eight

The westering sun had already dried the stormwater from the bare earth as Rachel pushed through the screen door once more. Dust stirred from rain-pounded craters as she stepped down, then swirled tetchily aside as the hem of her borrowed bathrobe followed to drag listlessly about her bare feet.

Rachel paused, her eyes on the ground, and took a breath. Beyond the peeling whitewash of the nearby corner of the villa, she was waiting.

In an immaculate tan summer suit, a woven white sun hat, and aviator sunglasses. Rachel had just about believed, spying between spread fingers levering apart the slats of the lounge blinds, that Susan had thrown them on in a rush. But she could also believe that Susan had chosen them precisely because they appeared so, while at the same time emphasising her athletic figure, her model-perfect posture.

It didn’t matter now. Rachel had made her decision.

She jumped slightly as the screen door bounced noisily off its frame; then raised her eyes. Let’s face the music — she balled her fists in the loose sleeves of the bathrobe — and dance.

The patchy yellow lawn ahead gave way to patchy yellow dirt as she rounded the corner; then the sleek white rump of a sports car, glowing and ethereal in the fading light. Susan was already gazing towards the source of the sound, half-sitting behind the Ferrari’s door; but she stood up in surprise as she recognised Rachel.

Susan took a step, then paused as she registered Rachel’s expression. Rachel strode calmly but with all the determination she could muster: and perhaps Susan did not notice when Rachel realised her arms were shaking, and focussed on unrolling her fingers; at least until she stepped decisively on the flapping hem of the bathrobe and floundered forward, raising a cloud of dust.

She righted herself, felt the gentle press of Susan’s palms on her shoulders, and felt, even more, the amused maternal smile. But as she lifted her face, she also lifted a finger, and laid it onto Susan’s lips to still her laughter.

Trembling but resolute, she shuffled forward enough to press her mouth against Susan’s.

The kiss was forceful; possessive; but fleeting; and the moment their tongues touched, Rachel withdrew, and replaced her finger.

‘This is how it’s going to be,’ she said. Somehow her voice seemed smaller than it had been, rehearsing the moment in her mind. ‘We’re going back to my hotel. I’ve got four more days of holiday to spend with you.’ She rushed on through her faltering determination, as Susan’s expression turned from surprise to hurt. ‘Then you let me go.’

She could see Susan’s mouth begin to frame the inevitable question, why; though she respected the silencing finger. And Rachel answered, in her mind: I won’t let you break me, like you broke Syn.

For a long moment, Rachel felt Susan’s eyes, searching her face. She stared fixedly at the lips before her, at the level of her own eyes. The wind gushed over the branches of the unkempt acacia and maples that surrounded Syn’s front yard, swirling inward to tug at the loose folds of the bathrobe and the still-damp strands of Rachel’s hair, and her heart danced in synchrony with its blustering. When at length she lowered her finger, and Susan removed her sunglasses, Rachel could only focus on the way that Susan’s cheeks indented gracefully as she breathed the single word: ‘okay.’

Then Susan’s eyes glanced to the house beside them, and Rachel was startled to see a single tear form, slide raggedly down Susan’s cheek, and fall to earth like the last remnant of the departed storm.

Reflexively, Rachel smiled a desperate apology and rubbed the trail of wetness from Susan’s face with her thumb. ‘Thanks,’ was all she could think to say, and the word seemed to hang between them accusingly while Susan controlled her catching breath. Then, she looked down at Rachel and smiled softly.

‘Four days,’ she repeated, her voice even. ‘Four days.’ She concluded lightly, ‘a lifetime.’

‘Yes,’ said Rachel, smiling in return; then, the smile grew lopsided. ‘And four nights. Although maybe we won’t know the difference.’

Susan’s eyes stole once more to the house. Rachel followed them, and said, ‘I’ll get my clothes. Say bye-bye to Syn.’

She turned to flee, but Susan’s hand was still at her shoulder. ‘Wait,’ said Susan. She was still gazing aside, and she sucked a breath through tight lips. ‘I can’t…’ she began, then looked down, tried again: ‘I can’t promise I won’t hurt.’

