Three Steps to Heaven

Marnie captured a thigh between hers and began to move her hips slowly. I could feel her wetness against my leg and mine against hers. I found myself reacting to her movements, falling into the pattern quite naturally as my breathing first slowed and became languorous then quickened in response to the building pressure on my clitoris.

I gave a little cry as I suddenly came and I think Marnie came a few moments later. She kissed my forehead, saying: "There, Jessie, that should help you sleep better." She was right.

I woke up several hours later, less hung-over than I deserved, probably thanks to all the mineral water I'd had. Marnie still appeared to be asleep. I was desperate for a pee, again thanks to all the mineral water I'd had. After than I pulled my dress on, took a notebook from my bag and scribbled a 'Thank you' note to Marnie. Then I saw that she was awake, quietly watching me. I held up the note and muttered: "Thanks for everything."

"Will I see you again, Jessie?" she asked.

I fumbled. "Perhaps... maybe... not sure... lots of studies at uni..."

Marnie gave me a sad little smile. "It's okay, Jessie, I understand. It took me quite a few years to recognise and accept my sexuality..."

As I made my way back to the halls of residence, I wondered what that last bit meant. There was nothing to recognise in my sexuality. I was straight. I was only nineteen, things were sure to be better when I met real, grown-up men.

I didn't see Marnie again. I avoided pub-crawls, I steered clear of The Blue Mood Wine Bar, I limited my drinking to the Students' Union bar, I studied. I felt guilty for a while because Marnie was so decent and had saved my backside when there was no reason for her to do so. As for the sex, well, that was just an aberration wasn't it? Wasn't it...?

In time I put the whole thing out of my mind for quite a few years.

* * * * *

As the new kid on the block I was an obvious target for the rampant men in the company and true to form it seemed to be the hairballs who wanted to get into my pants. They ran the full gamut too, very young, very old, very married, very engaged, hardly a one of them single, all dribbling down their chins at the thought of new blood. Wall-to-wall sleaze. The decent blokes stayed just that, decent and friendly and not bothering me in that way. By now I'd well and truly learned my lesson, no more Howies or Timothys for me, thank you, and I had some fun making up a variety of excuses for not accepting dates with the worst element. Depending on who you listened to afterwards, I was variously: engaged to a special forces unarmed combat instructor; gay; a former nun seeking divine guidance and adhering to my vows; with a boyfriend who was an enforcer for some very unpleasant and illicit businessmen; scared of an insanely jealous cage-boxing ex who loved violence and stalked men who fancied me. I don't know how many of my fanciful put-downs were accepted as fact but after a couple of weeks they left me alone and I was able to start organising my work the way I liked.

And then one day the gods smiled on me. Or perhaps a god. Which one? Hermes, maybe—he was the Messenger of the Gods and this was a communications matter. Oh hell, get me... I'm rambling...

Start again. The gods smiled on me. My computer wouldn't fire up one morning. Despite all the dirty names I called it the blank screen just stared at me defiantly. I tried all the usual suggestions including restarting it several times. The only thing I didn't try was giving it a good kick. I didn't think the company would appreciate me putting my foot through the wretched machine. I phoned procurement who have responsibility for IT equipment and they agreed to get their expert out as quickly as possible. My call was returned within five minutes. "Amelia Brogan will be with you by twelve."

Amelia Brogan will be with me by twelve! Yippee! Bloody hell, what's going on inside my head?

At ten to there was a soft knock on my door and Amelia came in. This time her trouser suit was a black chalk-stripe and her shirt and tie combination a silvery colour. She wasn't wearing the hooped earrings this time but some long dangly-jangly things in silver and jet. "Ms Thorne? I'm Amelia Brogan. I understand you're having computer problems."

"It's Jessie." I held out my hand. "And yes, the bloody thing's gone on strike."

Amelia took my hand and I felt a little tremor inside my chest. It seemed as if her warm hand was the nicest I had ever shaken. As I released her hand reluctantly, I noticed that her fingernails were short and painted to match her outfit, alternating black and silver. "Have we met before, Jessie?" she asked, "You look familiar."

"We collided in the toilet doorway some weeks back," I told her.

"Oh yes, I remember. Right, let's have a look at this computer of yours."

As Amelia bent to work at my machine I caught a whiff of light, floral fragrance. "That's a lovely perfume," I said, "What is it?"

"It's called L'eau Bleue."

