Face the Music

"Don't speak like that, that's disgusting!"

"Disgusting or not, it's the plain truth... no man's going to do that to me again."

"Then perhaps you'd better go," said my mother, thin lips tight with anger, "I think I can speak for your father as well as myself when I forbid you this house. You will be welcome to return when you agree to return to Jeremy and rid yourself of this ridiculous belief about your... your unnatural proclivities..."

* * * * *

I was effectively estranged from my parents but then, looking at my upbringing, there was very little change from when I was young. I had always been lonely in their house. On the other hand the divorce went ahead smoothly and amicably. Jeremy and I agreed to handle it ourselves without getting lawyers involved---they make enough money as it is without us throwing more at them.

The only point of dispute between us was over money. And no, before you think the worst of me it wasn't the usual story of a wronged wife demanding more than the husband was able or prepared to give; it was a case of him offering far more than I was prepared to accept. Jeremy pointed out that a court would probably award me a third to half his assets which meant I'd be in luxury for life and never have to work again. That wouldn't have been fair or just: his wealth had been created by his father's very successful business acumen enhanced by Jeremy's similar skills, and I had earned no part of that. Anyway, I wanted to go back to work and be independent.

In the end we compromised, thrashing out a settlement that satisfied both of us. Paying cash, Jeremy bought me a bungalow about a mile away but still in Langton Heights---the property was vacant so I was able to move in pretty much straight away---and set up a trust fund sufficient to give me a small regular income. He had the place redecorated and gave me carte blanche to buy all the furniture I needed. (Although not strictly furnishings, I also treated myself to half-a-dozen erotic drawings of women by a local artist called Bertie.) The house purchase was the only thing we employed a lawyer for, a necessity in the property-buying process.

"I'm very fond of you, Gudrun," Jeremy told me as we were wrapping everything up, "but as a friend, nothing else."

I nodded. "Guess I'm the same about you," I told him, "Friends it is."

We hugged then, possibly the most sincere and affectionate hug of our ten years together. If our worlds and ways had been different things might not have come to this.

Now to set about finding work. In fact, I already knew where I'd like to work if they'd have me---or should I say, if they'd have me back.

* * * * *

I made a phone call and a woman answered.

--Good afternoon. Partridge Solicitors, Molly speaking. How may I help you?

"My name's Gudrun Nyström. May I speak to Mr Gilbert Partridge please?" [Following the divorce, I had decided to revert to my maiden name---I don't know why, perhaps subconsciously I felt it was wrong to retain the Davenport name.]

--I'm afraid Mr Gilbert retired several years ago. The practice is now in the hands of his son, Mr Robert Partridge.

"Oh." I knew nothing about Robert Partridge. Still, fingers crossed. "May I make an appointment to see him, then?"

--A moment please, Ms Nyström, while I check the diary. Yes, he has an open slot at two-fifteen this coming Thursday if that would be convenient.

"Thank you, that will be fine."

--and may I ask what you wish to see him about?

I told her as little as she needed to know.

* * * * *

Gilbert Partridge had been slightly old-fashioned in appearance and manners, half-moon glasses, navy-blue three-piece suit and slim watch-chain draped across the waistcoat, desk piled high with folders and files. Many of his clients were elderly and I had often wondered if this was all part of a great act to show that they were in safe hands. He certainly wasn't old-fashioned in his many professional dealings. In appearance, Robert Partridge was very different to his father. In his mid- to late-thirties, he was the epitome of a go-getting young lawyer, bespoke two-piece suit, striped tie with a small knot, rimless glasses. Save for a computer and a couple of files his desk was clear.

He read through the personnel folder, closed it and looked at me. "So you were an articled clerk to my father and well on your way to qualifying as a solicitor. All of his notes in here..." he tapped the folder with a well-manicured forefinger "...praise you highly. One comment was that you were one of the best pupils he'd ever had. And then at very short notice you broke the articles and left. There's no explanation here, so why?"

"I got married," I told him.

He gave me a sharp look. "And your new husband didn't want you working?"

"No, my husband was fine with it. It was my father's doing. I really loved it here and was looking forward to working through to my finals but father felt it wasn't a married woman's place to work." I shrugged. "He has some rather old-fashioned ideas about what is proper and demanded I left."

