Did You Ever Get Stung? Ch. 01

"No gay bars back then?"

"No women in pubs back then, gay or otherwise. Not except prostitutes or derelict working class drunks anyway. But logic says there must have been some sort of network. It's a pain, I don't want to just make stuff up as complete fantasy, and I need a way for characters to meet. Never mind, I'll get there. Talking of bars, did you want us to go out at all?"

Jenna took a breath and hid her hesitation in pulling the bubble wrap off the big Ute Lemper photo. It was difficult to know where to stop: she appreciated the help and treasured the friendship, but she was both nervous that she was imposing too much and at the same time reluctant to be seen as Liz' acolyte rather than her own person. So far Liz was her only friend, she wasn't her partner. She didn't want to reject that friendship.

"Would you mind if we didn't?"

"To be honest, I'd be a little relieved if we didn't. I'm getting too old and out of touch with that scene. I pop down there now and again, to remind myself of the atmosphere, but every time I feel more out of place. It's for your age, I hardly know anyone anymore."

"Did you ... sorry, forget it."

"Go on."

"Does it hurt to talk about her?"

"Everything does. Remembering hurts, so does forgetting. What's your question?"

"I was just wondering if you went out together. Like that."

"Sometimes, not often. He knew; he wasn't happy but he was prepared to tolerate it. You see the thing is that she honestly did love us both, she couldn't choose one and I guess both of us must have loved her enough not to demand that she did. What she wouldn't do if she could help it, was embarrass him by acknowledging me, so in that sense she did choose. I took her to Arches a few times, and introduced her to some of my friends, because she was curious about the whole thing. She wasn't interested in being seen hanging round Ferry Lane on a regular basis. Where do you want that striking lady?"

Jenna pointed to spot on the wall. Liz held the black and white portrait up experimentally, adjusting to Jenna's instructions. Her voice hadn't changed from the casual tone that she had been using about her writing, Jenna had no idea whether she was prying or providing some sort of service. She didn't like to ask, surely it should be something she could tell on her own. Even though she knew she couldn't begin to comprehend the scale of Liz' loss, she had some faint idea of how unwelcome the easy platitudes about life going on and plenty of fish in the sea must be. She thought for the hundredth time how helpless she felt at the inevitability of Liz' sadness.

"How do you cope, Liz? How do you handle being alone?"

"You know ... keep myself busy, don't think too far ahead. I write very hot but very soppy hardcore romance, sometimes I drink more than I should, I talk to my very good and supportive friend Jenna. When I get too horny and desperate to bear it anymore I watch Sinn Sage videos and try to come before I start crying. It's what it is, innit? Here do?"

Jenna nodded, so Liz set the frame down and reached for a pin. That was the pattern she was used to from emails: admission of loneliness, followed by self-deprecation and sudden change of subject. She supposed it made sense, after hiding the truth of her feelings for so long, it couldn't be easy to be open about them even now all reason for discretion was past.

"Don't just dismiss it like that. We always end up talking about my problems."

"Because your problems can still have a solution. OK, if you want a true story to depress you, here's a thing. For the first few years, you both honestly believe all those hopeful well-meant untruths about 'I'll leave him when ...'; and then time passes and you gradually come to accept that this is it. That the time you're together at work, and the few stolen evenings and weekends that come up, are all it's ever going to be. And then - because she loves you, and because the good reasons she has for staying put don't mean she doesn't feel terribly guilty - she says she would understand if you need to find someone to share your bed for the three hundred and fifty days a year when she can't. In sixteen years I didn't so much as kiss another woman, not because I'm a saint but because I honestly was never tempted. I loved her so much, I couldn't imagine wanting anyone else. I still do love her that much. I can't say that will never change - I can't explain this but it feels disrespectful to her memory to say I know now how I'll miss her in five years' time - but at the moment it doesn't feel like it will."

And that was that, Jenna realised that it was time to stop pushing and let Liz prattle on about the glories of Yorkshire chip shops if she wanted to. She listened with half an ear as she reflected that they were divided by as much as they had in common. Liz had lost something that Jenna had never found, and that loss was irreplaceable. She wasn't looking for someone, but Jenna was. So after a couple of weeks, when she had got herself squared away enough in home and job for her curiosity to take wing, she took an evening stroll or two down Ferry Lane on her own.

