by Clare Lydon
“Yes, but don’t come in…” Too late. Kate poked her head around the door.
“I was just wondering…” she said. Her eyes widened as I pulled the covers upwards.
“Oh, fuck, sorry,” she said. She was grinning as she shut the door behind her. Lucy moaned under the covers while I just laughed.
“And that’s why I’ve got my own place,” she said. “Will we be all over the front page of the Lesbian Gazette now?”
“I think we’d make a gorgeous front page if we were, don’t you?”
“Beautiful,” she said, kissing me. “But we will have to face her in a minute you know.”
“A minute? Can’t it be two? Perhaps ten?”
“Perhaps ten.”
“Good. Because I don’t think I can move right now,” I said. We kissed again and I breathed out heavily. I seemed to have been doing that a lot today.
“So that was…” I paused and cocked my head to one side. “Was that what you had in mind when you came to pick me up today?”
“It went pretty much exactly to plan.”
“I’m glad.”
“I didn’t plan to have my jeans round my ankles until around an hour into it but I’m not complaining.”
I kissed her again. I couldn’t stop. Lucy moved closer into me and I lifted my arm so she could rest her head on it.
“I missed you,” she said.
My heart lurched.
“I missed you too.”
“Your going away this weekend is terrible timing too. My cousin leaves tomorrow and then I have a whole big empty bed.”
“Can you keep it that way till I get back?”
“I dunno, there are normally hordes of women queuing up at the weekends. What’ll I tell them?”
I thought for a moment.
“Tell them… Tell them things have changed and you’re a one-woman kinda girl right now.”
Her eyes widened and she smiled.
“I should tell them that?” she said.
“Definitely.”
“Okay then, it’s decided.”
She gently ran her hand up and down my torso.
“Same goes for you too you know.”
“Hmmm?” I said, enjoying the feel of her.
“With the women. I mean, you should tell them the same.”
I grinned broadly. “You got a deal.”
“And anyway, I think it’s me who should be more worried, right? After all, you’re going to Brighton, the UK’s gay capital, while I am going to be mostly in my lounge.”
I closed my eyes, thinking I would much rather be in her lounge – I hadn’t even seen it yet.
“I might be in the gay capital but I’m there with a bunch of straight women on a hen weekend, remember? Trust me, it’s more likely men will be throwing themselves at me than women. And that’ll be fun.” I made a face and she laughed.
“I’ll just have to send you a picture of my breasts to remember me by then won’t I, just in case you fancy a change from the norm.”
I smiled at her and kissed her lips. “I think you being in my bed for the past few hours might give me a more vital memory of you. And then next week, no hens, no cousins, just us. Sound like a plan?”
“Sounds perfect.”
She slipped her hand behind my head and pulled me in for a long, lingering kiss. After a couple of minutes we came up for air, my senses jumbled as tended to happen with Lucy I’d noticed. She gave me a heated stare and rolled on top of me.
“Now, after I fuck you one final time, what are you cooking me for dinner?” It was official: I’d found my perfect woman.
Chapter 23
Friday arrived way sooner than I wanted and after hastily packing my weekend suitcase and getting a tube to Victoria train station, I looked around for Julia and the rest of the hen party. It didn’t take too much effort seeing as they were all already wearing feather boas that her sister and chief bridesmaid Lisa had kindly bought us. As I walked up, Lisa was also handing out train tickets, with instructions that as soon as we got on the train it was time to start drinking.
Julia gave me a massive bear hug of excitement when I arrived amid the clutter of a Friday morning. Today it was a mass of late commuters, discarded papers and perplexed tourists, their heads cocked towards the massive overhead departures board.
Once on the train, Lisa managed to commandeer two opposite tables so we could all sit together. The talk turned to other weddings and also what Tom was doing for his stag. The answer was a trip to Dublin which included paintballing and go-karting. I shook my head as I realised my two normally sane and rational friends had fallen head-first into the stag and hen traps of Dublin and Brighton.