"And you allowed him to do this?"

"Yes. Pathetic, isn't it? I was fairly young, only nineteen, and conditioned to obey, I suppose. My father is a forceful man, won't brook any opposition. You could say I've been pretty much browbeaten and indoctrinated from birth. But I'm divorced now and estranged from my parents."

I could hear the bitterness in my own voice and Robert Partridge obviously picked up on it. "I don't want to pressure you, Ms Nyström, but would you care to tell me about it?" I hesitated so he added: "I assure you that anything you wish to say will be treated in confidence. After all..." a little smile here "...as you're aware, discretion goes with the profession."

There was genuine sympathy in his voice as he spoke and so I told him almost everything: my childhood with its almost-Victorian outlook, my parents' coldness and attitudes, being levered reluctantly into marriage. I say 'almost'---I didn't know him or what his attitude to gay people would be so I left my sexuality out of the narrative.

He made a little moue of disgust when I mentioned the beatings and when I had finished said: "As well as the physical punishments, the whole thing sounds like a case of coercive control to me. You know, it's not too late to bring charges of historic abuse against your parents."

I shook my head. I didn't want that. "I'm free now and that's all that matters."

"And what about your ex-husband?"

I was able to answer this more cheerfully. "We're friends. He's a good man. The divorce was amicable and we're still fond of each other. It's just that we weren't suited in marriage. He gave me a more than fair settlement and promised help if ever it became necessary."

"So there's not likely to be any unpleasant comebacks from that quarter?"

"Nothing."

"And now you'd like to return to this practice?"

"Yes, I was happy here before," I said, "and I kept all my law books to study. As a stay-at-home wife I needed to do something."

"You will appreciate that you can't just walk back into your articles after all these years," Robert told me, "And were you able to, you'd have to start from scratch and the tuition fees for an articled clerk have increased substantially in the past ten years."

"I understand that," I said, "and money would be no object. But if you have any open positions I'd take anything, even just as a filing clerk."

"Well, strictly speaking we have no vacancies..."

My hopes fell. "Oh, then I'm sorry to have bothered you." I picked up my handbag and started to rise from my chair.

Robert Partridge held up a restraining hand. "Don't be in such a hurry to leave, you didn't allow me to finish. I have one legal executive and she is overloaded with work right now. Would you be willing to take a post of probationary legal exec? You wouldn't be subordinate to Sarah but at the same time you'd have to respect her seniority and experience."

"Thank you, I'd love to do that."

"Right, but before I confirm I'll have to clear it with my father. Although retired, he retains a majority interest in the company and still does occasional legal work to keep his hand in. Among other things, he has employee approval. Give me a week or two and I'll be in touch."

And so I returned to Partridge & Co Solicitors.

* * * * *

There were three additional bonuses in my personal life now. The first might seem a bit frivolous, silly even. I was able to shave my underarms and legs. It had been drummed into me from puberty that removing my body hair was a forbidden vanity, a grievous sin and an affront to the God who'd made me the way I am, hair and all. My mother even used to inspect my underarms and legs to ensure the rule was obeyed although this was most likely at father's instigation. I continued to obey even after my marriage, so deeply entrenched was the order. Fortunately my body hair was very sparse and such a pale blond that it really didn't notice much and Jeremy had never mentioned it.

Secondly, another slice of frivolity. I found a first-rate beauty salon and had my hair restyled. My long braid went and I replaced it with a shaggy pixie cut which suited me perfectly. Oh yes, and I treated myself to a manicure and pedicure. Vanity, vanity, the wicked sin, and I just loved being sinful.

Thirdly, at last I was free to be myself. No more enduring what was, to me, unnatural sex. Although she was straight, I still thrilled at the memory of Emily's soft hand taking mine. If I was lucky, I could find one of my own kind to love.

Easier said than done. How did I find one of my own kind to love? How did I recognise one of my own kind? I'd heard of this mysterious thing called 'gaydar' but that's what it was, a mystery. The only girl I'd made love with was Irene and that only came about by chance, there had been no instant recognition between us. I briefly thought about contacting Irene for advice but shoved the idea aside. She was happily married now and I didn't want to give her the wrong idea.

