The Feel of Forever

by Lyn Denison

  Fliss clutched the kitchen counter for support. They had been happy. Bailey’s brother had been on the mainland for a few days and they’d had the comfort of the cottage to themselves. Fliss had slept over and they’d spent the night in Bailey’s bed, woken up together, arms and legs entwined. Being together had been indescribably phenomenal.

  That afternoon Fliss had insisted they take her camera and the tripod out to the headland and they’d used the remote on Fliss’s camera to take that photo. Bailey had her arm around Fliss’s shoulders. She’d let her fingers daringly caress Fliss’s breast before the shutter clicked and they’d laughed at their recklessness. Not that there was anyone around. They’d had the headland to themselves.

  Fliss had had the roll of film developed but, before she could give Bailey a copy of the photo, Bailey was gone. As she reached for a small tray she admitted she’d wasted a lot of time looking at that photo, and at the other photos she’d taken. Bailey on the jetty by her father’s trawler. Bailey on the beach. Bailey posing by a banksia tree. And some that Bailey had taken of Fliss.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen that photo,” Bailey was saying as Fliss put the mugs and the teapot onto the tray.

  “Fliss didn’t show you? I’ll go and get it.”

  Fliss was galvanised into action. She left the tray and hurried into the living room. Bailey was sitting on the sofa, slim legs crossed, apparently relaxed. Petra had her hand on the railing of the stairs.

  “Petra!” Her sister paused, one foot on the bottom stair. “I— Do you want sugar in your chocolate?”

  “No, thanks.” She raised her eyebrows at Fliss. “I don’t have sugar in chocolate, you know that.”

  Fliss stood undecided. How was she going to stop her sister going upstairs for the photo without making her or Bailey think the photo held any importance for Fliss.

  Petra frowned. “I’m just going up to get that great photo of you and Bailey.”

  Fliss tried for a rueful smile. “Oh, I’m sure she isn’t interested in old photos. It was just a happy snap. I’m not much of a photographer.”

  Petra exclaimed in disbelief, “Not much of a photographer? You’re kidding! You take great shots. And this one is hardly a happy snap.”

  “I’d really like to see it, Fliss,” Bailey said from behind Fliss and the fleeting expression of pain that passed over Fliss’s face caused her sister to pause and mouth the word What? so that Bailey wouldn’t see her. Fliss gave a slight shake of her head and, after a moment, Petra continued up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “I’ll just get the tray,” Fliss said, unable to meet the other woman’s eyes. Why would Bailey want to see the photo anyway? It was past history for Bailey and would only bring memories of her dalliance into lesbianism. It would hardly fit in anywhere in her fiercely heterosexual world. “You didn’t say if you wanted coffee, tea or chocolate,” Fliss said evenly.

  “Tea would be fine,” she said.

  “Plain or herbal?”

  “Either. Surprise me,” she replied huskily.

  A hungry heat surged inside Fliss. Would the composed Bailey Macrae be surprised enough if Fliss pushed her back on the sofa and kissed those inviting lips with all the emotion that seemed to be gathering insider her? Fliss turned quickly and returned to the kitchen as she tried to calm her racing heartbeats.

  She chose her favorite plain tea with a hint of ginger, adding the bags to the teapot. She knew Bailey liked ginger too.

  And suddenly she wanted to cry. Tears welled in her eyes and she angrily dashed them away. She’d wept enough tears over Bailey Macrae. She heard Petra return but refused to listen to Bailey’s comments on the photograph. She poured water into the teapot and then noisily mixed Petra’s chocolate, telling herself she wasn’t interested. Not in the least.

  Fliss returned to the living room and set the tray on the coffee table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Bailey was still holding the framed photograph.

  Petra reached out and took her mug of chocolate as Fliss poured tea into the two china mugs for herself and Bailey. Petra gave a sniff and wrinkled her nose.

  “Is that that ginger tea of yours?” she asked her sister. “I’m thinking Bailey probably won’t like it. It’s pretty awful stuff.”

