by Kiki Archer
“Oh no, now she’s asking who’s paying.” Meg was shaking her head at her mobile.
“Really? Can’t her big bollocked, shit-rich footballer stomach the prices?”
“Honey!”
“Sorry. All that bitching banter’s rubbed off.”
“It doesn’t suit you.”
“I can’t imagine it suiting you either.” Pointing towards the car, she hurried their exit. “Here’s Tammara.”
“I don’t want to be that person anymore.” Meg reached out for Honey’s hand, stopping her walk.
“Were you ever that person? I was joking. I’ve never heard you speak like that.”
The pause was thoughtful. “No. But I thought it was okay.”
“It is okay. Some people might say I’m prudish.”
“What, for not using your celebrity to treat others like… what did he call them? Gringos?”
“I have no clue what that even means.”
“Nor do I, but my point is, I’m sorry. Maybe I should think about moving somewhere new. She takes it too far.” The head was shaking. “Always too far.”
Pulling on Meg’s hand, Honey got them moving again. “Stop apologising. I should be the one apologising for sending us home without supper.”
“It was too much for the first meeting. We should have got takeout and just chilled instead.”
“Can’t we do that now?”
“She’s staying at Gavin’s.”
“I mean us, now, at yours?”
“Just don’t judge me.”
“On what?”
“All of this. My friends, my house, my mess.”
“I wouldn’t. I judge people on the way they make me feel, and you make me feel fantastic.” Smiling at Tammara and the open car door, Honey signalled for Meg to get in first. Tammara would no doubt be wondering what on earth was going on, a pick-up fifteen minutes after the drop-off and the loss of a passenger, but she knew from the way the chauffeur was standing, with eyes professionally distant, that she wouldn’t ask – until they were alone, maybe. “We’re going to Meg’s,” she said with a smile.
Noticing Tammara’s wink, Honey pulled herself in, pausing before she took hold of her seatbelt. “I thought you had a cleaner. Pia? The one from the hub.”
“We did. She’s not been for a while and even if she had the mess Jo makes when getting ready is utterly inconceivable.”
“I’ve always loved that idea – a shared bedroom, clothes flung around, make-up scattered everywhere, music blaring as wine gets drunk.”
“It’s not quite like that.”
“As long as your bin’s not overflowing, I’ll be fine.”
****
Standing close to Meg’s shoulder, Honey glanced back down the dark communal stairwell in Clapham. It looked like there might be one other flat on this level, but it wasn’t at all as she’d imagined. Of course she knew there wouldn’t be a concierge or reception desk, revolving doors or a lift, but the battered shutter next to the shop front that led up these dingy, dirty steps, to this door that Meg was now using three keys to open, wasn’t quite what she’d pictured. No one had seen her make the short dash from the car through the shutters, and Alan or Andy were bound to be hidden close by, but even so, standing in this stairwell she felt vulnerable. “Are we in?” she asked quickly.
“I promise it’s nicer inside,” said Meg, finally pushing open the door.
Honey stepped straight into the lounge. Glancing left, she spotted two further doors, bedrooms no doubt, and then right she noticed the kitchen, and overflowing bin. “It’s so small,” she said without thinking.
“This is huge for the area.”
“Right, sorry, yes, I’ve not got anything to compare it to I guess.”
“Apart from your mansion.” Meg was laughing. “It’s fine, honestly. Of course Honey Diamond hasn’t been inside a two-bed flat above a discount store in Clapham before. Oh and damn it, don’t look at the bin!”
Honey felt herself turned sideways as she was ushered towards the first door. “I’d call this cluttered, not messy,” she said, “and I like the feel. It’s nicely unmethodical, not all rigid and stark.” Standing beside Meg as the door was pushed open, she couldn’t help but laugh. A bedroom, almost identical to one of the Ikea pods: tidy, rigid and stark. “I was lying! I simply can’t live with a mess.” Stepping into the room she smiled. “I like this. I love this. This is exactly my sort of thing. You’ve got a desk over there, a bookcase, a bed, some tables.”
