Chapter Eleven

2008

At work that day, I felt sure everyone would notice something different about me. I was different, after all. I felt so changed, I was almost disappointed when I found everything much the same. Jim at reception was blandly polite, my costume was still tatty at the hem, the shadow of the gallows stretched to the same point on the flagstones, and the moss still grew over the far end of the yard. Yet there was a puddle of water remaining from yesterday's downpour, and the old bricks were perceptibly a darker, damper red. It was all the same, yet slightly different.

I wanted to tell every visitor, every colleague what had happened to me, how full and happy I felt. Aly's underwear was a constant pressure beneath my skirt, and she stayed in my mind continually. I seemed to still taste her on my lips. Even telling tourists about executions and the horrors of the dark cells, I could barely keep the smile from my face. In my moments of reflection, perched on my usual step, I listened for the unhappiness I had felt here yesterday, and previously, for the sobbing, the cries, even for the pain. I didn't feel them once, nor did I hear anything out of the ordinary. I knew it had simply been my imagination, maybe a build up of tension that had now been released.

I had to wait until the next evening to see Aly again, since she had to help her friend with the stock-taking at his shop until late that night. It felt like a hell of a long time. In the afternoon, unable to hold back the desire to contact her any longer, I sent her a text message: Hi. Just wanta to say that I was thinkin about u. R u havin a gud day? Lots of love xxxxx

It took her about an hour to reply. I had smuggled my mobile down into the museum with me, and felt its secret vibrations just as I told an elderly couple they were about to be transported to Australia. I looked at it as soon as I had a chance: Hi yourself! I've not thort about u all day;) Shop work just rocks. Hope ur day just as gud. XXXXX

I smiled at the message. The ironic tone conjured Aly up to me almost as clearly as if she'd walked into the museum.

It was as I was leaving for the day, for once quite happy to emerge from the confines of my yard, that I passed Jade, whose hair was now streaked with both pink and blond highlights. As we both slid behind the reception desk to sign out, to my surprise, she grinned knowingly at me.

'You're looking very happy,' she said accusingly.

'Am I?' I returned, startled by her interest.

'Yes, and I know that look. You've got yourself a new boyfriend haven't you?'

I wondered how on earth she knew I'd broken up with Paul in the first place. I'd not made a point of informing her. The fucking grapevine in this place was lethal. Now, I smiled broadly at her question.

'No, I haven't,' I said, with complete honesty that made me want to laugh out loud. I saw her about to argue with me, so I turned quickly and walked across the shadowy flagstones of the entrance hall to the exit. Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds which had lingered all day, and I blinked at the bright light, still smiling as I turned to walk towards the city centre.

My own flat was strangely unfamiliar after my one night away. I found myself some food, took a shower, sat in front of the television, but everything felt out of place and different. I thought of nothing but Aly, and now that I was entirely alone, with no impending threat of a tour group, the detail of the memories rushed back into my head in full color. I wondered, would it be too much to text her again? And tell her what? That I was thinking about her still? My fingers hovered over the phone for a moment, tingling, and then I thought better of it and tried to concentrate on the television. Five minutes later, the phone vibrated its way nearly off the edge of the coffee table as a text message arrived. I pounced on it, flushing with the idea that it would be her.

Hi darling, I'm out with John tonight, but I remembered that there’s a program on that u might want to record. It’s about teachers. Channel 41 think, 10 o'clock. See u soon xx

It wasn't Aly. Whose bright idea was it to buy my mother a mobile phone and teach her to text in the first place? Of course, it was mine, and as I cast the phone disgustedly back on the table, I felt annoyed at having given her the means to intrude on me like that.

Once she had, however, the damage was done. I couldn't help but think about it. What would she say if she knew how I had spent last night? Now there was a question. My mum wasn't an especially prejudiced person. She seemed rather proud of herself for being friends with a gay guy at work, actually. But a friend and a daughter were rather different things.