  Bailey took the mug Fliss handed her, her fingers brushing Fliss’s as she did so. She raised the mug and drew in the aroma. “Mmm. You can really smell the ginger. I’ll bet it’s delicious.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Petra looked amazed. “You mean you’re a ginger person too? I thought Fliss was the only strange one who did. Yuck.” She shuddered theatrically.

  “Ginger’s good for you.” Bailey took a sip, savored it and smiled. “It’s lovely, Fliss. Thanks.”

  “Would you like some sugar?” Fliss asked and Bailey shook her head.

  “No. It’s fine. We’re both fine. Now sit down and have your own tea.”

  Reluctantly Fliss sank down on the other end of the sofa, far too close yet too far away from Bailey.

  Bailey set her mug on the coffee table and indicated the photograph. “Petra’s right. It’s a great shot.”

  Fliss gave her mug of tea her attention and made no comment.

  “It’s a good photo of both of us and the length of the beach, the sky, the brilliant blue water as a backdrop is magnificent. I’d really like a copy for myself.”

  Fliss looked quickly at Bailey and then back at the mug of tea.

  “There was another copy with that one,” Petra said innocently, “so I brought it down. I knew Bailey would like a copy.”

  Fliss shot a look at her sister and Petra frowned slightly, puzzled again. With no little effort Fliss made herself shrug. “Of course. I probably meant to give the other photo to you. I guess I must have forgotten,” she said lightly, amazed that she wasn’t struck down for such a mammoth fib.

  “Thank you.” Bailey looked at the photo again, her lashes shielding the expression in her dark blue eyes. “It’s a very good likeness of you, Fliss,” she said softly.

  “Maybe.” She shrugged again. “But it was eight years ago. People change.” She looked across at Bailey and for a moment, Bailey’s eyes seemed to penetrate the protective barrier Fliss had so painstakingly erected, seeking, probing, making Fliss feel the urgent need to hide her thoughts, her emotions, from that perceptive regard.

  Her mouth went dry and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Bailey’s gaze settled on Fliss’s lips and Fliss could almost believe she felt Bailey’s touch . . . They sat like that, silently lost in each other for long moments as the mantel clock ticked the time away.

  “I’m not the person I was eight years ago,” Fliss said at last.

  “No.”

  Fliss saw Bailey swallow, was aware of the pulse beating at the base of the other woman’s throat.

  “No, you’re not,” Bailey repeated lowly. “Neither am I.”

  Petra reached for the framed photograph and took it from Bailey, regarding it consideringly. “As far as I can see you’ve both barely changed. Just your hairstyles are different really. That’s all.” She beamed at them both. “Which means you’re both wearing pretty well for your age.”

  “Petra!” Fliss admonished but Bailey laughed easily.

  “Maybe we should just be grateful for small mercies, hmm?”

  “Exactly,” appealed Petra. “At least you’re not old wrinklies.”

  “And I think,” said Fliss looking levelly at her younger sister, “that you should quit while you’re ahead.”

  The rain continued to fall and Petra suggested Bailey might as well stay the night. It was the sensible thing to do, they all decided. Bailey rang her brother while Fliss collected clean sheets from the linen press.

  “The fold-out couch would be more comfortable, wouldn’t it?” Petra said, draping herself on the stair rail, watching Bailey as she used the hall phone to speak to her brother. “Brent’s bed is too narrow and all their stuff’s in there.”

  “I
guess,” Fliss agreed. Her brother Brent and his wife were both serving in the Australian Navy and they were using Brent’s room as a storage space. Bailey would have to climb over boxes and trunks to get to the single bed.

  Fliss moved the coffee table and pulled out the couch. Petra came back and helped Fliss tuck the sheets in and then she slipped cases on a couple of pillows.

  “Okay. I’m off to bed,” said Petra. “Might see you at breakfast, Bailey,” she added as Bailey rejoined them.

  “I’ll have to leave fairly early,” she said. “John’s going over to the mainland tomorrow and I have to drop him off at the ferry. He’ll be picking my car up over there and leaving me his.”

  “Wish someone would leave me an Aston Martin,” Petra said as she disappeared upstairs. “ ’Night all.”

