Love Happens Here Page 3

  I clearly was, because two minutes later a cute, dark-haired woman walked in wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Treat Yourself: Take Me Home Tonight’. She flashed me a killer smile as she walked to the bar and I returned the favour. By the time Kate arrived 15 minutes later, I’d nearly finished my beer so I accepted her offer of another, along with a welcome hug.

  “Great to see you – how are you?” she said. She set down two beers on the table before unwinding her enormous black scarf from around her neck. She slung a thick lumberjack-style jacket on the back of her chair before sitting opposite me.

  “Surprisingly unjetlagged for now. How was your day?”

  “Another day in publishing,” she said.

  Kate was tall, slim and boyishly handsome. I’d seen pictures of her in her teens with the same flowing locks that her sister possessed but that was in the days before she realised she was a dyke. As soon as she’d acknowledged that, she’d chopped it off. Her hair was now stylishly cropped and peroxide blonde, framing her stand-out cheekbones and piercing green eyes perfectly. She was wearing dark blue jeans, a green shirt and white Converse boots.

  “You’re looking well anyway – heartbreak obviously suits you. Or perhaps the Aussie climate? Whichever, give it a month and you’ll soon be looking pale and grey like the rest of us.”

  “Try another week with my mum,” I said.

  “How is the lovely Shirley?”

  “She’s well. She sends her love by the way.” I shifted in my seat. “And you must have done something right because she was not-so-subtly telling me earlier that I could do worse than you – you’re a catch in my mum’s eyes.”

  “She fancies me – I knew it!” Kate said.

  “I think she might. If I went home tonight and told her it was on, she’d be thrilled.”

  “Well, I have a plan to tease her beyond her limits – her and our delightfully coupled siblings. Ready?”

  I nodded.

  “You can come and live with me.”

  “Okay — but you already have Roger the lodger if I’m not mistaken. And shouldn’t we at least have a drunken shag before I move in?”

  Kate grinned.

  “You’ve seen through my dastardly plan. Yes, at the moment I do still have Roger – but not for long. Dear old Rodge has been saving like a demon and bagged himself a shared ownership place. He didn’t think he’d have it for at least a few months but it’s going to be ready in five weeks. So if you can wait that long, the room’s yours.”

  I thought about it for a millisecond.

  “Sold, you’re a lifesaver. I’m sure I can cope at Mum and Dad’s till then,” I said. I pushed back my chair and stood up.

  “Something I said?”

  “Just nipping to the loo – beer runs straight through me.”

  “Some things never change.”

  When I got back, the cute T-shirt wearer I’d smiled at earlier was on her haunches chatting to Kate. When I sat down, she put her tanned hands on her thighs and stood up. She had short, dark hair, lucid hazel eyes and a transfixing smile. She was around 5ft 6 inches tall and wearing jeans that clung to all the right places.

  I tried to stop my eyes assessing her too obviously but I think I failed. I was gratified to notice that she seemed to be doing the same to me too, lingering on my breasts before raising her smile to my face. Kate made the introductions.

  “Jess – this is Lucy. This is my mate Jess who’s just traded in sunny Sydney for freezing London.”

  “Nice to meet you. You’re from Sydney?” Lucy asked. I shook her outstretched hand.

  “No – I’m a returning Brit.”

  “Well, good to have one back here – there are far too many Aussies in London hitting on our women and drinking our beer.” She paused, then wrinkled her forehead. “Not that I’m complaining, some of them have been gorgeous…”

  “Don’t worry, there are plenty of Brits in Sydney doing the same thing.”

  She laughed at that.

  “How long you been back?”

  “Just landed yesterday.”

  “Really? God, you’re doing well – I’d still be too jetlagged to even breathe.”

  I smiled at her. She was so animated when she spoke and I felt an instant pull towards her.

  “I’ve just moved back to my parents’ house so it tends to propel you into getting out and about a bit quicker.”

  “I’m going in a few days, so maybe I can get some tips from you?”

  “To Sydney?” I said. To say I was surprised was an understatement.

  She nodded and her grin showed up a cute dimple in the side of her cheek.

  “Absolutely,” I continued. “I can tell you where to go and, more importantly, where to avoid.”

  “Excellent,” she said. A satisfied smile.

  There was a slight pause in the world for me right there as I considered how she said ‘excellent’: it was warm and inviting.

  “Anyway, I better get back to my friends,” she said, turning, breaking me from my train of thought and flicking her head towards a bunch of women at the bar.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” she added to Kate, “and get the Sydney lowdown from you,” switching her gaze to me. “Nice to meet you, Jess.”

  “You too,” I told her, to which she beamed.

  I followed her retreating figure to the bar and she turned to smile at me, which made my stomach lurch. Recovering my poise, I took a swig of my beer and tried to adopt my poker face to Kate.

  “So, how do you know her?” I asked. I wasn’t sure it was working.

  Kate crossed her legs and assessed me.

  “She’s a friend of Caroline’s – we’ve been out for drinks quite a few times.” She smiled at me before stroking her chin.

  “She seems nice.”

  “She is. Single, too. And very available from what I remember her saying.”

  I held up my hand, lying before I could stop the words tumbling out.