The anxiety that had provided the foundation for my old doubts crept back horribly, and I couldn't stop it. My mouth felt dry at the prospect of trying to tell my mum, let alone the rest of my family. It had been one of the reasons, perhaps even the most significant one, that had driven me to fight the feelings so hard before. People had a fixed image of me in their minds. It was all very well to enjoy subverting that in theory, in secret; I'd grown so used to it that the fact that I was lying didn't seem to matter anymore. I'd train to be a teacher. I really liked being with Paul, but was just as happy single. I was satisfied with the direction my life was taking. The lies had become my truth and I fed them to the people who should have been closest to me without a qualm. But to tell them they were wrong about me? To tell them the truth? That seemed impossible.

Of course I've never hinted to anyone in my family that I might be anything other than straight. It just wasn't the sort of conversation I could ever have imagined having with either parent, especially when I had been so anxious to deny it to myself. Even as I thought about it, I realized it was the first time I had been able to think about myself in that way. I'd never really identified myself as anything; I'd forced myself to be just the same as everyone else. Now, everything had changed. It struck me as rather bizarre that I'd not contemplated it before this point. It had felt so natural to be with Aly in the end, and labels and identities hadn't mattered. They'd not mattered at all. Thinking of Aly made me wish she was with me tonight. I had no doubts at all when she was with me.

Now I became aware, with a growing sense of dread, that labels and lifestyles did matter to the rest of the general population, which included my mother. If I'd never thought about it, not even through the course of today, how could I expect them to understand? I couldn't imagine my mum talking about me, and the fact that I wasn't married, and saying, 'Oh, no, actually, Jenny's a lesbian.' Jenny's a lesbian. Jen's gay. Jen likes girls more than boys. Jen's queer. The phrases circulated through my mind, they felt awkward, as though they didn't belong to me.

Yet at the same time, and quite unexpectedly, the same phrases made a secretive sort of smile want to creep onto my face. Suddenly I had chosen an identity for myself, and any one of those simple phrases told the world. It was right for me and they needed to know. Did I have the nerve? I felt a constraining fear, of pinning myself down, of stereotyping myself. I was still me, unique and individual. I'd only just tasted what it was like to have the freedom to be myself. I didn't want to go from that to merely being a label in people's heads. Surely, that was as bad as hiding behind the walls I had built up over the years, behind the lies I presented to the world? Could I hold on to my newfound freedom and manage to tell the people I knew and cared about? Their image of me as an individual was incorrect, a lie that had been dismantled in less than a week by one striking and indefinable woman. How would they cope with the truth? It made me feel a little queasy to contemplate it. I thought about the new bottle of Southern Comfort in the cupboard...

My mobile vibrated against the table once more. I was more guarded with my emotions as I picked it up this time:

Hi gorgeous. Just wantd to say gudnite. Mayb I can say it in person 2moro nite? ;) 6:30 stil gud4u? Cu then XXXXXXX

The anxieties vanished in an instant. I replied quickly: Hi again sexy, gudnite 2u 2. Hope u not been workin 2 hard? 6:30 gr8 stil. Here’s a gudnite hug&kiss ;)

I wondered if it was too much, too affectionate. I had to restrain myself not to pour more of my emotion into it. I couldn't wait to see her tomorrow. Talking to her would again banish the doubts, the uncertainties, I was sure.

We had arranged to meet late enough to make it an evening out, rather than a grabbed sandwich or coffee. I actually made the journey back to my flat after work, despite the fact that I could probably have killed the time shopping in the city. I wanted to change from my work clothes, take a shower, have a moment to collect my thoughts. I also made sure the flat was as tidy as it could be, thinking there was an outside chance Aly would come back here with me tonight. My heart fluttered at the prospect, though I couldn't quite imagine her sitting on my sofa, lying in my bed.

I changed into a dark denim skirt which actually gave me a waist, and a black sleeveless T-shirt with a scooped neckline. I smiled at myself in the mirror as I ruffled my freshly washed hair. I'd rarely felt this confident in my appearance when I was going out on a date.

When I saw Aly waiting outside the shop we'd designated, I realized it was the first time I'd seen her dressed for a night out. I had a very strong image of her in my head, but seeing her now, after only a day's separation, I was conscious that my picture of her had been bland and two-dimensional. My stomach actually lurched at the idea that she was waiting for me. Despite the warm day, she was wearing black leather jeans, low on her hips, revealing a glimpse of her toned stomach, and a tight scarlet T-shirt that demonstrated clearly that she looked after her body. Her usual silver bangles were in place and there was a silver pendant around her neck. Her hair looked intentionally unruly and her make-up was slightly heavier than I had come to expect, especially around her eyes.

