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  "Take me home, please," Rebecca said to Peter as he put his seatbelt on.

  They had driven the short journey back to Rebecca's flat in silence, both aware of the built up tension between them, but not knowing what to say. Peter stopped the car outside her apartment block and this time made no attempt to open the door for her. They both bade him goodnight and made their way into the building. The middle-aged concierge who looked like a Neanderthal someone had stuffed into a suit looked up from the computer screen with flat, unsmiling eyes.

  "Good evening," he said, then promptly returned to reading the football results before he even acknowledged their reply.

  The two women made their way up to the tenth floor and for the first time since they had been in the car, the close proximity of the lift forced them to look at each other. Their eyes blazed with the knowledge that they were heading to the point of no return. With the build-up of nerves and tension, both women were relieved when the lift reached Rebecca's floor.

  Inside the apartment, Genevieve expressed her appreciation of the flat.

  "Drink?" Rebecca asked. Genevieve nodded her head.

  "Please." She walked over to the window to look at the London skyline. "Wow, this is a great view to photograph." Rebecca brought the drinks over and handed one to her. They stood there for several minutes, close but not talking, just looking at the view, sipping their drinks now and then. Without looking at her, Rebecca spoke first.

  "So, you're engaged?"

  "In a way. Look, I'm going to be honest with you," Genevieve replied slowly as she turned to face Rebecca. Her lips spoke in a calm manner, but her stomach was doing somersaults. "I don't know what happened back there; hell I don't even know what's happening now, but I just need to see this through, to see where this will go."

  They both knew they were plunging into something far more entangling than a casual liaison, but the words to clarify this remained unspoken. It was several seconds before Rebecca found her voice.

  "I forgot to bring the bottle of wine out with me... Make yourself comfortable," she said shakily as she quickly left the room. She stood in the kitchen, her heart pounding. Normally poised and confident, she felt like a teenager on her first date. When her heart had finally resumed something of its normal rhythm, she returned to the front room with the wine and found that Genevieve was no longer there. She put the bottle on the table and went in search of her. Genevieve was in the bedroom, lying in the bed with her clothes strewn on the floor.

  Genevieve stretched out her arm.

  "Come and keep me warm; I'm cold." She said it so softly it was almost like a physical caress. Rebecca approached the bed slowly, her heart thumping so hard she wondered if Genevieve could hear it. Her magnetism was irresistible, and Rebecca was powerless in the face of it. When Rebecca sat on the edge of the bed, Genevieve moved over towards her, the sheet slipping away from her body, exposing her small firm breasts. She gently stroked Rebecca's cheek with the back her hand, while a small reassuring smile curved about her lips. When she felt Rebecca relax, she leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. Sensing no resistance, she let her tongue find its way into Rebecca's mouth, kissing her deeply, their tongues dancing sensually together. As she began to unbutton Rebecca's blouse, a faint gasp involuntarily escaped her lips when she realised Rebecca wasn't wearing a bra. Her skin felt firm and silky to the touch.

  The effect of being so intimate with Genevieve made Rebecca's head begin to spin. Her body was reacting in a way that was alien to her. She could actually feel the sexual energy exploding from her insides. With her silk blouse now discarded on the floor, Rebecca stood up and removed the rest of her clothing, aware that Genevieve didn't once take her eyes off her, watching her with pure lust. Genevieve lifted back the sheet so Rebecca could get in beside her. At once their bodies fixed together like parts of a puzzle. Rebecca placed her mouth over Genevieve's breast whilst searching for her place of excitement, caressing the inside of her thighs until she exploded with pleasure. Their lips found each other's once again with a slow and intimate kiss, clinging tightly together; it was now Genevieve's turn to find the place that made Rebecca shudder with delight.

  Lying in bed, snuggled closely together, Rebecca said laughingly, "Now the pleasantries are over, we can get to know each other."

  "Oh, so soon?" Genevieve said, kissing her again and stroking her body, revelling in the sensuous feel of Rebecca's nakedness.

  "I do believe there is a certain issue of a male — a fiancé — and you making said person an honest man," Rebecca reminded her. Genevieve flopped back on the puffed-up pillows and took the glass of wine Rebecca offered her.

  "It's a long story," she said, her eyes becoming darker.

  "Well, it's Saturday tomorrow and I have no plans, so I've got all night for this story. Are you hungry?" she asked, attempting to get out of bed.

  "Yes," Genevieve said, pulling her back down, "but not for food."

  CHAPTER 3

  Present Day

  AN UNEARTHLY CHILL ran through Rebecca's body as she listened to her voicemail. The background noise of music and traffic muted, and movement paused as if time itself did not dare continue its incessant journey. An unrecognisable voice was still talking in her earpiece. Rebecca was having difficulty hearing what was being said. She had only heard the first few words when her world had stopped. Rebecca sat frozen in her seat. She wanted to tear a hole in the world and escape through it. Peter, sensing something was wrong, pulled the car over to the kerb and turned around to see Rebecca looking very pale, the blood drained from her face. Her hand was trembling, gripping the side of the door handle.

  Her brain started to function again, reluctantly replaying what she had heard: Hospital... Genevieve Simmons... accident... next of kin...