Still, at least I wasn’t being dragged on a week to Ibiza as Lisa had first wanted and Julia had vetoed. Glitter and tack she could take no problem; clubbing till dawn was not at all her style. The conversation was in full flow on the other table when Julia leaned over to me.
“So did you see her?” She adjusted her feather boa so it sat neatly on her breasts.
“Lucy?”
“No, Wonder Woman,” Julia said. “Yes, of course Lucy.”
I nodded.
“And?”
“I did exactly as you told me and got laid.”
“Hurrah! Does that mean you’re going to be texting under the table the whole weekend?”
“Probably,” I grinned.
“Well good,” she said, squeezing my arm. “I’m just glad you didn’t blow me out to spend the weekend in bed.”
“That thought never even crossed my mind.”
“Liar,” she said. An audible pause.
“What’s that look for?”
Julia pursed her lips. “I’ve got something to tell you and I don’t think you’re going to be very happy.”
“What?” I didn’t like the sound of this.
“Well… I did try to keep it from her but it wasn’t very easy.” She paused. “The thing is, Ange is maybe turning up tomorrow night.”
I groaned and put my hands to my face.
“But only maybe.”
“And you let me get on the train…” I said.
“She… well… I’ve started working with her on a case and she’s a laugh.”
“A high-pitched laugh?”
“She’s not that bad,” Julia said. “Well anyway, I’ve been talking about the hen do and she’s down in Brighton this weekend visiting a friend, so she said to text her where we were and she’d pop in for a drink. She won’t stay all night, just for one. It’ll be fine,” she added, as much to reassure herself as me. “Anyway, we’re all adults here aren’t we? And it’s my hen do so no fighting.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be fighting. I’ll be hiding in a corner and hoping her mate isn’t too butch,” I said.
“Mind you, a dyke fight would make a good story wouldn’t it?” Julia smiled a little too gleefully.
“I can’t believe she might be coming,” I said. “This means I’m going to have to get really drunk now, you realise.”
“I would hope that was a prerequisite for the weekend anyway.”
As if on cue, Lisa stood up from the table opposite and produced a bottle of Cava, a tube of plastic wine glasses and proceeded to fill them.
“Here’s to a great weekend girls!” she said. She held her wine glass aloft.
“Cheers!” said everyone.
And just like that, the weekend was off.
The hotel Lisa had booked for the occasion was on the seafront, halfway between Brighton and Hove. As was customary in Brighton, even though it was a balmy day in London, here the wind whipped around you in great galloping swirls.
Nevertheless, our rooms had curtains that swished and were comfortingly beige, decorated beyond the point of neutrality. Julia and I were paired to share and both flopped on our respective beds when we arrived, already knackered from the short train ride.
“Do you think anyone would notice if we buggered off to France for a couple of
days now?” she said. Her eyes were staring at the ceiling.
“Sure it’d be fine,” I said. “So long as everyone could still get pissed.”
“Thanks, you know how to make a girl feel special.”
“You’re not the first woman to say that.” I gave her a wink.
Julia twisted herself semi-upright on the bed so she was now leaning on her right elbow, chin cupped in her right palm.
“Talking of which – I know you sorted out one lady last night, but did you do the other?”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “I was sort of busy.”
Julia made a face. “Well you’re not sort of busy now.”
With that, she sprung off the bed, unzipped her suitcase and produced her laptop.
“There’s free wi-fi here, so do it now before we go out.”
I sighed heavily, to which Julia furrowed her brow.
“I’m going round the rooms in hostess fashion. I’ll be gone for at least half an hour. So start writing.”
With that, she disappeared and I was left alone with a laptop glaring at me. Sometimes I hated Julia and her ‘seize the day’ zeal.
The following morning I was back in the same bed, lying flat, feeling the spot in my hairline that was now fully blossomed. I hadn’t slept brilliantly, remembering too late that Julia snored like a navvy, especially after a bucketload of champagne. Being that it was her hen weekend I couldn’t complain but I had made a mental note to buy some earplugs today.