'Hello, stranger,' she said, as I approached, feeling the warmth mounting in my body already. She reached out and wrapped me in an embrace. Even as my heart quickened, an acute awareness of our position in the middle of the street swept over me and I couldn't help but wonder if anyone had noticed us. She may have perceived my slight discomfort, because she released me quite abruptly, a faintly ironic smile playing on her lips.

'Hello,' I said, hoping my warm smile would make up for my stiff reaction to her display of affection. My heart was filled with excitement and happiness to be with her again, but here was something I hadn't yet considered; if she had been a man, I'd have easily taken her hand now, even kissed her in the street. Suddenly, I was horribly conscious of the people around us, their eyes, their thoughts, and a sense of our difference from them. I shook my head and concentrated instead on her eyes, watching me, and tried to cast my worries aside.

'Good day?' she asked nonchalantly. I knew she'd seen the shadow in my expression and made an effort to appear more relaxed than I felt.

'Pretty average, really,' I told her, as it had been. 'No strange feelings or sounds, no bad experiences with stuck doors.'

'Mine too,' she replied. 'Not that I have bad experiences with doors, of course, and the only strange sounds at the shop are wannabes trying to play their favorite riff on the guitars.' She laughed lightly and I couldn't help but join her. 'So, where are we going?'

It was my turn to choose the place we would go to. In truth, I'd rather not have had the responsibility, since it felt as though there was a lot to live up to. The places I'd been before seemed cheap and gimmicky compared to the ones she liked. However, there was one place in my mind. 'This way,' I said, setting off along the street.

I found it more disconcerting than I would have expected, walking beside her. Every time I looked at her, every word we spoke, reminded me of the last time I had seen her, of being in her arms, in her bed. My skin tingled with the urge to touch her again. But somehow, I knew I couldn't, not here and not now. She strolled along at my side, hands in her pockets, apparently unconcerned.

I was glad when we reached our destination. It was a small pub named the Queen's Head, in a crooked old building, in one of the streets which led up to the higher ground where the Shire Hall and gaol were situated. I'd only been in once or twice, but I liked the atmosphere and the beer. 'Well, this is it,' I told Aly, looking for her approval. I was glad to see her smiling up at the quaint, leaning building.

‘I like it already,' she said.

Inside, it was quite dark, although a shaded lamp shone down on each table, and there was still daylight pushing through the darkness from the small casement windows. Our drinks in hand—Aly with her idiosyncratic white wine, me with my half of real ale—we chose a table, not far from the bar, but also with a good view out of the window. It was a raised table, at which we had to perch on stools, and I felt a little self-conscious. The pub was full of dark alcoves, where it was easy to make out figures, but not their faces, nor which direction they were looking, and I couldn't help but think that they were staring at us. I wondered at myself; when Aly and I had been sitting together before, I'd been pleased to think about people looking at us. Now, happy though I was every time I looked at her, I was bothered by their attention, by their thoughts and conclusions. I took a good drink of my ale and a deep breath. This was fucking ridiculous.

'Are you all right?' Aly said, clearly noticing my tense posture and looking concerned.

'Yeah, I'm good,' I said dismissively. Then, looking into her face properly, I felt guilty for my thoughts. 'I've missed you,' I told her with more feeling.

'It's only been a day!' she said with a gentle chuckle. Her laugh melted something inside me and I relaxed.

'And what's wrong with that?' I retorted. Her eyes were sparkling at me now, and it made me want to forget everything else in the world.

'Nothing. But I'm not that great, am I?' she joked.

'No, I guess not,' I returned, 'don't know what I was thinking.' We laughed together, as I forgot every other person in the pub. I didn't see a shadow of doubt behind her eyes, and I thought she couldn't possibly understand what I had been thinking and feeling. I might discuss it with her later, I wanted to be honest, but I needed to think a little longer about how she would take it. After all, in so many ways, I knew nothing about her.

