As the train to London finally sped away, she closed her eyes, and met Isabel in her dreams. The vision of her lover showed her strong and fit. She had thrown away her crutches, and she drew Bryony in with her Cheshire cat smile. It was an altogether happy dream which must have come from deep inside her subconscious mind.
When the train finally drew into Paddington, the heat of the summer night in the city hit her like a warm wind, and she prepared to tackle the evening crush on the Underground to navigate her way up to Highbury, to Isabel’s flat.
It was 10 pm, and still very warm when she located the address and slid the key into the lock. She pushed open the door past an enormous pile of junk mail and local newspapers. Whatever she had imagined the flat to be like it had not been like this. It took over the ground floor of a narrow Victorian house, with high ceilings and sash windows, and the first thing she noticed in the hall was an artistic clutter of international figurines, musical instruments like drums and African stringed instruments, and large batik wall hangings.
The tiled hall led into an open plan kitchen, full of bright crockery and utensils for the sort of stove-top cooking Isabel obviously favored. A state of the art coffee machine shared the counter top with a slow cooker, and an extravagant array of dried spices and herbs. Beyond the kitchen, through a set of modern French windows, Bryony could see a well planted urban garden with large feature plants and a sitting area next to a small pond. She switched on the lights as she went, each area fascinating her more and more. What a lovely, homely, creative place. It was rather stuffed with knick-knacks and ornaments though, which weren’t her style, and she wouldn’t have imagined being Isabel’s either.
Then she jumped in the air as she heard her phone ring. It was Isabel.
“Hi, you’ve just caught me as I’ve walked through your front door. I was about to phone you. Your flat is wonderful. I expected it to be in a block, austere, somehow, functional. It’s not like that at all.”
“Oh, so that’s how you consider me then, austere and functional?” Isabel’s voice, warm and eager, contradicted the words which she used.
“No, of course not, but give me a chance. I’ve been on the road for five hours. I’m just very happy to be here.”
“Is it in a terrible mess? No-one has touched it since the accident. There is probably a mass of rotting food in the fridge. I do hope I haven’t given you an impossible cleaning-up job to do.”
“No, don’t worry. I can just chuck everything out if I need to. Is your dustbin obvious outside?”
“Yes. Look, do what you can, but don’t worry. You’ll find clean bed linen in the chest at the end of the bed. It’s a small flat. There’s only one bedroom, a living room, kitchen and one bathroom. You can use my bed.”
“It’s wonderful. I love it. And you have a garden!”
“Yes, that’s why we bought it, Carrie and me. If you turn on the switches by the French windows, the water fountain will start to play, and the lights will come on outside. That was her thing. She liked to create theatre wherever she went.”
They chatted for a while, very happy to be in touch. Bryony really wanted to know what had happened after she had left, but understood, with Jane still present, Isabel was not likely to spill any beans.
“You will call me again tomorrow, after your meeting with Aiden, won’t you?” Isabel sounded almost nervous about that.
“Yes, of course. Now I must sort out a few things here. And Isabel,”
“What?”
“I love your flat, and I miss you.”
There was a slight pause, and then Bryony heard the reply she had been hoping for.
“Me too. Goodnight darling.”
“’Night.”
It brought a smile to her face. Then she took her courage in both hands and opened the fridge door to face what lurked inside.
Chapter 19
Bryony spent most of Saturday morning cleaning and airing Isabel’s flat. Thank goodness all the rotting food had been safely locked inside the fridge, not in an open trash can, otherwise the summer heat would have filled the place with a thousand flies. As it was, the mess which had once been fruit and veg, steak, eggs and butter had to be tipped into two bags before tying them up and dispensing them outside into the large bins by the gate.
She did this before she even ventured into Isabel’s bedroom. The bed linen smelt fresh and clean, and she decided just to sleep in Isabel’s sheets and take them away to wash after she finished her stay. Bryony could smell a faint scent of Isabel’s favorite perfume on the pillows, the same as she wore in Wales, and it comforted her as she sought sleep. It took some time, as the two hours she’d slept on the train had dampened her need for oblivion, but eventually the pictures flying through her brain slowed and then turned to mist and she slept from midnight until seven.
In the early morning she flung open all the windows, dusted, polished and wiped down all the surfaces until the whole place sparkled. This gave Bryony a sense that she was repaying Isabel’s offer of two nights’ accommodation in what after all was one of the most expensive cities in the world, and also gave her a chance to learn something about the tastes and interests of her enigmatic mistress.
A large photographic portrait of Carrie dominated the living room, hanging above the Victorian fireplace. She was definitely a striking woman, and the photographer had caught an arresting tilt to her head as if she was asking a question. She was wearing a blue tunic, reminding Bryony of a Moroccan or Tunisian costume, but her skin was olive and she had very curly hair. Maybe she had some Ethiopian or Sudanese heritage mixed with Italian. Her eyes sparkled and she looked as though nothing would daunt her. Bryony could easily see how she’d make the ideal partner for Isabel.
