by Clare Lydon
It was good to have some space, good to have some time to myself. And whenever my mind wandered, it always seemed to stray back to the same topic: Nicola Sheen. Who certainly wasn’t the teenage dreamboat I recalled, but she still had something. She had charisma, she had my memories, she had me. And she had Melanie Taylor.
I picked up my phone and scrolled through to Nicola’s number, staring at it, willing her to ring. But why would she? She was engaged, after all. Yet there had definitely been something the other day — something in her eyes. Something that told me she was curious, just like I’d been. Where might things have gone if circumstances had been different? If we’d kissed in my bedroom all those years ago, for instance, and not in the library? She might not have run so quickly, that’s for sure.
I threw my phone down on the sofa and went to make a cup of tea, grabbing a couple of biscuits from the barrel on my way back. It was lovely to just sit and relax and not have to be on a first date. First dates were draining — especially when they involved sex.
When I sat back down, I had a text — was it Holly making sure I was decent? No, it was from Nicola Sheen.
‘Hi, I’m in your area tomorrow pm. Fancy a coffee & a catch-up? Nicola.’
A coffee and a catch-up. What did that mean? Was coffee code for something else? Was it wrong to hope that it was? I scanned my social calendar, but remembered I had a date with Spanish_Vixen89 tomorrow night. Damn. Should I cancel? No, I probably shouldn’t.
Besides, Nicola Sheen was engaged.
I texted back to tell her I had plans tomorrow night, but she told me this was an afternoon coffee date, so I agreed.
Tomorrow, I was having coffee with the woman who altered the course of my life, followed by drinks with a Spanish Vixen.
Tomorrow seemed monumental already.
Thursday December 8th
Nicola turned up puffed and dishevelled from bridal shopping and in need of a pick-me-up. We’d arranged to meet at a coffee shop round the corner from my work and Nicola’s face spelled tiredness: her eyes were shaded grey, her skin dry, her nose runny. She needed an energy boost, along with a plate of superfoods and some quality concealer. However, as I really didn’t know her that well, I decided to keep that to myself.
We sat down with our lattes.
“You okay?” I asked, even though it was plain she wasn’t.
She gave me a pained smile. “It’s just been a weird day, and it’s not something I can really speak to Melanie about. Wedding dress shopping is freaking me out. Reminding me of the first time round.” She took a sip of her coffee and recoiled — it was too hot.
I stared at her. “First time round?” What the hell was she talking about?
She pursed her lips and nodded. “I keep forgetting we haven’t seen each other in a while.”
I shook my head. “Quite a long while.”
“I suppose it is.” She paused. “I was married before. To a man. I was young, I got pregnant, he proposed, it seemed the right thing to do.” She shrugged. “One of those things, but it’s freaked me out a bit today.”
I managed to stop my mouth from dropping open — this was a lot to take in. “You’ve been married before and you have a child?”
She nodded again, looking wary.
“I can see why wedding shopping might be odd for you then.” I sipped my latte, trying to make sense of my jumbled emotions. “So when did you... switch sides? Is Melanie your first?” I was going to break down and sob on the table if she said yes.
Nicola shook her head. “No, she’s not.” She paused. “When we were friends, there was something there, didn’t you think? That was my first inkling, anyway.”
She was even a little bit hesitant when she said it — she wasn’t sure if I remembered. She had absolutely no idea just how much I remembered.
I remembered all of it. Every single little detail.
“I mean, have you ever thought about us since then? I have. When we kissed in the library... I was just, too scared. Too scared to contemplate it. So I went for the easier option.”
If I’d been worried we’d be stuck for small talk, it turned out I needn’t have been concerned. Nicola Sheen didn’t do small talk. My head was spinning just trying to keep up.
“The easier option was getting pregnant?” I raised an eyebrow as I said it.
She grimaced. “No, that bit I didn’t plan. But it seems like I get pregnant at the drop of a hat, so that’s one of the upsides of switching teams. I don’t need to worry about that any more.” She didn’t look me in the eye.
“As soon as we kissed, I knew I was gay,” I said. “No boy had ever made me feel like that.” Apparently I didn’t do small talk today either. I stared at the table, not daring to look up. Her gaze was already scorching the side of my face. “So yes, I’ve thought about you since, which is why I was so surprised when you turned up the other night. And that you were marrying Melanie.”
She gazed at me and bit her lip. “I know. Which is why I thought we should meet up. Because of how we left things.”
“Badly?” So badly, I wanted to curl up on the library floor and never move again? Did she know my whole world shifted, and then she just whipped the rug from underneath me and walked away without a single look back?
I picked up the small pink packet of sugar lounging in my saucer, folded the top, then put it down again. All the while, I avoided Nicola’s gaze. If she wanted me to just consign our kiss to history and not acknowledge what it was, I couldn’t. Our kiss made me realise I was a lesbian. Our kiss meant something. Still, it upset me how much it still meant. Maybe Holly had a point — maybe I did cling on to things.