Rachel’s composure teetered. How she ached to love, to pull Susan in so close that they became one, to encompass her. But still, the black heart of her doubt remained; becoming, in contradiction, a certainty. What if, even now, Susan was acting? A puppeteer, manipulating, preparing Rachel for yet more, and deeper, and helpless orgasm at some final perfectly pitched twitch of a finger?

Rachel squinted at the ground, as though her eyes could bore through it to reveal the truth beneath. At length, she allowed them to shift to Susan’s feet, then rise slowly over her exquisite shape.

‘Me neither,’ she said when her eyes had reached Susan’s cheekbone, though she could not meet her downcast gaze. ‘Me neither.’ She wanted lust to overwhelm her again, as it had on Syn’s couch inside; to quash her need for love, to both excuse and drive the plan she had invented and then sworn to carry out. She would have that ecstasy, and then she would be away, unbroken, still herself.

For a moment she imagined dropping the bathrobe from her shoulders and throwing herself at Susan, forcing her to consummate their pact on the delicate nose of the Ferrari. Susan’s seemingly inexhaustible capacity for sex would play into Rachel’s hands, and all misgivings, all hurt, would be consumed in the fire of their passion. But she was still sore, and beyond satiety, after her orgy of masturbation inside; and she found her only desire was to appreciate Susan as a work of perfect erotic art, to gaze at, and to possess.

The silence had become awkward. Rachel plucked Susan’s hand from where it still rested limply on shoulder, examined it briefly lying across her palm; then raised it to her cheek.

‘I want you,’ she said simply, allowing the thought to bubble to the surface, unfiltered. ‘Just you. You’ve already given me an amazing gift, but I want more.’

Susan looked up, and Rachel was relieved to see fire in her eyes. She turned her fingers over against Rachel’s skin, cupped her jaw. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think you believe me, and considering how I behave, I’m not surprised.’ As Rachel’s mouth opened to protest she raised a fingertip onto her lips. ‘I’ll do anything for you.’ She glanced to the house again, as her voice trailed to a halt. ‘Anything.’

Rachel nodded, smiling. A strange happiness seemed to rise in her. She grasped Susan’s hand with both of her own, kissed the still-raised fingertip, and returned it to Susan’s chest. Then she hiked the folds of the bathrobe around her hips and turned to skip back to the house.

The hard-baked earth was warm but harsh against her bare feet, like a pinch to the dream; all around the dusky greens and yellows gave way to the deepening blue sky; and she revelled in the sensations in a way she had never before thought possible.

She tugged the screen from the kitchen door and barged through, her toes catching slightly on the curled lip of ancient linoleum behind the sill, then pattering onward. She glanced through the window above the stained stainless sink, hoping to glimpse Susan’s shape; but then staggered slightly, the skin of the balls of her feet sticking uncomfortably as she stopped.

There was someone else in the yard; it was Kim, approaching Susan from the drive. Susan faced the newcomer with a rigid stance, and Rachel leaned across the counter to peer through the dirty glass, turning her head slightly askance to listen.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Kim snarled, her voice carrying clearly across the distance.

‘Finding Rachel,’ stated Susan, folding her arms.

‘No way,’ spat Kim incredulously, halting. ‘You broke your promise, for that little slut?’

Susan visibly bristled, but quickly controlled herself. She said something that might have been, ‘We were just going.’

‘You fucking bet you are,’ said Kim, turning aside. ‘You’re trespassing.’

Rachel gaped, but Kim was approaching the kitchen now, and she ducked back to avoid being seen. As she hurried through a short corridor to the dim lounge, her mind was a kaleidoscope of confusion. ‘Trespassing’? Those two women were having sex, in Susan’s house, only last night! What had happened since then?

‘Rachel.’ Syn’s voice. Rachel’s eyes flicked to the muscular shape, silhouetted against the blinds in the deepening dusk. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeh,’ Rachel replied automatically. She had halted in her absent-minded lunge for the damp clothes that still lay in a forlorn pile on the floor. She found she was glad Syn was there, but something in her voice was disconcerting.