For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of using a lesbian escort agency but dismissed the thought almost as speedily as it had arisen. The idea wasn't repugnant as such but it conflicted with all the church's teaching I was so finding difficult to shake off. Anyway, there was something cold and clinical about the idea of buying sex.

What about the internet? I could give that a try. Sitting at my computer I typed the city's name with the words 'lesbian nightclubs' into the search engine. Several names came up---Nancy's Nook; Guys & Dolls; The China Doll; and The Twilight Time Rooms---and I visited their various web-sites.

Nancy's Nook was definitely out. From the few photos on the site, the members seemed to be on the tough-looking side. I'd be a lamb in a wolf den among them and I didn't fancy that. Neither did The China Doll appeal. I was put off by the dog-collar and leash around the neck of the large doll mounted behind the bar. Guys & Dolls looked respectable but there were male members and I was averse to the idea of being approached by men. Maybe they were gay, maybe not, but I didn't want to take the chance. Only The Twilight Time Rooms remained and that did look attractive. It was on Marlborough Avenue in one of the city's better areas. The photographs suggested a touch of class and the membership seemed nicely varied with women of different age groups. The main appeal was that all of them seemed to be feminine with not a roughneck or dog collar in sight. So The Twilight Time Rooms it was, maybe the coming Saturday.

Since moving into my bungalow I had been finding myself getting more and more aroused just at the thought of finding a partner and yet there was nothing I could do about the physical longing. Yes, I could have masturbated but guess what... that's right, it's a grievous sin deserving the harshest punishment. When I was a kid it would have earned me several strokes of the cane ("Woman, chastise your child!"); as an adult I would at worst go to hell, at best suffer in purgatory until the sin had been burned from me.

Sometimes I was so frustrated, wondering how long before I'd be able to rid myself of the unforgiving---and probably mostly false---teachings of my childhood. They were buried so deeply inside me that I couldn't see any immediate release.

* * * * *

Robert Partridge took me into the legal executives' office where I would be working. A woman sat at one desk, a legal pad in front of her on which she was making notes, a draft or a brief I guessed. I put her as being about my age and she was quite nice-looking save for a melancholy, almost haunted look on her face.

"Sarah, this is Gudrun Nyström, the probationary legal executive I told you about. She should help, ease your workload," Robert said, "Gudrun, this is Sarah Rackham." I held out my hand and her response was perfunctory. She appeared to frown a little and barely touched me before withdrawing her hand.

"And this is your desk," Robert continued as if he'd not noticed although I'm sure he must have done. There was a computer on the desk together with In and Out trays. The former contained some half-dozen slim files. "I've started you off on fairly straightforward matters then depending on your performance, we can move you on to meatier work. Any problems, Sarah will be able to advise you." He pointed to my collection of law books that I'd brought with me. "Be careful with those," he told me, "There have been changes to much of the legislation over the past ten years. The office has all the law manuals you're likely to need so remember the old rule: check and double-check."

When Robert had left, Sarah turned to me and said: "You've worked here before."

"Yes."

"I understand you were an articled clerk."

"Yes, but I had to leave for... for family reasons."

She nodded abruptly and returned to whatever she was doing while I reached for the first file in my tray.

It was a strange first week. With a little help from Sarah I found myself quickly getting into the hang of the business. The thing was, though, that I felt Sarah resented my presence. I may have been wrong but she certainly didn't go out of her way to make me feel welcome. I shrugged it off. Maybe she had an exceptionally heavy workload and was too busy to bother with a newbie.

Friday 5:00 pm and the end of my first week back at Partridge & Co. It felt so good having done a useful week's work rather than sit and twiddle my thumbs waiting for my unloving and unloved husband to come home, usually late. I felt a slight pang of guilt thinking like that, it wasn't fair. Jeremy wasn't a bad person and neither was I. We had both been forced by dictatorial parents into something we didn't want. Now it was over. Sorry for my negative thoughts, Jeremy.

