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Short story: "The landlady"

Right, so I said I would post it and here it is. As I said, it's more than 9000 words and I know how tiring it can be to read on screen. But I know people are used to read fanfic all the time so maybe not. This is not a fanfic. But to me it feels like it is, because the main character is played by Catherine in my head and she looks a lot like Dorothy Ratcliffe. It's called "The landlady" and it's most definitely M rated (or NC-17 for those who don't read fics) Althought it's not just that.

Oh, and it's got lesbians.

The landlady

I first met Lillian one grey morning in February 1953. Of course she was Mrs. Sheehan to me then. I was looking for a room in London, after leaving my family for good. I had some money put aside, some ideas on what job I could do and a huge desire to leave the provincial life I had been stuck with till then. I was in my mid twenties and I had always been too much of a strong-minded woman to be tied up to that sort of life. Beside, I knew I was different. In a way my family, or anyone I knew, wasn't ready to accept. I figured it would have been easier in a big city like London.

I found Mrs. Sheehan through an ad in a newspaper. She had a vacancy and the rent was cheap. The only problem, I thought, was that the landlady was living in the same house. She just rented out the spare rooms. I needed to save money at the beginning so I showed up at her steps that cold morning.

She opened the door in a pink dressing gown. That wasn’t the only dowdy thing about her. Her pale, freckled skin, her unkempt ginger hair, her cracked lips. All about her screamed “miserable”. It looked like this woman had never put a scrap of make-up on her face. Her expression was deeply sad, but also tender; a strange mix of fragility and pride. She let me in and showed me around after introducing herself. My room was small but cosy. The common areas were the kitchen, the living room and the two bathrooms, one upstairs and one downstairs. I said I’d take it and she didn’t ask any questions. She told me there were two more tenants, two men who had the rooms downstairs, while mine was upstairs beside hers. She said I wouldn’t have to worry about them because they were away all day most of the time and they kept to themselves. I moved in the same day.

Contrary to the other tenants, I didn’t like staying alone in my room, so I spent most of my time in the kitchen or in the living room, where a radio was perched on a stool in a corner, but was rarely on. I liked to read books while Mrs. Sheehan wasn’t around. But when she was I always tried to make conversation with her. I learned that she didn’t have a job aside from being a landlady. She was living off her dead husband’s pension. She filled her time by helping the elderly in a community centre nearby. She was also helping out in a charity shop across the road. Other than that, she didn’t have a social life. She didn’t have close friends and didn’t go out at night. Of course, she was older than me, but I couldn’t guess her age and I wasn’t bold enough to ask. She was probably in her mid forties, but it was hard to tell on account of the fact that she never made an effort to look good. It was as if she had given up on life. And this, instead of repelling me, intrigued me. I wanted to know why a person could end up so disillusioned and unhappy. She never mentioned being any of those things, but I sensed it. I also realised that she didn’t like talking much. Maybe that was why she didn’t have friends. She answered my questions, but never asked back, never made an effort to know me. It should have put me off, instead I took it as a challenge.

I didn’t have much else to do, to be honest, and I was confident enough not to take her behaviour personally. I told her I wanted to find a job to sustain me, it didn’t matter what. One day she came back home and told me they were looking for staff at this cafe. I said to myself that a cafe could be the right place to start in London. I could meet people and start earning some money. So I applied. I found out later, after I was hired, that Mrs. Sheehan had put in a good word for me. The cafe was lovely, a place where reassuring-looking ladies came to have their tea and bun in the afternoon. It was busier in the morning, with clerks and students coming in for their breakfast. I enjoyed it and made friends with all the staff. They were all young women like me, except for the boss, a fat man who didn’t talk much and let us alone most of the time. The girls introduced me to the night life in town and I started coming home late at the weekends, trying to be as quiet as possible. Mrs. Sheehan never said a word about it. We went dancing most of the times and I tried to fit in with the rest of them. They mostly went there to look at boys, but I already knew I wasn’t interested. Some of them had long-term boyfriends and tried to set me up with their friends, but I always refused politely.

“Come on, Ann, it could be fun, you won’t know until you try,” Sarah or Ruth would say.

“No, I know it won’t work. Trust me.”

They would just shrug and let me be, until the next time. I wish I could have been honest with them, but I didn’t know them well enough and didn’t want to risk losing them already. In the meantime, I looked around. There were many pretty girls, everywhere, but no one that stood out or caught my attention more than the rest. So I just kept to myself and pretended I was shy.

By that time I had almost stopped talking to Mrs. Sheehan. It wasn’t that I had given up, but there simply hadn’t been much time or opportunities. I was busy during the day and away at night, sometimes during week days too, so I didn’t see her as much as at the beginning.

Then one day it happened.