Bryony gazed at the portrait for a long time, trying to communicate with the lost love of her love, asking her advice, maybe asking her for permission. Her spirit seemed omnipresent within the flat, and Bryony guessed that many of the artifacts and books had been hers.
On the bedroom walls hung classical drawings of naked female forms, and there was a bookcase full of explicit lesbian novels, in both English, French and Italian. There were also a range of books on psychology, and feminist theory. Bryony tried not to pry too much, and avoided opening any chests or the large fitted wardrobe which ran down the inside wall.
The living room was also piled high with books and sets of international political journals and magazines. Comfortable old sofas formed a trio of seating in front of the fire, and the mantelpiece was decorated with little clay figures from South American, African votive figures, and Indian brass work models of Hindu gods.
One low bookshelf contained at least a dozen books with Isabel’s name on the spine, and Bryony vowed to spend part of the evening reading those, when she came back from her lunchtime meeting. Her cleaning operations kept her from dwelling on that too much, but she could feel her stomach beginning to clench with nerves as the time grew nearer.
At eleven she knew she should leave. Isabel’s flat was restored to pristine and sweet smelling tranquility, so it would be a haven for her later. She made a short list of a few things she could buy for supper, changed into a cotton polo shirt and long shorts, and closed and locked the windows, drawing the curtains against the hot sun beating down outside.
As she locked up and left, she could see all the families and youngsters already playing ball and walking across Highbury Fields. They were enjoying the summer, and maybe, once her meeting with Aiden was over, she might do the same. At the moment though, she felt as though she was going to her doom.
It was really too hot a day for the Tube, so she hopped on the No 4 bus as it swung round the corner towards Islington, and rode it all the way south through the eastern part of central London until it crossed Waterloo bridge. The sights of London still stimulated and excited her, even after five years’ studying in the city, and as she sat in the top of the bus, she enjoyed looking at all the tourists thronging the streets, and clustering round the most
famous landmarks.
When she finally left the bus just by the South Bank cluster of concrete concert halls and art galleries, it was already nearly noon, and she hurried down the pavement alongside the Thames to where she and Aiden had agreed to meet. She could see him already there, sitting in the open-air wine bar and looking at the menu. He was already tanned, and his beard had grown since the end of term. He looked a hunk.
“Most girls would envy me,” she thought, “but that’s irrelevant. We have tried this relationship for two years now, and it’s run its course. It doesn’t have to be about Isabel. I can simply tell him I think there’s no point carrying on, that I can’t commit to a future without any passion.”
“Hi, honey,” Aiden said, smiling as soon as he saw her approach the table. He jumped up and hugged her fiercely, kissing her on the mouth possessively for all the world to see, and she had no choice but to let him, before gently pushing him back and taking a seat at the other side of the table.
“Sorry I’m a little late. I caught the bus, and you know how they are.”
“No big deal. It’s great to see you. How have you been? Where did you sleep last night?” Bryony explained in as few words as possible, and steered the conversation back to him and what he had been doing for the past three weeks. They looked at the menu together and ordered their usual, a large Pizza Marguerite between them and a beer for him and a diet coke for her.
“How is life in the wood yard?”
“Not bad. I’m building up the muscles. It’s pretty boring, but it pays the bills. How about you and your nursing gig? Is it all bedpans and bandages?”
“No, not now, my employer still has one leg in plaster, but we hope it will come off on Monday, and then she’ll be working back to full mobility. Anyway, the work is interesting, and I get every Friday off to study.”
“Great, more than I do. But I suppose you’re on call all weekend. How did you get free to come down?”
“A friend is staying, so she said I could come down for the weekend to see you.”
“Very magnanimous of her.”
Bryony wanted to leave Isabel right out of the conversation she needed to have with Aiden, but she also would have loved to have talked to him about her undoubted crush, and tell him how wonderful Isabel was. These things were obviously mutually exclusive and one didn’t blab to one’s current boyfriend about the merits of one’s new ‘other’ love interest.
There was no point in beating about the bush, so Bryony pushed her hair back and tightened her pony tail before saying, “Yes it was. But I needed to come down and have a talk to you in person. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you asked me in June, about commitment and everything. The thing is, Aiden, I don’t think I can. In fact, I think we’ve maybe taken this relationship between us as far as it can go.”
“What!? Where did this come from? Are you saying, you’re actually dumping me?”
Aiden’s face colored, whether with pure shock or embarrassment, she could not tell.
“We don’t need to call it that. I’m very fond of you, but I just don’t see us together in the future, and you proposing, well, it brought it all to a head.”
“But we’ve been good together. I love you; you know I love you, since we first met.”
“And I love you, but not like that. I don’t think I’m capable of being the partner you deserve. There are loads of girls out there who are, I’m sure.”
“Oh, and you think that will make it all OK? That you can simply push me off into the highway and I’ll pick up someone else, like a fucking taxi-cab.”
Bryony could see the anger was growing in him. He hardly ever swore. Then his eyes narrowed, and a thought obviously passed through his mind.
“Is there someone else? Is this why you have suddenly lost interest? Who is it?”
