Faith In Love

by Liann Snow

  "Maybe I can find out from the library!"

  Thursday, February 24

  Never knew there was such a paper as this. Such explicit pictures of men, too. Funny how little impression they make, considering I'm married to one. (Maybe that's why, though!)

  Oh, right here we are, in the back, lists of contacts, organisations, Lonely Hearts. How do people ever get the nerve to reply to those? I'm sure I couldn't do it. You'd have to be ever so trusting.

  Got it! "Greater London Switchboard, advice and all enquiries for Lesbians and Gay Men." Sounds perfect! I'll call them up immediately before I get too scared. Aren't libraries wonderful? They've got a pay phone too. And it works!

  "Hallo?"

  "Switchboard. Can I help you?" The man sounded young, friendly and brisk all at the same time.

  "I'm afraid I'm a bit nervous."

  "That's all right. Take your time."

  "I'm not sure what to say. It's very simple really, or I thought it was. But now I come to do it. You picked up the phone really fast."

  "Sorry. Would you prefer to speak to a woman?"

  "Oh, no, really. It's quite all right. I didn't mean that. I don't mind a man at all."

  "How can I help you then? Information? Advice? Or d'you just want to talk?"

  "Information! That's it exactly! It really isn't difficult after all. I only want to know where women go, Lesbians, I mean, in my area. There, you see, I've said it. I feel much better now."

  "There you are, then! Better out than in, as they say!" The young man sounded every bit as pleased as she was. "Let me see now, where abouts are you?"

  "I'm in a library."

  "No, I mean, which area do you live in?"

  "Of course, sorry. I live in North London –"

  "West or East?"

  "Not West – North East, I suppose, Hornsey!"

  "Oh, Hornsey – is that near Tottenham? There's a good pub up there, bit rough though, not quite what you want –"

  "I want to find the nearest lesbian pub or dance or whatever to where I live, to go to at the weekend, as soon as possible."

  "This Saturday soon enough?"

  "Yes! Is there something?"

  "I'm skimming through my list while we're talking. You have to do ten things at once here."

  "Is it voluntary?"

  "Certainly is, couple hours a month, that's all. You could do it! They're always looking for women!"

  "Maybe. Not yet – I'm looking for women myself at the moment! What have you found for me?"

  "Ooh, you're keen! Here we are – Saturday night, eight till late – sound all right? It's a disco with deejays. Called Scene 'n' Heard, spelt S, C, E, N, E –"

  "Seen and heard?"

  "Yes. With a 'c', like in a play. Don't know why, but there you are. Not that it matters really."

  "How much is it?"

  "Three pounds before eleven, it says, though it doesn't say what it is after that. Should do really. Sorry about that. I'd go before eleven if I were you, check it out! You never know what they'll rush you after that. If you're on a tight budget anyway. And who isn't these days?"

  "I won't go much later than eight I think. I don't suppose I'll stay long either."

  "Right you are. Well, it's in Hope Street, N1. That's Islington. Near enough?"

  "I can get a bus there and back. I expect it's in the A to Z."

  "Shall I look it up for you? There's one here."

  "Don't worry, I can do that when I get home. Would you run through it all again for me please?"

  "Got a pen?"

  "No. I'll remember. Scene 'n' Heard, with a 'c' –"

  "Number twelve, Hope Street, Islington N1. Opens at eight, closes late. Three quid before eleven. I think it's down some steps, in a basement. If it's where I think it is, then it's a Gay club in the week, and Saturday is Dyke Night!"

  "Every Saturday?"

  "Yep! So far, it is. Hasn't been open that long, not Dyke Night anyway. It's been a gay place though, for yonks!"

  "There'll be a lot of women there?"

  "You can bet on it!"

  "Well, thanks. I might go this Saturday."

  "It's been a pleasure chatting to you. Have fun! Call us again any time."

  "Thanks. I will. Goodbye."

  Friday, February 25

  Faith is in the bedroom she shares with Don. Don has just left for his fortnightly trip up North. She is rummaging in a chest of drawers. Don't suppose he knows I know about these, his blue films, his sexy girls. Thinks I don't know.

