Believing: a Sapphic mini-story (Part 5)

Here is a link to Part 4 https://budgetpixel.com/blog/believing-a-sapphic-mini-story-part-4 VIII Alison woke to the sound of gulls and the unfamiliar weight of an arm across her waist. For a few seconds she lay still, trying to place herself. Then she recognised the sloping ceiling, the books beside the bed, the pale curtains moving slightly in a draught from the window. Annie was asleep beside her, with her face turned towards the pillow. Alison watched her for a moment, reluctant to disturb her. Annie stirred anyway. “Morning,” she murmured. “Morning.” She opened her eyes and looked at Alison. Then her gaze dropped to the arm lying across Alison's waist. Alison thought she might withdraw it, but instead Annie drew her closer. “Sleep all right?” “Blisfully.” “I did too.” They lay together for a while, listening to the sounds of the street beginning to wake. Eventually Annie pushed back the duvet and sat up, reaching for the dressing gown draped over the chair. As she turned, Alison saw her back. The scars ran from Annie's shoulder all the way down to her thigh, their colour and texture varying across her skin. They mirrored those that ran the length of her right arm. Annie became aware of Alison's gaze, and stopped reaching for the dressing gown. There was a moment's pause. “Would you rather I didn't look?” Alison asked quietly. Annie's head dipped, and she breathed in deeply before replying. “Last night... when we, you know... I didn't think about it once,” she said. “So maybe I'm getter braver, or maybe it's because it was you. But it's really hard to break a habit. I just hope you can be patient with me.” “I can be patient. And in the meantime, is it all right to give you a hug?” Annie glanced round at her. “That's permissible.” Alison slipped out from under the duvet and bent to embrace her. Annie remained still for a moment, then leaned back, resting her head on Alison's shoulder. They stayed like that for a while. When Alison finally straightened, Annie looked up at her. “You'll catch cold sitting there,” she said. “Then you'd better make me some coffee.” “Bossy woman. I suppose you'll want breakfast too?" “If you're offering.” “Okay, you win,” Annie said, her smile returning. “And I'll even let you have some of my ridiculously expensive honey. That's how much I like you.” “I'm honoured.” Annie disappeared downstairs. By the time Alison joined her, dressed in yesterday's clothes, Annie was cutting bread at the kitchen counter. They ate at the small kitchen table. Sunlight fell across the pale green cupboards, and somewhere outside a neighbour's dog started barking. Then came a shout, and the barking stopped. Inside, both women sat in a companiable quiet. Alison had almost finished her meal when Annie asked what she intended to do with the rest of her holiday. “I want to make the most of what's left of it. Preferably not alone, which is a not-so subtle hint.” “Well,” Annie said, taking their mugs to the sink, “I've got nothing planned for the weekend. So if you fancy coming over, I could show you more of the coast.” “I'd like that.” “Good. We could make a day of it, weather permitting.” “You make it sound like an expedition.” “In which case I shall have to pace myself. I'm not as young as you, remember.” “I'll try not to wear you out.” Annie laughed, then glanced towards the window. “It's a lovely morning. Fancy a walk to that favourite haunt of mine? There's a path we can take that hardly anyone uses.” “Sounds perfect.” Annie left the breakfast things in the sink and rummaged in a large wooden box for her walking boots. Alison waited by the front door, studying the paintings on the sitting-room wall. A few minutes later they stepped outside. Annie locked the door behind them, and they set off along the street towards the open countryside. The morning air felt fresh. Annie pointed out a garden where the last roses were still flowering. Alison leaned towards her to see over the low wall, and their shoulders rubbed together as they walked on. At the end of the street the houses gave way to fields, and beyond them Alison could glimpse the sea. They came to a narrow stile with slabs of granite for a stair. Annie climbed over first, then turned to offer Alison a hand. Alison took it and stepped down gingerly into the field. “Thank you,” she said. “You're welcome.” Annie started along the path without releasing her. Alison gave her fingers a quick squeeze; Annie turned and smiled. Ahead of them, the path sloped towards the cliffs. And as they walked, hand in hand, it dawned on Alison that this is what it felt like to belong. What it felt like to believe. THE END