Our conversation flowed easily after that. She talked about her job in the shop, how she had known her friend since she was seventeen, and how he played drums in a band which was actually very good, but only really toured local pubs. I felt a twinge of envy; not that there might have ever been anything but feelings of friendship between Aly and her drummer friend, I had no doubts on that score, just that he knew her so well, had been her friend for years.

I told her about my friends, all of whom were busy embarking on careers or marriages. She asked what my future plans were, and I told her I had no idea and rapidly turned the conversation to her photography. Apparently, she was getting a roaring trade in civil partnership ceremonies, though she wished she had more time to be more artistic in her photographs. 'When I've made a bit more, I'll be able to set up my own studio, instead of having my spare room as a dark room,' she said, determination in her tone. 'Mind you, digital's the way it's all going, and for that you just need a good computer.'

The pub began to fill with people, as night fell outside. We'd made it through three drinks apiece when, unable to keep my doubts a secret anymore, I suddenly blurted out, 'So, tell me, how the fuck am I supposed to tell my mum about all of this?'

She looked at me curiously. 'All of what?' she said, though I was pretty sure she understood instantly. I saw a slight strain come into her eyes, undermining that usual confidence for a moment before she recovered herself. Maybe she would have more empathy with my feelings than I suspected.

'You know what I mean,' I said, 'about you. Or more to the point, about me.'

'How do you think she'd react if you just told her?' she asked, more compassion for my emotions infusing her words now.

'That's just the thing. I don't know. I'm not even sure how I'm reacting to it myself, if you know what I'm saying. It's not even been a week!' Once again I found it frighteningly easy to be honest with her.

'It's been a lot longer than a week, if you ask me,' she rejoined gently.

'Well, yes, but you know...' I admitted.

'I'd say don't tell her just yet,' she advised. 'Yes, you need to eventually, but you need to feel really sure in it, before you try to explain it.'

‘I am sure,' I told her. And I knew in that moment that it wasn't a mistruth, I genuinely meant it. God, it felt good to be sure about something for once.

‘I know you are,' she assured me, 'but what I mean is, if she asks you questions about it, will you feel confident enough to give her the answers she needs?'

‘I don't know,' I said, my mind racing through the sort of questions my mum might conjure up.

'You see, that's it,' she said, 'you don't just have to know it's right for you, you have to be able to convince everyone else that it's right too. If you care about their opinion that is. Which you shouldn't do, too much. Really it's bloody unfair, having to justify ourselves all the time.' Her tone modulated from advisory to resentful and I began to see that beneath her confident and nonchalant exterior there were issues that angered her, perhaps insecurities too. It only drew me to her more powerfully. 'We should just be able to do what we want, really, without having to explain it at all,' she added with less bitterness, when I didn't reply instantly.

'But it's my mum,' I protested.

'I'm not saying don't care about her,' she said, 'just that you can't live your life according to someone else's ideas about what you should be doing.'

'What was it like when you told your parents?' I asked, curious. I thought I saw a shadow creep over her face slightly and wondered if maybe it would have been better not to have asked.

'Oh, not so bad, y' know.' She paused and shrugged, and I could see the memories in her eyes. 'They were surprised, I have to say, which shows how little attention they really paid to me I guess. They asked me why, which I always found a bit odd. Dad wasn't sure what to do with himself, and Mum had this kind of fixed grin. She said she supposed it explained why I never wore dresses and I almost laughed at her. But they got over it in the end. I think it helped that I didn't actually have a girlfriend at the time, so they didn't have to see me with another woman and think about it.'

I wondered how many girlfriends she'd had, what they'd looked like, how long they had been with her. I was curious to know more about her rather than jealous. I wanted to ask but didn't have the courage. Besides, I was finding her revelations about herself and the opinions she clearly couldn't help but express fascinating, and I didn't want to interrupt her.