Meg was smiling, pleased that her part of the place looked okay. “It’s not that impressive.”
“It is! It’s Ikea chic.” She walked towards the bed and kicked off her shoes. “Can you climb on and we’ll pretend that we’re roommates?”
“I’d rather pretend we were lovers.”
“Pretend?”
Meg’s smiled was wicked. “I couldn’t if I tried. The way you touch me…”
Honey watched as the bottom lip was sucked. Meg certainly made all the right noises, and their lovemaking did seem to be evenly matched. Neither were, apparently, that accomplished in bed, which made for more potential excitement. It wasn’t like being with someone who’d been there, done that, got the t-shirt and was simply showing off their skills. It was a mutual awakening, a joint effort made better by their constant communication, not in the realms of – am I doing it right? – but in the desire to experiment and please.
“Pretend you’re my new flatmate,” said Honey. “I’m an out lesbian and you’re bi-curious, but unsure.”
“Honey Diamond wants to do role play?” Meg bent down to pull off her shoes before retreating to the door. “I have to make my entrance.”
“Can I call you Petra?”
“Petra the flatmate?”
“Yes. The sparks have been flying. We know we like each other but I don’t want to ruin what we’ve got and you don’t know if you want to be with a woman.”
Meg nodded. “I’m having an accent.”
“Good. I’m quite a stud.”
Honey watched as Meg left the room before a timid knock sounded on the door. “Ye, wassup,” she said, chilling on the bed in as cool a fashion as she could muster.
Meg popped her head back in. “I wouldn’t fancy someone who spoke like that.”
“Petra might.”
“No, she wants you girly and cute.”
Honey nodded. “On it.” She waited for the door to close and the knock to sound. “H-hi,” the accent was American-ish.
“Hellough, can oi come in for a chat?”
Honey lifted a cushion from the bed and flung it at Meg. “You sound like the big summer blowout innkeeper in Frozen!”
“Fine. I’m American too. You were American, right? Role play’s always better in American.”
Honey relaxed back onto the bed, propping herself onto an elbow and folding one leg over the other as seductively as she could manage. The knock sounded and she performed her “H-hi”.
“Hey, can I come in?”
“Sure, girl, there’s always room on my bed.”
“I just don’t know how close I can get, girl.”
“Wha-da-ya mean, girl?”
Meg was stepping closer. “There’s a chemistry; can’t ya feel it, girl?”
“Come closer and I’ll tell ya, girl.”
“How close is too close?”
“In my world you can never get close enough.”
“Wha-da-ya mean, girl?”
“Sit down and I’ll show ya.”
Meg perched herself on the bed.
“Lie back girl, I ain’t gunna bite.”
“Maybe I want you to.”
“Whoah, girl, you be steady now.” Honey lifted herself higher on her elbow, bringing her face closer to Meg’s. “How do you feel when we’re a-talking?”
“I like it.”
Both accents were slowly disappearing as the real chemistry charged into the atmosphere. “And when I talk closer?”
Meg’s
eyes were locked into Honey’s. “My heartbeat gets faster.”
“And when you think my lips might touch yours?” Honey was hovering millimetres away.
“I feel the sparks, the electricity. I feel the pull. I want you. All of you. On me, over me, inside me.”
Honey smiled. She was going to take her time. She was going to make Meg wait. Undoing the top button on Meg’s shirt she smiled. “You’re Richard Gere, I’m Julia Roberts. That first scene where he’s sitting in the chair and she slowly undoes him and takes him, that’s what I’m going to do to you, but on the bed, you lying back.”
Meg’s eyes closed as her head pushed further into the pillow. “Don’t tease me.”
“I won’t.” Honey opened another button. “I’m going to hover above you, exposing your flesh, bringing my mouth close to your body, but not actually touching your skin.” She opened another button and pulled the shirt apart at the chest. Meg’s nipples were standing to attention under her bra. “Your nipples want me.” She gently pulled down on the cups, making sure her fingers didn’t make contact with the skin. “They need my mouth.” The nipples were exposed, pert, erect, desperate. “They want my fingers pulling, squeezing, working.” She held her palm over the breasts. “You feel me here, don’t you?”
