Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
G illian looked out over the parkland of Kingsford Manor from her usual spot on the bench. The sunshine warmed her face, but a cold breeze swept around the rest of her, reminding her summer was gone. She wanted to make the most of the estate whilst Viola was still away. Given how she had left things in the dressing room, she wasn’t sure under what circumstances their paths might cross again—or if she would still be welcome. Part of her wanted to avoid it as long as possible. A light cough sounded from behind, telling her that her time was already up.
“I’ll go,” Gillian said, making moves to stand.
A hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Please don’t. May I join you?” Viola asked, sitting beside her without waiting for an answer.
“Sorry, I thought you were still in London. I didn’t hear a helicopter.”
“I came back by car last night.”
The awkward silence that commenced wasn’t going to get any less uncomfortable, so Gillian decided to address the issue head-on. She was a ‘tear the plaster off in one swift movement’ kind of woman.
“I must have hurt you, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that. I just can’t be… that. I’m not like that anymore.”
“It hurts, yes,” Viola admitted. “Was it unexpected that you kissed me first? Yes, very. That you ran? No.” She paused, then added, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but it would have been good to have at least talked about it.”
Gillian’s head dropped as Viola continued.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while and refrained. I feared it would make you run, and I was right. I didn’t want that either. If you don’t want to talk about it, or can’t, then we won’t. I will ask what you meant by ‘like that’. You often talk in terms that sound a little homophobic. You once even struggled to get the word ‘lesbian’ out of your mouth.”
“I don’t have a problem with gay people,” Gillian muttered as she shifted in her seat.
“I’m sure you don’t have a problem with other people being gay, but I get the impression you believe we are somehow inferior. It’s okay for others to be ‘like that’; you just don’t want to be seen as that yourself. Am I right?”
“I understand my feelings,” Gillan replied firmly. “Accepting those feelings is a hurdle; acting on them is Herculean.”
“You did act.” Viola’s tone was firm, firmer than Gillian had ever heard it. When she chanced a glance at the younger woman, her eyes coiled with some unknown emotion. “You kissed me, and I felt you, Gillian. I felt all of you. I felt what you wanted.”
“Wants and needs are different. I need to uphold my standing in the village. I’ve already fallen too far.”
“And what?” Viola snapped. “Acknowledging your feelings for me would lead to you being where? At the bottom of the Kingsford social hierarchy?”
“I’ve already acknowledged my feelings. As you say, I kissed you,” Gillian answered. “As for taking it any further, that I cannot do. I built a life here, a life I could only once dream of, and I lost it. I cannot bear any more losses.”
“Loss! A life with me would be a loss,” Viola said, turning away from her.
“I didn’t mean…” Gillian trailed off, unable to make sense of her thoughts.
Viola turned back, eyes blazing with anger as she glared at her. “What did you mean? That you’re ashamed to be with me. Is that why you kept your distance at the ball? Standing apart from me in conversations to prevent us from appearing too close. Is that it?”
Despite recoiling in her seat at Viola’s tone, Gillian tried to pitch her reply with composure. “I was merely standing back to give you space to host. I was all too aware it wasn’t my position. I am also aware that at such events I can too easily take over.” She refrained from adding that she was worried if she stood too close to her, everyone would be able to read her face and see how much she longed for her.
“I thought you would enjoy it, and you seemed to.” Viola’s tone softened, much to Gillian’s relief. “You were in your element at the beginning of the evening.”
“I was. That’s the problem. It served as a reminder of everything I lost, how far I’ve fallen.”
“Fallen? Is that how you see it?” There was a touch of empathy in her voice. “Your circumstances have changed, that’s all. Your house has less square footage, and from what I understand, there isn’t any less money in the bank.”
Gillian’s face dropped as Viola continued.
“These are all superficial, materialistic things that don’t even begin to measure your worth or who you are.”
“My position as lady of the manor was not materialistic. Maybe it is you who underestimates the position you hold now.”
“It’s just a name, Gillian,” Viola said, her voice brimming with frustration.
“Like award-winning musician?” Gillian bit back.
“Yes, exactly like that. It’s a label people put on me, not something I put on myself. I’m Viola, and I can sing. You are Gillian, a generous and caring woman who can organise like no one else. That is your value, who you are and what you do. Not that you even show this to the world; you hide it, preferring to show a woman who’s hard and closed off. Doesn’t it take an enormous amount of effort to play this part? To be someone you aren’t?” Viola took a deep breath. “Let people see the real you, the one you have shown me these past months,” she urged gently.
“I’ve only lost focus the last few months. I need to get it back,” Gillian replied firmly.
“And I’m guessing that is my fault, this loss of focus?”
Gillian kicked at the gravel under her feet, feeling she was losing a grip on the conversation as well. “That’s not what I said.”
“You didn’t need to. I can read between the lines. I want you to be you, and I want to be with you. I can make you happy.” Viola paused, then ventured, “I believe I do make you happy.”