  Where did he think I got the idea for the red satin tart's outfit though? Probably assumed it just bubbled up out of the churning depths of my primeval female passion. I can imagine him assuming that kind of thing.

  Silly place to keep them, his secret vids, in his bottom drawer under his socks. If he displayed them on a shelf in the front room they'd be only slightly more accessible to me. Who does he think sorts the washing round here for the launderette and who does he think does the putting away of clean socks in clean sock drawers? Probably thinks I can't work the video anyway.

  What do we have today? Here we are, Lust of the Lezzie Lovers and oh, another one, Sappho's Saucy Sisters. All he seems to like, lesbo-porn and those horror-flick things, blood going everywhere. Oh yes, there's one of those too, Blood of ... Ugh, disgusting. I couldn't even sit through one of those anymore. I used to, when I was a girl. I don't know what's changed, me or the films. I think I just got more sensitive as I got older. Don can't have, though maybe he just didn't get older. You'd think he was still sixteen from these titles. Maybe they never grow up – adolescent boys forever, which might be nice for them, if not so nice for the women who have to live with them.

  I don't suppose real dykes are like this. (Funny word, that, but if it's what they want to call themselves, then let them, I say.) Good Heavens, what a contortionist! There's no way I could do that, even if I wanted to. How can she breathe? I hope they're well paid for this. Ooh, no, not again surely! I'd have thought once was enough for that kind of thing. Now it's her turn, fair enough!

  Oh no, hubbie's home already. Doesn't time fly when you're having fun! Now he'll want to get involved and they'll have to pretend to be pleased. They should get him to take up a hobby like Don has. Get him out of the house on a regular basis, otherwise they'll always be having these interruptions.

  Oh well, here we go, back to the old heave-ho.

  I think I'll make some tea while this bit's on. Nothing there I haven't seen before.

  = CHAPTER 4 =

  Saturday, February 26. AM.

  Oh, my hair feels lovely off my face! I feel more free, more like me, somehow, which is strange because I've had it long since I was a kid.

  That Greek girl didn't want to cut it so short, said her husband loves long hair. I'm sure he does, but I don't really care about that, do I?

  I think in the end she remembered it's my hair not hers, and the customer is always right, because she took the trouble to borrow some clippers from the barber's next door (I think they're family) and did a good job shearing off my curls. She seemed quite proud of herself, and so she should have been, rising to the challenge like a true professional, which of course she is. She even managed to persuade herself she quite liked the finished result, which for her was probably the hardest part of all.

  Right, now let's see what another sort of woman thinks of me. Perhaps they will be more accepting, maybe even enthusiastic. I hope so.

  I'll worry about Don's reaction when I see him and not before. That won't be until tomorrow night of course. He went off last night on his fortnightly jaunt (yet again). Well, this time, just for once, I'm off on a jaunt as well. The kind of jaunt my husband would not, in a million years, imagine me going on; the kind of jaunt I wouldn't have imagined going on either a few weeks ago. The kind of jaunt I'll be very unlikely to tell him about when he does condescend to come home.

  I'll leave the house at seven or just after. That should give me loads of time to get
there. I probably ought to eat before I go, but I don't think I can, I'm far too nervous. We'll see, maybe later.

  ~ ~ ~

  Number twelve. Oh how scary. Haven't felt like this in years. Butterflies. Don't be silly now – a grown woman. Oh, what will they think of me? Will I fit in? Can hardly fit in these jeans, never mind anything else. Not really size twelve anymore. Still, if I hold my tummy in ... Too scared to eat before I left. Probably just as well ... bursting out as it is. Still I've got quite a nice bum and the rest of me's not bad. "Everything in the right place" as Don would say, "Something to get hold of." Not too much I hope. Still women aren't like blokes are they? They'd be more understanding. Not worrying too much about physical shapes and sizes...