I came back home one Saturday night a little earlier, because the rest of the girls had gone off with their boyfriends to the pictures. I was tipsy, but I did my best to come in quietly. I tiptoed upstairs and saw that Mrs. Sheehan’s door was slightly ajar and that the light was on. I didn’t mean to spy on her. I just walked across the corridor and my eye fell almost instinctively to my left. And I saw her. She was sitting on a chair, in front of her dressing table. She was wearing a white nightgown and was cleaning her face with some cotton wool, looking vacantly at the mirror. The thin nightgown revealed the trace of her underwear and left her legs bare from the knees down. She had let her hair loose and it fell graciously on her shoulders in long, soft curls. I stopped in surprised awe. It was the first time I realised she was beautiful. I couldn’t believe how I had never noticed it before. The soft light on the table highlighted her perfectly-shaped cheekbones and her elegant nose. The colour of her freckled skin, her curves, even the way she moved her mouth, with her lips slightly open, seemed attractive now. I found myself paralysed, not wanting to let go of that vision. I knew I could have been found out any second, but I just stood there, trying to memorise her every detail. Finally I swallowed and gave one last look before I left and slipped into my room next door.

In my bed I lay befuddled. I felt strange, as if my discovery was somewhat inappropriate. But there was no reason it should be. The more I thought about it, the more I got used to the idea, and by the time I fell asleep I had already decided that I was going to woo her and I didn’t care how mad, or even hopeless, that sounded.

The next morning I had to work early so there were no awkward encounters in the kitchen. The awkwardness would have been obviously one-sided, having Mrs. Sheehan no idea of my change of feelings for her. Nevertheless I woke up feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of seeing her without a plan of action. She was older than me, but not too old. I reckoned my biggest hurdle would have been her likely unwillingness to accept a different kind of love. I knew she had been married, but I didn’t let that discourage me. She could have married out of sympathy or boredom. Or maybe she was forced into it, who knows. I just had to try my chances. But how? Normally one would ask the girl out, got to the pictures; after, if lucky, there would be smooching inside the car, or by her house door, when no one was looking. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. For starters, Mrs. Sheehan didn’t strike me as someone who would go to the pictures. Also, I didn’t have a car. One thing was certain. There would have to be some alcohol involved, to loosen the situation.

I spent the whole day in work thinking of ways to make the first move, barely talking to anyone, and at the end of my shift I declined the girls’ invite for a drink and headed home. I was terrified, but also determined. I opened the front door and heard some sudden shuffling coming from the living room. The radio was on, some melancholic music was coming from it, and I thought that maybe one of the other tenants might be listening to it. But when I approached the room, Mrs. Sheehan appeared quickly at the door. Her hair was messier than usual and her cheeks were reddened. It looked like she had been rubbing her eyes to hide her tears. Suddenly all my lustful thoughts disappear from my mind to make room for an irresistible urge to hug her. I almost did. I would have, if I didn’t feel embarrassed by my own planning to bed her. I just stood there while she tried to cover up the evidence of her breakdown.

I said “Is everything alright, Mrs. Sheehan?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She wiped a hand under her nose and I thought I saw her suppressing another sniff.

“You’re home early today,” she said.

“Yes. I was... tired. I didn’t feel like going out this time.”

“I see. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Only if you’re having one yourself.”

“Sure.”

She shuffled into the kitchen and I followed her. I stood in a corner and looked at her. All I wanted to do was fold my arms around her, tell her that everything was going to be OK, that she didn’t need to be unhappy. I wanted to smooth her hair with my hands, wipe her tears with my mouth and make her feel safe. But I kept all that inside my head. There was nothing at that stage that I could have said that expressed my true feelings. And I was sure she was irritated at me for having her caught in a moment of weakness. So to break the ice I started telling her about my day in work. I half made it up because that day I wasn’t paying any attention to what was going on outside my mind. I used bits of funny episodes that had happened over the past week. The time Ruth dropped a hair clip inside an omelette and didn’t realise until the omelette reached the table. She was so mortified she didn’t want to confess it to the customer. So she waited until the customer wasn’t looking and swapped the plate. We all watched the show from behind the counter trying not to laugh too hard. I managed to get a tiny smile off her face, so I tried harder. I told her about the time the boss had to chase a rat off the cafe and then kept on chasing it with a broom in his hands for half a mile, causing a stir in the whole street. She chuckled at that one. And I told her about the old lady who comes in every Wednesday and Friday, orders a bun and a cup of tea and then falls asleep sitting up, with her bun half-eaten. She never finishes her bun and she always stays until closing time.

“Did she come in today?” she asked. It was a Friday.

“Yes, she did. She doesn’t need to order anymore. I brought her tea and bun and she fell asleep after five minutes.”

She chuckled a bit more and then we fell silent. We were now sitting at the table, facing each other. She looked at me with her mug in both hands, her arms stretched on the table, and smiled. Maybe I dreamed it, but then I thought that that smile really meant “thank you”. I smiled back, trying to make it say “you’re welcome”. Then I summoned all my courage and reached over the table to squeeze her hands. She recoiled for a second. Maybe she wasn’t used to be touched so suddenly, but she quickly relaxed and accepted it. I involuntarily looked directly into her eyes for longer than I intended and felt like I was melting into them. She had the most beautiful and shiny blue eyes. I removed my hands and hid them between my legs. A moment later I got up and said I was going to make some food and she was welcome to join me. But she said she wasn’t hungry and went up to her room, saying good-night, even though it was only six o’clock in the afternoon. I didn’t see her for the rest of the day. I was left alone to ruminate on my own thoughts. The first and most astounding to me was that now I could see her beauty all the time. Even with her dressing gown, scruffy hair and red eyes. I saw all this, but now it was as if a veil had been taken off my sight and I could appreciate the real her. I didn’t know a lot about her, about her life, but I was aching to. I wanted to know everything, spend all my time with her. Walk down the streets beside her, curl up on the couch with a cup of cocoa and listen to a radio show with her. And I wanted to be free to hug her and kiss her anytime, anywhere.

