Smile

Weeping with gratitude, Irene threw herself into her aunt's arms.

She never returned to her first job and she never saw Moya again.

Irene 16 to 19

The slim, tough-looking man with the close-cropped hair was pinning a poster on the hall's notice-board and it caught Irene's attention. Some peculiar block lettering in black headed the poster, a form of design or writing Irene had never seen before. The man became aware of her standing there and gave her a friendly nod. "Hi. You must be Nellie's new helper. I'm Jack Matthewson."

Irene pointed. "What's that?"

He smiled. "That's Hebrew script," he said, "It reads 'Krav Maga'." He tapped the English translation lower down the poster.

"What's krav maga?"

"It's a bare-handed fighting system."

"Like karate or kung fu?"

Jack Matthewson grinned. "Something like that but we think it's better."

"Could I learn?"

"Anyone could learn if they're willing to put in the effort," he said, "It's a lot of hard work, though, and you don't become an expert overnight. But why would you want to learn?"

Irene scowled. "There's somebody I may have to see sometime, not soon but maybe in the future. The last time I saw him he hurt me, beat me up. I'm not going to let him hurt me again." She leaned forward to peer at the poster's small print. "Oh... don't know if I could afford the membership fees regularly."

"This bloke used to beat you up, did he? Who was it?"

"My father."

"He beat up a tiny thing like you? That's why you're living here? Out of his way?"

"Yes," Irene said.

"The bastard! You let me know if he ever shows his face round here..." Matthewson looked thoughtful then seemed to come to a decision. "I'll make a bargain with you," he said, "I own and run a local car showroom. You give me a couple of afternoons a week cleaning the cars and I'll cover your membership fees. Deal?" He held out his hand.

Irene shook. "Deal."

* * * * *

Irene often wondered what might have happened had she known Moya in a different place at a different time. She was pretty sure that Moya had been becoming very fond of her and Irene had been developing strong feelings for Moya. Still, water under the bridge. She did have a few one-night stands and a couple of near relationships, both short-lived for different reasons. She was nineteen when she met Gudrun and twenty-one when she met Leah...

Charlie's café

...Irene paused, lips tight. "Please... do you think... could I have..." She pointed with her chin towards her empty mug. There was still that odd, childlike quality in the request but I thought I could understand it a little now.

"You'd like another hot chocolate... yeah, sure." I called the order to Charlie and when he brought it over Irene said: "Thanks, your chocolate's great."

"You were talking about a couple of girls," I prompted.

"Oh yes, Gudrun and Leah..."

Irene 19 to 22

Irene dropped her backpack on her chosen bunk—first come, first served—and looked around the small cabin. It wasn't too bad for what was to be a short stay. At least it was several points up on the local community hall room she had used when first escaping from her father. There were two single bunks with bedside cabinets against opposite walls, a toilet and shower room, a chest of drawers and a curtained alcove with a clothes rail. The floor was covered with cheap carpeting and there was a rug by each bunk. She wondered what her room-mate would be like, that is if she was to have one. I'll find out soon enough, she thought, and if we're not very compatible, well, it's only for a week. Leaving the cabin, she wandered across to the refectory hut to grab some lunch.

Irene was here at this camp as a favour to Jack Matthewson. He'd been good to her and she guessed she owed him something back. Each year Jack with a group of friends and colleagues ran a summer camp for underprivileged and handicapped children. One of his regular carers had to drop out for the first couple of weeks and Jack had asked Irene if she would like to stand in. Irene wasn't sure how she'd be able to cope with deprived children but she couldn't let Jack down and she agreed.

Another woman was unpacking a small hold-all when Irene returned to the cabin. Her back was to the door and all Irene saw at first was a tall athletic-looking shape with blond hair in a single long braid. The other turned at the sound of the door, revealing a neat figure and a wholesome face, lightly dusted with freckles. Her smile was huge, showing slightly uneven, dazzling white teeth. She held out a large, well-shaped hand.

"Hi. Guess we're sharing here. I'm Gudrun Nyström." Gudrun's hand was warm and her grip firm.

"Irene Wetherill. Don't want to seem rude but your name sounds foreign..."

"My father's Swedish, mother English. Father's the pastor in a Lutheran church in Langton Heights. They thought it would be good for me to do some community service and volunteered me for this camp. Got three weeks of it. Not sure how I'll handle it but I'll try. You?"

