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  * * *

  The lights were out when she got home. Is this a ploy to make me think he isn't home? Now that she was no longer wrapped in the security of Rebecca's presence, the full force of what she had done came at her like a bolt of lightning.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the fuck am I doing? she thought furiously. Was she like an uncontrollable teenager, unable to tame her natural instincts? But even as she thought this, she knew that there was more to what had happened with Rebecca than just sex. Had it been sex for the sake of it, she would not be longing to be back with her, looking at her, waking up with her. The physical attraction had been intense and they had needed to satisfy that urge to see if there was anything worthwhile behind it. Both had known there would be, but had they not released the pent-up energy that had occurred from their first meeting, they probably would have exploded.

  She opened the front door and walked straight into the dark front room. She saw his silhouette on the sofa from the street lamp outside.

  "So you decided to come back," he slurred. He was drunk and holding the empty bottle of whiskey to his chest. Genevieve switched on the light.

  "I think it's best we talk when you're sober," she said, mildly annoyed.

  "Are you fucking joking?" he raged. "You stay out all weekend like a fucking alley-cat in heat and have the gall to dictate to me when we can talk!" He heaved himself onto his feet and stood towering over her, his face bright red, infused with a mixture of alcohol and anger.

  "Look, Paul," she said, refusing to cower to him, "you're drunk and if you think you are going to get anywhere by behaving in a threatening manner toward me, you have another thing coming. When you are sober, I will discuss with you what we should have discussed a long time ago."

  "Oh just fuck off, you fucking dyke. Yes, that's right: DYKE. The whole fucking gallery was talking about you two — the famous dyke art lover and the star-struck artist. Have you any idea how fucking small you made me feel? Not to mention the humiliation of your parents hearing about their fucking pussy-loving dyke of a daughter."

  Up until then, Genevieve hadn't been affected by his torrent of abuse. He was hurt so it was understandable, but the bit about her parents startled her. Did her parents really know or was he just saying that to get back at her? He was still ranting, but she was no longer listening — she just had to get out of there. She ran into their bedroom, grabbed her overnight bag from the wardrobe, threw some clothes in it and gathered together her toiletries. He didn't try to stop her from leaving; in fact, he opened the door for her and told her in no uncertain terms to get out.

  She decided to book into a hotel for a few days to give her time to think. She wanted to be with Rebecca, but this was her mess and she didn't want to spoil what had been a perfect weekend with her emotional baggage. The hotel room was spacious and plush. A large, flat-screen TV hung on the wall and alcohol waited in crystal decanters on top of a marble dresser. The window overlooked landscaped gardens that would put even Kew Gardens to shame. She was grateful that she'd remained financially independent; otherwise God knows where she would have ended up tonight. She switched off her mobile phone; she didn't want to have to speak to anyone until she had made sense of what had happened in the last few days herself. She didn't feel able to talk to anyone about what had happened either. It was as if friends with whom she could have spoken to about anything on Thursday were not available in this new world of hers. All her friends were straight and had boyfriends or husbands, and no doubt Paul hadn't wasted any time informing them about what a deviant bitch she was.

  She called room service and ordered a bottle of chilled Chablis. After it had been delivered, she ran herself a hot bubble bath, filled her glass halfway, and slipped into the warm, soothing water. She sipped her wine and closed her eyes, with every intention of thinking her way out of the mess she had gotten herself into, but instead she thought about Rebecca.

  * * *

  The following morning she knew something was amiss when she turned on her mobile phone and saw that she had ten missed calls and a computerised voice informing her that her voicemail was full. The first message was from her mum, sobbing down the phone, asking her if it was true. At that point Genevieve knew that it wasn't just Paul being spiteful; her parents had heard the gossip about her and Rebecca. She sat there with tears rolling down her face. Her parents were the last people on earth she wanted to hurt and listening to the pain in her mother's voice went straight to her heart. Paul had left a message apologising for his behaviour the night before and asking to meet and talk. There were more messages from her mother and one from her father demanding that she "bloody call them and let them know what the hell she was playing at." Her father only used those words when he was seething, and she momentarily felt frightened.

  She was twenty-six years old, yet she felt like a defenceless six-year-old and way out of her depth. She wouldn't lie to her parents, so the only question left was would they disown her? Her mother and father were an old-fashioned couple, so she didn't expect them to accept everything, but what she did expect was a little understanding, especially when it came to their own daughter's happiness.