The next day in work I managed to swap all my early shifts for the rest of the week and I eagerly waited for the time to pass so I could come back home to her. When finally the time came, I wrapped a slice of apple pie in a handkerchief and carefully put it in my bag. At home I expected to see her in the kitchen or living room, but she wasn’t there. I waited for a while, made some tea, placed the cake on a plate, but she didn’t come so I went up to my room. After about one hour, I heard the front door opening and I almost rushed downstairs, my heart pounding in my chest. I managed to contain myself right before the stairs and I went down slowly, trying to look unfazed.

“Good evening, Mrs Sheehan.”

“Oh, hello Ann, how are you?”

“I’m very good, thanks, what about you?”

“Ah, you know, same old same old. I’m just back from the library, they needed an extra hand today for a stock check.”

She took her coat off and left it carefully in the hanger. She barely looked at me, which was just as well, since my face felt unseemly hot and flustered by her presence.

“How was work?” she asked, going into the kitchen to put the kettle on. I followed her.

“Alright. Nothing special happened. But I have brought a slice of pie. Have some, it’s really good.” I quickly grabbed the plate and offered it to her.

“Oh, no, it’s yours.”

“No, really, I... brought it for you. I’ve had it enough for today.”

“Oh my! You’re too kind.” She took the plate and then looked at me sideways, with a half-smile I had never seen on her. “You’re not trying to ask me to reduce your rent, are you?”

I knew from her look that she only half-meant it. I chuckled. “Mrs. Sheehan, how dare you accusing me of bribery. I’ll take it back if you don’t want it.”

“No, no, no, leave it,” she said laughing and pushing the plate towards her. “Would you like some tea and biscuits while I enjoy my pie?”

“That would be lovely,” I said.

So we sat together, drinking our tea and I couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend my evening.

The next morning I woke up early and sneaked into the kitchen. I wanted to make a big breakfast, because it was Sunday and because I wanted to please Mrs. Sheehan. But I didn’t necessarily want her to know that, so I planned to just invite her to join me because I had cooked too much for myself. I started frying the rashers and the sausages, then I toasted the bread, squeezed fresh orange juice and made scramble eggs. When I was almost done the smell had attracted not only Mrs. Sheehan, but also Mr. Burke and Mr. Townsend, the two other tenants, whom I had barely ever seen. They crept in slowly, making themselves some tea, and I had no choice but to invite them too. We ate breakfast all together, like a weird, mismatched family and it was quiet pleasant and different, albeit not the intimate moment I was hoping for. After breakfast Mrs. Sheehan said she had to do a shift at the community centre to help out with bingo. After she left I called in to one of my cafe friends and we went for a stroll in the park, feeding the birds and talking about boys, or at least she did and I nodded, acting aloof.

Next day, same story. Only it was Monday, so the other two tenants didn’t linger after drinking their morning tea. I prepared a pot for two, toasted some fresh bread and got out some real butter and marmalade; I boiled two eggs and placed one at each side of the table beside the plates and the mugs. Not long after, Mrs. Sheehan appeared and she looked more surprised than the day before. I don’t know if it was me and my look of love, but her overall appearance seemed better. She didn’t slouch so much anymore and her cheeks seemed more coloured. Also, her smile was less sad now. It was still sort of melancholic, but some real mirth was starting to transpire every now and then.

Anyway, that morning she said something like “Ann, you shouldn’t have, really. You’re spoiling me now.”

“But it’s my pleasure,” I said and that’s how we shared our breakfast. Me trying not to look too intensely at her, and her being completely oblivious to my longing stares.

I made her breakfast every morning that week. After that I couldn’t get any more late shifts so I had to leave the house too early for her. But by that time, our relationship had changed. She had started to warm up to me, thanks maybe to all the little things I thought of to make her happier. One day I brought home bright yellow daffodils and put them in a bottle on the kitchen table. Another I asked her permission to change the curtains in the living room, which were dark and heavy and mouldy, and I replaced them with some white laced ones. Once I sat with her at the table and showed her my family pictures. I had brought an album with me with all my favourite photographs, to remind me of home. My mum and dad, my brothers, our dogs. She loved them and laughed at my childhood memories and jokes about my relatives.

She never opened up to me about her life, but I was happy enough to see her smiling.

I couldn’t make her breakfast, but I could spend the evenings with her. She once I asked me why I didn’t go out anymore. I just shrugged and she didn’t question me any further.

We were sitting on the sofa, looking at some magazines, when all of a sudden she said, “You know that day, when you came home early... I never explained...”

“You don’t have to.”

“... it was my birthday. And I was feeling sorry for myself. I’m ashamed you had to see me in that state.”

“Oh, Mrs. Sheehan...”

“Please, call me Lillian.” It was the first time she had said that and I tried to hide my excitement at the event, which was almost as big as her confession to me.

“Lillian...” It felt strange saying it out loud. As if by saying it I was revealing all my secret feelings for her. It felt very intimate.