When I eventually risked looking at Nicola, her face was hesitant. “I had no choice but to leave — my parents were adamant.” She sighed and fidgeted with her spoon. “And then after I left and had the miscarriage, I went to sixth form and met Callum. He was lovely. But I got pregnant again within a year, he proposed and I said yes.” She shrugged. “But it was never going to work, because, well...”
“You’re gay?” I finally glanced in her direction to see her answer.
She nodded. “Yes, because I’m gay. Callum was pretty good about it all really, considering. We still see each other because of Heath, but that’s it.”
“And you met Melanie online?”
She nodded. “I had a couple of girlfriends before her — being a firefighter is a help, women throw themselves at you.”
I cleared my throat. “I bet.”
“But Melanie, she was just... different. And I’m ready to put down some roots. And I want the stability for Heath too — a loving home with two parents.”
If Nicola was thinking she’d have a stable home with Melanie involved, I didn’t want to be the one to break it to her that she might not be the perfect person to pick.
“How old’s Heath?” I said, changing the subject.
“Six — I’ll show you a picture.” She fished her iPhone out of her bag and pulled up a photo of a gap-toothed boy with both thumbs up.
“He looks like you.” And he did — the same almond eyes, the same mouth.
She smiled. “Everyone says that.” She drank some more coffee.
I cleared my throat and she looked up.
“What?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
Nicola crossed her legs and regarded me. “You were going to say something, so please, say it.”
I rolled my thoughts around my head. Was honesty always the best policy? Not in my experience.
“It’s just... don’t you think you’re rushing into it a bit with Melanie? You haven’t known each other that long, and there’s Heath to consider.”
Nicola smiled. “And now you’re sounding like my mum whose response was exactly that.” She looked me in the eye. “But Melanie asked, and sometimes, if something feels right, you just have to take the leap and take a chance. I’m a big believer in that. I took a chance on Callum, but it didn’t work. I’m going to give
me and Melanie my best shot.”
It didn’t sound like the ideal premise for a marriage.
“Have you set a date yet?” I was keeping my voice calm despite the fact my insides were jangling.
“New Year’s Eve,” she said, before holding up her hands. “And I know what you’re going to say — it’s too quick. But when you find the right person, why wait?”
The bullet entered my heart with a direct hit. I felt winded, like I was suddenly stranded on a peninsular, with the wind whipping up and the rain closing in. New Year’s Eve? That was less than a month away.
“That is quick. Are you sure you’re not pregnant again?”
She gave me a look, and now it really was just like old times.
“Can you even get a place to get married at such short notice?”
She waved a hand. “It’s not going to be a big do. We’re doing registry office and then back to Melanie’s parents’ house for the reception.” She shrugged. “We’ve both done the big do before, so this will be smaller.”
I tried to hold Nicola’s gaze.
However, she dropped hers to the table, before taking a deep breath. “Melanie, though — she’s great, right?”
She wanted validation of Melanie from me. I searched my brain for something to say.
“She’s definitely a one-off,” I said.
Nicola smiled. “A one-off. I like that.” She paused and placed her hand on my arm. “And you’re invited to the wedding, of course.”
I jumped at the contact — where Nicola Sheen was concerned, I was still 16.
She squeezed. “And of course, you’re welcome to bring a plus one. Did you say you were seeing someone?” She turned to me and her gaze fell from my eyes, to my lips, then back up again.
My stomach dropped. I shook my head reluctantly. “Not really. I’m dating, but nobody special.” I didn’t take my eyes off her the whole time, and she didn’t budge either.
A warning bell rang in my head, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t misreading the signals.
Nicola Sheen might be marrying Melanie Taylor, but right there, she wanted to kiss me.
She licked her lips again, and my breath caught in my throat.
I checked my watch. I still had another two hours till I had to meet my date.
“Do you fancy another coffee?”
She flicked her almond eyes back up. “Love one,” she replied, a smile playing on her lips.
My date with Spanish Vixen that evening wasn’t going to be easy. I’d only left Nicola Sheen an hour ago and my emotions were exhausted after the extended workout she’d given them — first loves will do that to you. Plus, Jenny was still a fresh, slightly queasy memory.
I don’t know how players do it. I’d only slept with one woman this week and gone for drinks with another, and already I was a multi-tasking failure. As every lesbian knows, keeping one woman happy is hard enough, let alone two or three.
Nicola and I had finished three cups of coffee before she left to meet Melanie for dinner in town, hence I now had a caffeine headache hanging on my brain. The topics had got progressively lighter with each coffee, but I was still stunned she was planning to get married this month, even if her body language was telling me she wasn’t ready. This was a new side to Nicola, and one I wasn’t particularly in love with.
Logically, I supposed there would be a lot of sides to Nicola that wouldn’t exactly thrill me in the present day, but I was still stuck on Nicola Sheen, circa High School. She was a hard habit to break.
I had two friends who’d got married in the past year because they thought it was ‘time’ and they wanted their life to run to the schedule they’d set in their heads. “I have to be married by the time I’m 28, and my first baby is due at 31,” one had told me. When I’d asked them about true love and finding their soulmate, they’d looked at me like I was speaking a language they’d never heard of. “That’s all very lovely, Tori,” the other had said, shaking her head. “But I live in the real world, on real time schedules. If you want your life to run to order, you have to look at what you’ve got, decide if you can live with it and then act or make a change.”