'You see,' she went on, 'the trouble I think some parents have is they still see their kids as kids. Even if their kids are straight, they don't like to think of them touching and kissing and fucking and all that. They don't have to though, their kids just do the same as everyone else and they don't need to think about it at all. It's not like a straight girl's going to go home and say, 'By the way Mum, I like to do it doggy-style.' Parents don't like to think of their kids having sex any more than kids like to think of their parents doing it.' She paused and smiled a wry smile that was very close to a sneer. 'But then you walk in there and say you're gay, and suddenly they're confronted with the idea of your sex life. I mean, it should be the same as a girl saying to her mum that she likes tall, dark men more than blond, short ones or whatever. But it's not like that in their heads. It's not just about being gay, as I see it, it's also about not being innocent in their minds anymore.'

I was captivated by her eloquence, the depth of her thoughts. I wondered how many hours she'd spent contemplating these things. She spoke about them with an undertone of bitterness in every word. I wondered if it was inspired by that fixed smile of her mum's when she'd told her. I suspected that she had not told me the full story of her parents' response, or at least moderated it in an effort not to frighten me. But I could well imagine the same fixed smile on my own mother's face. It was a daunting thought.

She must have seen my discouraged expression, because she smiled a more reassuring smile and added, 'But you don't have to worry about it right away. I was twenty when I came out, and I'd known for sure since I was sixteen, so I didn't tell them as soon as I knew.'

'You've known for that long?' I asked, slightly disbelieving.

'Yep,' she replied. 'Oh, don't get me wrong, I sometimes wondered if I knew myself as well as I thought I did. I even wished that it would go away and that I could be normal. But it didn't and I got a grip in the end and accepted that I am normal. Just gay.'

'That easy?' I said, still astonished.

'No, not that easy at all.' Her face was serious now. 'It was hard to come to terms with being different at first. But I couldn't do anything about it. By the time I was twenty, I knew it wasn't going to change, not ever, and I didn't want to lie about it. That's why I came out then.'

Watching her, I knew: her strength had grown from this internal conflict, the final self-realization. 'You see,' she concluded 'the thing is, it doesn't really change. In the end, you realize that's a good thing.' Her easy confidence had returned to her now, and I was relieved, T mean, when did you first start to think about it?' she asked. Her question startled me a little.

'You won't believe me if I say when I saw you in the pub last week?' I said lightly.

'Not in the slightest,' she confirmed.

'Okay,' I said, taking a deep breath. 'I'd thought about it when I was at school, I mean, you do when you're a teenager don't you? I thought it was just something everyone did. And I suppose I had a bit of a thing for one of my teachers. I liked her more than I should have, I mean, but I didn't look at it in a sexual way.' I laughed awkwardly at myself. The words felt as though they were hurting my throat; they'd been sealed inside me for so long, growing large and heavy, and it was an effort to speak them. But Aly was listening, with eyes that were soft and interested, and I knew that not only was I able to tell her, I had to tell her.

'But I forgot about it. I never had a boyfriend at school, I just wasn't interested. But it's not like I fancied the girls, so I told myself there was nothing in it.' I paused again, and looked up at her to see her still listening to me intently. T suppose it was in my first year at uni. I met a girl there called Clare. There was just something about her...' My voice cracked as I remembered the way I had felt when I had looked at her, how I had engineered the situation just to be able to talk to her. 'I suppose I knew then. She knew too. But I was scared and eventually I convinced myself I was wrong and I stopped seeing her.' Even now, I didn't want to relate the details of our final conversation, the way I had felt for the following weeks. Besides, I thought, looking into Aly's face, it didn't matter anymore.

Aly reached her hand across the table to mine and took it in her warm grasp. My body responded to her touch with an easing of tension, a flicker of arousal. I let her hold my hand; if anyone was looking, what would they see? I wanted the contact with her far more than I cared about the people around us. My eyes lingered on our joined hands and I was flooded with happiness.

'And I suppose I've just been pretending it wasn't there since then,' I went on, wanting to bring the story to its conclusion. 'I've had a boyfriend or two, and, don't get me wrong, I did like them in one way or another, but there was always something wrong. And whenever we broke up, I always had the thought that I might have been wrong at uni. Deep down, I knew what I wanted, but I tried not to think about it. I lied to everyone, including myself, until I believed the lies.' I looked up into her eyes and moved my fingers against hers. 'And then I saw you,' I said. In the end, it had been that simple.