"The only family I've got worth speaking about is an elderly aunt," said Irene, "As for being here, I'm helping a friend out for a week. Like you, not sure what to expect, just have to give it my best shot."

Gudrun Nyström continued to chatter away. "Father had to pull a few strings with my boss so I could come here. I'm a trainee solicitor, I'm articled clerk to a city company, Partridge. Anyway, it's good publicity for his business to support a scheme like this. What do you do, Irene?"

"Nothing so impressive," admitted Irene, "Just a couple of part-time jobs right now."

Irene approached her first full day in camp with trepidation. It turned out that she and Gudrun would be working together under the supervision of an experienced counsellor. They were given a dozen children to care for and were given free rein to set programmes. Within three days Irene knew that she loved working with the children, they brought her a joy she'd not known before—having suffered a woeful childhood herself, she repaid their trust with love and enthusiasm. She liked it so much that she persuaded Jack Matthewson to arrange extra time from her supermarket job so she could stay a couple more weeks. It was granted, unpaid of course, but again good publicity for the company.

The pair had no night-time duties. The children were housed in twelve-bunk dormitories managed by experienced carers so Irene and Gudrun could pass the evenings as they wished. The relationship between the two young women was a friendly one until the night of the great thunderstorm when it became something more.

Irene was wakened by and enormous flash of lightning which momentarily lit up the whole cabin. The storm must have been very close for the explosive crash of thunder followed on by no more than two or three seconds, seeming to shake the very earth around. An almost incessant barrage of thunder and lightning followed and Irene became aware of small sobs of distress from the opposite bunk.

"Gudrun, are you all right?"

"The thunder!" Gudrun cried, "I'm terrified of thunder!"

Irene climbed from her bunk and padded across to Gudrun. "Move over," she said, "I'll protect you." She pushed her way in beside Gudrun and folded the frightened girl in her arms. Gudrun wrapped her arms around Irene and her shaking and whimpering gradually eased.

"Sorry, I'm a big baby when it comes to storms."

"Don't worry," Irene told her, "We've all got our private fears." Her lips were close to Gudrun's neck and she planted a soft kiss intended to comfort. Gudrun turned her face to Irene's and their lips brushed together gently. It remained that way for a few seconds and then the kiss became a little deeper. Irene felt a warm tongue caress her bottom lip and she met it with her own tongue. Their embrace tightened and Irene slipped her hand under Gudrun's pyjama top to stroke her smooth back.

Gudrun lifted Irene's t-shirt and cupped her breasts. Irene's nipples stiffened under the touch and in her turn she tugged at Gudrun's top, lifting it over the girl's head. She lowered her own head and took one rigid little nipple into her mouth while playing with the other between thumb and forefinger.

Gudrun's hand moved down Irene's belly and into her pyjama shorts to toy with a thick nest of pubic hair. Her fingers moved further, sliding up and down Irene's slit. "Oh wow, you're so wet." One finger and then two worked their way into Irene's passage and started to move in and out. "You can play with mine, if you'd like to." Gudrun's whisper sounded quite shy.

Gudrun's pubic hair was sparse and her pussy slippery with juices, and Irene was able to find and enter her easily with two fingers while her thumb rubbed at Gudrun's clit. "Oh God, Irene, I'm going to..." Gudrun came hard, shuddering as she did so. Irene pushed her own hips insistently against Gudrun's hand until she, too, came with a little cry.

Irene hugged Gudrun to her. "That made you forget the thunder," she whispered. Still holding each other and caressing bodies, they slowly returned to sleep.

When they awoke in the morning, Gudrun tried to apologise. "Irene... last night... I'm so sorry..."

Irene put a finger to Gudrun's lips. "What's to be sorry about?"

"You were trying to soothe me in the storm and I took advantage."

"Believe me, Gudrun, you didn't. I loved what happened. I'm gay, Gudrun. My only regret is we had to wait for a thunderstorm to get together. That's if you're gay too. Are you, or maybe bi-?"

"I'm gay," Gudrun admitted. Her eyes filled with tears.

Irene grasped her hands. "What's the matter?"

Gudrun's little smile was sad. "One of life's ironies. My parents are both rabidly homophobic and they've produced a gay daughter. I'll never be able to come out to them, not without being disowned and probably condemned to hell-fire. Irene, it isn't wrong, is it? Our kind of love, I mean."