‘Changed your mind.’ Syn declared huskily.

Rachel saw no point denying it. ‘Yeh,’ she said again. ‘Syn,’ she continued, into the uncomfortable silence. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll look after myself.’ As soon as she said it, she regretted how silly it must have sounded to Syn. ‘I mean,’ she stumbled on, ‘I’ve got a plan. She won’t hurt me.’

There was a bang from the kitchen: Kim slamming the door. Rachel dived for the clothes, then faced Syn. She presented a lapel of the bathrobe. ‘Is it okay if I borrow..?’

Syn waved one hand dismissively. On impulse, Rachel darted forwards and encompassed her with both arms, planting a decisive kiss on her cheek. If there was any intention, it was purely playful. But suddenly her mind was filled with the incredible memory of Syn’s naked breasts, and the animalistic power beneath, pressing upon her own. Kim’s and Susan’s were small, perfectly proportioned ornaments, complimenting and completing their overarching beauty; but Syn and Rachel’s shapes shared a more bounteous eroticism, and Rachel suddenly missed the time they had spent mutually exploring its depths.

She let go, hurriedly, just as Kim entered the room. She felt a spike of hatred, but quashed it long enough to say, ‘Bye, Syn, and thanks.’

She strode away, past Kim who was coming the other way. She was prepared to meet her eyes and give battle, but Kim blanked her completely. She was focused on Syn. As Rachel left the room, she caught a glimpse of Kim draping herself seductively onto her butch lover.

Susan was already in the driving seat when Rachel returned to the Ferrari. She merely nodded as Rachel collapsed on board, dropping her clothes in the foot-well; and then gunned the engine, leaving a wake of angry dust as they departed.

~~~

Long after Susan had fallen asleep, Rachel continued to gaze through the open blinds at the mesmerising pool-light rippling over the tropical hedge opposite, with the dull glow of Beverly Hills above and beyond.

The exhilarating drive to the coast; the cruise on Santa Monica Boulevard; the meal in the hotel; and the gentle romantic lovemaking afterwards, all seemed too perfect, too fanciful, to be real. But Rachel could feel the warmth of Susan’s body behind her; feel the weight of the arm draped over her side, palm tucked loosely between her breasts. It was real, it was incredible. But Rachel could scream, at the unease that had spoiled almost all of it.

Of course, she should have spoken out, should have confronted Susan with Kim’s behaviour, demanded an explanation. But from the moment she had settled in for the ride, and for the entire evening, starting the conversation had just seemed impossible. Her supply of emotional energy was utterly exhausted. But without release, the puzzle had become a misgiving, and then a thorn beneath the crisp silky sheets that creased and crumpled under their bodies.

And now, Rachel could not bear to disrupt the sweet embrace into which she was nestled. Only Susan had ever held her like this, only Susan, oh! Susan, whose fingers and tongue had touched like the wings of a passing angel, soft, whispering of love, so that every moment had been a tortured heaven. Her shape, lines of shade against the dark of night; her smell, her heat. Rachel squirmed slightly as the memory spread into her loins, and she remembered how they had seemed to ride an ever-mounting wave, higher, higher, until she had moaned in wonder with every desperate breath. And when it finally broke, it was as though her entire being was swept away to some distant majestic shore beneath a storm-shattered sky.

She sighed, and Susan twitched in her sleep, mumbling a few syllables of comfortable nonsense. What was going on between those three women, Susan, Syn, and Kim? Rachel had made love to all three, although with Kim it had been more sport than passion, or at least it seemed so in her memory. With all of them, it was free, wild, energetic, seemingly without emotional attachment beyond the moment of ecstasy. But she knew now that there was some strange conflict beneath it all.

She replayed the moment in her mind, over and over. Susan’s defensive posture. Kim striding up the drive, in her tight sports crop-top and leggings, fury in her features. Striding. Returning from Susan’s house, scene of their orgy with Kristen, the fumbling newcomer.

Wait.

Rachel held her breath, trying not to wake Susan, as it dawned on her.

Kim had walked. Rachel thought back to the occasions she had travelled from Susan’s house to Syn’s. Once, via Ferrari to the Woodland Hills commercial strip, and then Ducati into the suburbs. Once on foot into a descending storm, and then on board Syn’s truck.

She had assumed that both journeys were almost straight, that the houses were miles apart. But what if both had been convoluted, by accident or purpose? What if they were only blocks from each other?

Kim had walked. But Susan had driven Rachel into town, to hand her over to Syn yesterday. She could have just dropped her off. Instead, she had used neutral ground.

For some reason, Susan herself was not allowed to go to Syn’s property. It was the only explanation. That was her ‘promise’, which she had broken. It was not some recent argument, but a permanent exclusion. That was why she had not simply come in, to find Rachel on the couch.

Rachel’s mind raced. Had Susan hurt Syn so badly that there was a restraining order between them? But if so, why had Susan treated Syn as a trusted friend, to look after Rachel while she went to work? To continue Rachel’s introduction to their incredible world of sex? To fuck her!

Why?

And now, what was Susan going to do to her, Rachel, so young, so inexperienced, so much weaker than Syn was?

Suddenly the hand between her breasts became a hot coal, and Rachel grasped at it, squirming away from the beautiful body behind her. She flopped out of bed, barely getting her feet under her. Susan did not wake, but rolled forward, drawing her hand up to clutch the pillow as her face pressed onto it.

Rachel tried to calm herself, standing naked by the bedside, her indistinct shadow falling over Susan’s body. What was she doing here, a confused and naive English flower, among these vipers? They had taught her how to fuck; even how to fuck herself, in this very room only two nights before. But at what cost? Would she ever be able to use the same skill, to love?

Oh! How she wanted to love! But now she saw that these women had completely detached love, from lust. They even hated each other, yet still, they fucked, like marionettes, unable to do anything different to their perverted designer’s intention.

She could learn nothing more from them. She controlled her nausea, dressed, flung her belongings quietly into her suitcase; and once again, she fled.