So what next at the end of my first week of freedom? Well, I was looking forward to an evening in my new little home. It didn't compare with the luxury I had walked away from but it was pleasant enough and I'd be by myself, beholden to no-one. I could do what I wanted when I wanted and believe me I was going to take full advantage.

First though, I was going to try that decent-looking wine bar round the corner, what was it called? Gillian's I think. I don't drink much but it would be pleasant to have a small glass of wine and simply watch the world go by for as long as I wished. Perhaps a bit of company... after all, it was Friday.

As I gathered up my coat and bag, I glanced across to Sarah's desk. She appeared to still be engrossed in her work, looking from paper documents to her monitor and back again, making an occasional pencil note or typing something into the computer. Maybe she'd like to come with me. She'd spoken very little to me in the week I'd been here and she always looked as if she needed cheering up. Whenever I tried to initiate a conversation she replied as briefly as possible.

"Sarah?"

"What?" She barely glanced at me.

"I'm stopping off at Gillian's for a glass of wine before I go home. Would you like to come with me?"

Sarah gave me an odd look: it wasn't exactly dislike nor was it exactly distaste but somewhere between the two. "I don't drink!" She turned back to the closely-typed document she was studying.

"You can always have a soft drink or a coffee if you prefer," I offered.

"And I don't date!" she snapped although I had suggested no such thing. I stood there for a moment, shocked. I had no idea why I'd triggered such animosity and I felt a little as if she'd slapped my face.

Sarah looked up again. "Was there anything else?" Now I'm not at all sure but I think I saw the glint of a tear in her eye. However, she turned back to the computer too quickly for me to be certain.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I wasn't asking you for a date. I just thought it would be nice for new colleagues to get to know each other over a friendly drink."

"Whatever," she shrugged and carried on working.

I gave up and left the office feeling crushed. My first attempt to make a new friend for myself rather than one my parents had chosen and approved and it had fallen flat. Well, if Sarah Rackham was determined to be unfriendly, she could go to hell. It looked like work was going to be a lot of fun from now on. I walked straight past Gillian's and went for my bus instead.

Sarah

The first thing I did when I got home was to cry. I didn't bother to take my coat off, I just collapsed on the sofa and wept long and bitterly. I wept for Carole and I wept for myself and... yes, I wept for the way I had treated Gudrun, the new woman in the office. There had been no need to treat her in that unforgiveable way, she was only trying to be friendly and it was unlikely that she knew about Carole. To my shame, I had been behaving badly towards many people recently, it being so near the anniversary of Carole's death. Those who knew me well gave me a lot of leeway, others simply gave up on me.

I thought I'd done all my crying after Carole's funeral but I still had these spells every once in a while and at such times I wasn't all that nice to be around. Robert Partridge was a good and understanding boss and told me that I could take time off if necessary when I was going through a bad patch. I never took him up on his offer though. I recognised that I was better off doing something at work than sitting at home going quietlyand not so quietlystir crazy.

Before Carole died I had been a rather shy person. No more. My shyness had evaporated, had been replaced by an unquenchable anger. From deep inside I raged against everything. I recognised what I had become and hated it---I disliked myself so much and I couldn't blame others if they disliked me too. Someone---I can't quite remember who, Monty from AA perhaps---had told me that Carole was safe and at peace now. Well, Carole may have been at peace but I certainly wasn't.

Robert Partridge had told me that he'd hired another legal executive to take all the pressure off me. "She's had some experience, used to be an articled clerk," he said, "but she's been out of the game for a few years now so you might need to help her through the first few weeks."

I was going through one of my 'down' periods when Robert brought the new woman in and introduced her as Gudrun Nyström. With that name and her pale, almost white, blond hair I guessed she was of Scandinavian descent. Medium-tall, about the same height as me, she had a pretty face in a wholesome way, open, freckled and friendly. She offered a hand which I touched just enough to be polite. I suppose it went downhill from there and it was all my doing.

* * * * *

I had good friends for sure, the ones who'd clung on---better friends than I deserved, that's certain---but I'd tried my best to thrust them away from me. It says a lot for them that they wouldn't be thrust away. One evening they'd ganged up on me, virtually dragging me out. "You can't hide away for ever," Susie had told me, "You're not cut out to be a hermit."