Trio - [46]

Joan regularly got comps from her lodgers. Penny had been at the theatre with two colleagues from school. In the course of interval chit-chat Penny had talked about looking for a house and the rising prices – she’d been married but was getting a divorce. Joan had a spare room. One of her actors had given back word after a more attractive offer from television. Joan had offered her the room to rent while she looked for a place. Penny came round the next day to look at the place and to explain a bit more about her situation. She had a child, a nine-year-old daughter. She was a teacher and was due to take up her first headship in Pickering after the summer. Previously her husband Henry had been able to take Rachel to school and bring her home. He was a self-employed accountant and could choose his hours. Now Henry had met someone else and they were going to get married as soon as the divorce became absolute. Rachel had been adamant that she wanted to stay with her father. Penny was still reeling from that. They had agreed that she would have Rachel to visit every weekend.

A child wasn’t something Joan had bargained for but she didn’t object, it was only going to be a temporary arrangement.

Joan hadn’t imagined that anything else would develop. Penny and her dog moved in. Over the summer holidays Joan and Penny got to know each other. The theatre was dark, the actors gone for now. Penny would walk the dog each morning right along the bay. Early, before the holiday-makers hit the sands with their flasks and picnic rugs, rowdy children, knotted hankies and transistor radios. Joan asked if she might join her one day and the walk became a habit.

When Rachel came to stay Joan found that apart from her size she wasn’t so very different from some of her more tempestuous guests.

Penny and Joan grew closer almost imperceptibly. They began to share meals and to accompany each other to social events.

Joan found herself watching Penny as she moved about the kitchen or while she prepared papers for school. She was drawn to her: she had a broad face, hair the colour of corn which she wore long, a generous body, more rounded than Joan’s, and she had a bright mind; Joan relished hearing her talk, the intelligence and authority with which she considered ideas, encouraged her charges, commented on affairs was stimulating.

Joan began to feel awkward. She was falling in love. They had never discussed sexuality but a few choice, arch comments from one of the more camp lodgers had made it plain to all and sundry where Joan’s inclinations lay.

But it was Penny who made the first move.

Joan had built a fire one night. The house was quiet. The next cast were coming the following Monday. Penny had finished work for the week. They sat watching the flames and drinking whisky, listening to classical guitar: John Williams.

She was laughing at Penny, who was lambasting Margaret Thatcher, describing how this woman had done her level best to shatter British society, wreck the Welfare State, close the pits, encourage individual greed, suck up to the Yanks, and then had the brass-necked cheek when re-elected to quote St Francis of Assisi: Where there is discord, may we bring harmony… where there is despair, may we bring hope. ‘And what has she done since?’ Penny demanded. ‘Unemployment sky high, more privatisation…’

Joan was still giggling when she sensed a shift in the atmosphere. She glanced at Penny, who looked back at her steadily.

‘Joan.’

Joan felt time slow, felt her blood thicken and warm at the tone. She opened her mouth a little. ‘I…’ Suddenly lost for words. She who crafted them, who selected and shaped words and rhythms and sounds to sway emotions to make hearts ache or soar or hips shake and feet tap. She had no words.

Penny moved from the big armchair still holding her gaze. Moved to sit beside her on the old, brocade couch. And kissed her.

A kiss, a stroke, her hands on Penny’s neck and then slowly, cautiously running down her sides, hesitating. Another kiss and Penny’s hands on her breasts, squeezing gently, Joan answering with a murmur, undoing the buttons on her cuffs. Silently they undressed. Joan was trembling with desire, shivering lightly. They lay side by side and she kissed Penny again. Her lips, her neck, her nipples. Moved down to kiss her belly, the inside of her thighs, her vagina. Feeling her own breath growing harsh, her sex clench and flush with heat. Penny calling softly. ‘Yes, oh, yes!’

Afterwards they lay sprawled on the rug, drinking more whisky. Joan lit a cigarette and took a drag, narrowed her eyes and shook her head, a tiny smile on her lips.

‘What?’ Penny said, her fingers still tracing circles and figure eights on Joan’s belly.

‘Nothing. Just glad. I’d been falling for you. I didn't know what to do about it.’

‘Me being an ex-married lady and all,’ Penny teased.

‘I didn’t know if you… if it was just me. I wanted to be sure, I suppose. I never thought you’d get there first.’

‘If we’d waited for you we’d have been old and grey. Bit scary though. You're sure?’