~~~

nine

They were kissing before they knew it, before even a word was spoken.

Perhaps there were no words to say. Whether she had come to the airport to beg Rachel to stay, or for a final farewell before she left forever, did not seem to matter much. She was there, suddenly, out of nowhere; and Rachel had fallen instantly into the depths of her eyes, so vibrantly rich after four lifeless days in Los Angeles. And then their lips were together as though they had never been apart, could never be parted again.

And now Rachel’s uniform was scattered and crumpled on the dusty floor; she was held in embrace from behind by white linen-sleeved forearms almost vertical between her breasts; lips and lingering tongue were fiery upon her shoulder; and life had returned.

‘Susan,’ she breathed; just savouring the syllables: so mundane, so evocative. ‘Hold me,’ she finished, and saw her own hands clasp at Susan’s, pressing them into her chest, while her body leaned into them. Her head was slumped forward, her tight-plaited straw-blonde hair guided over her shoulder to rest on the out-thrust of her breast, raised forward by the arm tucked around her side beneath it.

How she had longed for this, those empty, empty nights. By day, she had frowned at the recollection of Susan’s bizarre lustful but loveless world, while she dawdled blankly through Hollywood tourist attractions. But lying sleepless in the cricket-filled night air from a wide-open motel balcony door, she could only remember the warmth of Susan’s naked body. Sometimes it was still, just a formless press of crushing beauty in her imagination. But otherwise, it would move against her; she would be touched, by evanescent skin, and hair, and wetness; and she would whimper or moan as at first she rolled away to escape, and then inevitably let the fantasy play out, in her mind and over her body.

And then sometimes, she would remember herself, her real self, that she had only known for a few days. She would leap into the mind of the siren that touched her, and know that she herself was beautiful. And then, the touches would be real, the heat, and finally, the drawn-out breathless ecstasy. Oh, so real.