I plucked my phone from my bedside table and wrote Lucy a good morning text, wondering what she was doing today. Thinking of Lucy gave me goosebumps and I smiled as I pressed send. Julia turned with the grace of an elephant and squeezed open her eyes.
“Tippy tappy tippy tappy. Can you text a bit quieter please?”
“I’m a noisy texter, what can I say.”
“I’d hate to have sex with you,” she said.
“Bang go my plans for later.”
She stuck out her tongue.
“What time is it anyway?”
“Early. 8.30.”
“Oh god – what you doing awake? Apart from texting your girlfriend…”
“I get up at stupid o’clock these days, my body’s used to being up at this time.”
“Well be stricter with it. Tell it to go back to sleep.” With that she turned over and pulled the covers up over her head.
I left Julia to it, pulling on my jeans and sweatshirt as quietly as possible and heading out onto the seafront for a morning walk. A beautiful day was dawning over the south coast, the sun sitting low in the sky, gearing up for its starring role later in the day.
At close to 9am the seafront was already bristling with warmth, joggers pounding the concrete alongside pensioners with their yappy dogs. The white shelters that were scattered along the beachfront gleamed in the sunlight and the sea sparkled with energy.
As I walked along past the pier with its rundown feel, past Kemp Town which was yet to wake from its slumber and as far as the marina, I shared my thoughts with the sea.
I’d obeyed Julia yesterday and sent Karen a short, sharp email. After a week pondering I was still no closer to the perfect reply and even putting fingers to keys had brought me out in a cold sweat. I hadn’t given much away, just saying the UK was going well and if we ever did meet again, I’m sure we could be civil.
I wasn’t going to send her an invitation to visit, which I think she would partially expect. No forwarding address, no love sent back, no apology accepted. I just told Karen that coming home had been the right decision and I was happy – without her, if she read between the lines.
I strode purposefully back along the gently baking seafront, feeling the sun’s warmth tingling on my skin. I made a mental note not to bring a jacket out later as I felt the first bead of sweat trickle down my back.
Walking back past the pier I heard Punch & Judy start up their regular sparring match to a group of five enthralled kids sitting cross-legged, necks cricked upwards. I slipped down onto the seafront, walking past the bars tucked under the arches, past the deserted volleyball court, past the market stalls just setting up.
By the time I returned to the hotel it was nearly 10am and there were definite signs of life in the dining room, although none of our party were there. I patted myself on the back once more for drinking water and pacing myself last night. As I’d pointed out to Julia, it was a marathon not a sprint but she’d just told me to bore off.
After breakfast we headed out for a fish pedicure where we all plunged our feet into individual tanks and tiny fish feasted on our hard skin. If I thought about it all too much it was enough to make me gag, so I tried not to. We followed up the fish by going for lunch at a fancy burger joint. Just as I was tucking in, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Lucy.
‘Might see you sooner than expected. A mate’s just asked if I fancy a night in Brighton as her dad’s just moved there. Let me know where you are later and I’ll see if I can stop by to say hi.’
I grinned at the phone. Lucy was coming to Brighton! I allowed my grin to spread a little wider. I texted back telling her I’d be sure to let her know, then tuned back into the lunchtime discussion.
We spent the rest of the afternoon on a mini pub crawl interspersed with shopping. We ended up in a suitably loud bar in Kemp Town, all metallic bar, wooden floors and leather couches. It was definitely a step up from the hen night hell I’d been expecting, but nevertheless the bar smelt of Saturday night: cheap aftershave, sweet perfume and a glaze of sweat.
By 8pm our party had more than doubled, our table swamped under a barrage of glasses, bottles, feather boas and glitter. So much glitter in all different shades. Was it just manufactured for hen party purposes, I wondered?