  Fliss smoothed the sheet. “I’ve put a blanket on the end of the bed and”—she picked up a T-shirt—“you can use this shirt to sleep in if you like.”

  Bailey took the shirt, smoothed it almost unconsciously. “Thanks.”

  Fliss walked towards the stairs, paused. “If you need anything else, I—Petra and I—we’re just upstairs.”

  Bailey looked up the stairs and back at Fliss. They were both aware Bailey knew exactly where Fliss’s room was.

  “I know,” Bailey said softly.

  Chapter Five

  The words echoed inside Fliss. Of course she knew. Fliss continued across to the stairs. “Well, good night then.”

  “Fliss.”

  She stopped, looked back at the other woman.

  “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

  “It wasn’t safe to drive home.”

  Bailey nodded. “That last bit on the drive over was bad enough, I can’t say I was looking forward to the return trip, so, well, I appreciate this.” She indicated the bed.

  Did Bailey think Fliss would have refused to let her stay? If she thought that—

  Bailey bit her lip and sighed softly. “Fliss, I’d like us to, well—” She swallowed. “Maybe we could spend some time together,” she finished quickly.

  “I work,” Fliss said flatly. “I can’t get away.”

  “The gallery’s closed two days a week. Maybe on your day off we could get together.” Bailey shrugged.

  “Tour the island?” Fliss gave a self-derisive smile. “We already did that, Bailey.”

  The tension between them grew even more acute.

  “That’s the first time you’ve actually said my name since I arrived back,” Bailey said at last, her voice low and husky.

  “Don’t.” Fliss got out. “Don’t do this. I can’t—I can’t go through this again.”

  Bailey put the T-shirt on the bed and crossed to Fliss’s side. “I have no intention of hurting you again, Fliss.” She put her hand on Fliss’s arm.

  Fliss told herself to shake it off, but the warmth of Bailey’s fingers, the softness, felt so good.

  “Believe it or not I didn’t plan to hurt you before. Everything just went so wrong.”

  Fliss did move then, broke the contact. “Let’s not go into this now.”

  “I was in love with you, you know,” Bailey said softly.

  “Sure you were,” Fliss retaliated. “That’s why you moved on. Now, I’ve had enough for one evening. I’m tired and I’m going up to bed. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Petra was wrong, you have changed, haven’t you?”

  Fliss shrugged. “Just grown up. Happens to the best of us. Kittens. Puppies. Naive, gauche, little groupies with bad cases of hero worship.”

  “Hero worship?” Bailey repeated. “Is that what it was?”

  Fliss paused on the stairs but couldn’t let herself turn around. She surely didn’t want Bailey to see the pain she knew she would be unable to hide.

  “And you were never gauche,” Bailey added thickly.

  Fliss made no comment. She continued up the stairs, along the short hallway and into her room. She closed the door behind her with a decisive click.

  Of course, maintaining her cool, composed mien when she was stretched out on her bed knowing Bailey was downstairs was just a little more difficult. Her traitorous body had a mind of its own. She ached to go downstairs, slip into the bed beside Bailey, take her in her arms, snuggle into the curve of her shoulder the way she’d loved to do.

  It’s over, she told herself angrily as she turned onto her side. Yet a small part of her wished it wasn’t.

  They’d been so good together. That night . . .

  With memories crowding in on her Fliss slipped back eight years. Bailey was beside her in the car and Fliss was excitedly anticipating showing Bailey her special place on the island.

  Fliss slowed the car and pulled into a lay-by overlooking the beach. She switched off the engine. “We’re here. Everybody out who’s getting out.”

  “I think that’s me.” Bailey laughed and climbed out of the car.

  Fliss closed the driver’s side door as Bailey walked around to join her. She took a few steps so she could look down on the beach before turning back to Fliss in dismay.

  “This is the beach you wanted to have lunch on?”

  Fliss laughed. “Yes. And no.”

  “Very cryptic. Please don’t say I have to go rock climbing. Look what happened last time.”

  “What a wuss you are,” Fliss teased, trying not to let her gaze linger on Bailey, the way her faded jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt hugged her trim figure. The blue of the shirt only accentuated the deep blue of her eyes and the soft cotton molded her firm breasts.

