I had an uncomfortable few days after I ran into my former lesbian lover out at our village fete. I hadn't seen her for 25 years, I hadn't heard a peep from her in all that time, since I was 18, in fact. I'd married and raised an adult daughter, become a respected pillar of local society -- and then one day she turned up out of the blue! I tried to tell myself it was just coincidence; after all, she must have been in the village a few days, and she hadn't exactly come and sought me out. So I pretended to myself I wasn't interested in why she was back, and tried to simply forget I'd seen her at all.
The trouble was, in a place like Millgate Crossing it wasn't that easy. When a strange woman turns up in a small, conservative, rural community like ours, dressed in a style that screams 'Yes folks, I'm a raging dyke from the big city', people tend to take an interest. Ernie Rossan, the local fruit and veg merchant, had heard me tell my daughter Hannah that Jack -- that's what she's always called herself -- was an old friend of mine, and within days the whole village knew. I got casual enquiries as to who she was. I became aware of animated conversations between locals abruptly stopping abruptly as I entered a shop, or the library, as people I'd known for years avoided eye contact with me in obvious embarrassment.
What made it worse was the discomfort I felt about the whole situation. I had always told myself I was in a happy...well, a stable marriage, and that what happened between me and Jack was just a teenage aberration, the sort of experimentation all kids get up to. I mean, my husband, Roger, the local Anglican vicar, was the only other person I'd ever slept with, and since the day Jack had left the village, and me, behind, I hadn't so much as looked at another female in that way. Not really. There was a teacher at Hannah's infant school who I was certain was attracted to me, but I never encouraged her and she moved away after a couple of years. But even though I'd tried to, through all the years of my marriage I'd never managed to forget Jack: how happy I used to be in her company, the way it made me feel when she touched me, the warmth of her lips on my skin, how it felt when she slipped down my body and buried her face in my...oh God, I felt so confused.
Of course, a few days after that first time, I met her again. It had to happen, in such a small place. I was behind the counter in the charity shop where I help out for a few hours a week when the bell over the door tinkled and there she was. She stood in the open doorway for a moment, silhouetted by the bright sunlight outside, as her eyes adjusted to the weak electric light which illuminated the shop. It took her a moment to notice me, then she gave a start of surprise and walked over with a smile. She was wearing a black sleeveless T-shirt, cropped to reveal her flat, skinny stomach, black jeans and a pair of yellow Doc Marten boots, which matched the colour of her short spiky hair. She had a sort of barbed wire tattoo running all the way round one bicep. I was vaguely aware of a couple of old ladies in one corner clucking to each other about a middle-aged woman dressing like a teenage punk.
I had previously noticed the piercing which adorned Jack's nose, but now I saw another: a small silver ring in her navel, to which was attached a silver chain, which extended under the waistband of her jeans. Just as I realized, with a shock, which part of her anatomy the other end of the chain was probably attached to, she spoke. "Hello again Suze" -- in my entire life, only she had ever called me anything but Susannah -- "I didn't realise you worked in here." She paused, then, as if feeling the need to justify her presence, she added, "I'm just finding my way round the village again, just browsing, you know. I can't believe how little the place has changed in all this time. I suppose just about every building's got a preservation order on it." She smiled. It was probably true -- Millgate Crossing's that sort of place.
I returned the smile weakly. "So, what are you doing back here after all these years?" I was desperate to know the answer, but I strived to keep my enquiry casual.
She shrugged. "Well, I had a couple of weeks free, and I thought it might be nice to come back and see the old place again. I never expected to see you though. I thought you'd have spread your wings and flown from this dump long ago." Jack and her slutty mother had lived for a while on the council estate which is attached to Millgate Crossing -- the bit the hordes of tourists who visit us never see. I asked if that was where she was staying now. "God, no, mum hasn't lived here for years. I think she's in Manchester now, but we haven't spoken in ages. No, I'm renting one of the little holiday cottages in King's Passage." The street Jack mentioned, with its row of quaint whitewashed thatched dwellings, is one of the most photographed in the country. "So how are you?"
It was my turn to shrug. I gave the standard "I'm fine" response, then we stood gazing at each other awkwardly. Apart from the weather, we'd exhausted the usual range of polite small talk. I became acutely aware of the old women in the corner pointedly not looking at us, their ears swivelled in our direction like radar dishes. I cleared my throat self-consciously. "Look, you should come round for a cup of tea sometime, and we can have a proper chat."
Jack responded almost before I'd finished speaking. "That'd be lovely Suze. When would be good for you?"
Shit!, I thought. Why the hell had I suggested that? I mentally debated whether it would be better to make it a time when Roger and Hannah were going to be around, as a safe buffer between us -- or whether it would be better for Jack and me to be alone, whether we had real things to say to each other. Taking a deep breath, I suggested the following afternoon. Jack whipped a tiny Filofax out of her shoulder bag and noted down the appointment. Then she wandered round the shop for a few minutes, her friendly smile to the two old biddies being rewarded with suspicious frowns. She bought a couple of tatty Ursula Le Guin paperbacks, then left with a cheery "See you tomorrow." As she left, I saw another tattoo in the small of her back, just above her low-riding jeans: a large blue butterfly surrounded by curly black lines with smaller butterflies flittering between them.
It felt as if I spent the entire next 24 hours cleaning and tidying the house. You know how it is -- someone's coming round to see you, not your home, but you'd feel mortified if they found a speck of dust. I employed a cleaner at one time, but it didn't last long because I used to spend the entire day before she came brushing and dusting, so she wouldn't find any dirt! Hannah could tell at breakfast the next morning that I was nervous. She'd already displayed an unwelcome curiosity about Jack. I guessed she suspected my hyper state was something to do with my old friend, but I ignored my daughter's unsubtle probing as to whether I had any plans for the day and so on. She was home from university for the summer, and was heading into the local town for the day with friends to shop and see a film.
At two o'clock on the dot the front door bell rang and, my heart in my throat, I admitted Jack to my home. My father had occupied the vicarage before my husband, so Jack knew it well, but she'd never before been inside. She was dressed in a simple white sleeveless dress, with bare legs and platform rope sandals. I reflected that if she'd just dressed like that normally every gossip in the village wouldn't be talking about her. I guided her into the front room and she perched on the edge of an armchair -- the one Roger normally occupies. When I offered tea, she replied, "I'd prefer coffee if you've got it -- black, no sugar."