Sometimes, my friends depressed me more than I could put into words.
Spanish Vixen and I were meeting in Covent Garden at one of those bars that promise to do American diner food really well, but normally leave you with nothing more than a sad taste in your mouth. Still, they had a happy hour, so all was not lost. My heels clip-clopped across the cobbles as I made my way across Covent Garden’s main square. The market stalls were just packing up as I passed them, and the scent of anticipation and roasted chestnuts coated the air. To my right, a unicyclist was juggling knives and telling the crowd a story of the last time he did this and how he nearly died.
I scanned the bar as I went in, but couldn’t see any sign of my date — at least, nobody who matched her profile picture of dark Latin looks, long shiny hair and a smile that radiated confidence.
Nicola Sheen had left me reeling with her revelations: she was a divorcee and a mum already, and on top of that, she remembered our kiss. Plus, from her body language, she wanted to relive it just as much as I did. However, I was starting to have doubts about my feelings towards Nicola. What else didn’t I know about her? If I thought about myself aged 16 to now, I guessed the answer would be quite a lot.
I didn’t have much time to dwell on my thoughts, though, as my date arrived bang on time. She was shorter than me, only by a couple of inches, but she was way more glossy, with yards of white teeth shining out from olive skin. She took my hand and shook it firmly, but her eyes avoided direct contact. Perhaps she was shy.
“Nice to meet you Vixen — I’m Tori.” I still wore my best smile. “Can I get you a drink? I might be Christmassy and have a mulled wine.”
She sat on the stool beside me, fighting with it to get comfortable. “I don’t do red wine — stains the teeth.” She smoothed down her black skirt and crossed her shapely legs. “I’ll have a white wine, though.”
I ordered her a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a Malbec for me. I knew drinking wine on an empty stomach was a bad idea, but I’d deal with that later.
Vixen’s real name turned out to be Max, which was the name of our dog when I was growing up, so slightly off-putting. When I asked her what she did, she told me sales, but then asked about my work. I filled her in on my marketing job and she smiled in all the right places, but there was something about Max that just wasn’t quite right. Was she already in a relationship? One of those women who just liked to come out on dates to remind themselves they still had it? I couldn’t put my finger on it.
It wasn’t until the second glass of wine that I found out exactly what wasn’t quite right with Max, when she produced a green folder and spread some papers out across our table.
“What’s this?” I asked.
And then Max came alive. “This,” she said, wafting a hand across the papers, “is the key to your future. This is my bullet-proof insurance scheme.” She grinned at me and flicked her hand right, then left. “I weighed up bringing this out on the date, but I figured I couldn’t let this one slide because I want to share this opportunity with everyone I meet. And I’ve got a good feeling about you — about us.”
I was confused. “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”
Max shook her head. “Do you currently have insurance for yourself and your job?”
“What?”
“What happens if you lose your job? The economy’s very uncertain, do you have savings put aside to pay your rent or your mortgage?”
I held up a palm to stop her in her tracks. It didn’t work. Max was on a roll and nobody was going to stop her. Our date was just a stage and I was the audience.
“What about if you get a terminal illness and need 24-hour care — you can’t rely on the NHS any more,” she continued.
“Max!” I almost shouted. Okay, maybe I shouted a little. The man at the next table turned to me and frowned. I ignored him. “Ar
e you honestly trying to sell me insurance on a blind date? Is this what you use this app for?”
She leaned over and put a hand on my arm. “I’m not trying to sell to you. I’m trying to save you so much heartache in your future. Think of me as your fairy godmother looking out for you. I’m on your side, which you’ll see when you look at our stunning terms and conditions,” she said, lifting up one of the forms.
I stood up, shaking my head and gathering my coat. I was close to laughing out loud at the situation. I mean, I’d heard about the perils of online dating, but honestly? So far, I was a walking encyclopedia of how not to do it. Perhaps I should let Holly choose my dates from now on.
Max frowned up at me. “You’re going?” she said. “But I don’t think you understand — you can’t afford to walk away from me. This deal is too good to be true!”
Now I did allow myself a little laugh. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I told her, putting a hand on my hip. “Tell me, are you even a lesbian or is this just a way of approaching new clients?” I shrugged my coat on, staring at Max.
Her face stayed calm, not reacting to my imminent departure at all. She looked me in the eye, stood up and gave me the fakest of fake smiles. “I’m 100 per cent lesbian, sweetheart. And if you buy a policy from me and stick around, I’ll prove it to you and give you the best orgasm of your life, guaranteed. What do you say?” She winked at me before holding up the form again, this time along with a pen.
I wondered how many times Max had used that line, and more to the point, how many times it’d worked. I’d love to have known.
She was slick, I had to hand it to her. It was almost a shame I wasn’t going to experience all that Max had to offer.
Almost, but not quite.
I was so glad to be home after the day I’d had — emotional trauma and hilarity of the highest order. I made myself a cup of tea and flicked through the dating app, but I didn’t have the energy or the heart to arrange another date. Maybe celibacy was an appealing option after all.