  "We need to get to St. Thomas' Hospital now!" Rebecca barked. Peter didn't need any further instructions. He floored the accelerator and swung back into the traffic, racing toward the hospital.

  Running through the doors of the hospital's A&E department, tears came to her eyes, magnifying and distorting the scene into a hazy blur. She just about made out where the receptionist's desk was and approached it, trying to maintain some composure. Rebecca was not normally a dramatist, but hospitals gave her a sense of dread. It had been six years since she'd last entered one — when she had faced the trauma of losing both her parents in a car accident. As an only child, she'd had to bear the brunt of her loss alone.

  At reception she was told Genevieve had been moved to the Intensive Care Unit and given directions. In different circumstances she would have humorously asked her for a satnav to help her find her way. The hospital was like a maze, corridors led on to more corridors, and all seemed to blend into one another.

  Finally she found the ward's blue sign above the door. Intensive Care. They were just harmless words, two innocent words, but they implied so much. The adrenaline was still firing in her body, but her mind had slowed down. Part of her wanted to swing back the doors and rush headlong into the ward, and another just couldn't bear to face what lay ahead. She hesitantly opened the door and stepped into the lobby area. There was another set of doors, which were locked. She looked frantically around her for some way of getting in. Then she noticed the small bell that visitors were meant to press to announce their arrival.

  A faint voice greeted her over the intercom. "Hello?"

  "I'm here for Genevieve Simmons, Genevieve Simmons," Rebecca nearly screamed.

  "One moment please," the anonymous voice replied.

  Rebecca's heart was in her stomach; her hands shook and she had to will herself to breathe. The door opened a fraction and a doctor slid through, careful not to expose the ward behind her. The doctor's thinness caught her eye and for a bizarre instant she wondered if she had been helping herself to the pharmaceutical supply.

  "I believe a Genevieve Simmons was brought to this ward today," Rebecca said, exasperated.

  "Are you related?" the doctor asked. Rebecca shook her
head and for the first time, tears started to well up in her eyes.

  "No, no I'm not." She looked down towards the floor. Crying in front of people — especially strangers — was not something she normally did.

  "I'm sorry, but due to the serious nature of the injuries, I'm not supposed to discuss the patient with anyone but family."

  Rebecca could not take in what she had just been told. The doctor wasn't supposed to tell her because she wasn't related? Rebecca looked at her incredulously.

  "You're not allowed to discuss her condition with me because I'm not her fucking family? How dare you! How fucking dare you treat me like this, like I'm nothing!" she shouted at the top of her voice.

  The sound of the commotion brought a nurse poking her head through the door; she quickly assessed the situation and asked if she should call security.

  "She's my partner... you called me!" Rebecca broke down completely. The doctor quickly looked through her notes and then gently took Rebecca by the arm and led her into the waiting room adjacent to the ward. They both sat down on what looked like relatively new chairs. "You are right I am sorry. She had a next of kin card and we have been trying to contact you all day. When we couldn't reach you we managed to track down her parents, they should be arriving shortly."

  "I've had my phone off as I've been in a meeting all day. Please tell me how she is."

  The look on the doctor's face made Rebecca brace herself for the worst. She held her breath.

  "I'm afraid she was involved in what looks like a mugging, and as a result has suffered trauma to her head. Genevieve is still alive," the doctor said, responding to Rebecca's stricken face, "but she's in a coma. Although she's still breathing, she's unconscious; she can't respond to any stimuli such as pain or the sound of a voice, or perform any voluntary actions. The brain is still functioning, but at its most basic level."

  The walls began to close in on Rebecca.

  How can this be happening? Genevieve, who'd responded to her lovemaking this morning, both laughing like school girls in the shower, feeding each other breakfast... And now she was in a coma. How can that be?

  The doctor was still talking and Rebecca tried her hardest to concentrate.

  "There is no single treatment that can cause someone to come out of a coma; however, treatments can prevent further physical and neurological damage."

  "I want to see her," Rebecca said, standing up unsteadily. "Please let me see her." The doctor rose with her and put a hand on her arm, although whether to comfort or steady her, Rebecca didn't know.

  "Genevieve has a lot of machines surrounding her at the moment, so it looks scarier than it actually is," the doctor responded, and then paused. "We don't know the extent of the damage so we are just taking precautions. The wires and tubes attached to her are monitoring her organs. If there are other serious or life-threatening injuries to the rest of the body, they'll be dealt with in order of decreasing severity. I'm explaining this to you so you're prepared for when you see her." She gave Rebecca a faint smile.

  God, how many times a day does she repeat those lines? Rebecca wondered as she followed the doctor into the ICU. She held her breath as she walked through the ward, trying hard not to look at the dying and seriously ill patients who looked as though their souls had already vacated their bodies, leaving nothing behind but shells. The silence of the ward was interrupted by the sound of the machines, continuous deep, short shunting breaths being pumped into the bodies of the unconscious from the ventilator. And then Rebecca's eyes were drawn to Genevieve, who looked like an Egyptian mummy preserved in time. She lay motionless, as still as silence.

