Believing: a Sapphic mini-story (Part 4)

VI Annie lived in a small terraced cottage on the outskirts of the village, tucked along a narrow street Alison had passed without noticing. A blue front door faced the road, with pots beneath the sitting-room window and a brass fish knocker. Alison arrived at seven with wine and chocolates, and a fluttering in her stomach. Annie opened the door almost at once, grinning. “Hello, you.” The warmth of the greeting took Alison slightly by surprise. "Hi," she said, releasing the breath she'd been holding. "I've brought provisions." “Oh, you shouldn't have.” Annie reached out and took the wine and chocolates. "Come inside, dinner won't be long.” The cottage was softly lit and comfortably untidy. Books crowded shelves on either side of the fireplace, and a mismatch of rugs lay at different angles on the wooden floor. Through an open doorway, Alison glimpsed pale green kitchen cupboards and a small table set for two. “This is nice,” she said. “Cosy and bijou is what I think an estate agent would call it. But it's home, and I wouldn't swap it for the world.” “Well, I envy you.” Annie gave her a quizzical look but didn't comment. Then she led the way into the kitchen. Something simmered on the hob, filling the air with the smell of tomatoes, garlic and herbs. A loaf of bread rested on a board beside two plates. “Nothing very grand,” Annie said. “I hope you like aubergines.” “I love them.” “Good. Otherwise we'd be having toast.” Annie moved between hob and table, stirring the pan, fetching glasses, checking the oven. Alison watched her, noticing the cupboard she opened almost without looking, the spoon balanced on the rim of the pot, the way she nudged a chair into place with her knee. The ease of it made the room feel closer than it had a moment before. They ate vegetable gratin — potatoes and aubergines beneath a crisp cheese topping. When Alison complimented her, Annie lowered her eyes, pleased, and traced one finger along her glass. They talked easily, circling back now and again to Saturday, making light of it in a way that seemed to conceal something deeper. Conversation faltered whenever their eyes met, and each time one of them looked away a heartbeat too late. When Annie cleared the plates, Alison stood. “You cooked, so I'd like to wash up. It's only fair.” “All right, then. You wash, I'll dry.” They worked side by side at the sink, their elbows sometimes bumping. Steam blurred the window. Once, reaching for the same dish, their fingers touched, and the instinctive "Sorry" said in perfect unison prompted a rather knowing laugh. When they had finished, Annie made coffee and carried it into the sitting room. They sat closer than they had on Saturday. A clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Outside, a car drove past, its headlights briefly sweeping across the curtains. Annie got up to put on some music, a quiet female voice floating in the background. She settled back onto the sofa. “So, when are you leaving us? Heading off to London, I mean,” she asked, looking at Alison over the rim of her mug. “Ten days tomorrow.” Neither spoke for a moment. “I suppose you're dying to get back into the swing of things?” Alison frowned. “Even less than before, to be honest.” “Perhaps it's the sea air?” Annie suggested. “Or the irresistible lure of the Cornish pasty?” “Both, obviously,” Alison said, attempting a smile. She was aware that the atmosphere in the room had altered. Annie was watching her, waiting for her to say something more. Alison took a deep breath. “We've both been open about things, haven't we? And then regretted it.” Annie looked puzzled. “I'm not sure I follow.” “All right. What if I told you that you're the reason I'm reluctant to go back to London? What would you say?” “Are you being serious?” Annie asked. Then, looking more closely at her, “You are, aren't you?” She said it in a tone that Alison couldn't quite decipher. “Yes, seriously serious. Which may be the last thing you want to hear. It's just—” Whatever Alison had been about to say remained unsaid as Annie moved closer and cupped her face in both hands. The kiss was brief at first. Tentative. Then Annie's lips pressed more firmly against hers, and Alison responded, melting into the warmth of it. Eventually they drew back. “Wow,” Alison murmured. It was the only thing she could think of saying. Annie smiled. “Is that a good wow?” “Better than good,” Alison said. “But... I don't know what happens next. I'm a bit out of practice.” Annie leaned closer until her breath brushed Alison's ear. “We can go to bed,” she whispered. “If you want.” Alison's heart was beating so loudly she felt sure Annie could hear it too. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes.” Upstairs, Annie's bedroom was small, with a sloping ceiling and a window overlooking the back gardens. A bedside lamp cast a soft glow across the quilt. Books lay on the floor, a glass of water stood on the table, and a dressing gown was draped over the back of a chair. Annie closed the door. For a moment they faced one another. Then Alison put her arms around her, drawing her closer until their bodies touched. She kissed Annie's cheek, then her neck, while her fingers found the first button of Annie's blouse, fumbling to undo it. Annie gently put one hand over hers. “Turn the light out first. Please.” Alison looked at her. Annie's eyes were lowered, but she hadn't released her hand. “All right.” She crossed to the lamp and switched it off. For a moment, only the pale rectangle of the window was visible through the curtains. “Come here,” Annie whispered. In the darkness Alison turned, and the two of them almost stumbled into a kiss. Soon Annie's blouse was slipping from her shoulders and dropping to the floor. Alison stooped to ease Annie's trousers over her knees, then stood upright as Annie tugged at the hem of her top. She raised her arms to help. The fabric snagged briefly in her hair, then was gone. The room wasn't cold, but when Annie's fingers moved to the fastening of Alison's bra and unclipped it, Alison felt the soft release of pressure against her skin and shivered. “Are you okay?” Annie asked quietly. “Yes,” Alison whispered, reaching for Annie's hand and squeezing it. For a few more moments they stood there, each touch a new discovery, until Annie caught her wrist and half-pulled her towards the bed. They slipped beneath the duvet, moving closer once more. Then, without thinking, Alison's hand closed around Annie's right arm. At the same instant that she felt the different texture of the skin beneath her fingers, Annie flinched. “Oh God, I'm so sorry,” Alison said, quickly releasing her grip. “I didn't mean to...” She heard Annie sigh. “I know. Really, it's all right,” Annie said quietly. “And I didn't mean to make you jump.” For a moment neither moved. Then Annie took Alison's hand. “I'll show you what I want,” she whispered, guiding her hand. “There. Touch me there, like that...” Soon they clung to each other and, much later, in a kind of daze, fell asleep still entwined.