Chapter 6 – A Lesbian Erotic Romance: Willas Dreamlike Moment

I was infatuated.

I bought a second thermos, and gently coaxed her favourite manner of coffee making out of her. I found the necessaries (a second hand French press from a charity shop was the largest) and I began to arrive prepared.

And she would too – a small purple backpack made an appearance; always slung over her left shoulder and always filled with various treasures for me.

She’d sit and watch me eat them, with a tiny, wistful smile on her face. But she’d never tell me what she was thinking, no, not Sam. She’d just watch, inscrutable as the Madonna, and deftly change the subject.

But then she hit a rough patch at home.

Beth wasn’t coping at school – some sort of focus problem that Sam wouldn’t expand on had become more apparent or urgent. Sam was terrified that Beth would have to move schools again with all the attendant drama – I watched, growing more and more concerned as she lost what little weight she had to spare from the stress. She never said much about Mr Sam to me; he seemed to be this distant unavailable nebulous entity who was always at work or travelling for business or at this or that executives retreat.

So Sam was effectively a single mum, and there were days when I would look into her dark-ringed, haunted eyes and fear for her.

Little hints in her behaviour made me realise how loveless her life was beyond her difficult but obviously close relationship with her daughter. She had few friends – or at least few she’d talk to me about. She rode her horse when she was in the mood, which wasn’t often, and would mention in passing books she’d completed that she’d liked. But she never mentioned parties, or social events, or going out – even when I began to do so to see if I could draw her out a bit.

Instead she’d just tell me little bits from her childhood or the minutiae of her day or her favourite memories of Flora.

And I’d sit there and listen to her and try not to watch her too much, because I was scared that my fervour for her would show in my eyes.

So I’d laugh and tease her and enjoy the small little gentle taunts she began to throw back at me once she was certain that I wasn’t simply another flake who’d drift into her life for an hour, or a day, or a season… and then leave.

When we were together she’d seldom let go of my hand.

Sometimes she’d go quiet for a minute or two and just watch me.

It was cute – in a weirdly pleasing but still unsettling way.

The mornings grew lighter, the park more populous; Daffodils burst forth as Spring unfurled her glory.

Sam was clearly exhausted, though; dark shadows clung to her. She wouldn’t tell me much, just that her and Mr Sam were fighting more than normal.

And that she was sleeping in another room and finding it hard to adjust to being alone.

I hugged her extra-hard one Friday morning at our parting, with one arm low around her waist and the other clasped across her shoulders as if we were slow dancing. And she let out a quiet little “No, don’t,” and clung tenaciously to me when I first made to let go.

For a few mad seconds I thought of calling in sick and just staying with her.

But money was tight, and I needed the work.

So I pressed my lips to her cheek and held her tight and almost, almost suppressed the desperate little sound of longing that I let out.

She locked her arms around me and buried her face in my hair and almost seemed to hold her breath for a heartbeat or two.

And I wished to heaven that I didn’t need to say goodbye.

.:.

My phone started to ring at about quarter to six.

I snorted, jerking up from the couch I was sharing with Marius – the elegant and artistic half of the gay couple that I’d somehow become the unlikely third wheel for. I’d been dozing; it was Saturday night and I’d earned my nap.

“Willa Jane, your phone’s ringing,” Marius said helpfully from his nest.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I yawned. I stretched, glanced down at my lock screen and saw her portrait smiling up at me.

I snatched up the handset and scuttled off to the kitchen.

“Hey Sam,” I said, a little bit breathless. I perched up on the counter as I usually did.

“Hey Willa,” she said. “Sorry for intruding like this…”

“Of course you’re not intruding! But Sam… not that it’s not lovely to get a call from you… but… is everything okay?”

“Oh. Oh, that’s right, we usually just text don’t we? Sorry. Getting forgetful in my old age.”

I laughed. “What’s up?”

“I’m… kind of at a loose end tonight and I… well, I wondered if you wanted to maybe grab a bite to eat. With me. I mean… obviously with me…God I’m a twit sometimes…”

I blinked.

“Um…”

“My treat,” she added quickly. “In case that tips the scales any…”

“I am nowhere even remotely dressed and there are unanswered questions about whether I’m mentally ring-fenced enough to go out without causing an Incident…”

“Oh. How sad. Not even if we restrict ourselves to one of my locals?”

“You mean… a pub?”

“Yes. There’s… well, there’s a nice one that I like a lot and that generally isn’t too busy. It’s nice and small and cosy and… and private. I go there often. By myself, I mean. God, that sounds pathetic as I say it. Um… it would be nice to do something different. We could have something to drink? Maybe… talk a bit. I mean… if you’re up for it… I know it’s late notice…”

“I am so totally up for it. What time and where do I need to be?” I said, frantically wondering how the hell I’d manage to scrounge a lift this late in the evening…

“Oh, no, don’t be silly. I’ll come and pick you up.”

“What?”

“I’ll drive to wherever you are. I mean, we’re both pretty local, right? It’s not like you live on the moon, right? Er… you don’t live on the moon, do you?”

I laughed loudly.

“No such luck I’m afraid. I’m in Ginger’s Close down Cranleigh way.”

“Ginger’s Close, is it,” she said. “Of course you’d be, just to taunt me with that epithet. Ginger’s Close. God. I’ll bet that a man named that road. Right. Well, I’m… about three miles away if my car’s not lying to me. What number in the Close?”

“We’re number seven.”

“I’ll be about fifteen minutes or so I think. I’ve just got to put some fuel in first, Bertha’s running on fumes.”

“So long as you’re okay with me basically coming as I am, because fifteen minutes is in no way long enough for me to make myself pretty.”

“You don’t need to do anything special for me, Willa. You’re gorgeous and perfect just as you are.”

My brain skipped a track or two.

“So I’ll see you outside at about… ten past or so?”

“Can’t wait,” I said on autopilot.

“See you now, Willa. “

“Likewise,” I said, still freewheeling.

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