“Why didn’t you say anything? We should have celebrated.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like begging for attention. It’s stupid, really.”

“No, it isn’t. We need to remedy that,” I said pulling myself up. “We’re going to celebrate your birthday.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I mean it. I’ll take you out and we are going to get completely drunk.”

She laughed, thinking I was joking. I wasn’t. “I don’t take no for an answer.”

She looked at me how parents look at naughty but adorable children when they’re about to give in to one of their whims.

“Alright, then. Let’s go out.”

I picked a small Italian restaurant that stayed open late and wasn’t too far from the house. I had tried it once and the food was really good. In my mind this was our first date so I wanted it to be perfect.

We went the next Saturday.

I didn’t put too much effort into my outfit, I wanted to look nice, but I didn’t want her to think I was trying to look prettier than her. I knew how self conscious she was. She did make an effort, though. She styled her hair in beautiful soft curls, she put a veil of make-up on, just a touch of mascara, some blush and some shiny lip-gloss, and she wore a dress I had never seen, a dark blue gown that would have looked austere on any other woman, but looked audacious on her. To put it mildly, she looked stunning. She came down the stairs and looked embarrassed to see me looking at her with wide eyes.

“You look beautiful,” I said, and it pained me to know that she thought I was just being nice. I offered her my arm and we left the house.

We walked on the street arm in arm and for a while I was too stunned to be able to speak, I let the silence linger. She just kept her head down, smiling shyly. When we were almost there I said, “I hope you’ll like it. It’s nothing fancy.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know I’ll love it. I haven’t been out for dinner in... why, I can’t even remember!” she laughed, but it was her sad laugh. As if she did remember, but couldn’t bring herself to talk about it.

Her past was still a mystery to me, but at that moment I didn’t mind. She was with me and that was all that mattered.

In the restaurant I wanted to act like a gentleman, pull the chair for her, pour her the wine, but I had to refrain myself. I did order the wine and we helped ourselves to it before the food arrived. The place was busy and loud and I was glad it was, so that we didn’t attract too much attention. I don’t know why I was so nervous. I had been there a few times with my co-workers and never thought it odd. I guess I was afraid they could see it in my eyes, where my heart was.

At first I was the one who did most of the talking. I told her about my life at home, but not why I left. I told her about work and about the friends I made since arriving. She once said “It’s so much easier for you, young people, to go out, make friends...” I didn’t know what to say, because it was obvious it was hard for her to socialise, I couldn’t deny it. But I hated that she talked about herself like an old lady.

“Well, look at you. You’re out... with a friend.”

“Yes. That’s true,” she smiled. And then I said “Happy birthday” and we clinked our glasses.

Our pasta was lovely, so was the steak with chips. We even had dessert, a tiramisu for her and a crostata for me. At the end we were both stuffed, but I encouraged her to get more wine. We weren’t even close to the amount of intoxication I wanted for both of us. She tried to refuse at first, but she didn’t protest when I got the second bottle and poured her another glass.

“So,” she said, sipping her wine slowly, “what now? What do young people do these days after dinner?”

“Well..., it all depends,” I said. “They go to the pictures, or dancing... would you like to go dancing?”

“Me? Don’t be ridiculous. I’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

“What? Why?”

“You know why, I’m too old for these sorts of things.”

“No, you’re not.” “Yes, I am, I’m thirty-nine, for god’s sake!” She almost shouted, and some people turned their heads towards us. I looked at her with wide eyes, trying not to laugh, but then I gave in and I chuckled. She looked flustered, but when she saw me laughing, she relaxed and joined me.

“God, you make it sound like you were a granny.”

“I could be.”

“But you aren’t! My granny is eighty-seven. When you’re eighty-seven you can start going on about your age and about how degenerated young people are.”

“Fair enough.”

“So, no dancing, then?”

“No.”

“Well, we can just go home and play cards, I suppose.”

“Like a pair of grannies.”

I smirked. Somehow the way she has said it, the sense of complicity she had implied with it, made me all fuzzy and warm inside. Or maybe it was the wine that was kicking in. Either way, I was happy.

We finished the second bottle and headed home. We linked arms like we did on the way in, only now we were walking closer, almost leaning to each other, mostly to help us walking steadily, but I liked to think that it was because we had crossed over another level of intimacy.

At home neither of us was ready to go to bed, so I searched the kitchen for some kind of alcoholic beverage and when I found a bottle of brandy I brought it with me to the living room, where she was sitting on the couch. It was dark and felt really late, but it couldn’t have been later than nine o’clock. The other tenants were at home in their rooms, probably still awake. So I closed the door behind me.

“Now, here’s the glass for you, and this is for me,” I said.

“I’m not sure we should be drinking more,” she said.

“No, I’m certain we should not,” I said. Then I looked into her eyes and we both burst out laughing. The first real full-on laugh, with no restraint, I had seen on her.

“You should laugh more often,” I said seriously.

She sighed. “It’s not easy.”

I stayed silent, hoping she’d go on. And she did.

“I haven’t laughed like this in ages. Probably since Albert...”

“Who?”

“My husband. We were married young, but the time wasn’t right. He was called to war and died almost immediately. I’ve been alone ever since.”

“But now you have me!” I said jokingly, and immediately regretted it.