"I don't think anything that feels so lovely can be wrong," Irene said, and continued: "I don't know if there is a God, and if there is I don't know if I believe in Him or Her. But if there is, would He or She have made something so wonderful and enjoyable only to condemn it? I don't think so—it wouldn't make a lot of sense."

Following that, the girls spent every night together until their time at the camp was finished. Back in the city, they met up whenever they could although not too frequently. Gudrun seemed to be totally under her parents' control and had to exercise great care in their liaisons.

* * * * *

And then after a couple of months Gudrun went off the map, disappeared as if she had never existed. Irene phoned, texted, nothing. All her communications were ignored or unanswered. Eventually she rang and got the 'number unobtainable' signal. Gudrun had either changed her phone or her number. The one thing Irene didn't try was calling Gudrun's workplace, thinking that Gudrun's employers wouldn't appreciate being bothered by an concerned lesbian lover. Solicitors could be a bit stuffy about that sort of thing, she guessed. Irene briefly considered waiting outside her lover's offices but rejected the thought almost as soon as it occurred to her. That would have made her no better than a stalker.

Had Gudrun shown some gumption at last and come out to her parents? Irene had been surprised when Gudrun had mentioned the depth of her parents' bigotry. From her reading in newspapers and magazines Irene had formed the impression that the Swedes were very open and tolerant about sexual matters. But then, Gudrun's father was a pastor in a fairly strict Protestant church. No, coming out didn't seem likely.

Looking on the brighter side, perhaps the family had taken a holiday and gone to Sweden to see Mr Nyström's family. After a week or so, Irene decided to let it rest, certain that Gudrun would contact her when she could.