She might be looking for something, but she had no imminent intention of getting laid. She went into the pub just to submerge herself in the ambience and that indefinable solidarity that was still real even if half of them were overtly eying her as fresh meat. The music was loud and the atmosphere heavy with prowling sexuality. The barmaid with long blonde hair and sleeve tattoos - and an accent that Jenna couldn't pin down any more specifically than American - made amazing cocktails. That woman over there was blatantly checking her out, the one in the pink jacket, with the sharp nose and perfect cheekbones. Jenna wasn't remotely interested - too cold a beauty, and too old for her - but she couldn't pretend it wasn't flattering to have a stranger staring so appreciatively at her arse.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

She had glided up on Jenna's blind side, draping languorously against the bar before she even realised the space next to her was occupied. She was strawberry blonde, wearing two grands' worth of navy blue McCartney suit in a way that made it obvious her good clothes were still at home, and Jenna couldn't begin to guess her age. The gravitas and confidence just did not go with the twinkly eyes and flawless skin. There was something about her private school tones that set Jenna's teeth on edge. She was the sort you could imagine coming out to her parents by saying 'yuh Pops, can you buy me a lesbian?'

"Thank you. I'll have another Sea Breeze."

"Gabby. Sea Breeze please, and I'll have whatever you call one without the cranberry. No salt."

The drink appeared in front of Jenna, as if by magic. The woman immediately put her back up, she had every intention of politely refusing - and yet there it was, and she could have sworn she had asked for it. Weird. How many of these things had she knocked back already?

"I haven't seen you around much."

"I haven't been around much."

"Can I ask you a very personal question?"

"Shy, aren't you? You know, unless I'm really rude and offensive, I think you're going to ask anyway."

The eyes twinkled again, and perfect shining teeth peeked out from behind full scarlet lips. Jenna didn't like that smile, it was insincere as a politician's - which was hardly unique at this bar - yet the big brown bedroom eyes above the mouth did seem genuinely interested in what she might have to say. She didn't like it, but she could feel her face returning it, as compulsively as asking for that drink she didn't really want. It was like listening to one of those talented old comedians who told vile reactionary 'jokes' so well that she laughed in spite of herself and then felt sordid at her own weakness. She was being seduced, but perhaps not in the obvious sexual way.

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry, I think you started talking to me."

"No, not like that. What do you want? Specifically what draws you through this door on a Friday evening?"

What she really wanted was to lose the feeling that those brown eyes were looking straight through her. Not to mention shaking off the disturbing temptation that a quickie with someone she really didn't like might be very hot indeed.

"Excuse me, I really need to go."

Jenna stumbled off into the back on suddenly trembling legs, and found herself grateful for the solidity of the toilet underneath her. Those cocktails were far too easy to drink, and there was something in the atmosphere itself that made her feel recklessly aware of how long it had been since she'd shared any real intimacy with another person. Not the woman in the navy suit though, she was seductive and repulsive in equal measure, and Jenna was damned if she could explain either reaction. No, that had all the hallmarks of a seriously fucking bad idea. Which was unfortunate, because when she opened the door to the cubicle she found her standing directly outside, leaning back against the basin opposite.

"Sorry, I think there's been a misunderstanding here."

"Which is?"

The self-assurance needled her, and she was more than a little tipsy. She didn't usually snap at people, truth be told she was far too much of a doormat for her own good. At this particular moment though, she had had enough.

"No offence, I'm getting a little old to be frigging anonymous strangers in a public loo."

"Is that so? I wouldn't dream of calling you a liar, but I am surprised to hear it."

"You know what, why don't you just fuck off."

"Oh brava! Very fierce. Are you alright?"

She wasn't in the least. The building was spinning in one direction and her stomach in the other. Dark suspicion niggled at the back of her mind, but she was positive that she'd kept a close eye on her own drinks all night.

"Need some air."

She found an exit and staggered out into a narrow alleyway, breathing deep and slow to the sound of a train rattling overhead. The woman joined her, putting her hands in her pockets and leaning her shoulders against the grubby brick with no apparent concern for her jacket.

"Any better?"

"Who are you anyway?"

"Call me Lucy."

"Hi Lucy, I'm Jenna. What do you want?"

"That's my question, remember? What do you want, Jenna? Truly?"

"I dunno. Sustainable development and a secure pension, no Third World War. What does anyone want? You do know you are very weird, don't you?"

"And you are very scared of telling the truth."

The drink was talking for her, there was no other way she would ever have let it all slip out the way it did.

"Of course I am! Admitting what you want is admitting you haven't got it, isn't it? I want sex. I want to make love to a pretty girl, who isn't a drama queen and won't scream and break plates if I smile at someone else. I want to put my hand on her pants and feel them soaked through just from kissing me. I want to fuck all night and wake up in the middle of the day, and not fight about it afterwards. I want it to be that simple for once. What about you?"

"Me? Oh I like to play games. Goodnight Jenna, I think you've probably had enough to drink."

Lucy gave her an insufferably smug look, then turned on her Saint Laurent heel and went back through the side door of the pub. Obnoxious as she was, she did have a point. Jenna set her unsteady steps in the direction of the street.

She rounded the corner and almost walked into as pretty a girl as she had ever seen.