by Jade Winters
She heard Rebecca moving about outside her room and suddenly felt too embarrassed to face her. What if Isabel is still there? It would be awkward — maybe moving back in without actually knowing what was what had been a bad idea. She called Paul on her mobile and arranged to meet him for lunch on Shaftsbury Avenue.
She was having a long leisurely bath in her en-suite bathroom when she heard Rebecca knocking at her bedroom door. Her first reaction was to cover her body, but then she felt silly. She didn't think Rebecca was the type of person who would just invade some one's privacy.
"Are you okay?" Rebecca called through the door.
"Yes, thanks," she called back.
"I'm off to work now, I'll see you later." When she heard the front door close, she let out a long sigh of relief. She was being paranoid, she reprimanded herself. So what if she was living with a lesbian — she wasn't going to try anything on her. Anyway, she thought, she knows I'm straight because I'm getting married — and with that she slid right down into the bath, letting the water cover her face.
* * *
The small size of the French restaurant Genevieve had chosen only added to its charm. Paul ordered them a glass of Chianti each and they waited for the waiter to leave before speaking.
"You sounded upset on the phone," he said.
"Yes, I was... am." She took a sip of her wine, letting the sourness dissolve on her taste buds. Then she looked him straight in the eye, daring him to lie. "I don't like the truth being withheld from me." He shifted uncomfortably on his chair, examining the glass in his hand distractedly.
"I don't know what you're talking about." He pulled the front of his t-shirt away from the base of his neck.
"Rebecca," she said accusingly.
He blinked rapidly. "What about her?"
"That was all rubbish about her writing a bad review, wasn't it?" He stared at her, reading her face.
"Don't be silly."
"That's it." She stood up to leave, and when he grabbed her by the arm, she shook it off. "If you can sit there and lie to me about this, then what else have you been lying to me about? How can I trust you?" He stood up, defeated.
"Okay, sit down — please... How did you find out?"
"I just know, Paul. She's nothing like you portrayed her. And if you don't tell me the truth now, I'll just ask her myself."
"Okay, okay. Look, your parents don't like her for obvious reasons. I wanted to tell you the truth, but your parents thought it was best if you didn't know. They think she's a bad influence on you. I tried to tell them that you would find out eventually anyway, but they weren't having it. You know how stubborn your dad is Gen, so I just went along with it. They've never liked you living with her and they thought they'd be able to keep you at their house." He looked down at the table as Genevieve glared at him, not knowing whether to believe his latest story.
"Is there anything else either you or my parents are withholding from me?" she said, dismayed by his revelations.
"Of course not, Gen." He looked directly into her eyes.
"Why couldn't you have just been honest with me from the start, Paul? It would have been so much easier. I felt trapped in that house. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that they'd even stopped my friends from contacting me."
"Don't be too hard on them, Gen. I'm sorry, we were just doing what we thought was best for you... I promise you, no more secrets from now on."
"Okay," she said, still brooding.
"Have you told Rebecca that you know she's a lesbian?" Paul asked flatly.
"No."
"I wouldn't let on to her that you know. You don't want her to think we've been talking about her."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, I do." He changed the subject abruptly. "Anyway, enough about other people and their love lives, have you and your mum drawn up a list of people we're going to invite?"
"I haven't, but I'm sure mum has. Going as far back as when I was a baby, no doubt!"
"Have you thought about bridesmaids?"
"No," she said, not wanting to talk about it.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be putting pressure on you. I'm beginning to sound like your mum." He took her hand in his but she pulled away.
"Paul, to be honest with you, I'd rather just elope. I don't want to be at my own wedding and not know anyone." She caught her breath for a moment as another memory flashed into her mind. She felt herself getting frustrated — that was the second time that it had happened, and both times they had made no sense. Paul assumed that her tense body language was from their earlier argument.
"You know me," he said again, taking her hand in his.
Do I, Paul? Do I really know you?
* * *
Genevieve returned home before Rebecca and decided to order a gourmet meal for them both from one of the menus Tia had told her about when she'd spoken to her earlier. It was delivered already prepared, and all she had to do was put it in the oven for the right amount of time. She hoped tonight would be an opportunity to get everything out into the open, despite Paul telling her not to say anything; she was tired of people ordering her about.
She felt grimy after being in central London all day so she quickly showered and changed her clothes. Afterwards, she set the table for two, changing it several times because it looked too intimate with candles and flowers. In the end, she decided she didn't care if it looked intimate; it was stunning and that's all she cared about. She didn't hear Rebecca come in until Rebecca was standing right behind her.
"Expecting company?" she asked. Genevieve jumped.
"Oh, you scared me."
"I'm sorry."
"Who's the lucky guest?" Rebecca asked again, nodding toward the table.
"You are."
"Me?" She was taken aback. Had Genevieve remembered?
"Yes, you. And before you get worried, I ordered ready-made meals."
"So you found your bag of dinner party tricks, did you?" Rebecca laughed. Genevieve may have been a great artist, but a good cook she wasn't. She had collected an array of freshly cooked menus, which she used to pass off as her own cooking. At the end of many a dinner party, all of the guests were in on the joke that she hadn't prepared the food herself.
