Believing: a Sapphic mini-story (Part 3)

V Annie was standing on the doorstep with a small bunch of flowers wrapped in brown paper. “I wasn't sure what to bring.” “They're lovely. Come in.” Alison took the flowers, resisting an impulse to embrace her. Annie was wearing dark trousers and a loose, off-white blouse, with her fair hair brushed back from her face. A fine silver chain rested against her collarbone. “You look nice,” Alison said. “Oh. Thank you.” Annie glanced at her. “So do you.” Alison led the way into the kitchen, where she found a vase for the flowers. She was conscious of Annie watching her as she trimmed the stems, and became unnecessarily careful with the scissors. “Can I get you a drink? A glass of wine, or something soft?” “Tap water's fine, thanks. I'm driving.” Alison poured herself a small glass of wine and filled another with water. Annie wandered into the sitting room, where her painting still stood on the mantelpiece. “You know, I am really glad you liked it enough to buy it.” Alison could see that the pleasure was genuine. “And I promise it will take pride of place in my apartment.” Annie cocked her head. “Are you missing city life?” Alison considered the question. “Not especially. Which is a surprise, bearing in mind how desperate I was to get back there a week ago.” “Perhaps Cornwall's growing on you.” “Perhaps it is.” Annie smiled, and Alison found herself looking at the little creases that appeared beside her eyes. She turned back towards the kitchen before she could be caught staring. Dinner was easier than she had expected. They talked about Alison's childhood holidays in Cornwall, and the paintings Annie was working on. Alison then recounted some of the absurdities of her job which, when spoken aloud, did seem truly absurd. Occasionally she caught Annie watching her across the table. Their eyes would meet, Annie would smile, and Alison would turn her attention back to her plate, though she had long since finished eating. After dinner they took their coffee and chocolate mousse into the sitting room. Annie settled at one end of the sofa, and Alison sat beside her, leaving a comfortable space between them. Outside, the last of the daylight had faded from the windows, and Alison switched on the lamp beside the fireplace. The conversation wandered again towards London, and the life that Alison would be returning to. “Do you have someone who's waiting for you there?” Annie asked as she set down her coffee. “Someone?” “A boyfriend, perhaps?” Alison shook her head, and Annie regarded her with a thoughtful expression that gradually gave way to a mischievous smile. “Girlfriend?” “And what makes you think I might be gay?” “Well, I've seen the way you look at our new waitress, Chloe. You're practically drooling.” Alison burst out laughing. “That's so not true!” “I know, I'm only teasing.” Alison smiled into her coffee. She could leave the conversation there, change the subject... “Actually,” she said, “it's not her I've been looking at.” “Oh? So who's the lucky lady?” Alison turned towards her, her heart thumping. “You.” For a moment Annie seemed not to understand. Then she gave a small, uncertain laugh. “Now it's you teasing me.” “No,” Alison said, and the smile faded from Annie's face. They looked at one another. Annie's eyes moved briefly to Alison's mouth, then back again. Alison moved closer. Annie didn't draw away. And as Alison leaned towards her, she seemed to move forward too, until their faces were only inches apart. Alison noticed the way her lower lip caught briefly between her teeth. She kissed her. Annie was still for an instant. Then her hand settled on Alison's shoulder and she moved closer, returning the kiss with a gentle pressure of her lips. Moments later, the tip of Alison's tongue touched hers. “No, I can't do this. I'm sorry.” Annie recoiled sharply, her voice tinged with panic. “I should go.” She slid towards the edge of the sofa, reaching for her handbag. Alison sat back, mortified. A few heartbeats earlier she'd been sure Annie had wanted her; now she felt like a fool. “Oh God, Annie. It's me who's sorry. I've completely misread things, haven't I?” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Can we just forget what happened?” Annie shook her head. “It's... It's not what you think.” There was a pause, until Alison asked, “So, what is it, then?” “Complicated.” Annie sighed the word, purposefully avoiding Alison's gaze. “And it's me spoiling a lovely evening, not you.” “Well, whatever you think of me, I reckon my saving grace is that I'm a good listener.” Alison gave a self-conscious smile. “Plus... I like you.” Annie shook her head. “Really, you don't want to know.” “Yes, I do.” Annie put her handbag down again, but kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, rubbing one thumb against the other. Alison began to wonder whether she'd been wrong to press her, until Annie drew in a deep breath. “I met a woman about four years after the accident,” she said at last. “She owned a gallery where I was showing some work. We started texting, which quickly turned into flirting. It was obvious we really fancied each other.” Annie paused, smoothing away an invisible crease in her trousers. “Then we went to see a foreign film at a little cinema in St Agnes. We were practically the only people there, and ended up snogging in the back row like teenagers.” She gave a faint smile. “It was lovely, actually. But then she suggested something, and it all went wrong.” Alison waited. “She told me about an exhibition up country, and said we could make a weekend of it. Stay in a hotel.” Annie hesitated. “Share a room.” She looked down at her hands. “I panicked. Made some excuse, then another. In the end I told her I didn't think it was working out between us. I hated doing it, but it felt safer, because…” Annie hesitated again, biting her lip. “Because I couldn't bear the thought of undressing in front of her.” She fell silent for a few moments, her fingers tightening around one another. “You've already seen my arm,” she said at last. “But there are scars down one side of my back, and on my leg. And I kept imagining the look on her face when she saw them.” Her voice trailed away. Alison remembered the afternoon on the coastal path, the speed with which Annie had pulled down her sleeve. She wanted to reach for Annie's hand, but hesitated. “Oh, Annie.” Annie gave a small shrug. “Anyway, that's why I froze just now. Not that I'm presuming anything about you and me. Lord, you must think I'm an awful coward.” Alison wanted to say that the scars wouldn't matter to her. But the words seemed too glib, and she let them go. “I don't think you're a coward,” Alison said. “And I'm glad you told me.” Annie gave a faint smile. “Thank you for saying so.” Alison wished there was a way of recovering something of the ease they'd enjoyed over dinner, but she couldn't think how to begin. After a while Annie glanced towards the clock on the mantelpiece. “I ought to be going.” Alison nodded. “Of course.” But Annie made no move to stand. Instead she turned towards Alison, with her expression softening a little. “You really don't need to be sorry, you know. You're a rather good kisser.” Alison raised an eyebrow. “How good?” Annie appeared to consider the question with great seriousness. “Olympic standard, definitely. And on that note I really should go.” Alison rose with her and accompanied her to the door. Outside, the night was cool and clear. Annie turned towards her on the doorstep, her car keys in one hand. “Thank you for tonight, and for listening.” Alison smiled. “Perhaps we could go for a walk together sometime,” she ventured. “Or—” “Or I could cook you dinner?” Annie said, interrupting her. “Next Wednesday, perhaps?” “I'd love that. Wednesday would be perfect.” They hugged, and Annie held her tightly for a brief moment before drawing back. Their cheeks brushed as they said goodbye, and Alison caught the faint scent of Annie's perfume. “Goodnight, Alison.” “Goodnight, Annie.” Alison watched as Annie got into her car and drove away. The red taillights disappeared around the bend at the end of the lane, but she remained standing in the doorway long after they were gone.