  “I’m not looking – I’m off women, they’re poisonous.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “No uh-huh about it.”

  “Sure,” Kate said.

  “Anyhow, crashing on, I have a message for you from your sister. She told me to tell you to stop being a dick to this new woman you’re seeing, who I take it is Caroline. I said I’d pass on the message.”

  “She did, did she?”

  “She did. So spill?”

  “I think you know most of it. She’s called Caroline and she’s a nurse.”

  “Handy for bedside manner.” I put my elbows on the table. “Where’d you meet?”

  “Bijou – a monthly night just off the Strand. Vic thinks we’re serious just because I took her to babysit the boys last week but it’s early days. So just because I haven’t proposed marriage yet, she thinks I’m being a dick. I tell you, she’s so desperate for me to get married since it’s allowed now. I told her not everyone necessarily wants to do that but she doesn’t listen.”

  “And how was the babysitting – did you get to first base?”

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t you start. I had Vic and Jack giving me wide eyes when they got back. I think they expected ruffled beds and hickeys. We actually watched CSI and had a takeaway.”

  “Did you touch her tits at least?”

  “Enough! So anyway, you’re on for the flat then?” The subject of Caroline was officially closed.

  “How much?”

  “£500 a month all in.”

  “Sounds fine.”

  “To us then?” Kate said, holding up her beer.

  “To us,” I replied.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning I slept through till 11, lulled by alcohol and the knowledge I’d left a note for Mum telling her not to wake me. Amazingly she complied so I awoke refreshed, if a little hungover. Kate and I had stayed at the bar till around 11 and Lucy had joined us for the last hour after her mates had left, where I’d discovered she was an optician by day and
a wannabe drag king by night.

  I told her about the Sydney shows and my ex and she was amused at the stories, although assured me that UK drag king shows weren’t quite as advanced. Unbelievably, she was heading out to Sydney for six weeks for an extended holiday and to take in Mardi Gras – bad timing on our part if we wanted to get to know each other better. She seemed pained when she told me that both her evenings before she departed were already accounted for, but she promised to look me up when she was back and fill me in on her time in the Harbour City.

  I hoped she wasn’t lying as I could seriously get used to the way she looked at me, her gaze unerring as she listened intently to my stories, settling momentarily on my lips before looking me directly in the eye. Her raw intensity made me swallow down. Hard.

  “Where are you staying?” I’d asked as Kate had got up to get the final round in as last orders rang out.

  “I’ve got family near Bondi so I’m staying there at first, then meeting up with some friends and we’ve hired a flat for two weeks in the city. I’m really excited – never been before and I’ve always wanted to do Mardi Gras.” She’d paused to drain her beer.

  “Is it as good as everyone says?”

  “Mardi Gras?” I’d asked, stalling.

  She’d nodded.

  “Fantastic,” I’d said. This wasn’t the time to tell her I hated dressing up, parading and being proud. Instead, I’d described the Sydney party atmosphere, the vivid colours, the drink, the women. Actually, not so heavy on the women part, that was on a need-to-know basis.

  “It’s a shame you don’t still live there. Maybe we would have met anyway,” she’d told me, her dimple standing out as she’d flashed me that smile again. She was intoxicating.

  “Perhaps we would. At least, I hope we would have.”

  Kate had arrived back with the beer, curtailing our flirting although Lucy’s eyes carried on surveying me. When it was kicking-out time, we’d made promises about meeting up when she was back and had exchanged numbers. Her hug goodbye was firm and I knew I wanted to see her again.

  “Keep in touch – and see you in six weeks I hope,” I’d told her softly as we pulled away.

  “Count on it,” she’d told me, kissing me on the cheek. Her breath that close had made my blood race and we both knew something had shifted as we stepped slightly unsteadily out of each other’s space, our gaze steady, our brains scrambled. I let out a deep breath remembering it even now.

  As I lay in the guest room on day three of operation UK, the move somehow didn’t feel so catastrophic. Thanks to Kate I now had somewhere to live and had received a timely ego boost from a sexy woman – how my mother would swoon over an optician. Actually, who was I kidding? I’d swoon too, although perhaps not so much over her occupation and more over her. My mother would have swooned over Karen’s TV exec badge too, but that was not to be.

  I reminded myself to concentrate on the present and not the past as I went downstairs for breakfast. As my self-help ahoy friend Kevin used to say, if you’ve got one foot in the future and one foot in the past, you’re pissing all over your present. I certainly didn’t want to do that.

  Chapter 7

  For my next trick I had to find a job. Before I left for Sydney I’d been working in a call centre, having left my teaching career and then managing to drift with no clear plan. However, going back into teaching was the last thing I wanted to do, as were sales or being cooped up as a call-centre chicken. I wanted to propel my life story forward, not send it into reverse. 32-year-old graduate, own hair and teeth seeks gainful employment that won’t lead to thoughts of topping herself. How hard could it be?

