and she’d pushed him away at the crucial moment.
She couldn’t believe she’d done that to him. That was one area where they’d never had a problem. They seemed to have fairly matching appetites for it, but whenever she wasn’t in the mood, he was always fine about it.
What had been so awful the night before was that she had changed her mind at the very last moment. He’d come into the bedroom and found her brushing her hair, sitting at her dressing table in her underwear. Things had progressed as normal, but once Tom had taken her over to the bed and was reaching down to stroke her into near ecstasy before climbing onto her, something in her head had snapped.
She’d been very turned on, she remembered, Tom had commented on it as his fingers touched her, but then she real
ised with horror it was because her brain had popped up an image of Simon’s face. Simon’s face as it had been – young, beautiful, and looking down at her, making love to her in that field.
She’d been so shocked by what her subconscious had done she nearly cried out. And not in the way Tom might have expected at that point. Then she had actually, physically, pushed him away, saying the word: ‘No.’
‘No. I can’t. I’m sorry.’
She’d heard Tom swear – so unlike him, but it wasn’t a situation they’d ever been in before – then she’d fled to the bathroom and locked herself in, sobbing with shame and self-hatred.
She’d knelt on the floor, her forehead on the cold edge of the bath, feeling so ashamed and frightened that somehow Tom could know what had been going on in her head. And fear that she would have to tell him what had happened to explain her behaviour.
After a few moments she’d heard a gentle tap at the door.
‘Tessa,’ said Tom’s voice, sounding concerned and bewildered. ‘Are you all right? What’s going on? Can I come in?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
‘OK, my Bunny,’ he’d said, using his pet name for her. ‘Let me know if you need me.’
Then, with great relief, she’d heard his footsteps leaving the room and as soon as the clatter of him going down the stairs had faded away, she’d left the bathroom, grabbed her dressing gown and run out of their bedroom and up the stairs to the top floor. Still not ready to see anyone, she’d locked herself into the bathroom up there, hoping Tom would go to bed without looking for her.
He did and she’d climbed into the cold spare bed, lying for hours unable to sleep for her tormented thoughts, which were a horrible mixture of guilt and some kind of weird longing for Simon – a man she’d had sex with once and hadn’t seen for over twenty-five years. It was so crazy, Tessa had begun to wonder if she was slipping into some kind of menopausal madness. She genuinely didn’t feel rational.
Seeing Simon again, after all that time, had somehow catapulted her back into remembering how it felt to be her younger self again. The days when big-name decorators had fought over her – and every man’s head had turned to have a second look when she walked down a street.
What was so odd was that they weren’t things she’d been the slightest bit aware of missing all these years. They’d disappeared from her life quite naturally as she’d become very happily tied up with starting the business and being a mother, but now she was reminded of them again, it had set off a strange yearning inside that made her feel very unsettled.
She’d believed she’d been her most happy in recent times, but now she felt oddly guilty for not appreciating those more glamorous days when she’d had them. Had she let it all go too easily?
In the early hours, as the birds were starting to sing, she’d finally managed to drift off, still worrying how she was going to face Tom in the morning and now, here she was, lying awake again in the unfamiliar bed, no closer to knowing how to handle this bizarre situation.
She pulled the covers over her head for a moment. Why oh why had Rachel brought that wretched man to her house? Then she pulled them down again just as fast, realising she had no idea what the time was – Tom might still be asleep, the boys would be late for school.
Jumping out of bed, she ran down the stairs in what seemed like a silent house and, sure enough, all the beds were empty and the clock on the table next to her pillow told her it was already twenty past ten. She stared at it in disbelief. She never slept in, but then it had probably been nearly five in the morning before she’d gone to sleep.
No wonder she felt so befuddled, and no wonder the house was so deathly quiet. They were all long gone. And she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried that Tom hadn’t come to find her before he left.
Turning back towards the bedroom door, thinking a cup of tea would help clear her fuggy head, she noticed a small vase of wild flowers on her dressing table, with a note leaning against it, in Tom’s writing.
Tessa, my love. I left you to sleep because you seemed so upset last night. Hope it wasn’t something I did. Please ring me as soon as you get up to tell me you are OK. I’ve just heard that the Scottish shoot has been brought forward so I’ll stay up in town and go straight to the airport tomorrow. I’ll be gone for the weekend, I’m afraid. I’ll let you know more when I have the details. Take care and if something’s wrong tell me, my precious little Bunny. T xxx
He’d underlined the words ‘tell me’ three times. It was a thing between them, how Tessa bottled things up and didn’t talk about what was really worrying her. That was why Tom called her Bunny, because apart from a bit of chewing, rabbits didn’t make any noise.