She nodded a slight acknowledgment and smiled at my last words. 'See, you've known for a while. It's just taken some serious coming to terms with,' she said soothingly. I squeezed her hand in return. Now that she knew about the lies I had told, I felt absolved of the dishonesty and my heart was lighter. It had brought me no closer to how or when I would be able to tell anyone else the truth, but I knew then, with her warm hand wrapped around mine, that I would do it.

We talked our way, about lighter matters again, through another drink. It was getting late, and I could feel the effect of the alcohol significantly by now. I could tell from Aly's flushed cheeks and slightly glazed eyes that the wine was working on her too. I began to wonder where the night would end. Should I suggest we go back to my place?

Aly drained her wine glass. 'Another one for the road?' she asked, grinning at me.

'Why not?' I replied, 'I like getting drunk with you.' I would ask her to come home with me, I decided. Another drink gave me a little longer to frame the question. She eased herself off the stool and made her way to the crowded bar. I watched her go with a glimmer of warm pleasure, my eyes dropping in a brazen appreciation of her figure in those tight leather jeans, which turned into an excitement that tightened my throat, as I thought of taking her home with me. She pushed around the corner of the bar, where the queue was less significant, and I lost sight of her. I looked down at the grain of the wooden table.

'Hello, love, all right?' A slightly slurred man's voice made me look up suddenly. He was talking to me. For fuck's sake, this was not what I needed.

'Yeah, great thanks,' I replied as coldly as I could.

'Want some company?' he persisted.

'No, thanks, I already have company,' I told him firmly.

'Where is he then?' he returned. He was clearly drunk, or he would have buggered off already.

'Toilet,' I said simply.

'But is he good to you?' he went on, moving about on his feet as though he was incapable of standing still.

'Look, mate, I'm just not interested, all right?' I said finally, in a tone that should have allowed no arguments. He was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable now.

'Aw, darlin', you don't need to be like that,' he said, drooling and struggling to focus on my face. 'I'm interested in you.'

'Well, you shouldn't be, so just leave me alone, would you?' I said, frustration mounting.

'What's your name?' he said, apparently undeterred.

'None of your business. Look, I've told you I already have company.'

'Yeah, but where is he? Not here.' He laughed as though he'd told a hilarious joke.

'Right here.' Aly's voice jerked my attention away from the drunk. She put our two drinks down on the table and glared at the man. 'She's told you, she has company. So just fuck off back to your friends. If you have any.' I was blown away by her confidence. She was shorter than me; he was over six feet tall, but she was the one with fierce anger in her face. I watched her, stunned and oddly fascinated.

The man, in his drunken state, was more confused than he would have been if he were sober. There was a strange pause, as he tried to make sense of the situation. In the gap, I was uncomfortably aware that Aly had spoken rather loudly, and that several pairs of eyes were looking in our direction. I watched as comprehension dawned on the man's face.

'You're fucking dykes aren't you? Fucking freaks. Shouldn't be allowed in a normal pub to lead decent blokes on.' He spat the insults at us, and I thought for a horrible moment he was going to grab hold of Aly as he lurched unsteadily towards her. She remained calm, took a step away from him and one towards me. I was compelled and horrified by her all at once. I felt as though every eye in the pub was gazing at us now, and my blood ran cold. They all knew; they'd all heard what he said. His apparent disgust shocked me to my core. But Aly wasn't retreating.

'Too right, mate, we're dykes,' she said, her words full of hostility and anger. Before I could do anything about it, she had pulled me to her and kissed me full on the mouth.

For a fleeting moment, I wanted to sink into her kiss; I even felt the pull of her aggression. In the next instant, I was aware of the attention of the crowded pub as though there was a spotlight turned on us. We were like intruders into their world, and Aly was using me to revel in it. The man meanwhile let out a kind of defeated cheer, only drawing more attention. But thankfully he was lost for words.

Suddenly her kiss felt like a betrayal of me, of my insecurity. I know my mouth tightened against hers, making her withdraw. She barely looked at me but gripped my hand and practically pulled me from my stool. We left our new drinks on the table.