“Well, yes,” she smiled.

“Did you... love him?”

“Yes. Very much. We grew up together, you know? Childhood friends. We were married as soon as we were allowed. I still miss him sometimes.”

Now I was sorry I asked. I poured her another glass and did the same for me.

“My goodness, I haven’t talked about him to anyone. Ever.”

“Maybe you should, talk more. It helps.”

“Yeah, I suppose. It’s just, I shut down. Didn’t want anyone to know how I felt. It was easier that way.”

“It doesn’t do to bury your memories. They always come back to haunt you.”

“Hey, you’re awfully wise for your age.”

“For my age?” I said, looking offended.

“Well, yes. How old are you now? Eighteen, nineteen?”

“Excuse me, madam. I’m twenty-six.”

“Oh. Oh.” She tried to stop a laugh with her hand.

“I’m so sorry. You look so young.”

“Or maybe it’s you who thinks everyone is so much younger than you.”

“You are.”

“Not that much. Sometimes I feel closer to you than to people my age.” Oh god, why did I say that? My heart was racing as I reached for the glass again.

“Yeah, I noticed. I do wonder, what’s with all this attention towards me. You’ve been taking care of me so much. I’m very grateful to you. But why?”

I shrugged.

“Maybe cause I like looking after the needy?”

“What?” she looked indignant.

“Little old grannies like yourself.”

“Oh stop it,” she poked me in the rib and I secretly shivered.

“Oh, come on, haven’t you guessed yet?” I said.

“Guessed what?”

I stopped and looked at her. I sighed.

“Have you seen yourself? You are so... beautiful.”

She looked surprised, but also flattered, and at least didn’t move back from me.

I just looked at her and then I leaned closer, looking at her lips. “I really want to kiss you now.” I said.

To my surprise, she laughed. “Now, that is highly inappropriate”, she said, but she didn’t sound serious. She sounded like she was daring me.

So I leaned forward and I kissed her. I revelled in the feeling of our mouths touching, not daring to go any further. After a delightful eternity, I moved back and I checked her face. I didn’t know how to interpret it. She just looked at me, without saying anything, just staring. I kissed her again, because she was still there and I would never get a better chance than this. I kissed her deeply, looking for her tongue inside her mouth. She responded shyly, with her eyes closed, letting me in slowly. But then she stopped, all of a sudden, and pushed me away.

“The other tenants might see us.”

“But they’re in bed.”

“Still, it’s not right. I’m sorry.”

She leaned her elbows on her legs and took her head in her hands. I tried to touch her arm, make her come back to me, but she recoiled. “Please, don’t,” she said.

I sat there for a while, not sure what to do. Then I stood up and said softly. “I’m... I’m going to bed. I’m sorry if I...”, but then I stopped, because I wasn’t sorry I kissed her and couldn’t think of anything else I was sorry for. I left the room quietly and she stayed there, without saying a word.

I had probably ruined everything, but it had felt so good to feel her taste in my mouth. It was so much better than in my dreams. In bed, I realised I probably had to move out now, but at least I got to kiss her. I wasn’t even thinking that I was going to lose her forever. The inebriation of that kiss had clouded everything else. I played it over and over in my head and that memory kept me awake for a long time.

That’s why I was able to hear the feeble knock on my door.

“Yes?”, I said. The door opened and I saw Lillian coming in, wearing her thin white nightgown. I pinched myself to make sure it wasn’t one of my dreams. It wasn't. She just stood there, holding her breath, looking at me. She didn't move or said anything. In my memory that moment has the quality of a vision. Crystalised in time as the most desirable thing that could have possibly happened to me.

So, I got off the bed and raced towards her. I took her face in my hands and I kissed her, hungrily. This time she returned my kiss with her same transport. I felt my legs weaken when she pulled me closer to her with her arms and held me. I didn’t know where to start; there was so much I wanted to do, all at once. I was overwhelmed. I started with her thighs. I let one hand trail down to her hip and then I pulled up her skirt. I caressed her, feeling the warmth of her skin. I kissed her neck and worked my way up to her ear, slowly. I kissed her forehead and her cheeks and her throat. I wanted to take her all in. Eventually I pulled her away from the door and took her hand, guiding her to my bed.

She talked then. She said, “Ann... I’ve never really... you know. And it’s been such a long time.”