  Do I have to knock on this door? Give a password? If I do, I don't know it. Oh, it's alright. It's open already. Just needed a push. It wasn't in the basement after all. Hope it's the right place! Get done for breaking and entering otherwise. Be in the papers: would-be dyke, old enough to know better, invades family home, just in time for Birds Of A Feather!

  "Oh, sorry! I didn't see you. Nearly fell on you it's so dark in here! Are you selling tickets? Oh yes, I see you are. How much is it then?"

  "Three pounds. Or two, if you're UB40..."

  "No, not quite ... Three it is then. What time's it on till?"

  "Three."

  "Three again. It's all threes isn't it? Where do I go? It's not on the third floor is it?"

  "Up the stairs. Just there!"

  "Oh yes, thanks."

  What a large woman and what a small table! (Heavens, it is dark in here!) She looked a bit grim. It must be very boring just sitting there. I'm sure I wouldn't like it. It's still early though. What must she be like by the end of the evening? Like a bear with a sore head. Perhaps it's shifts. Should be, otherwise it doesn't seem fair. Oh, what a lot of stairs! I'm exhausted already. Better be careful when I leave, might fall from top to bottom. Could do if I got drunk. Wonder if anyone has? Perhaps she'd catch me. Don't think so somehow. Doesn't look the type.

  Oh here we are. I can hear music now. Quite a racket once you get up here.

  Oh dear, there're only three people here, including me. I was right about threes. Oh yes, and a woman behind the bar. Four. A lot of noise. Where's it coming from? Oh, I didn't realise, there's a deejay, like that man said – in the corner. It's so dark I couldn't see. She's very energetic. Never stops moving: snapping her fingers; doing little dance steps. She should come out on the floor and do a turn. Cheer us all up – all four of us.

  "What, two pounds fifty for a vodka and lime? Oh, it's a double is it? Is that automatic? No, it's okay. I just wondered. Thanks very much. Oh, could I have ice please?"

  Is that expensive? Not sure. It's a long time since I bought myself a drink. Don't drink often anyway, but I think you need to here. It's all right though. The music is lively enough. That dance music stuff, hip-hop or whatever you call it that Carol plays all the time. I don't mind it. And the lights moving around ... they're pretty. I suppose the walls are black but it's so dark I can't be sure. But, oh, somebody's dancing, just one woman, by herself. Oh, this drink is strong. Still, I've got a seat and a table to myself. It's nice.

  She's quite a good dancer. Moody, romantic. Wouldn't have thought you could move like that to this sort of music, but she's doing a good job of it. She's very thin. Nothing to her. She's got long hair though, which is more than I have. Maybe I shouldn't have cut it. Still, she's miles younger than me. No more than twenty I should think. I think you can get too old for long hair. Mutton dressed as lamb.

  Now look, someone's come up to her! Where did she spring from? I didn't see her come in. She's young too. Very dark eyes. Much shorter hair. Shorter than some boys have it. Suits her, though. Makes more of her cheekbones. She could be a model, that one. Bit short though. Have to be tall to be a model. Oh she's put her arms round her now, and the one with the long hair is putting her head on her shoulder. How sweet! They're dancing very slowly now, more like rocking really, like babes in the wood. Still seems to fit the music though. Amazing really, this kind of music on Top of the Pops would have the audience jerking like puppets on a string: all twitchy and fast and robotic. Funny thing, rhythm. Oh look, they are sweet! Amazing how good they look together. Not at all odd, like you might expect. A perfect combination. No one steps on anyone's toes either, I've noticed that. No galumphing great feet to keep out of the way of. I wonder what brought them together this evening? Were they drawn to each other like moths to a flame? Did their glances meet across an un-crowded room? (More likely they arrived together and one just came out of the loo! Oh well.)

  Suppose I could try dancing too. No one to dance with. More women here now. It's funny how unnervous I am. So long as they leave me alone, I mean. Quite happy as an observer. Won't dip my toe in the water just yet; let it flow by.

