My sadness turns back to anger and back again into sadness, to the point where I mostly feel both at the same time. Sometimes I'm more angry, sometimes I'm more sad. When I walk past the receptionist on my way in and out of the building, I quite often feel angry. (The receptionist at least has the grace to look embarrassed whenever she sees me.) At home, or sitting outside with Michelle, it's usually sadness.
At the end of that week, I wonder about asking Michelle if I can go with her to visit Toby – just so I can be around a friendly face. It's too late notice, I know, so I don't. Instead I tell my housemate all about it over tea on Friday night. She knows I'm gay, so it's just a matter of telling her there's an awkward situation in the air at work. She's good at listening, my housemate, which helps – and then she says she's had a tough week in her job too. We agree that's a good enough excuse for the two of us to go out for a drink, so after tea I take her to the pub where Lizzie works. We sit at the bar and drink too much and talk rubbish with Lizzie in between her serving other people, until my housemate and I have trouble standing up and Lizzie has to suggest we go home.
The next day, even though I'm hungover, I take the train from our town into the centre of the nearby city. I do a museum I've always been meaning to look round, and take advantage of the better shopping – mostly looking, but a bit of buying too. (Final tally: a cute top; two books, one of which I need for the qualification work are putting me through; a sweet but utterly unnecessary pair of shoes.) That cheers me up. That sort of shopping always cheers me up.
At one point, mid-afternoon, I find myself wandering down a backstreet, thinking it might be a short-cut, and pause for a second to sort my bags out. My handbag, which had been threatening to slide off my shoulder for a while, finally slips down my arm. I shove it back up onto my shoulder and change hands with my shopping. Looking about me, I notice I've stopped a little way down from a bar on the other side, which has a rainbow flag prominently displayed outside. I'm not a huge frequenter of gay bars – there's only one in the town where we live and work, and it's crap. Even the ones around when I was a student weren't great. But by now my feet are beginning to hurt and my hangover is still mildly there, and I have a strong craving for caffeine. I wander over the road, push into the bar, and go up to the counter. The place is deserted, apart from a well-built lad with very stylish hair, his toned body obvious through a tight black vest under an open checked shirt. He's leaning on the counter to read the paper. He stands up straight when he sees me and moves behind the bar. He smiles at me.
I rest my bags against the legs of a stool and slide myself onto it, enjoying the break it gives my feet. 'Hi. Do you do coffee?'
'Yep. Anything special?'
'Ooh, no. Just normal white, please. Two sugars.'
'Coming up, honey.'
I look around while he fiddles with the machine. I am actually the only person in. 'Bit quiet today?'
'Always is, this time on a Saturday.' He glances at his watch. 'Hmm, mind you, there'll be a few in soon, I 'spect. Lunchtime drinkers.'
'Lunchtime? It's almost three o'clock, man.'
'That's lunchtime to most of the Saturday crowd in here, honey.' He puts my coffee in front of me on the bar and takes my money. 'They're the same crowd as Friday night, mostly, see? It's always a good night.' He looks at me a little more carefully. 'You should come down sometime. If, you know...if you're, you know, so inclined, as it were...' He trails off with a shy but knowing grin.
I grin back. 'Yes, I am,' I say. 'That way inclined, I mean.' I blow over the mug quickly. 'But I live too far out to get in normally. And I never even knew this place was here.' I sip coffee and feel the warmth and comfort spread though me. I say too much. 'And anyway, there's this thing with someone at work at the moment...' I stop myself. Not time to become a relationship-woes bore, Fiona. Not to strangers.
But my new friend perks up. 'Oooh, good. Sexy office gossip. Want to share?' He gives me my change.
I laugh. He's charming and so utterly gay that I know his flirting is entirely harmless. And he's clearly bored, as it's just me and him in the place. Why not tell a random stranger all about it? It might make me feel better. 'OK. If you're sure?'
'God yeah, honey, absolutely. It's my job as a barman, you know? To listen to relationship troubles.' He sighs and rolls his eyes. 'Especially in this place.' He pulls a stool over and sits on it, then rests his head on his hands on the bar counter and looks at me expectantly, waving his fingers towards his cheek. 'C'mon. Spill.'
***
So I tell him.
I tell him about the party, and Diana's reputation. I tell him about the kiss, and the second kiss. I tell him about wanting to go slow, about feeling like the one at fault. I tell him about our argument – and as I do so, I realise that it was mainly me shouting at Diana. I tell him what she called me, though.
He sucks in his breath. 'Ouch. Have to say, “pussy hound” sounds about right for the bitch, though. Nice one there, honey.' He breaks off and stands up as some people drift in to the bar. I look into my almost empty coffee mug and drain it while he greets the newcomers. I assume the 'lunchtime crowd' have started to arrive, and wonder if I should be making a move to go. I push my mug across the bar and glance over to where my new friend is pouring a pint of lager. There are three people at the bar, and one of them is a woman. I wonder why I'm surprised.
She's a pony-tailed brunette, thirty-something woman in a polo shirt and combats, with one scuffed walking boot-clad foot resting on the foot-rail of the stool next to mine. I notice the shape of her slightly bent leg in her trousers. It's the shape of a nice, toned, long leg, a leg used to exercise. I do like fit women. I notice the trim body under the polo shirt, the flat tummy and the healthy arms and shoulders. I do like fit women and I do like a fit woman in a polo shirt. Then I notice her gaze on me, and I blush. She smiles. She takes the pint of lager in front of her and drinks a mouthful, then looks at me again. And smiles again.