“Shhh,” I said, “You don’t have to worry about anything.” I was in control. I knew what I was doing, and she was going to love it. We slipped under the blanket and I pulled her close to me. She still seemed tensed so I just looked at her lovingly. I put my hand on her cheek and caressed her face. She closed her eyes and I kissed her again. I kissed her as if she had been the first woman I ever kissed. I paid attention to every detail, to every movement of her lips and tongue. I lingered on the lower lip and then the upper one; I relished every contact my mouth was having with hers. I explored softly the shape of her tongue and I noticed how well it fit with mine. Gradually, she let go. Our legs intertwined, her feet dancing with mine, her hips thrusting almost imperceptibly forward. I made sure I caressed her entire body, starting from her shoulder and then her arms, her stomach, her legs. I was so excited I could feel my hand tingling while touching her. I wondered if she could feel the electricity. I also wondered whether she could hear my heart beating at an insane rate in my chest. I dipped my hand into her hair, her gorgeous auburn waves and I massaged her head, still kissing her deeply. I was aware I was holding back, but I wanted to make sure she was ready for me. I held my breath and slipped a hand underneath her nightgown. I felt her stomach rise suddenly, as I reached for the shape of her breasts. I hesitated and she arched her back, silently asking me to keep going, and I did. She let out a sigh as I touched her breast lightly. I squeezed it and felt it wonderfully firm under my touch. I pulled the gown up to kiss it, and while I was at it, I removed it completely. I think I stopped for a few seconds just to look at her, amazed at the sight of her magnificent body. How did she manage to hide all this wonder? I leaned forward again and started kissing her breast. I took my time with it too, exploring the pink areolas all around with the tip of my tongue and sucking her hard nipples, while all the time my hand was tracing the perimeter of her body up and down, never quite satisfied with the feel of it. She didn’t really know what to do with her body, or maybe she was too shy to give in to her instincts, so I took complete charge. I pulled myself on top of her and slipped one leg between hers; I kissed her while my hips were pushing towards her, rhythmically. I realised my own nightgown was still in the way and I quickly took it off and tossed it on the ground. I immediately kept going, afraid she’d cool down, but I didn’t need to be afraid. She was getting into the rhythm and she was enjoying it. She even attempted once or twice a shy touch of my breasts, which made me shiver like a leaf. But mostly she kept her hands on my hips, holding me, which I didn’t mind at all. When it was clear she was never going to get more ready than that, I moved my hand and let it slide down. I checked her face, but her eyes were still closed, her lips moisten, slightly apart, her cheeks red, all flustered like they should be. This encouraged me to keep going. While still kissing her breast, my hand slipped through her knickers and played with her pubic hair, before finding the warm, wet, welcoming spot. My arrival was received with a muffled moan of pleasure. I smiled and made myself comfortable there. I rubbed her slowly and softly at first, then more intensely, building up gradually, in tune with her movements. When I pushed my finger further down, deep into her, she responded like I wanted her to. But I wasn’t going to let her finish too soon. I stopped kissing her breasts and pulled her underwear down with my teeth and then threw it away. Now she was completely naked and all mine. I kissed her stomach all over until I reached her pubes and dived in. She certainly wasn’t expecting that, because she sort of screamed in a high pitched voice, which she had to muffle with her hand. Was this her first time for this too? It was quite possible. I giggled and then continued. I couldn’t wait to taste her. Again, I started very slowly, letting her feel my tongue on her and getting used to the sensation. She definitely approved, because I could feel her legs relaxing and her breathing getting heavier. I sucked her harder and that earned me another moan. I explored the lower part and I thrust my tongue in deeper, then back up to her clit, following the rhythm of her hips, faster and faster, until she let out a final louder moan and her body shuddered. I kept licking her, until she was completely still, and then lingered there, kissing her inner thighs and fumbling with her pubic hair. Then I reached her face, kissing my way up to her throat, chin and mouth.

We hadn’t exchanged one word throughout the love making. Now I let myself fall beside her and looked at her, grinning. She turned to look at me and smiled too, although her smile was uncertain. I saw her taking a breath in, as if she wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start.

Eventually she said, “That was... unusual.”

“I can assure you it isn’t.”

“Right. Well, for me it was.”

“’twas good, though, wasn’t it?”

She hesitated. She lowered her head and said, “Yes.” Then she put her hand on my cheek and said “I better go now.”

“You’re welcome to stay here.”

“No, it’s better if I go.” She lifted herself up and looked for her clothes. I stayed in bed, looking at her bare back, longing to hold her and ask her again to stay. But I didn’t. When she was dressed, she turned to me and simply said, “Goodnight” and left the room.

I woke up the next morning feeling like I was going to step into a whole new world. I had the day off, carefully planned ahead, and I couldn’t wait to spend it all with Lillian. I waited until I heard the door closing twice downstairs, signalling that the other tenants had got out of the way and I got dressed. I went to knock at the door, but there was no answer, so I cheerfully went down the stairs and into the kitchen. She was there, standing up with a mug in her hands, looking out the window. I stepped in and said loudly, “Good morning.”

She turned to me, but didn’t smile. I frowned. “Is everything alright?” I said. I walked closer to her.

“Sure,” she said like she meant the opposite. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

My heart sank. I knew. Something wasn’t right.

“Um, yes, thanks.”

She put the mug down and went to refill the kettle. She said “ I... we... need to talk. About last night. I don’t know what came over me. I think I had too much to drink. I shouldn’t have... I’m sorry. It was a terrible mistake.”

I just stood there, unable to speak. I should have known. But I didn’t expect it at all, not after last night. I stared at her, but she couldn’t even look at me. “I hope we can forget all about it.” She turned the fire on and put the kettle to boil, then went to take a mug out of the cupboard. In the meantime, I regained focus. I couldn’t let it go like that. She was turning her back to me, so I walked to her and gently pulled her hair to one side with one hand, leaving her neck bare. She recoiled a bit, but didn’t move. I slipped my hands around her waist and kissed her neck ever so softly.

“Please, don’t,” she whispered.

“Tell me you don’t like this.”

“I...”

“Tell me you didn’t like how I touched you last night. How I make you feel,” I said, while still kissing her neck.