So now, Rachel thought nothing of it as one of her own hands slipped away from Susan’s, and gently cupped the languorous hang of her own breast. Susan’s affections on her shoulder and neck were the bright metal catalyst of lust, and she allowed the sensation to fold easily inward, her own hands guiding it, and building upon it. While one palm explored the soft skin of her abdomen, the other calmly but suggestively held her breast, lifting, squeezing ever so slightly; and her eyes dwelt on it, detached, while a deep, deep part of her blossomed with colour and heat.

‘Yes,’ whispered Susan, her breath sliding, tingling, over Rachel’s skin. ‘I want to hold you. I want you to have me.’ Her tongue touched down again onto the stretched side of Rachel’s neck, followed by the ardent points of her teeth. Rachel groaned longingly; her hands dragging in either direction until she was embracing herself around Susan’s arms. Her loins were heavy and slick, urgent and clamouring; but she could not depart this moment, and she held onto it jealously.

Susan kissed her jaw, the lobe of her ear. ‘Have me,’ she breathed. ‘Have me, now.’

Rachel smiled, and lifted her head to meet Susan’s lips; and her arms and body slowly unwound. She felt Susan’s fingertips draw across her skin as she turned, then they were rising, until they gently cupped her chin; but her own hands hung, undecided, at her sides. Their tongues were intertwining hungrily, regardless of the coming and going of their lips; and Rachel pressed forward, following as Susan backed a step to lean against the wall. She moaned again, a low, inhuman sound, as the kiss came to an end, and they watched each other’s eyes, nose to nose.

One of Susan’s hands had found Rachel’s, and was guiding it, not onto some part of Susan’s still-clothed body, but down and inward. ‘Have me,’ she repeated, huskily, ‘just the way you want.’

Rachel’s next breath dragged against her vocal chords, while her eyes closed and she kissed forward, desperately. Her fingers had already found herself, and were massaging powerfully, seemingly without her volition. Susan’s fingertips lingered over them for a second, then, their goal assured, drew away.

Rachel could feel her whole body shaking as she plunged into her own need, sinking deep, her fingers clutching frantically, spasmodically. Just the feel of Susan’s lips, just her very presence, was enough, more than enough. She was gasping. Before long, she could not even maintain the kiss, and then it was just her nakedness, Susan’s beauty, and her own hand.

She was too far gone to even be aware that Susan had gently taken hold of her wrist; was adjusting her brutal, fitful rubbing into a building rhythm. Susan was smiling, and her face was Rachel’s world: her sculpted lips and cheekbones, her regal nose, the startling glow of her deep, deep eyes. Her other hand had risen to gently hold and quell the shuddering of Rachel’s breast, and the touch was so simple, yet so exquisitely erotic.

Rachel distinctly felt her clitoris tip into the start of its inexorable slide to ecstasy, and even if some part of her wanted to savour the moment, there was now no halting the crescendo that was pulsing outward into her body, that would lead, so soon, to the inevitable. She was crying out now, trying to maintain eye contact with Susan even while her lids wanted to shut in the growing, glowing energy.

‘Yes,’ encouraged Susan softly. ‘You have me. All of me.’

Rachel’s palm was thudding against her pubic mound as she responded to the immense need beneath the skin under her fingertips. And even though she knew herself so much better now: knew how to prolong her bliss, at this moment she did not wish to. She cannoned into her orgasm, full pelt, shouting Susan’s name as her lover laughed out loud in joy.

Even then, there was no stopping, no way of stopping. She pressed forward again, clamping her mouth once more onto Susan’s, thrusting her hands between Susan’s buttocks and the wall, to clutch and lift. And then, she was tearing the linen jacket from Susan’s shoulders, then breathlessly trying to focus on the buttons of the blouse beneath. Susan was still laughing, playfully refusing to help, even interfering by laying her hands onto parts of Rachel’s body, cupping or stroking or clutching. And Rachel began to giggle too, as she gave up and tore the remaining two buttons asunder with a grunt of satisfaction.