Bryony cursed inwardly and tried very hard not to show on her face the sudden heat which ran up inside her body. The very mention of Isabel made her feel as though she might start to combust. Aiden saw her blush and guessed correctly that it wasn’t simply that she was bored with him.
The waiter came with their pizza and placed it between them. Aiden attacked it with his knife and fork and angrily cut it in half. Rent asunder, like their relationship it seemed.
When Bryony said nothing, he continued, now with some more fuel to his fury. “Who is he? Who the hell has turned you against me in just four weeks? Or has this been going on much longer? Tell me, Bry, I deserve to know.”
“There’s no-one like that. There’s no other guy. I just think I am maybe not suited to settling down and getting married. I want to travel. I might even join the army.”
They began to eat the pizza, equally miserably, but they were both hungry. Aiden took a swig of his beer, and pulled a face.
“You don’t want to join the army. They’re just a load of dykes, the women in the forces.”
“That’s not true! And how dare you talk like that. But what would it matter if they were?”
Bryony suddenly felt she should be a spokesperson for the entire LGBT community. Aiden looked up at her and whistled through his teeth.
“Where did that come from?”
“What?”
“Sticking up for the sisterhood. Are you insinuating what I think you are?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, and stop talking like that. This is about you and me, and about how our relationship has satisfied you a hell of a lot more than it has me for the last two years.” Bryony was losing her cool and the truth was beginning to slip out.
“Are you telling me our sex life hasn’t done it for you? That’s not how you’ve made out. I remember a lot of very hot sex. You came nearly every time.”
Bryony looked round nervously, but their table was away from the others, and he couldn’t be overheard. She decided to be honest, and blunt.
“No I didn’t.”
“What the hell?”
“I pretended. I’ve always pretended. It’s second nature now because it keeps you happy, and it’s not your fault. I know that now. It’s no-one’s fault, but that’s the way it is. No heterosexual sex has ever given me an orgasm, alright?”
Aiden digested this bombshell, along with his next mouthful of pizza. Then he said, “So sex with men is useless, but I gather you’ve found enlightenment on the matter with a woman somewhere?”
Bryony looked hard at her plate, and said nothing. She didn’t dare meet his eye.
“Are you telling me you think you’re a frigging dyke?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“I’ll talk any way I want. God, Bry, you know how to bowl a googly. First of all you say you love me, but you don’t love me, that you turn down my proposal and you want to break up. Then you let it slip that you’ve always hated sex with me and have faked every one of those orgasms I thought we were enjoying together. And now you as good as announce the fact that you’re gay. Am I right, or is this not a summary of what you’ve just thrown in my face?”
“Hmm, well, yes, I suppose it’s a good summary. Pretty accurate actually.”
“So who is Miss Wonderful? Who has initiated you into the joys of penis-less intercourse?”
“Aiden, stop it.”
“No, I won’t. You go off to Wales a normal person and come back a complete stranger three weeks later. Is it someone you met at college up there?”
“No.”
Bryony wished she could just run away, but she was trapped at the table, half way through her meal, and she did want to end this excruciating session as amicably as possible.
“Who is it?”
“I can’t say, I just want you to know it wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do. None of this is really your fault. I know now I’ve always been gay. I just was too repressed and ignorant to see it before.”
“If it isn’t someone in the university, then it must be that woman you’ve been working for, the car accident victim. Oh, Jeese, what a fuck up! Didn’t you say she’s had multiple fractur
es and is stuck in a wheelchair, for God’s sake?”
Bryony did not trust herself to reply at once. She swallowed her drink and tried to compose her answer carefully before she spoke.
“It’s true, the person I have been caring for, is the person who has made me come to terms with my sexuality, but she didn’t make any of this happen, neither did I. It’s complicated, and I have no idea what will happen. I can only talk about how I feel.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m your fucking therapist, Bry. Does any of this make sense? God, what will I tell Mum and Dad? ‘Sorry folks, the wedding’s off. My girlfriend has discovered she's gay and is off making hay with a paraplegic old lady.’”
Bryony decided enough was enough.
“I don’t think we’ll achieve anything by carrying on talking like this. Here, this is my share for the lunch. I’m sorry it hasn’t been what you wanted to hear, but it is what it is. I don’t expect you to understand now, but hope you might eventually.”
She put a ten pound note down on the table, and stood up. “I am sure we are best apart for the rest of the summer. I’ll see you around next term, and I really, really hope you find someone who will be the right one for you, whom you can take home to your parents, who doesn’t need to be such a faker as I have had to be.”
Aiden said nothing, just scowled out across the river. He was obviously very upset, and part of her wanted to hug him, and tell him it would all be all right. But she wasn’t the person to do that right now. Maybe they’d never speak again.
She picked up her bag and pushed her chair under the table and then walked quickly out of the bar area and away down the river frontage in the direction of Westminster. It was only once she had had turned the corner and had put five hundred yards between them, that she leaned over the railings and allowed the tears to come. It wasn’t just the wreckage of her two year companionship and her friendship with Aiden which was sailing away on the muddy tide; it was her whole understanding of who she was, and what she needed from a lover.
Isabel's Healing Page 16