  Seeing London through fresh eyes always made me wonder about its beauty. When I first arrived back, the city looked far too hectic, an oppressive haze of bodies, cars, buildings and sharp edges. But as soon as my senses became acclimatised after a few days, all the ragged lines, crime and poverty seemed to belong to elsewhere as the vibrancy, energy and architecture filtered into my being. It was a bit like Sydney in that respect – people from the country just couldn’t understand what the pull of noise and concrete was. But somewhere beneath them was the buzz of life that just didn’t happen in the suburbs and beyond.

  Today, London looked lopsided, colourful and pulsing as I walked along the Euston Road, shivering even inside four layers of clothing. I hunched my shoulders and tucked my scarf in closer around the front of my neck as the wind razored through my clothing, slicing my skin. Cars glinted in the crackly February demi-sunshine, boxy red buses ground along noisily and black cabs buzzed in and out of traffic with the cocky swagger of those that own the road.

  When I’d first spoken about coming home, Mum had been full of all the new properties being built and how I should put my name down for a shared ownership scheme as soon as I was back. However, all the flats were outside zone four, outside the protective barrier of the inner city. In the sprawl where the grey concrete stopped sparking with life, where art was a dirty word, where being gay wasn’t quite as revered. Jack and Vic had taken the plunge when they got married and moved out to be able to afford a house. But with two kids and an estate car, they’d been welcomed with open arms and nosy neighbours. When you’re a friend of Dorothy, different priorities came into force.

  All of this contributed to the fact that I was planning a move inwards when all of my straight mates were branching out in search of gardens and sash windows, married up with two-hour-long commutes. Not that I didn’t covet all of those things – apart from the commuting. I was in my 30s after all, where thoughts traditionally turn away from beer and all-nighters to cocktails, wine and dinner parties. For now, though, a job was the starting point that headed towards that goal.

  When I got home my mum had a surprise for me – a mobile phone with £30 of credit on it, telling me to contact my mates and give them this number.

  “I saw Julia in the High Street today and she said she’d love to see you!”

  For some reason, I’d been stalling on contacting my old mates. Kate was safe: she wasn’t going to judge, plus we had family to laugh at together. Deep down, I knew all my other mates wouldn’t judge either and would be happy to see me – they were on my side, after all – but my own judgement wasn’t so forgiving.

  I’d sailed off to Australia three years ago full of optimism about how my life might turn around out there. I celebrated my 31st birthday in a new lesbian strip club in Surry Hills with Karen on my arm, full of hope for the future. But by the time she’d rinsed my heart dry, I realised nothing was changing fast. Now here I was back home, living with my parents and somehow that felt like I’d failed. And my mum knew that. Perhaps she’s wiser than I give her credit for. She was right about my friends, of course. And it wasn’t true that I’d learnt nothing – I’d definitely learnt that you couldn’t run away from yourself, no matter how hard you tried.

  My old friend Julia was thrilled to hear from me, cancelled her plans for the next day and told me to come and meet her for lunch in town, her treat. Sarah, my mate from uni, booked me up for a night on the lesbian tiles on Friday, telling me that she’d round up the troops.

  After that I called Adam, my best mate from my former dull job and the one good thing to come out of it. Adam was a straight-acting gay man at work, but once in Soho he got in contact with his inner glitter and had no trouble sparkling. Adam was still at the firm, although he was now bossing people like us around and still hating it.

  “You did the right thing getting out – I can feel my soul withering by the hour,” he told me.

  He offered me some work which I politely declined, but he let me know the offer stood if nothing else came up. I asked about his love life and he told me he’d been laying off the scene of late. He’d just bought a flat in Tufnell Park and was busy nesting, spending every weekend either visiting Ikea or tending his balcony herb garden.

  “A herb garden? I’m impressed,” I said.

  “Don’t knock it. If you’re trying to cook a
ll of Jamie’s meals it’s a godsend to have all these herbs on hand.”

  “Are you turning camp in your dotage, dear?”

  “I’m thinking of getting one of those lacy dolls to cover my spare loo rolls. Since turning 35, I see the point.”

  “I’ve got all this to come,” I said. “All you need now is a husband to pick your herbs for you.”

  “Now that would be lovely.”

  Another few more calls and arrangements later, and it felt like my social calendar was booked up for a year. I prepared myself to tell the same stories of love, loss and surf over and over, then offered to make dinner which Mum readily accepted. She settled herself in front of the telly with tea and cake, watching a show about adult children coming home to live and how they bleed you dry.

  “You can stay as long as you like,” she said as I began chopping onions and garlic for my Bolognese. I told her she was too kind.

  Chapter 8

  The next day at lunch Julia launched herself at me as soon as I walked into the fancy French bistro she’d chosen. She was taking a break from her job as a high-powered lawyer and her 5 foot 7-inch slim frame was suitably attired in a stylish grey skirt and jacket with a lilac shirt. Her face was done in that clever way where you make it up to look completely natural when it’s actually caked with slap. Her dark hair cascaded over her square shoulders, her toned ankles barely supported in 3-inch shiny black heels. In short, she looked professional and stunning, and I told her so.

  “Oh I’ve missed you and your lezza charm!” she said. “And I can’t believe you’ve been home since Sunday and it’s taken you this long to call – I thought your flight had been delayed or something.”

  My chair made an awful screeching sound as I pulled it out from under the table, making us both recoil slightly.