One morning Irene was skimming through a local paper while she ate her breakfast. The final couple of pages were the small ads, items which she usually ignored but on this particular morning one entry under the 'Engagements' column caught her eye, possibly because it was a prominent box ad, bordered in black. It came at her like a punch in the dark.

~~~The Reverend Bjorn and Mrs Adele Nyström are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter Gudrun to Mr Jeremy Davenport, son of Mr Edward and Mrs Patricia Davenport of Langton Heights. Reverend Nyström is the pastor of the United Lutheran Church while Mr Edward Davenport is the owner and managing director of Davenport Engineering.

The marriage will take place in the autumn and will be conducted by the bride's father.~~~

So that explained Gudrun's disappearance and silence. Forthcoming: a nice, wealthy middle-class wedding with a pleasant house in the suburbs and in time two-point-four children to make the happy home complete. And an abnormal and probably long-term miserable fate for someone like Gudrun. It wasn't even as if she was bi-, she was one hundred per cent lesbian. Irene felt as if a heavy weight were resting on her soul, draining it. Well... she thought...that's it, I guess. Sighing, she took out her phone and wiped Gudrun's details from it.

* * * * *

The next—and final—time Irene saw Gudrun was pure chance. It was several weeks following the newspaper announcement and Irene was having an amble around the city centre, window shopping. She couldn't afford much at all but she did enjoy looking at the displays. She entered the city's new mall at one of the upper floors and having wandered for a while thought she might go to one of the ground floor coffee shops for a hot chocolate. Thinking of her childhood, she was catching up with all the hot chocolates she felt she was owed—after all, there was nobody to deny her now.

Halfway down the escalator she spotted the familiar figure of Gudrun sitting by herself outside one of the coffee shops. The escalator reached the ground floor and Irene almost turned onto the ascending stairs. But then... she had to know...

She went across to the coffee shop. "Hello, Gudrun."

Gudrun, caught by surprise, flinched then reddened. "Oh... Irene..."

"Were you ever going to tell me, Gudrun? Or were you just hoping that I'd fade away quietly to save you embarrassment? Please, I'm not angry with you, I'd just like to know..."

"My parents..." Gudrun mumbled, "they wanted..."

"They wanted you to marry into a nice rich family..." Irene finished for her, "I'll bet they pushed you like hell."

"You don't understand..." Gudrun's expression told Irene she'd guessed correctly.

"Oh, I think I do," said Irene, "You could have told me face-to-face or even texted me, I wouldn't have blamed you—it would have been better than the shock of seeing it in the paper, though. What I don't understand is how you're going to cope. You're gay, Gudrun, and you're being pushed into a straight marriage. How long before the pretence gets too much for you?"

"Irene, I... about telling you... I didn't know how to handle it..." Gudrun stopped and glanced towards the coffee shop door where an angular, brittle-looking woman was coming out with a tray holding hot drinks and cakes. "My mother... please don't say anything..."

The woman placed the tray on the table and glanced at Irene with something like disdain on her thin face. Irene didn't think it was personal, Mrs Nyström probably looked at most people that way. The wind had probably changed one day when she was sneering and fixed her face. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Gudrun?" Her voice was as brittle as her appearance.

"Mother, this is..."

"It's okay, Mrs Nyström," Irene interrupted, "I'm just leaving. I'm an old acquaintance of Gudrun's ... from some time ago... seems like a hundred years, sometimes. Just wanted to say 'congratulations'. I hope you'll be very happy, Gudrun ..."

As Irene walked away she heard Mrs Nyström say: "What an odd little creature."

She didn't catch Gudrun's mumbled reply.

And that was about the time that Irene forgot how to smile.

* * * * *

Irene didn't think much of The Porcelain Doll at first glance. It was one of the newer lesbian bars in the city with dim lighting and unimaginative decor. Perhaps that was why the lighting was dim. After Gudrun, Irene hadn't looked for anyone else, or rather not anyone else to make a permanent kind of relationship with. She had this constant feeling that any long-term affairs would eventually collapse like a house of cards. The odd one-night stand was sufficient for her needs and there were a few clubs she could go to for a pick-up. She'd heard someone mention The Porcelain Doll and decided to give it a look.

This place was... mediocre was as good a word as any, nothing special about it. The only thing outstanding enough to catch the eye was the giant porcelain doll mounted behind the bar between the rows of bottles and glasses. It was a vulgar-looking thing with staring blue eyes, about four feet in height, and was dressed in vintage clothing a bit like a Forties film star. On reflection, Irene told herself, the bar was definitely upmarket compared with Nancy's Nook where most of the members looked like road-menders and ships' stokers but way below The Twilight Time Rooms which was a classy femme joint. Still, it was new and different so Irene gave it a chance. She met Leah on her third visit.

"Hi there, all on your lonesome?" Irene looked up at the question. The speaker was a pretty femme with curly blond hair and a winning smile. She was wearing a patterned blouse and an Austrian-style dirndl. "Mind if I join you? My life's a little empty at the moment, too. I'm Leah, by the way."

"Sure, help yourself." Irene gestured to a seat. "I'm Irene. What makes you think I'm alone and my life's empty?"

Leah flashed another smile. "I've had an eye on you ever since you came in half-an-hour ago. By yourself. Nobody else has spoken to you, nobody's followed you in, so I reckon you're alone. And there's a kind of sadness in your eyes, like your life really is empty. Do I sound like a stalker or something?"

Irene shook her head. "No, you just sound like someone longing for a little company. You did say your life's a little empty too."

"Yes. I had a partner but she got rather bored round here so she's pushed off to London. Buy you a drink?"

Irene went home with Leah that night. Like many of the flats just off the city centre, Leah's was above a shop, an arts supplies business. The moment they were through the flat's door, Leah embraced Irene, covering her face and neck with eager kisses. She tugged at Irene's t-shirt to lift it over her head. "What sweet boobies," Leah gasped and bent to take a nipple into her mouth. As she licked and sucked, she fumbled with the buttons and zip of Irene's jeans, pushing the garment down together with the panties.

Dropping to her knees, Leah nuzzled at Irene's thick bush and ran a finger up and down the moist slit before effecting a slow penetration. Irene sighed deeply and thrust her hips forward, riding the finger. She felt Leah's tongue exploring all around her pussy until it settled at her clit, flicking expertly until Irene came with a soft cry.

Irene awoke early as daylight streamed into the room. Leah was still sleeping and Irene was now able to see that her companion was older than she had thought. The previous night in the club's dim lighting she had guessed at Leah being roughly the same age as herself. Now she could see that the other woman was probably ten to twelve years older. Leah was pretty but small signs of aging were there.

The two began to see each other regularly, several times a week, usually spending nights at Leah's flat which was much closer to The Porcelain Doll than Irene's place. Leah said something odd once. They had just made love and Leah whispered: "You know, you can control me if you'd like to."