"Yes, Tia called for you earlier; she said she couldn't reach you on your mobile, and I told her I was cooking for you. Well, it took her more than a few minutes to stop laughing and tell me where to find my menus."
"Thank God for Tia is all I can say! No offence, but..."
"I can imagine," Genevieve said good-naturedly.
"Smells delicious, have I got time to clean up?"
"Yep, can I pour you a glass of chilled wine?"
"You certainly can," Rebecca said, walking to her bedroom. Once inside the sanctuary of her room, she leaned against the door, head tilted towards the ceiling. When she had first walked in, for a few seconds she had imagined that everything had gone back to how it was before. But then she had looked into Genevieve's eyes and seen the vagueness there, and she was brought back to reality with a thump.
It had been crushing not being able to just walk up and hold Genevieve, not to have any physical contact. She stripped off her clothes, showered and put her jeans and T-shirt on before returning to the kitchen where Genevieve was making a lot of noise but not actually doing very much.
"Would you like a hand?" she asked, seeing her flustered.
"I think I may need more than a hand," Genevieve said, trying to take the food out of the oven when it clearly wasn't ready.
"Why don't you sit down and let me finish up?" Rebecca said.
"But I wanted to make you a nice meal!" Genevieve protested.
"And you have done, the table looks amazing. Honestly, it's fine. This cooker needs some getting used to." Genevieve sat down while Rebecca confidently got things under control in the kitchen.
"So what did you do today?" Rebecca asked, her back to her.
"Met Paul for lunch."
"Oh, anywhere nice?"
; "A little French place on Shaftsbury Avenue." Rebecca stopped momentarily as she fought to keep her emotions calm. That was their favourite haunt. They went there most Sundays. Was it just a coincidence?
"Who recommended it?"
"No one. We were passing and I liked the look of it. And believe it or not, I had another flashback today." Rebecca spun round excitedly, but upon seeing Genevieve's face, she knew it had been nothing significant.
"Just another quick flash, I'm afraid." Rebecca finished up in the kitchen and served the food. They sat enjoying it for a few moments.
"How long have you been friends with Isabel?" Genevieve asked. Her face remained focused on her plate.
"Only a short while. Around the time of your accident. Why do you ask?"
"No particular reason." Genevieve kept her eyes on her food.
"Genie, don't forget at this moment in time I know you better than you know yourself. And I know when there is a question behind a question, so out with it."
"It's nothing, honestly. I was just thinking it's a bit strange you having a police officer as your friend, considering your work background. And before you ask me if I'm being elitist, no, I'm not — it just seems a weird combination."
"We have a lot more in common than our careers."
"Like what?" Genevieve asked innocently.
"Just things," Rebecca said, taking a last mouthful of food.
"Now look who's being evasive."
"I'm not being evasive; I'm just saying there are more to people sometimes than their jobs."
"Have it your way." Genevieve stood up abruptly and took her empty plate to the kitchen. Rebecca, bemused by her reaction, called out after her,
"Am I missing something here?"
Genevieve reappeared and looking intensely at Rebecca, said, "Are you —" The doorbell buzzed. Rebecca looked at Genevieve,
"Are you expecting someone?" She shook her head.
"Neither am I, shall we ignore it?"
"What if it's important?"
"It had better be." Rebecca got up from the table and threw her napkin down. "You can ask me that question in a minute."
She pressed the intercom to be informed that Paul was downstairs, and though she was annoyed, she buzzed him up. She walked back to the table. "Paul is here to see you." She saw the irritation on Genevieve's face.
"I only saw him a few hours ago," she said, clearing the condiments from the table.
"We'll have to have that talk some other time. Thanks for dinner, I think I'll go to my room and read." Rebecca quickly walked to her room and closed the door. She wasn't sure what Genevieve knew, but she didn't want to go down the route of discussing her sexuality. Not yet anyway.
Genevieve could have killed Paul — he had the most annoying habit of turning up when she least expected him. He came bounding into the room, happiness written all over his face, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a large bouquet of flowers in the other.
"Guess what?" Her irritation was momentarily lost.
"What?" she said with a flash of curiosity.
"Who's just sold a shitload of his paintings for top dollar?" He put the champagne and flowers on the table and swept Genevieve up in his arms, twirling her around as though she were a rag doll.
"You did?" she said, laughing. "Paul, I'm so happy for you."
"Two glasses, please," he said, lowering her back to the floor. She went into the kitchen cupboard and took out two champagne flutes and placed them on the table while he popped open the champagne. Meanwhile, she put the bouquet of roses in a vase.
"Here's to the future." Paul lifted his glass into the air, his face shining with pride.
"To the future." They clinked glasses and drank their champagne. They stayed up late into the evening, drinking and talking. Genevieve's earlier anger toward him softened with the alcohol. She got up to pour another drink but Paul grabbed her hand and playfully pulled her back down into his arms.
"Do you know what would make me the happiest man alive tonight?" he asked her, his eyes saying it all.