Tessa stood staring down at the note for a few seconds and then brought it up to her lips and kissed it, loving Tom more than ever in that moment, for being so kind and understanding.
Which then turned into another stab of terrible guilt, when she realised how glad she was she didn’t have to see him for a few days.
London W1
Simon turned his head and smiled contentedly at the woman lying next to him. She smiled back.
‘Good to see you haven’t lost your touch,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to think I wasn’t ever going to hear from you again.’
‘Ah, well, you know how it is, Jane,’ he said, ‘I’ve been really busy at work recently. We’ve been pitching for some serious new business and it takes all my energy.’
Plus I’m spending my days with a woman I’m very attracted to who stimulates my brain as much as she does my gonads, which has stopped me giving you a second thought. Until another woman reared up out of my past and set my testicles on fire.
‘All work and no play makes Simon a dull boy,’ said Jane, reaching her hand beneath the covers and giving his cock a gentle squeeze.
He smiled at her again. She hadn’t lost her touch either, he had to admit. Jane had always been an exocet missile in bed. She was great looking, too, with the small waist he so admired in a woman and great legs.
Rachel’s curves were better though. And Tessa’s, but he was trying desperately not to think about either of them. That was why he was in this hotel room with Jane.
‘Have you got to be anywhere soon?’ he asked her, feeling himself responding to her fingers. Not bad for his age, he thought. They’d already had at it twice.
She giggled.
‘Why?’ she asked, increasing her activity.
‘Well, I might want to pitch for your business …’ he said, reaching for her.
Some time later Jane got out of the bed and headed to the shower. Simon sat up, leaning back against the pillows, feeling at one with himself for the first time in days. He’d let her go and then eat a room-service dinner, and watch some telly, before heading home. Might as well get the most out of the room he’d paid for.
He found the remote control and turned on the television, scrolling down until he found some cricket, quickly turning it off again when Jane came back into the room. Even in a set-up like this there were basic levels of respect.
She was applying lipstick at the mirror over the desk, when he noticed her looking at him in the reflection.
‘I’ve got some exciting news, I haven’t told you,’ she said, turning her eyes back to her lipstick.
‘Yes?’ said Simon. ‘Go on.’
She got a small bottle of scent out of her bag and sprayed herself liberally, with a couple of final spritzes to her hair.
‘Just in case there’s any residual aftershave up there,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘Is that your news?’ said Simon.
‘No,’ said Jane, turning to face him, picking her handbag up off the chair. ‘Andrew and I are getting married.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Simon, his mouth in auto-respond mode for such an announcement. ‘Who’s Andrew?’
Jane laughed.
‘He’s a guy I’ve been seeing for the last year or so. I ne
ver thought I’d get married again, but he took me to Positano to propose and I thought why not? He’s very generous and I’m getting older, I might not get another good offer. Third time lucky and all that.’
‘Well, that’s marvellous. I hope you’ll be very happy. When’s the big day?’
‘Mid-September. Do you want to come? We’re getting married in Italy too, lots of people coming for a long weekend. You’d know loads of them. It’s going to be a hoot.’
‘You’re very kind, but I’ve got a big work trip then, so I wouldn’t be able to take any more time out of the office.’
‘Suit yourself, party pooper.’
After pausing to push her feet into her high-heeled pumps, she came over to the bed and leaned down to kiss him, her handbag – a Birkin, he noticed, how obvious – looped over one arm.
‘Bye, Simon, darling,’ she said, sliding her tongue quickly into his mouth and out again. She was a naughty one.
‘Have fun with your fiancé,’ he said, smiling up at her and reaching round to squeeze her behind.
‘Not quite as much fun as with you, but at least Andrew and I go out in public together. Normal behaviour, dinner in a restaurant, introducing to friends and family, commitment and all that.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said.
‘No, you wouldn’t, you’re emotionally retarded, so it’s fortunate you have other qualities. Don’t leave it so long before you call me again, OK?’
Simon nodded, smiling encouragingly and said nothing. Sure, I’ll call you again, he thought, as she walked towards the door, her tempting bottom wiggling as she went. Right after your next divorce. I might be a messed-up weirdo, who can’t take on a proper emotional relationship, but I do have some sort of a moral compass and married women are definitely off the map.
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