  Good Heavens, leather vest and leather jeans! And muscles! She must be freezing. Be all right when it warms up though. When more people are here. I came a bit early I think. Like Don used to. Oops that's the drink talking! Better get another one before the bar gets too crowded. Everyone stands by the bar. Quite a lot of people now. Have to push through.

  "'Scuse please. Oh sorry. Did I spill your drink? Sorry."

  "S'alright, darling. Squeeze past. There you go."

  Oh, the bar's all sticky. I put my arm in it. That woman was nice – the one in the leather trousers. Very big, but friendly. Called me "darling". Well then, I probably look all right.

  Probably ought to get two glasses while I'm here. Save coming back. Hope no one's taken my seat. Left my jacket on it, just in case.

  They haven't, but there's two glasses on the table. Other than mine, I mean. Lager, I think. Hate the stuff. Don't like the smell – or the taste. Bet it's cheaper than vodka though. Some other women are dancing now, quite a lot of them. Can't even see the deejay. Or those two pretty women. Wonder where they went? The place is filling up now. Seems a lot smaller. I better not drink too fast, feel a bit hot. Better take my jumper off. Glad I put some deodorant on before I came out!

  Wonder where that woman is? My woman! Only joking, I know she's not mine. Only want to see her really. Maybe have a chat. We're neighbours anyway. Well, almost. Neighbours ought to get to know each other, swap recipes and borrow cups of sugar. Bit far to go, just for that. Here, I mean. But, where is she? Surely she comes here? It is the nearest place. Probably would come with her girlfriend anyway. The one the cake and the champagne were for.

  Seems so long ago, now. Only two weeks though. Wonder if she liked the cake? I wouldn't have. Bit too sweet for my taste. They put too much sugar in those things, but there you are. It's what people want, even these days. And the customer is always right, as they say. Oh dear, someone's coming over. It's old leather jeans! But she's with someone, so that's all right.

  "Okay if we sit here?"

  "Yes of course."

  No "darling" this time, I notice. Oh, well. Well, they're good match too, I should think. Neither one's got any hair to speak of and they're both loaded with silver rings and chains. And, oh look, the little one's got a ring in her eyebrow. How horrid! That must really hurt! I wouldn't do that if you paid me – too much of a coward for that kind of thing. Oh now they're canoodling right in front of me! How embarrassing! And where is she putting her hands? Better find something else to look at, quick. They're both wearing leather of course, black, but the little one's in a sort of bra thing instead of a vest. Looks quite cute really, quite pretty. A little mouth with little red pouting lips. Just a baby. People here are so young. Maybe that's why my woman's not here. Maybe I shouldn't be either! Is there somewhere special older women go? Don't feel bad here though. Should feel geriatric, but I don't. Dutch courage I suppose. Long as I've got my vodka I'm okay.

  Some more women coming in now. Lucky I'm by the door else I'd miss her. Such a crowd now. Hard to make out who's who or what's what. Booze and rhythm and swaying bodies; that's all it is now. An
d fag smoke. Enough to make your eyes water. My clothes will smell awful after this.

  What can the time be? Can't even see my watch. Mustn't be late or Carol'll worry. Maybe worry is too strong a word, but she might wonder what her old mum's been up to, which could be a bit hard to explain. Maybe I should ask these girls the time? No, perhaps not. Best not interrupt them. Probably wouldn't know anyway. Heaven's, her tongue must be down her throat! Time to go. Or shall I have a dance, all by myself?

  Saved by the bell? It's her! I know it is! Or is it? Suddenly they all look the same to me. It could be her; it might not. It looks like the clothes she'd wear if she was out for the evening ... but then ...Is she with someone? So many women, I can't tell. There she goes, straight for the bar. What does she drink? I don't even know. Yes it is her. For sure. I'm scared now. I forgot what I was here for. What am I here for? Calm down! She doesn't know me. It's all right. Don't even have to speak to her. I can just leave. I will. I'll go. In a minute I'll get up and go. In a minute I will. I'll just sit here for now though. I've still got most of a glass to get through. Mustn't drink too fast. Feel quite dizzy... all of a sudden.