Again, their noses were just touching as Rachel undid the clasps on Susan’s brassiere; and suddenly, there was a stillness. They watched one another, breathing hard, a few remnants of laughter tickling their throats. Susan’s arms rested on Rachel’s shoulders, her own folded gracefully up against her long neck, as they took stock of each other.

‘I want to go with you,’ said Susan softly.

Rachel gazed at her. Unwelcome came the memory of Susan’s bizarre triangle of lust with Syn, the muscular biker, and Kim, the perfect nymph. Their unexplained antagonism, overlaid with seemingly endless, purposeless sex.

Rachel’s eyes fell, then quickly rose again. ‘You’ll need a ticket,’ she said; and although the playfulness was obviously forced, Susan smiled. She shook her head fractionally, lifted her arms, reached behind, and gently encouraged Rachel’s hands to draw away her bra.

As they both watched, her breasts softly came to rest against Rachel’s.

Rachel sighed at the sensation, juxtaposed against her sudden discomfiture; but she allowed Susan to guide her hands to the sides of the beautiful flesh, to hold and feel and build upon the sweetly erotic sight.

‘I love you,’ breathed Susan.

It was too much. Rachel felt her defences slamming into place. She wanted Susan’s sex, oh, how she wanted it. But it was poisoned. The decision was already made.

But before she could draw away, there was a sudden rattle from the door to the maintenance room they had invaded. They both jumped, even knowing that they had jammed it shut. But that moment had been careless, carried away as they were; and the intruder pushed away the barricade of workbench and buckets as if it were hardly there.

The brightness of the light from the corridor seemed to stun them into immobility, and a silhouette squeezed through, immediately familiar, but totally unexpected.

‘Naughty,’ said a teasing voice, a young voice: Kim’s voice. ‘You just can’t stop fucking, can you?’

Rachel gaped, her hands loose above elbows now self-consciously hugging her breasts. But Susan stepped forward protectively.

‘Back off, Kim,’ she said.

Kim nudged a fallen mop out of her way and stepped closer. ‘Aww,’ she said, pouting. ‘I just want to join the fun. I knew you’d come here, for a last fuck.’

Susan seemed to pause, even to sag. ‘This isn’t about fun,’ she protested.

‘I don’t know,’ said Kim, cocking a hip. ‘Sounded like fun. I want in.’

Susan seemed to struggle with something inside, her shoulders hunched, her head dropping. Rachel stared at her back, usually so straight and strong; and wondered at the change. But the next moment, she was stepping forward herself. ‘Kim,’ she said, her voice rising with spite. ‘Fuck off.’

Kim smiled humourlessly. ‘Make me,’ she spat. ‘Bitch.’

Something in her confidence made Rachel hesitate; but then fury was all that she knew, and she took another step, balling her fists.

But Susan’s hand was on her arm, staying her charge before it had begun. Rachel looked at her.

‘That’s right,’ said Kim triumphantly. ‘Susie doesn’t want us to fight.’ She chuckled. ‘She only wants us fucking. Bet you’re both wet and ready too.’

‘You can’t do this,’ said Susan softly, some of the fire back in her voice. But then, it cracked. ‘I love her.’

‘Sure,’ said Kim sarcastically. ‘You love this little slut, you love me; you love fucking everyone. You know that won’t make me come any more. You got to work harder than that with me. And you can’t take it back.’ She was right there, now, small in stature, but somehow crushing Susan down and back with every movement.

Rachel focussed on Susan. ‘What’s she saying?’ she pleaded quietly. ‘What does she mean?’

Susan raised her eyes to Rachel’s, and seemed to gain courage from her face. ‘I promised,’ said Susan. ‘I made a mistake. But I promised.’

Rachel touched her chin, ignoring Kim. ‘Promised what? Susan, what?’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Kim. ‘I’ll tell her. She fucked me, while she was seeing Syn.’ Susan’s eyes closed with pain while Kim continued in a bored voice, ‘And I wasn’t the only one, was I Susie?’ She ducked her head teasingly, to catch Susan’s eyes. ‘Oh no. We had quite a time, behind Syn’s back.’ She grinned, shrugged airily. ‘Of course, Syn found out about some of the others. She was really fucked up. Tried to kill herself. She was only saved by her maid.’

