Always Believe

by Aimée

  “Oh – that’s cool. I didn’t know you were a lesbian. Ms Arlingham…She’s cute, I guess, for a woman her age. And you’re not that bad either.”

  “Well – thanks, I guess!” Greyson spluttered. “But – seriously, though – is that all right with you? I mean – me being gay?”

  “I think – I think I kind of guessed,” mused Julie aloud. “And yes, seriously, it’s fine. I’m more a pansexual myself.”

  “A what?”

  “A pansexual – you know – like, I like everyone – or not like everyone, everyone, but I don’t care if they’re a man or a woman. Actually, I kissed a girl last term – she was sooo cute! Didn’t last, but maybe that’s better, because if it works with Victor – the violinist, you know…”

  “Oh – Oh – right. Okay. That sounds – complicated, but if it works for you. So you really don’t mind about Angela?”

  “I don’t, Colonel – and I can make myself scarce if you want her to sleep here, you know?”

  Greyson blushed even harder: “That’s – that’s okay – we don’t have to… And she’s got a house so…”

  Julie winked: “Whatever – say the word, and I’ll vanish!” Then, more softly, she added: “I’m happy for you, Colonel – really – you look much better than when I last saw you. It’s great news.”

  “Thank you”, replied Greyson quietly. “I think so too. And I hope it works out for you with Victor.”

  “Yeah – me too! So… Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

  Greyson nodded, relieved not to be the focus of the discussion anymore and Julie got out her computer and began to swipe through Netflix.

  After the service on Christmas Eve – a very eventful service - all three of them went back to Angela’s and nibbled on finger food, followed by an unreasonable quantity of chocolate. Actually, Greyson didn’t eat much, too drained by the evening to be hungry. Around midnight, Julie announced that she was going back to Greyson’s flat and looking forward to a lie-in in the morning. She was opened to being woken up around 11 o’clock, “maybe with croissants and a few well-chosen pressies- just joking, Colonel!” Angela and Greyson laughed and waved the teenager off, not wanting the cab driver to wait too long. There wasn’t much to tidy up in the kitchen, and they soon went up to the bedroom. They hadn’t had many nights together yet, and Angela was eager to show off her new nightie – a black satin negligee she had bought as an early Christmas present for both of them. She disappeared into the bathroom while Greyson unbuttoned her trousers and sat on the bed to wait for the surprise Angela had promised her. The surprise, however, was on Angela as five minutes later, when she reappeared wearing the little black number, she found the vicar curled up on the bed fast asleep… She would have been peeved if she hadn’t found her lover so adorable in sleep. Sighing, she dropped a light kiss on Greyson’s brow, not wanting to wake her up, and nestled beside her – there was always the morning – surely they would wake up long before eleven…

  And they did – Greyson woke up first, feeling more rested than she had in months, and she smiled at the sight of Angela, now lying star-shaped on the bed… Since it was already past nine, she couldn’t help dropping a series of feather-light kisses all over the exposed parts of her body. Just as she had planned, the redhead woke up and replied in kind, albeit in a more fervent manner. They finally tumbled out of bed in a hurry around eleven, after a text from Julie had reminded Greyson of her responsibilities as a guardian: “Merry Christmas, Colonel – you forgot to buy fresh milk and I need food ; ) see u soon x”

  In lieu of Christmas presents, Angela and Greyson had decided to treat themselves to a weekend in Paris in January, with nice meals and unhurried strolls in the city, away from the prying eyes of the parishioners. It would be their first trip together, the first of many, they hoped. Greyson often mentioned that one day she would like to go back to Kenya, to the deaconesses community.

  For Julie, Greyson had enlisted Paul’s help, telling him what little she knew about the young woman, and he had found her a big “Artist” tote bag, inside which she had slipped an Amazon voucher, thinking it would be the safest way of ensuring Julie would get what she wanted. Indeed, she appeared very pleased with both gifts, and Christmas day and the rest of her stay went smoothly enough.

  Epilogue - six months later

  There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance… Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

  “They did it! They voted! I can’t believe it! I just – I just can’t”. Greyson sounded so excited that Angela couldn’t make head or tail of the phone call.

  “I’m sorry? Who did what, exactly?”

  “Oh – oh yes, of course, sorry. The bishops – they voted. For equality…”

  Then Angela understood what Greyson was saying. She had told her about the Synod – about the vote. Actually, Greyson had been on edge since the beginning of the bishops’ meeting – because she had had little hope it would work out in favour of gay people. In her favour. And now it had. From now on, she was free to love whoever she wanted, and to make her life according to her choices and not the Church’s. Since Greyson’s declaration of love, they had both tried to make a go of it, but the necessary secrecy did not facilitate things. Moreover, the Church’s tenet had hung over Greyson like a dark cloud, following her even in their bed – maybe particularly in their bed. Although Angela had no doubt they had shared several moments of ecstasy, Greyson’s had always felt subdued…Crushed by the weight of guilt. Maybe now her lover would feel free. Maybe they could finally be together.

  Angela decided to make a celebration dinner. She even phoned Maisie and asked her to ensure that, by hook or by crook, Greyson would be on time and not linger with her last patient. All too often, Greyson went the extra mile either at the surgery or at the church and although Angela loved her for it, she also feared her lover was over-exerting herself. When Greyson had told her she had decided not to give up medicine completely after all, she had been worried. She had quite understood Greyson’s reasons – the church couldn’t pay huge stipends, and if she went on working part-time, it would be easier for her to make ends meet. Moreover, Greyson had explained that somehow, she felt God did not intend for her to waste her training – she wasn’t conceited enough to think she was indispensable as a doctor, but she was useful. And she loved it too. As much as she now felt at peace when she was praying or preparing a sermon, even sometimes excited when she stood up in front of the assembly preparing to share her faith with her parishioners, practising medicine also felt right.