Meg opened an eye and moaned. “There’s a charge coming from your hand. I feel it.”
“I know you do. You feel my mouth too, don’t you?” Honey brought her lips towards the nipples, opening wide and breathing freely.
The moan was wanton. “Take them. Suck them.”
Honey blew gently and watched the light hairs dancing on the puckered skin. “No. I’m going to undo your shirt completely.” She worked as she spoke. “I’m going to unzip your trousers. I’m going to pull them off at the ankle.” Removing the socks as well, Honey’s eyes widened as she devoured the beauty of the body lying in front of her. Meg, naked, all except for the lacy black pants and bra pulled under her breasts. “Sit up for a minute,” she instructed, letting her hair brush over Meg’s shoulder as she unclasped the bra at the back. She pulled it off gently, allowing it to rub up past the nipples as she placed it on the cabinet to the back of the bed. “Lie down. Open your legs.” Honey slid from the bed and walked towards Meg’s feet, standing in front of her with a smile. “Keep your eyes open. Watch me.” She unzipped her dress slowly, a navy blue chiffon design with a front-fitted, over-sized gold zip the focal point. Letting the dress drop over her hips, she kicked it to the side and widened her stance as she slipped her bra straps from her shoulders. “Open your legs wider,” she instructed again. “You’re going to imagine me between you,” she undid her bra at the back, “my nipples brushing against your stomach as I move up your body towards your mouth.” Lifting her fingers to her breasts, she scissored her own nipples. “I’d trace them around your lips.” She squeezed harder. “I’d force them into your mouth.”
Meg groaned. “Do it.”
“Imagine it.” She watched as Meg unknowingly chewed on her lip. “My hand would be between your legs.” She watched as the thighs twitched. “I’d slide my fingers inside your pants.” She paused as she ran her own fingers down her own stomach, leaving them teetering at the top of her own underwear. “I’d part you.”
Meg’s moan was louder. “I want you to touch me.”
“I want you to watch as I touch myself.” She slid her fingers into the fabric, closing her eyes and moaning as she parted herself between her own legs.
“Oh god, Honey, I love you.”
Honey stopped and spoke slowly. “You love me?”
“I love you.” Meg was pulling herself up on the bed. “I love you so very much.”
Honey stood motionless. “You’re not acting? You’re not playing Petra?”
“I’m not acting.” Meg’s shoulders were shrugging in acceptance. “Sorry if it’s the wrong time to say it, but I do. I just know I do.”
“Oh, Meg.”
“What?”
Honey didn’t know what to say; she was overwhelmed, moved. She felt her heart swelling inside her. “You love me?”
The smile was wide. “I love you!”
Honey sank onto the bottom of the bed, her hand clasped to her mouth. She was shaking her head. “You love me.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Meg was close behind her.
“It’s the best thing in the world.” She dropped her eyes. “I’ve been feeling it too. For a while.”
“Feeling what?”
Honey smiled as she returned to the gaze. “This,” she said, moving her hand between them.
“This what?”
“This love.”
Meg wrapped her arms around Honey’s waist. “I’m never going to hurt you. I can promise you that.”
“Just love me. That’s all I could wish for.” Feeling the lips on her neck, Honey turned into the embrace. “Make love to me, Meg. Make love to me now.”