The barman turns from paying money into the till and pushes himself back up onto his stool, crossing his legs. The other two people – men, also in walking gear – move away from the bar with their beers, but the woman stays put. The barman waves his hand at the space between me and her. 'Catherine, this is some random shopper who pitched up here to moan about work.' He grins at me. 'Honey, this is Catherine. She likes you.' He smirks.
Catherine lazily extends two fingers and holds them up to him. 'Fuck off, Nick.' She turns to me. 'I'm sorry about him. I should ask, you do know where you are?'
'Yes. I'm here, I think.'
'Hah fucking hah, Little Miss Philosopher.' She waves vaguely in the direction of outside, as if wanting me to remember the flag. 'Do you know where you are, as in what to expect from the regulars?'
'Yes.' I hold her gaze. She has very pale blue eyes. 'It's fine.' I cross my legs towards her and notice that she blatantly watches the way the denim of my jeans pulls over my thighs. 'I feel, um...at home. If you like.'
Catherine looks at me for a second, then takes another mouthful of her lager. 'Good,' she says. She shows Nick The Barman two fingers again, then she pulls the stool out with her foot and sits herself down at the bar, next to me. 'So, I'm Catherine. As you know. I've been walking off a hangover.'
I laugh. 'I'm Fiona. Fi. I've been shopping off a hangover.'
She looks at the empty coffee cup in front of me. 'What did you get drunk on last night, Fiona? Coffee?'
'Call me Fi. But, no. Cider. Why?'
'Hair of the dog.' She nods at Nick. 'Get the girl a half.' She grins at me. I start to protest but Catherine holds up a hand. 'Have a small drink with me, Fi? You can go after that, if you want to, I won't mind.' She glances at me sideways. 'I promise you'll feel better for this, though. In real life I'm a doctor, so you can trust me. This is medical advice.'
So I drink the half of cider, and my hangover goes away. Maybe it's the cider, maybe it's the way that Catherine and Nick make me feel comfortable. Maybe its the freedom to sit in a public place and relax and feel free to bitch about Diana to sympathetic strangers without having to obfuscate about her gender.
***
Catherine pats my hand as I repeat the story of the big argument. 'That's nasty.' Her hand stays on mine for a moment too long but I don't mind. 'How are you gong to prove her wrong?'
I sigh. 'I don't know.' I finish my half of cider and notice Catherine's glass is empty too. 'Do you want another beer? I might stay for another half, if you do. Your medical advice seems to work.'
Catherine nods. 'Thanks.' We wait until Nick has pulled her another pint and me another half.
I pay, and we chink glasses and drink a bit. I feel the cider begin to go to my head, as usual, but it's ok. I feel happy, welcome here.
Catherine knocks my arm with her elbow. 'So, Fi. Why does this bitch at work still bother you so much?'
'Well, because she's wrong, I think.' I pause. 'Or maybe she's right. I don't know.'
Catherine leans closer. 'Do you want a second opinion?'
I know this is a doctor joke. Possibly. She feels nice and likes me and I fancy her instinctively, and I feel comfortable with her. I lean against her arm. 'Maybe. Aren't you off duty, though?' My god, I think, I'm flirting openly with a complete stranger. And it feels good.
She drops her hand onto my knee. 'Yep. Until Monday.' Her breath stirs my hair, her face must be quite close. She runs a finger an inch or so up the inside seam of my jeans. 'Lucky us, eh?'
My god, I think again. She's really really flirting with me. And it feels very good. I really want to open up to her a bit, but I keep my legs tightly crossed.
'Hmm, Monday? That's ages away.' I'm quite unexpectedly turned on, and I know I'm just being a tease. I look at her. There is a definite spark between us, but what if I do bottle out of it? What if this whole situation just goes to prove that Diana is right, and I leave Catherine disappointed as well? 'What if it's true, Catherine? What if I can't...?'
'I'm trained to be rigorously scientific.' She turns her hand and brushes her knuckles up the inside of my crossed thigh. Her face is alight with the playfulness of the situation. 'I'm offering to test the hypothesis that you are...well, no. Let's say, the hypothesis that you ...well. Hmmm. I don't know.' She deliberately presses her fingers hard against my thighs. 'I'm willing to try stuff with you. We can decide what when we get back to my flat. Yeah?'
I give in and uncross my legs. I enjoy the way she sighs in relief, and welcome the feel of her hand pushing between my knees. 'I, er...to be honest, Catherine, I'm just glad you're willing to do anything with me...'
'Good. I'll be thorough, I promise.' She grins at me with open sexual desire. For a brief second, her hand moves high up between my thighs.
I enjoy the way she smiles as she feels my heat through my jeans. I shake my head quickly to clear it. 'I need to ring my housemate. Just to say, you know...?'
'Very sensible.' She points at my glass. 'We'll have another quick one here, then go, yeah?'
I stand up from the stool and take my phone out. 'OK.' I find my housemate's number and press to dial. At the same time, I welcome the way she openly enjoys the sight of me standing up and leaning on the bar, her gaze running openly up and down my body and legs. 'Listen, Catherine, thanks. This is, um, weird, but...you know. Nice, too.'
She tips her empty glass in my direction, lightly touching the rim to my own empty glass. 'All in the name of Science, Fi.' She winks.