Amelia tried all manner of tricks with the computer to no avail. She looked puzzled briefly then murmured: "I wonder..." Reaching beneath my desk, she removed the plug from its socket, took a small screwdriver and opened it. "There's your villain," she said, pointing, "No power coming through." A tiny screw had worked loose and the wire it held had lost contact. Amelia replaced the faulty screw, plugged in and turned the computer on. "Bingo!"

"Thanks. I'm sorry you had to come out here just to tighten a loose wire," I said, "If I'd known I could have sorted it myself."

"Don't worry about that," she replied, "I'll be charging my usual call-out fee and job price and that'll piss Milly Granger off mightily. Any day I can do that is a plus in my book."

"You don't get on?"

Amelia laughed. "She lumps me in with Jezebel, Salome, Lucrezia Borgia and Snow White's wicked stepmother." She pointed to my computer. "Anyway, it's the top brass's fault. The IT equipment in this company is more or less obsolete and that includes software. I keep urging them to replace it all but they don't listen, too tight I guess. I've done what I can to protect the system but one day they'll get a virus that I might not be able to handle. Still, I should worry—the longer they keep this junk, the more I make from them in fees. So, nice to have met you, Jessie. I'll be off now..."

"Wait a minute, Amelia," I said, "It's almost lunchtime. There's a great little coffee shop a few minutes walk from here. I usually eat alone so some company would be good if you'd like to join me."

Amelia gave me a huge smile. "Thanks, I'd love to..."

* * * * *

We took coffees and Danish pastries to a window table where we could look out on the world and good-humouredly criticise the passers-by. After a little small talk, Amelia said: "Are you out yet, Jessie?"

"What do you mean?"

She looked puzzled at my response. "You know... out... to your family. About being gay."

A light-bulb clicked on. Was this what Mother had meant when she suggested maybe I wasn't meant for men. Then I had a sudden flash of memory—a nineteen-year old student and an attractive tomboy type... No, can't be. Not quite sure how to respond, I hesitated then: "But I'm not gay."

Amelia reddened. "Oh God, my mistake. I'm so sorry Jessie, I just got it into my head somehow that you were gay. When we shook hands I'm sure I felt something between us [so did I, Amelia]. And I'm so used to some of the Neanderthals in your company treating me like muck because I'm gay that when you were friendly and asked me to lunch I sort of assumed... how stupid of me... my gaydar must be having an off day." She picked up her bag and started to rise. "Maybe I'd better go before I make things worse."

I grabbed her hand. "No you don't, sit back down. You might have been mistaken about me but given my track record with men... And anyway..." I trailed off. She seemed undecided about staying so I took her hand in both of mine. It felt lovely and I experienced a little inward quiver. "Amelia, I'm not offended. I'd heard rumours that you might be gay but I didn't know for sure, and if I had known it wouldn't have made a scrap of difference to me. I try to take people for who they are, not what they are. Look, I'm new to this area, I haven't made any real friends here yet, and I think—I hope—perhaps we could be good friends."

Amelia put her bag down again. "You mean it?" I nodded yes and she added: "Thanks, Jessie. I don't often make a prat of myself like that. Yes, I'd like to be friends. Um... you said, 'And anyway...' as if you were going to say more. Was it something?"

I'd been going to add I think you're bloody gorgeous and if anyone could turn me, you could. Instead I shrugged and said I couldn't remember, adding: "That's settled then, friends. Anyway, how about you? You out?"

"As far as it goes," Amelia said, "I haven't got much in the way of family. Grandparents all gone, my father died when I was very small, traffic accident, I can barely remember him. Several cousins but we don't stay in touch much. My mother's a bit of a cold fish, we're not exactly estranged but we're... distant... I was going through an early rebellious phase when I came out to her, styling myself to please me and not the everyday world. She sniffed and said something like what else could I expect looking the way I did. Neither approval nor disapproval, just that sneering comment."

"That's sad." I reached out to her hand again and gave a little squeeze. "If it's any consolation, Amelia, I think you look fabulous, rebel or not."

"Thanks." She squeezed back and gave a little sigh, quite sad-sounding. "I came out when I was eighteen and still in the sixth-form at school. I lost a number of friends that way."

"Then they weren't real friends," I told her, "My dad once told me that true friends are people who know all about you yet still like you. It's a good philosophy. As for my colleagues, well, if some of them are so hide-bound as to cold-shoulder you because you're gay, then fuck 'em! From what I've learned about the IT set-up here, they need you more than you need them."