“I will.” The eyes held the longing connection before flickering with mischief. “Just promise we’ll play Petra again.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Honey awoke to the slam of the door. She looked over at the Ikea clock gently glowing atop Meg’s Ikea cabinet. It was three in the morning. She pricked up her ears. Jo. She was back and mumbling obscenities. The crack of a kitchen cabinet door, or possibly the fridge, made her open her eyes further. She glanced over at Meg, sound asleep. They’d made love for most of the evening, tender touches turning frantic, every mode of climax well and truly experienced. She smiled. She liked it best when Meg was soft, when she was delicate, when her fingers and lips showed her what true love really felt like. She smiled again. Meg had said it. Freely. The wash of joy coursed through her once more. Life was funny. Giving you everything you thought you ever wanted, then suddenly showing you none of it actually mattered at all. What mattered was love. Connection. They’d been drawn to each other and that was the start of the end. Their explosion inevitable. Because that’s what it felt like. A huge burst of emotion. Attraction. Lust. Fulfilment. They brought out the best in each other. They were destined to meet from the start.
Honey stopped her musings at the sound of more cursing. Should she go out and check on the flatmate? Would her presence be welcomed? Gently pulling back the covers, she crept towards the door, straightening as she heard a slam from the bedroom beside her. Jo was in her room. She turned back towards the bed, smiling at a sleeping Meg before noticing the crisp white pad of paper sitting perfectly central on the desk, glowing somehow in the shadowy room, pulling her closer, asking for her words.
Tiptoeing towards the chair, she sat with a smile. She’d find her words. She’d write her feelings. She’d capture this moment in all its glory. Her eyes adjusted in the darkness as she scanned for a pen. Often she’d wake in the night with lyrics or harmonies rushing through her thoughts, writing equipment positioned next to every bed in every room. She smiled. She’d have to bring some here just in case. It wasn’t the arrival of a toothbrush that signalled progress where a songwriter was concerned, it was the arrival of their quirks, their eccentricities, their scraps of paper and chewed pencils.
Pulling open the top drawer, Honey nodded in approval – very smooth. She’d seen one of those machines in Ikea demonstrating how many times drawers were opened and closed to ensure the furniture lasted. This was smooth, incredibly smooth. She repeated the action, pulling it wider this time. Yes, just as good. She smiled at herself. It really was the simple things in life. Bending forward she looked in the drawer. A stack of envelopes on the right, some pens on the left and a letter jumping out at her from the centre. She froze, desperate for the pens to take her attention, but she couldn’t move her eyes. Her mother’s crest. Her mother’s signature. Her mother’s lawyers.
Scanning the words, Honey reeled back in horror.
****
Reaching out from the covers, Meg silenced her phone. Her alarm hadn’t been set that early, a scheduled interview with a well-known historian the main event o
f the day. Honey had said her load was surprisingly light too. Her morning load at any rate, a four-day jaunt to America the undertaking of the afternoon, some press-related trip announcing the actors slated to shine in next year’s all-singing, all-dancing big screen blockbuster. Turning over in the bed, she reached out for Honey. She’d miss her, and yes they’d been apart for longer than this before, but the closer they grew the harder it felt. Meg opened her eyes. Where was she? Jumping out of bed, she yanked on her dressing gown. Last night she didn’t mind Honey nipping to the toilet – the lighting low, her mind undoubtedly elsewhere – but in the cold light of day, their shower? Just no. Pulling on the bedroom door, she scurried across the lounge, past the kitchen, getting a whiff of the overflowing bin. Meg cringed. It had all been going so well. She stopped at the door to the bathroom and knocked gently. “Honey, are you in there? Can I get you some towels?” She paused. “If you’re taking a shower be careful with the shower head; it’s prone to falling off the wall and clonking you mid rinse.”
Listening carefully, Meg heard the retch. “Honey? Are you okay?” Again, more heaving. “Open the door. Is it something we ate?” She thought back to her late-night scurry to the fridge, grabbing sustenance where she could find it. “I’m sure that quiche was okay.”
The toilet lid slammed down and the bathroom door flew open. “You ate my fucking quiche? You ditch me with fucktard then come home and eat my fucking quiche?!”
“Jo?” Meg stepped backwards at the stench of booze. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here! And that quiche lived here too.”
Meg noticed the matted hair and smudged eyeliner. “Are you still drunk?”
“He dumped me!”
“Gavin?”
“Yes Gavin. Who the fuck do you think I’ve been seeing for the past however long? If you were around more you’d have known!”