  The doctor hadn't lied — there were tubes and wires coming from her blood-encrusted temples, arms and hands. Her face was red and swollen with a large bruise developing on one side. Her hands had so many tubes attached to them they looked like someone had been using them for an atlas, and had stuck pins in to show where they had travelled. Each tube had a label indicating what medication was being fed into her body.

  Rebecca stood beside the bed and touched Genevieve's hand; it was surprisingly warm, but felt lifeless. There was no feeling in it, no response. She didn't know what to do with herself, whether to scream, cry, shout, or maybe rip the wires from Genevieve's body and carry her home and will her to wake up and relive the day again — only this time she would not let her go; she would hold her forever.

  Did Genevieve see the person who attacked her? What was she thinking at that very moment? Did she think of me? Rebecca felt like she was dying inside. If this had to happen, she wished she could have been there; that she could have held her, stroked her hair the way she liked, held her hands in hers, told her she was there and she would never leave her and that she loved her and everything was going to be alright. Did anyone comfort her or did they just leave her lying on the floor, stunted by their own fear of how easily the path of life changes?

  Rebecca heard Genevieve's mother before she saw her. A low whining sound that was barely audible soon turned into a hysterical pitch that clawed at those who heard it, leaving imprints on their hearts; her pain, like a thick fog, choking the room.

  Genevieve's parents were being comforted by a nurse as she cajoled them toward the bed where their lifeless daughter lay. As they came nearer the bed, Rebecca could see the grief written in every line on Genevieve's mother's face. She was a short woman, her hair scraped back severely in a tight bun, her slender body shaking.

  "Oh God, oh my God," she wailed, tears dripping from her cheeks. Genevieve's father stood beside his wife. It took them a few minutes to acknowledge she was standing there, and the moment they did, the pure dread on their faces was replaced with pure hatred.

  CHAPTER 4

  Four Years Earlier

  REBECCA AND GENEVIEVE spent their first weekend together in bed, watching each other, laughing, talking, taking long, leisurely baths together, and revealing secrets only lovers did when they wanted to let each other in, when they wanted to connect. Genevieve had finally relented and explained the history between herself and Paul, but only after he had called her day and night, demanding to know where she was.

  Paul was a fellow artist whose passion was painting. If he could exist without sleeping and just paint, he would. It was this passion that had brought them together. She had been attracted to Paul as an artist, not a lover, but she'd been too young to know the difference. She had not really paid much attention to her sexuality, or what gender she was attracted to — to her it was just about a meeting of the minds. Whilst travelling and taking photos, she had slept with a couple of women — nothing heavy — just a pleasurable release. She was not looking for a relationship per se, until she met Paul. What drove their relationship was the enthusiasm, the excitement, the energy, and how they conversed on the ideas generated about the art they were producing. Genevieve had never lied to herself about feeling any great passion toward the man — it was toward what he represented.

  Things had moved quickly between them; they were soon live-in lovers and inseparable. More importantly, they appreciated each other's dedication to their given art. It wasn't long before Paul was introduced to her family and he was an instant hit. Her parents were devout Catholics who were pleased she had made a union with someone of the same faith. They knew better than to try and force the issue about marriage with her, but on many occasions Paul would be in secret talks with her parents about making an "honest woman of her," which was good enough for them.

  Life had drifted along for the next few years. They had settled into a familiar pattern of painting, galleries, art shows and the like. One day, Genevieve had received an assignment to cover a trial in an African state. She'd grabbed the opportunity and after getting back from Africa, her agent had touted her photographs around and they had been a huge hit. An opportunity had arisen for her to showcase her photographs for a charity she held close to her heart. It was called Children South East and she and Paul had been donating their art to them for years.

 
It was at a celebratory meal with family and friends before her showcase that Paul had proposed marriage to her in the good, old-fashioned way. He had asked her father for his blessing, he had the diamond ring and he went down on one knee. Sitting there in total shock and looking at her parents' beaming faces, she'd had no choice but to say yes; she had truly been ambushed and there was no way out. So, she had played along and cried real tears, only they weren't tears of joy, but of sadness. It was in this happy, boisterous mood that the party of family and friends had made their way to The Ivy House Gallery.

  Genevieve had never been unfaithful to Paul, but she really hadn't been able to help herself this time. Well, she could have helped herself by not following Rebecca outside when she had seen her leaving, or going back to her apartment with her and seducing her before they'd even finished their first drink. But it was done now, and she had to face the music. The fact was that she'd left the gallery without even saying goodbye to her parents or Paul, and she had not left Rebecca's apartment for the entire weekend.

  She knew she was going to have to go home that evening, and she knew she was leaving him. She knew in her heart she should have left years ago, but she hadn't, and now she was going to have to deal with the consequences.

  "I think it's time I put some clothes on. I'm beginning to feel like a naturist," Genevieve said smiling, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. Rebecca knew Genevieve was starting to erect a barrier between them, but she didn't know why.

  "Have you any regrets, Genevieve?" she asked, bracing herself for the answer.

  "Yes," she replied, taking her face in her hands. "I regret that I didn't meet you years ago." She kissed Rebecca's forehead, then gathered her clothes together from the floor and made her way to the bathroom.