  Angela wondered whether the near-catastrophe averted on Christmas Eve had had an impact on her lover’s decision. The service had been proceeding quietly until what Angela had dubbed “the Christmas for Dummies pageant”. Every year, some of the parishioners dressed up as prophets and shepherds and Joseph and Mary and told the story of Jesus’ birth. Greyson had not wanted to break traditions, not wanting to antagonise anyone on her first Christmas as vicar, even though she wasn’t quite sure about it. Disaster had struck when one of the shepherds had tripped over his long gown, carrying a lighted candle… The end of his fake beard had caught fire and several children had panicked. Angela had never seen anyone move as fast as Greyson that night. The vicar had run to the shepherd, grabbed a cape from another one, thrown it on the unfortunate victim and thus averted the worst. Then in a very calm voice, she had said a final blessing from the middle of the aisle, wished everyone a merry Christmas and started to sing the final hymn as she whisked off the shepherd and one of the children who had tripped and hurt himself in the mayhem. Angela didn’t know when she had been prouder of her lover – when she had heard Greyson’s voice break into “Oh come all ye faithful”, slightly off key, as she knew the vicar absolutely hated singing a cappella
and usually had a tuning fork in the lectern to help her find the right pitch, or when she had found her in the sacristy with the first-help kit, tending to a bad burn on the shepherd’s hand and calming down a pre-schooler with grazed knees and a big bump on his head. When Greyson had noticed Angela’s presence, she had looked up worriedly: “Hey you – is everything okay in there? I didn’t want anyone panicking, but I really had to see to Mark’s hand and…”

  “Everything is fine, dar- Vicar” Angela had bitten her tongue just in time not to call her lover “darling” in front of one her parishioners. There would be no need for that censoring now. “You did the right thing – everyone is going home merrily to enjoy the Christmas TV programmes and too much food.”

  She had seen Greyson’s body relax and the vicar had given her a relieved smile: “Thank God – very literally. Do you think you could hunt down little Sam’s parents for me? He needs a cuddle more than medical attention.”

  “Sure – actually, I think they’ve already found him.”

  Once they had handed the child over to his parents and wished the unfortunate shepherd a merry Christmas, they had finally been able to embrace in the darkened sacristy and Angela had felt the tension in her lover’s body slowly relax in her arms. Greyson had averted a disaster that night. And her first concern had been for others.

  That night had reminded Angela of why she had fallen for the vicar. Because behind a rather intimidating, sometimes brash, sometimes frosty, personality hid a an insecure, almost ingenuous, unfailingly kind and extremely lovable woman. A woman who had managed to make Christmas without her daughter bearable. The first Christmas after Sybil’s death, Angela had been so numb with grief that she had not even known what day it was. The pain of losing her child had engulfed everything else. This year, if Greyson and Julie hadn’t been with her, she would probably have lost herself in melancholy memories of Christmases past. Greyson had given her hope for the future.

  She had just finished setting the table, adding a few candles, when Greyson knocked at the front door. Even though Angela had given her keys, the vicar never just let herself in. For Angela, it meant her lover still wasn’t fully convinced of the reality of their love… She would have to find a way to convince her. Greyson did know her way around the house, though, and she soon poured the wine she had brought into two glasses and beckoned to Angela to sit with her on the sofa. Angela glanced worriedly at the clock: “I’m not sure we have time for that, darling – the souffle is ready and…”

  “Please – just a few minutes, Ange – I – I need to hold you.”, begged the vicar, making puppy-dog eyes at her lover.

  Angela went to the kitchen to switch off the oven and sighing dramatically for effect, she came to nestle in the blonde’s arms. She fitted so well…Neither reached for their glass, content just to feel each other’s presence. As the tension of the day left Greyson, she began to weep softly. Angela’s fingers brushed away the wetness on her cheek and Greyson let herself be comforted by her lover’s gentle voice: “That’s it, my love – just let go – it’s going to be all right now. To think at first I took you for a tough Army type… Cry it all out, darling…”

  “I – I don’t think I’ve cried that much in years… I’m so sorry…” sobbed Greyson.

  “No need to be sorry – I’ve done my fair share of crying…” Angela’s fingers ran through the blonde hair, caressing her lover until the sobs quietened down. Greyson wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up, taking Angela’s hand to lead her to the bedroom. Suddenly nothing else mattered in the world. Except their togetherness. Upstairs, Greyson hesitated, unused to taking the lead – she wanted so much and yet still didn’t quite believe Angela was hers. She drank in Angela’s body with her eyes, undressing her first with a longing glance and then awkwardly fumbling the buttons of her lover’s shirt. Her mouth found that delicate spot on Angela’s inner wrist and the redhead moaned under the light touch of her lover’s lips as her whole body aroused. Emboldened, Greyson followed Angela onto the bed and began exploring her, discovering her all over again, her heart beating a tattoo, a warm and wet feeling rising between her legs. Her mouth covered sensitive breasts with hungry kisses, her fingers traced the firm globes tenderly. She pulled her lover to her and their skins met, a shiver of desire running through. So focused on her lover’s body that she was barely conscious of the delightful sensations Angela evoked in her, Greyson went lower and lower, losing herself deeper and deeper in the communion of their bodies. As Angela whimpered, her fingers found the sacred spot and her lover shivered violently, held her breaths, and her whimper became a long cry of ecstasy. Greyson responded in unison, her body echoing the heart beating with hers. At last, she allowed herself to feel again. To caress and be caressed – to touch and be touched – to kiss and be kissed – to make love and be loved. To be shattered and made whole again. As they found their climaxes together, Greyson let go of the past and opened herself up to the future. She believed again.

  The beginning…