I’d been harangued into wearing a feather boa and T-shirt with ‘Team Julia: A Law Unto Themselves’ emblazoned on it. What’s more, I also had a lightning bolt etched onto my face. Glitter was flecked through my hair too and I’d been attacked by George’s make-up bag. In short, I looked like I’d been railroaded into dressing as a slutty lesbian for the night and had been shocked when I went to the loo, pondering my new persona and hoping there weren’t too many photos taken. I also hoped that Lucy had a sense of humour.
It was my appearance I was thinking of a few minutes later when I saw Ange approaching flanked by two other women. Dressed to impress in heels, jeans and a shimmering top, she was stunning and had clearly come prepared. Whereas I looked like a sparkly twiglet. Perhaps this was exactly the sort of situation she’d dreamt of ever since I’d tipped her out of my flat that Sunday morning.
I squirmed under the spotlight, although of course Ange paid no attention to me. Instead, she hugged Julia before heading to the bar. I followed her retreating figure in time to see one of her friends turn and meet my eye – clearly they’d been forewarned and were now wondering why Ange had fallen for this nightmare in pink.
Now she was here though – I’d been secretly hoping she wouldn’t make it – I hoped Ange would steer clear of me, especially with Lucy showing up soon. She’d sent a follow-up text to tell me she’d arrived in Brighton and I’d given her the address of the bar, warning her to expect a gaggle of drunken ladies.
‘I’ll just say hello, give you a quick kiss and then I’ll go. I’m not going to gate-crash your party completely,’ she’d promised.
Some time later with tequila in full flow, Footloose came on and Julia put down her drink and dragged everyone onto the dance floor, some of us kicking, some of us screaming. I tried to look straight ahead or down at my feet as I moved my body side to side. Definitely not to the right, as that was where Ange was.
The song ended and we all clapped and whistled, the whole bar on some merry journey now, no stopping the Saturday night juggernaut. The next song was Dancing Queen which got the whole place jumping, but I decided I’d sit it out and so returned to our table with George following me click-clacking in her heels.
“These shoes are killing
me. Why didn’t you talk me out of wearing these tonight?”
“Because it would have been a thankless task,” I said.
“Slap me next time, right?”
“Only if you give me explicit written permission beforehand. I don’t want a lawsuit and I know what you lawyers are like.”
“Ha ha.” She sat down, taking off her right shoe and rubbing her foot. “Sometimes I hate being a woman. I should have followed your lead and worn comfortable shoes.”
“Lesbian shoes I believe they’re called. And as you don’t fit the bill, you’re not qualified.”
She snorted at that. “Such strict rules…”
I reached into my pocket to check my phone as I sat down. I had a message.
‘Hey, should be there any minute as we’ve left the restaurant and are en route. See you soon!’ Lucy was on her way. My stomach lurched.
“Everything okay?” said George, nodding to my phone.
“Yeah great. This girl I just started seeing is in Brighton so she’s going to pop in to say hi.”
“Lucky her,” George said. “Let’s hope she’s had a bit to drink first.”
Abba’s Dancing Queen came to an end, replaced by more up-to-date tunes which made the dance floor crowd swell. A couple of our girls drifted back to the table and I was just rooting around in my bag for a tissue when I heard a voice saying my name.
“Hi Jess.” I’d recognise that voice anywhere.
“Hi,” I said.
Lucy was on her way and Ange was sliding into the chair opposite me. Sometimes, my life played out in such an interesting fashion. My heart began to beat faster and I could feel a sweat breaking out down my back.
Ange moved a discarded feather boa from the chair and sat. This was just the sort of situation I’d been dreading after it became apparent Ange was staying for longer than a single drink. If she was going to declare undying love this was really bad timing. I didn’t need it twice in one week.
“Good night?” she said.
She gave me a once over, in the way someone might do if they were buying a dining table. It was all she could do not to run her hand up my side to check for dust. She was still attractive, still high-pitched. I winced internally. If we could hurry this up, that would be great. I peered over her shoulder at the door but couldn’t see the entrance through the crowd. Still no Lucy.