She grinned. "I suppose I could always create a software virus so that a big butch dyke carrying a rainbow flag and flashing her boobs pops up on their PCs when they turn them on. Probably scare the shit out of some of them." She started laughing. 'I'd love to be a fly on the wall when Milly Granger saw that! Anyway, Jessie, you said something about your track record with men. What's that about?"

"You see before you the world's worst man-picker." I told Amelia about Howie and Timothy and some of my other great mistakes.

"Not good," she agreed, "I thought I'd made a poor judgement call but at least it was only the once. I had a partner called Anneka, we were together four years and I thought it was forever. Then I found out she'd been shagging quite a few other women left, right and centre throughout those years, including my then best friend. So bye-bye, Anneka... and best friend... More or less been by myself ever since... the odd short affair or one-nighter, but nothing permanent."

While we'd been talking, a small girl about three years old on the far side of the coffee shop decided to have a mini-tantrum and a hapless young mother was pleading with her. "Fifi-Tinkerbelle darling, please settle down and drink your lovely juice. Please, Fifi-Tinkerbelle darling."

Amelia took a sip of her coffee. "Enough about our disastrous love lives." She gestured towards the mother and child. "No wonder that kid's misbehaving with a name like Fifi-Tinkerbelle." she commented, "Do you ever wonder about the mindset of parents when they lumber their children with terrible names?"

This was a sore point with me. "Often. Why?"

"Oh, guess it's because I'm a bit of a victim myself..."

"Nonsense," I said, "Amelia's a lovely name."

"You don't know the half of it," she said with a rueful smile, "My full name is Amelia Vanity Fair Brogan. My mother's an academic, teaches English Literature at a provincial university. She's a great admirer of Thackeray's novels and pledged her commitment with my middle names."

Brogan... Brogan... English Literature... rang a bell... "Is your mother Letitia Brogan?" I asked, "Wrote a biography of George Eliot, Mary Anne and George?"

"That's her. You've read it?"

"Not voluntarily, it's a bit dry and heavy going. It was required reading for one of my university courses. Vanity Fair, eh? Think yourself lucky, you got off lightly." I didn't mean to say that last bit, it just slipped out.

Amelia's eyes sparkled. "You too?"

"Uh-huh," I mumbled, lowering my head. I felt as if I was blushing.

"Come on, let's have it," said Amelia, "You know my terrible secret. What's yours?"

I mumbled again. "Worse secret."

"Speak up," she demanded.

I couldn't look her in the eye. "Moonbeam Hummingbird... Jessica Moonbeam Hummingbird Thorne."

To Amelia's credit she didn't laugh although she did smile a bit. "With names like that, I'd guess your parents were hippies."

"Well, neo-hippies I suppose you'd call them. They're slightly too young to have been originals."

"What's the story?"

"They spent a few months in a commune in Central America," I told her, "They claim that I was conceived on a night when a full moon shone on their tent and when they stepped out in the morning, the first living thing they saw was a hummingbird. I suppose in a way I got lucky. They returned to this country before I was born and my name was going to be just Moonbeam Hummingbird. Thankfully, both of my grandmothers objected and ganged up on them, pointed out that when I went to school, at best I'd have the piss taken because of my names, at worst I'd be hounded and bullied.

"Common sense prevailed and as both grandmas were fans of Murder, She Wrote I was given the first name of Jessica after Angela Lansbury's character. Narrow escape although Mum and Dad still had their way over my middle names. And the irony is that they're called Joan and Gordon, very non-hippy."

"Could have been worse," mused Amelia, "They could have stayed on in their commune and called you Zweeble Dweeble or some such."

I put on a mock-serious face. "Oh, they wouldn't have called me that, those are boys' names."

We started laughing and Amelia reached over to touch my hand. As her warm fingers touched mine my heart did that strange little flip again. And Fifi-Tinkerbelle darling deigned to calm down and drink her lovely juice.

As we were leaving the coffee shop, Amelia suddenly said: "I don't want to upset you, Jessie, but there's definitely something about you. You're sure you're straight?"

I was taken slightly aback but figured I could bend the truth a little. Shrugging, I said: "Never really thought about it much. I've only ever had boyfriends and none of them were worth a pinch of shit." I had a momentary flash of memory... Marnie... dismissed the thought.