  For the past two weeks Fliss’s emotions had been in a turmoil. She could barely keep her eyes from taking in every curve, every nuance of the other woman’s body. And the way she felt about that body terrified her. She seemed to waiver between guilt and exaltation and her own body seemed to be either freezing or burning up.

  A couple of nights ago she’d been lying in bed thinking of Bailey and the confusion of feelings that went with it and she’d allowed herself to think about the word lesbian. Even thinking it had seemed horrifying. She had no experience of it, word or deed, and, as far as she knew, there were no lesbians on the island.

  Then she sat bolt upright in bed. Maybe Trudy Larsen was a lesbian. She had her own fishing trawler and she’d never been married and she must be all of fifty years old. She wore men’s clothes and had very short hair. In fact, once as a child Fliss had asked her mother if Trudy was a man or a woman. Her mother had chuckled and said that Trudy was definitely a woman but that she worked as hard as any of the men.

  That didn’t make her a lesbian, Fliss acknowledged. And Trudy did live alone so if she was a lesbian she certainly didn’t, well, do what lesbians did.

  Fliss felt herself flush. She had no idea what lesbians did. If she knew for sure Trudy was a lesbian she thought she might be able to pluck up courage to ask her but that seemed far too risky without absolute proof. And somehow she couldn’t seem to bring herself to ask her mother. She knew she’d stammer and then she’d blush. Of course her mother would tell her if Fliss asked her but she had no idea what she’d say if her mother asked her why she wanted to know. Oh, what a tangled web.

  The Internet. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Even her father had said the computer in the study brought facts to your fingertips.

  Fliss had slid out of bed and crept down the hall to the study. At least her bother Brent was staying over at a mate’s place and her little sister Petra rarely woke, even in a thunderstorm. Her parents’ room was at the other end of the hall so she should be fine.

  She crept inside and switched on the computer, wincing as it whirred to life. She could almost cringe at some of the things that popped up when she put the word lesbian into a search engine. But eventually she’d found a couple of interesting articles so she hit print and stood guard at the door as the articles printed out.

  Back in bed she read every word and thought about Bailey. She knew she’d never felt this way about anyone. Certainly not about
a guy. That was the problem. There wasn’t a guy on the island who was a patch on Bailey. As attractive. As, well, sexy.

  John Macrae. He was a man, also very attractive, and the resemblance between Bailey and her brother was quite striking. So why didn’t she feel attracted to John Macrae? She sighed and rolled over, clutching her pillow. Because no one, not even Bailey’s rich and handsome brother, made Fliss feel the way she felt about Bailey.

  “Maybe I am a wuss, but I have reason to be.” Bailey’s words brought Fliss back from her unsettling thoughts. As Fliss tried to put her reflections out of her mind Bailey pulled up the leg of her jeans to display a small Band-Aid. “And there’s my proof.”

  “Very debilitating, I must say.” Fliss rolled her eyes. “You tripped over a stone. Hardly rock climbing.”

  “Stone? It was a fully-fledged rock. And the reason I fell over it was because I couldn’t climb over it.” Bailey held out her hands, palms upwards. “See my problem?”

  “There’s no problem,” Fliss said smugly. “There’s no rock climbing. So, are you game?”

  “Oh. Game for what? That’s the question?”

  Fliss felt a flush color her cheeks. “Umm. I—”

  Bailey laughed softly. “I’m just teasing you. As I see it, the bottom line is that I’m hungry and you have lunch in the car. Seems I’m in your hands.”

  “Okay.” Fliss turned to open the boot. In my hands? Fliss swallowed. Would that she was.

  “So is it yes or no?”

  Fliss looked around at the other woman, momentarily at a loss.

  “About this being the beach.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, it’s yes, it is here we’re having our picnic, but no, it’s not exactly here we’re having our picnic.” She grinned.

  “Have I fallen through the looking glass? Come to think of it, you do look a bit like the Cheshire cat with that grin all over your face.”

  “Just as long as you’re not the Queen of Hearts.” She turned back to the boot of the car. “Or it would be off with my head.”