Gillian rubbed the side of her mouth, fearful that Viola would notice the tiny smile that rose in one corner of it. Viola did make her happy, but the lifestyle she was offering didn’t. They could stay friends; Viola could still be in her life and make her happy, regardless of a label that didn’t fully capture the complexity of their connection.
Viola reached out and touched Gillian’s leg. “When was the last time someone ravished you, Gillian? Properly, I mean. The last time you were touched by someone you wanted. Stripped and taken until you were breathless and shaking.”
Gillian’s breath hitched, her body tensing as the question cut through her like a knife. Its bluntness made her heart race and her skin prickle with a flush of heat as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her gaze dropped, her eyes focusing on a stone on the path as she grappled with the flood of emotions. The intensity of the question made her feel exposed, her mind caught between discomfort and a rush of forgotten yearning.
“Never then,” Viola said decidedly when Gillian failed to answer. “Why let other people’s view of you hold back your happiness? Do you really care what they think? Do their opinions matter so much to you that you are willing to push who you are aside?”
Gillian didn’t know how to reply. She cared what other people thought. She always had done.
Viola took a deep breath and continued. “Another thing your mum taught you: to live your life by other people’s rules. We live in a different world now, and it’s time you caught up to it. You’ve stuffed yourself away at Kingsford for an eternity, and it’s suffocated you.”
The problem was, part of her still felt like a child, deeply craving her mother’s approval. All those memories of things she’d said, cold remarks, put-downs, they were still resting on the surface of her skin and the edges of her soul.
“You let your guard down around me, and I don’t think you do that with anyone else… probably not even Bridget. I see the real you, Gillian. The one you’ve kept hidden, the one you still hide from everyone else except me.”
“I’m not sure how to be her,” Gillian replied, her voice faltering. “I’m even less sure I want to be her.”
“You are her! This other Gillian, the cold one who protects herself, that’s not you. That’s someone you created to stop yourself from getting hurt. You don’t need to protect yourself, not with me.”
“And everyone else?” Gillian’s voice cracked.
“Does that really matter? Honestly.”
She’d suppressed the possibility of a life like that thirty-five years ago. It wasn’t so easily unpacked like a suitcase after a holiday.
“You need to work out what makes you happy because all I see is a woman who has spent a lifetime trying to make others happy, your mum, your husband, even this goddamn village. What about you? Where does your happiness come into it? What does it look like?”
“Making others happy makes me happy.”
“What bullshit. You were taught to serve others to fulfil your happiness; the two are exclusive. You can do things for others and seek additional happiness elsewhere. Would you be happy if your gravestone read, ‘Died happy by making everyone else happy’?”
Gillian didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Making others happy was all she knew. It was her safety net, her place in her community; her small world where everything made sense, where she could get on and do and shut everything else out that was scary, unknown, and unwalkable.
Viola pushed on. “If you only had six months to live, Gillian, what would you do with them? Attend a WI meeting, organise a coffee morning, sit through a sermon?”
She’d never given that question a moment’s thought. She believed contemplating one’s mortality was best avoided.
“I’m not going to push you into this,” Viola said. “You have to come willingly.”
She wanted to; she just didn’t know how. Feeling Viola’s growing frustration, she tried to be honest, whispering, “I can’t go back.”
Viola grabbed her hand. “You wouldn’t be going back. You would be moving forward, to a place you should have always been. We spoke a lot about grief. Do you not think part of you is grieving an alternate life you could have lived?”
“I didn’t live it, and it’s too late now,” Gillian snapped, frustrated by all her questions. She pulled her hand from Viola’s,
“It’s never too late,” Viola urged. “Too late is when you take your last breath, and you are some ways from that point.”
“Can’t we go back to the way we were?” Gillian pleaded.
“I’m in love with you.” Viola sighed. “I don’t think I can, no.”
Gillian’s heart leapt at her initial words, only for it to drop and shatter. Her chest tightened as if she’d been punched. She stared at Viola, searching for a glimmer of hope in her eyes. All she saw was a resolve that was both heartbreaking and final.
“We can’t—” Gillian started, her voice faltering. “We can’t just throw everything away.”
Viola’s expression softened, though her eyes remained firm. “It’s not about throwing things away, Gillian. It’s about being honest with ourselves. I love you, which makes it harder to be around you and not with you. To watch you deny yourself some true, raw happiness in life… it’s not for me.”
Gillian swallowed hard, trying to process the weight of Viola’s words. She reached out a hand, but Viola stood. The space between them felt impossibly wide. “What happens now?” Gillian asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Viola took a deep breath. “I will return to work. You should get back to what you do, to what is most important to you — avoiding your unhappiness by living vicariously through everyone else’s happiness. Christmas is on its way. I’m sure you must have something to organise. I’m sure that will make you happy. I hope it’s enough for you.”
With that, Viola turned, her footsteps on the gravel fading until silence surrounded Gillian, and she was left with only her thoughts. Those thoughts told her she wanted to sweep the woman up and kiss her, but it was too much, too far from what she knew. Too far from what was safe in her already uncertain future.