“It’s not about that...”

“Isn’t it?” I moved my hands up and squeezed her breasts. She gasped and closed her eyes.

“Ann... please.”

“Yes? Do you want me to stop?”

She hesitated. I pulled her around to face me and I kissed her and she kissed me back. When we pulled back I said, “I could never forget about this.”

She looked down and said, “I don’t know. How can... this ever going to work?”

“I think we make it work pretty well.”

“But it’s not right. Two women, it’s not natural.”

“Of course it’s natural!”

“Not to the rest of the world, it isn’t.”

“Look, I don’t care about the rest of the world. I care about you.” I lifted her chin up with my finger and looked into her eyes. They were so deep and shiny. I wanted to float inside them forever.

“Can we forget about the world and look after ourselves for a while?”

She didn’t answer, but that’s exactly what we did. For the following weeks we only cared about each other.

That day I took her hand and guided her into my room and made love to her all morning. Then I ran a bath and we sat in it, massaging ourselves and playing with the bubbles. After the bath, we went to bed again for more love making. We realised we were starving, so I ran downstairs and put something quick together, some scramble eggs, cheese, bread, and brought all up. We ate it in bed. Then we took a nap and we only woke up with the sound of one of the tenants coming back. We stayed in bed, trying to make as less noise as possible, kissing and enjoying each other’s contact. She was still very shy but the result of this was that any time she made a tiny attempt at being bolder I felt it magnified a hundred times. Every small touch was like setting me on fire. Anytime she pulled her leg around my waist, that she thrust her hip toward my body, or that she brushed my breasts with her lips, I felt like exploding with lust.

During the following days we couldn’t have enough of each other. If I wasn’t in work, I was in bed with her, either in my room or in hers. She grew more and more confident and eager to please me, which made me even bolder. I loved that we shared that secret. That in public I could think “I’m going to make love to her later as much as I want. I can kiss those lips all night.” It didn’t matter what happened during the day, what people said to me, if it rained or it was sunny. I knew I would lose myself into her arms at home and that was all I needed. I could have gone on like this forever.

Then one day everything suddenly changed. We had grown less and less careful, often giving each other quick stolen kisses in the common areas when we thought no one was looking. One afternoon I was cooking dinner for us and she was there helping me. She came to look over me and grabbed a spoon to taste the sauce I was making. She licked it and said it was delicious. Then she hugged me and rested her chin on my shoulder. I was enjoying the feeling of having her close to me, when I felt her moving away and gasping. I turned my head and I saw Mr. Burke standing at her door. He frowned and left. We both thought no one else was in the house. Lillian covered her mouth with her hand and seemed on the verge of tears. I wanted to say something, tell her it was OK, no big deal. But it was to her, I knew it. I hugged her, but she pushed me away, gently, but still speechless. She left the room and I stood there, looking at the sauce bubbling in the pan.

Later in the evening she came to my room. She closed the door quietly behind her. I wanted her to say something, but she just climbed on the bed and started kissing me. Not shyly like she normally did when she initiated something. his time she put her hand behind my head and pushed me toward her mouth, kissing me deeply. She pulled herself on top of me and swiftly removed her nightgown. She leaned toward me and kissed me again, while her hands roamed my body like never before. For a bit I was left in a state of shock, I couldn’t feel anything. But I recovered quickly and if extreme pleasure was poisonous I would have dropped dead in a matter of minutes. Her hands, usually so tentative, were everywhere, squeezing, caressing, feeling. It was as if for the first time she was allowing herself to explore me with no restraints. I let myself be explored, leaving her complete power over me. She kissed my breasts as if she wanted to absorb them and played with my clit as if it was her favourite toy. We had to be always very quiet, but this time I found it very hard to suppress loud moans. She pushed her fingers inside me, while licking my throat and my ears and I was ready to die already. Her hips were swinging in time with me and whenever I opened my eyes I got an extra thrill at the sight of her face so sweaty and hungry for me, busy tasting my body everywhere. When her mouth started going further down I held my breath. She pulled my legs apart and dived in me. I never experienced anything so delightful and so excruciating at the same time. It was too much all at once. Her tongue was so soft and warm and so, so good, I never wanted her to stop. When I thought it couldn’t get any better, she pushed a finger inside me and from them on I don’t remember anything else, except an explosion of heat all over me and a feeling of being completely drained, but in a wonderful way. As if all I ever wanted was to be drained of all my energies by my landlady. After that she lay on top of me and rested her head on my chest. I hugged her and held her close. I was prepared to fall asleep happily with her in my arms, when she pulled back and sat upright beside me. She put her nightgown on and sighed.

She said, “I need you to move out tomorrow, or as soon as you find another accommodation.”

“What?” I said, stunned. “What?”

I pushed myself up and turned her shoulders toward me, trying to make her look at me, but she wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry. I need to stop this. Now. It’s gone too far.”

“Is it because Mr. Burke saw us? Is that it? He didn’t even see anything!”

“That was the last straw. We can’t go on like this.”

“But I thought you... liked it.”

“I do. I do. But it doesn’t matter. I guess I just... needed some human contact. It felt good to be touched again. To feel something. But this is not what I want for myself.”