Rebecca's nightmare was coming true. She hadn't been able to do anything but listen to their muffled conversation all evening, and now she heard Paul and Genevieve make their way into her room, giggling together, obviously intoxicated. She didn't know whether to go in there and put a stop to it or just think logically and try to ignore it, but she couldn't do either. She was feeling real, physical pain and the tears were streaming down her face. She grabbed hold of her pillow and hugged it while she rocked herself. She didn't know if their relationship could make it back from here — even if Genevieve recovered her memory. She didn't think she would ever forget this moment. She pushed her head down into her pillow and screamed months of pain into the enveloping softness. When she could no longer stand it she jumped out of bed, put on her jogging clothes, and ran out of the flat.
She darted over to the embankment and sank to her knees, sobbing. She felt a vibration in her pocket. She took out her mobile phone in case it was Genevieve, but the caller ID showed it was Isabel. She flipped open the phone and could barely speak a word of English. Gibberish noises came out of her mouth. Isabel was talking loudly in the ear piece. Her voice sounded alarmed but not panicked.
"Rebecca, tell me where you are," she kept repeating. Rebecca must have told her, because the next thing she knew she was being embraced by Isabel.
"That fucking bastard, that fucking bastard," Rebecca kept repeating. Isabel managed to piece together what had happened. She was someone who normally knew how to fix everything, but this was irreparable. Rebecca eventually calmed down a little and hugged her friend tightly.
"I'm sorry you have to keep seeing me like this."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Isabel joked. "Though I may start charging you for my dry cleaning bill. Maybe I should go back to the apartment and kick the shit out of him myself. He's seriously in need of help, to have pulled a stunt like this! The man is obviously a psychopath. Do you want to come and stay at my place tonight?" Rebecca nodded, and Isabel helped her up as though she were a fragile old woman, walking her gently to her car.
* * *
The effects of the champagne and the wine Genevieve had drunk made her head feel giddy. She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she heard the front door close. Probably Rebecca going to meet Isabel, she thought, a stab of jealousy shooting through her. Was she going insane? Why should she feel so jealous? She turned off the bathroom light and walked back into her bedroom where Paul was already in bed, sitting up, his bare chest exposed. She saw his underwear and jeans on the floor, and the realisation hit her that he was naked. She froze as she realized that she felt absolutely no rush of desire or any urgency to join him. Feeling a mixture of fear and apprehension instead, she thought of a way to stall him. If she gave him more alcohol, maybe he would drop off to sleep, but seeing how alert he was, she doubted it. She wished Rebecca was in the other room — maybe then she could have used the excuse of needing to talk to her and escaped this situation.
She got into bed fully dressed in her pyjamas. She stretched to turn off the bedside lamp, but he stopped her.
"No, I want to see you." He drew her close to him and she could feel that he already had an erection. A sudden feeling of repulsion came over her, and she tried to wriggle away from it, but it only caused him to hold her tighter. He covered her mouth with his, his tongue forcing her lips apart. She started to panic. She felt as though she were being suffocated — it was all so wrong.
Suddenly, he seemed to change right before her eyes. His hair looked softer, his facial features more feminine, his shoulders were slender. And then as quickly as his appearance had changed, it reverted back again. She gave one large heave and pushed him off her.
"What's the matter?" he asked with an alarming flash of cold anger.
"It's you, you look different," she said, scrambling off the bed. "Look Paul, I think it's best if you leave. I can't do this." Her voice was shaking. He looked enraged, a
nd fear took hold of her again. She backed away into the bathroom.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he yelled, his face fiercely distorted. He lunged off the bed toward the bathroom but he wasn't fast enough and she managed to slam the door and lock it.
"I want you to leave now!" she shouted, "Rebecca will be back soon." Paul banged on the bathroom door like a man possessed.
"I don't care who is coming back, I won't let you do this to me again, do you hear me?" Genevieve cowered on the floor next to the toilet, unable to comprehend the change in him. After a few minutes, the banging stopped and she heard him moving about. Presumably he was gathering his clothes together. After what seemed a lifetime, the bedroom door closed. She waited until she heard the front door slam before she went out to make sure he had really left.
She double-bolted the door and put the safety chain on, then went through to the kitchen to pour herself a neat whiskey. Shaken, she switched the side lights on in the front room and lay on the sofa, drinking steadily, trying to get rid of the nagging questions. Why had Paul morphed into a female figure? Was there something wrong with her? Were her parents right? Was Rebecca's lifestyle warping her mind? The thought of Rebecca sent shivers down her spine. I wonder what she's doing now, she thought enviously. The image of Rebecca lying naked in bed with another woman made her feel unsettled. She asked herself over and over again why she was feeling like this. She was straight — she didn't feel that way towards women! But why had Paul said that he wouldn't let her do this to him again? What exactly had she done?
She finished the rest of the whiskey in one gulp and poured herself another one. Genevieve stared around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Her gaze fell on the portrait of Rebecca, the overhead lamp highlighting her beautiful face, relaxed and serene. She found herself staring at it intently. The alcohol seemed to be lubricating her mind. The more she looked at the painting, the more it seemed to be stirring her memory.