Amelia's eyes shone as she put a hand on my arm. "No harm in asking." Then she added: "You need to be careful, Jessica Thorne. I've only known you a couple of hours but I think I could easily fall in love with you."

Something inside me leapt and fluttered around and I tried to keep a poker-face. "I'll be careful."

So we did become good friends. Any time Amelia needed to come to the company she'd look in on me and we'd usually lunch together. If she was doing work for anyone else in town, we'd make some time to meet up. We found we had a lot in common. For instance, we both enjoyed fantasy and the better class of horror novels; we loved the same kind of films and music and both had an appetite for spicy foods.

Of course there were some areas where the lines didn't meet up. Amelia was a genius with computers but other than technical writing I don't think she'd make a good journalist in a hundred years. I'm a pretty good journalist and PR person but computers? I can use one: spreadsheets, word processing, internet and so on but the really clever stuff leaves me baffled and cross-eyed. Still, I was glad to have Amelia in my life and I believe it was mutual.

She called me one Thursday when we'd been friends for several months. "Hi, how'd you like to come to stay at my place this weekend, Saturday and Sunday?"

"Sounds good," I replied, "But I've promised to go for lunch with my parents on Sunday. They live about forty-odd miles away."

"That's okay. Stay here Saturday night, you'll have plenty of time Sunday morning to get to your folks. I live just outside a village called Wychett-St-Jude..." She gave me directions. "And Jessie, bring some warm clothes and coat, it can get pretty cold round here this time of the year..."

Step Three: You kiss and hold her tightly

The seven- or eight miles drive didn't take too long and I was soon approaching the picturesque village of Wychett-St-Jude. "Drive straight through Wychett," Amelia had instructed," and you'll see my place on the right a mile or so on. Can't miss it."

Can't miss it? Had I missed something? What place? All I could see from the road was a thick hedgerow, about three or four feet high, and an old windmill standing atop a small knoll. I drove on a bit further. In the distance I could see several scattered cottages but they were certainly more than a mile or so from the village. I stopped the car and took out my mobile to call Amelia. Wouldn't you have guessed? I was in a no-signal pocket. The best thing to do would be to return to Wychett and make enquiries. I turned the car and started to drive back. As I neared the windmill I spotted Amelia running down a path towards the road and saw where I'd gone wrong. Coming from the village, the hedgerow curved out slightly, effectively concealing a wide gateway with five-bar gate, open now, and path leading up to the mill. I could also see what looked like a cottage extension attached to the mill, a building which again had been invisible travelling from Wychett. A little way inside the gateway was a concrete hard-standing where Amelia's Range Rover was parked. I pulled in beside it and applied the handbrake just as Amelia reached me.

Panting slightly she said: "I saw your car going by. I'll have to do something about that hedge one day. I guess you didn't see the gate."

"No, and you didn't say your place was a windmill either."

Amelia shook her head. "Sorry, Jessie, I'm just so used to people round here knowing... anyway..." She reached out and gave me a big hug. My heart gave another of those little lurches it did each time Amelia touched me. "It's good to see you, Jessie. Grab your bag and come on, we'll have some tea now and I've made a large curry for later on. I do a mean curry and it'll warm us up nicely before we go out this evening."

"We're going out?" I asked, surprised.

Amelia nodded. "That's why I told you to bring warm clothing. It's a kind of annual celebration or commemorative event in the village. During the Civil War, Wychett had Royalist sympathies and in 1645 they held off a Parliamentarian force for several days until relieved. Not bad for a bunch of yeomen farmers and peasants facing seasoned troops. So at this time every year the local people go up the hill behind the village and there's a bonfire with an effigy of Oliver Cromwell and fireworks and general fun. Beforehand, everyone gathers in the village pub for a few drinks. I think you'll enjoy it. I always do."

There seemed to be something different about Amelia this afternoon and it took a moment for me to get it. I think in a different place at a different time I might not have recognised her had it not been for her hair style. For a start, her usual outsized earrings had been replaced by small gold studs matching all the others round her ears and then her face was free of makeup. Often when you're used to seeing someone with makeup and then suddenly you see them without, there is a strange nakedness about their appearance. But not in Amelia's case—if anything her scrubbed face was even more lovely. I was used too to seeing her wearing flamboyant clothes but now she was simply dressed in a thick turtle-neck sweater and jeans.