“So you want to go back to your old life, is it? Your lonely, sad, unfulfilled life? What good did that to you?” I was being hurtful then, but I didn’t care. She was ruining everything. But then I stopped and looked at her teary eyes and I sighed. “You’ve blossomed, Lillian, can’t you see? I bet Mr Burke was upset because he thought he had a chance with you.” And then I bit my tongue, because I knew what her answer was going to be.

“Well, he might have. At least he’s a man.”

“Don’t make me sick. You can’t be seriously thinking...”

“No... but that’s what I should look for. Someone I can go out with, be proud of, maybe even marry.”

“You were going to spend the rest of your life alone before I met you, and now you’re talking of getting married?”

“You don’t know what I was hoping for. You don’t know anything about me.”

And that hurt, because it was true, she never really opened up to me completely.

“I’m not ready to give up on you.”

“I’m not giving you a choice.”

I held her wrists and looked at her. This time she looked back.

“I love you, Lillian.”

She bit her lip and frowned. “I’m sorry. You need to go.” She pulled her arms away from me, then she stood up and reached the door. “Start looking for another room tomorrow, please. Goodnight.”

I laid awake all night, thinking where I went wrong, of ways to make her change her mind. Maybe if I said the right thing in the right way she’d let me stay, she would want me like she wanted me before.

But in the morning I didn’t see her and when I came back from work, I found an envelope under my door containing some money, presumably a refund on the rent I had paid her for the month. The next day I started looking for a room and by the end of the week I had moved out.

During those last days I barely saw her and when I did she made sure we were never alone. My last day felt like the saddest day of my life. She only shook my hand, but I could see her eyes turning watery. Still, she didn’t give me any signals that she had changed her mind, so I turned my back and got out of her life.

She didn’t get out of mine for a long time. For months all I could do was thinking of her, but in the end I had no other choice but to get better, start smiling again, and slowly, slowly, I started having whole days when I didn’t think about her at all. I still had an underlining feeling of sadness over me, but I coped with it. I filled my days like I used to. I went out with the girls from the cafe, bonded with them more than ever. One of them, Sarah, became my best friend and together, after four years of savings and with some help from our families, we opened our own cafe, in a different part of town. I never saw Lillian. I never asked about her to people she knew and they rarely talked about her. I just supposed she went back to leading her old life, although mainly I didn’t suppose anything, because thinking about her hurt.

As for my love life, I had a few flings, nothing serious, but enough to keep my mind occupied. My heart was never completely into it, but I tried to trick myself into thinking it was.

The cafe was the best thing that had happened to me since Lillian. We were thriving and people loved us. We were an anomaly, a business run by women only. It wasn’t easy, but we were delighted and happy with it. More importantly, it filled my days.

Until one day I saw her standing at the entrance of the cafe.

I was behind the counter and I think I dropped the tray I was holding, but I don’t remember. I had to hold myself up, because my legs were shaking. Four years had passed and she was even more beautiful than before. And now I was sure everyone could see it. As soon as I saw her I knew she hadn’t got back to her old life. She had changed. She looked more confident, more radiant, and that gave me a mixed bag of feelings I didn’t know how to handle. I felt like running away. Instead I dried my hands on my apron and went towards her. She smiled, in her old shy way and when I got close to her I did the only possible thing and hugged her tight. She hugged me back. My friend, and now business partner, Sarah, looked at us in disbelief. I never told her the whole story, but I think she had guessed most of it because she wasn’t stupid. I let Lillian go and told Sarah I was going to take a small break. I took my apron off and went out with her.

“So...” I started.

“So...” she said.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

“That would be nice.”

That’s all we said for a while. We walked until we reached the river and then we sat on a bench.

She said, “I heard you opened a cafe. I wanted to see it. And see you. How you were doing.”

“Yes. It’s going great. We can’t believe it.”

“I’m happy for you. You’ve done really well.”

“Thank you. And you... you look great. You really do.”

She smiled, but it seemed bitter. “Thanks. I’m not too bad.”

She sighed. “Look, I want to apologise to you. I didn’t treat you fairly. I was...”

“Please don’t. It’s alright, now.”

She looked at me seriously. “Have you... I mean, are you with... someone at the moment?”

I cleared my throat. “Well. I’ve been seeing this girl, yeah. She’s nice. She’s...”

“Right.”

“But she’s not you,” I said, while my heart was racing.

She didn’t reply, but she gave me a long, deep stare.

“And you? Have you found anyone?”

She shook her head. “There’s no one now, no. I’ve been out on dates, you know, since... It’s been fun. I never thought I could, but suddenly I was getting all this attention from good-looking men who brought me out to dinner, to the pictures, and everything. It’s just...”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She paused. She took a deep breath. “It’s like you said. They weren’t you.”

She looked at me, waiting for me to say something. But at that point I had no idea what was going on and I lost temporarily the ability to think or say words. My face must have looked ridiculous because she muffled a giggle with the back of her hand.

She said, “I’m sorry to show up like this in your life without notice. I didn’t plan to say that, believe me. I know you have your life now. I just wanted to know... how it would feel. To me. After all this time.”

“And how does it feel?” I asked, short of breath.

She paused and looked directly into my eyes.

“Like it hasn’t ended yet.”

She got up and offered me a hand. “Care to walk me home?”

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