Kim had her thumb on her own sternum, and nodded. ‘Uh-huh, me. She was a pretty high-flying bitch, back then. I found her in the tub. Bathing in her own blood. Totally gross.’

‘Wasn’t long after, she started sleeping around too; and naturally, I got some.’ She waved away Rachel’s appalled stare. ‘I never pretended I was in love,’ she stated flatly. ‘She knew what she was getting into, with me.’ Susan flinched at Kim’s barbed emphasis.

‘By then, she didn’t care if I was fucking Susan too. But if she ever found out that we were together before I saved her life… Susie offered me anything not to tell.’ Kim laughed cruelly. ‘Anything.’

So Susan had promised Kim a lifetime of sex, any time, anywhere. In return for silence. So Syn would never find out that her saviour, and the driving partner in her new promiscuous life, had also been an agent of her downfall. It was so ugly, so unfair, and yet, it explained everything. But something still did not stack up, and Rachel racked her brain, standing naked in the face of Kim’s self-assured grin, to see the flaw.

Kim was sashaying forward again, leading with a shoulder to cut between Susan and Rachel. ‘So,’ she drawled lustily. ‘What’s it to be, lover?’ She licked a finger, traced it around one of Susan’s bared nipples. ‘Can Syn rely on you now?’

Rachel saw red. ‘You…’ she began, as she swung. ‘You shit,’ she finished, as Kim smashed decisively into the shelves opposite, collapsing, the contents emptying painfully onto her crumpled form.

Then, Rachel knew.

Susan was staring at Kim, vulnerable in a way that Rachel could never have believed. And Rachel’s heart went out to her, and she grasped her shoulders, then pulled her in close.

‘It was a lie.’ It rushed from her. ‘It was a lie, a story. I’ve been with Syn.’ She disengaged the embrace, locked eyes with Susan while holding her, willing her to believe. ‘I’ve kissed every inch of her.

‘She has no scars.’

Susan seemed to be barely breathing; pale and distant. Rachel released one shoulder, shyly, tentatively raising her wrist up to Susan’s eyes. The line of paler skin was stark in the dim light of the room.

~~~

‘For goodness sake, go,’ said Rachel, waving both of her arms as though Susan’s hands, clasping hers, were the reins of a cart-horse. They stood at the security gate, a tide of passengers parting around them. ‘She might get to Syn first.’

Susan smiled warmly, and Rachel was relieved to see the usual confident maturity back in her expression. ‘I can’t take long enough over thanking you,’ she said. ‘Besides,’ — and now her smile went lopsided — ‘I have a Ferrari.’

Rachel laughed. ‘My girlfriend has a Ferrari,’ she sang, recalling another time when joy had overwhelmed her. ‘Well,’ she corrected, ‘my first girlfriend had one.’

Susan allowed her chuckle to subside, gazing into Rachel’s eyes. Finally, she mouthed the words again: ‘I love you.’

‘I know,’ said Rachel gently, with simple honesty. Then she grinned. ‘Let me know how you get on with Syn. I want to come visit you when you’re back together.’

Susan frowned, with a distant echo of her pain. ‘Who knows,’ she said. ‘I have to try. Thanks for convincing me of that.’

Rachel cranked the reins again. ‘Then get cracking!’ she snapped playfully. ‘I’ve got a plane to catch.’

They kissed, softly. Then Susan turned, and strode away.

Rachel stood for a moment with pattering heart, and a kind of simple, happy conviction. No matter her love for Rachel, it was clear that Susan had to heal the wounds of her past with Syn, first. For a moment Rachel wondered if she should wait. But then she chanced to glance at a pretty red-headed passenger striding past, by herself. Their eyes met, and for a moment, locked.

No, thought Rachel. Love had been waiting for her, all her life. It was time to go and claim it.