  Two days later she still hadn't spoken to her parents, friends, or Rebecca. She had been feeling emotionally drained, but that morning she woke up ready to take on the world. She had made her decision and was going to follow through with it. It was her life and if certain people didn't want to be a part of it, then so be it. She called the hotel reception and ordered a cab. Twenty minutes later she was sitting in her parents' front room, suffering the after-effects of admitting that what Paul had told them was true; that their engagement was off; and she had feelings for another woman.

  Her father was pacing the floor like a tiger ready to pounce.

  "I did not raise you to be an abomination to God," her father was yelling at the top of his voice as though he was preaching a sermon. Her mother stood still, stunned and grief-stricken. She envisaged all the dreams she'd ever had for Genevieve suddenly smashed beyond repair.

  "Please Genevieve," her mum begged, "don't be brainwashed by these people. You're young, beautiful and gifted; they just want to suck the goodness out of you. I know you're a good girl and you wouldn't be behaving like this under normal circumstances. It's this Rebecca whatever her name is; she's messed with your head."

  She hadn't been expecting open arms, but this was too much even for her to bear! Four days ago she'd been "Miss Wonderful" and couldn't put a foot wrong, and yet today she was an abomination because she was a lesbian?

  "What's this all about?" her father raged at her. "Can you tell me? One minute you're a normal girl getting married and the next we know you're off being a deviant with God-knows-who. Homosexuality is the purest evil of the world, and you need to ask God to forgive your sick spirit! It's disgusting is what it is, and if you don't snap out of this, girly, we'll have no more to do with you. Do you hear me?!"

  "Loud and clear," Genevieve said, overwhelmed with sadness. She stood up with her dignity intact and walked out of her parents' house without looking back.

  CHAPTER 5

  Present Day

  LEAVING GENEVIEVE in the ICU with her parents was one of the hardest things Rebecca had ever faced. As much as she was hurting, she couldn't stay in the room with that much animosity. They hadn't exactly asked her to leave, but their body language had said it all and with Rebecca having no legal rights, she thought it better not to push her luck too much in case they banned her from seeing Genevieve at all. As she exited the unit, a man and woman dressed in matching dark suits headed toward her.

  "Ms Sheldon?" the man asked.

  He was handsome and athletic and he knew it. The only negative she could see was his receding brown hair, which spoiled his otherwise perfect physical attributes. His partner was a slim woman with fair hair and fair skin and strikingly cold blue eyes. They knew who she was because the doctor she'd seen talking to them earlier obviously had pointed her out.

  "Yes," Rebe
cca replied, feeling slightly suspicious.

  "I'm DC Simpson and this is my partner DC Smith, from the Metropolitan Police Service. If it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience, we'd like to talk to you about Ms Simmons."

  "Yes, of course," she said, following them to the room where she'd previously had a discussion with the doctor.

  Once they were all seated, DC Simpson took out his notepad and pen.

  "I'm sorry we have to do this now, but we need to piece together Ms Simmons' movements prior to her attack. I understand you share an apartment with her?"

  How very diplomatic, Rebecca thought to herself, but all she said out loud was, "Yes, I do."

  "How long have you been living together?" he asked, not taking his eyes off her.

  "May I ask what relevance our living arrangements have?" She felt very disoriented and didn't understand what their personal life had to do with Genevieve being attacked.

  "I'm sorry if this sounds personal, but it's just procedure," he said, looking a little uncomfortable.

  His partner looked intently at Rebecca and interjected, "Ms Sheldon, as you can appreciate, we are starting this case on a blank canvas and we need to know everything we possibly can if we are going to find the perpetrator of this crime. I apologise in advance if the questions are too personal, but I'm sure you can appreciate that we are asking them through necessity, not curiosity." There was no mistaking the authoritative tone. Rebecca didn't know whether this was because DC Smith was passionate about her job or merely didn't like Rebecca questioning her partner, but it made Rebecca feel uncomfortable.

  "And I'm sure you can appreciate that my partner is lying in there in a coma and may die for all I know, so I apologise in advance if I'm still distressed and am not responding to your questions like a robot," she fired back at her, the anger and frustration of the day rising up within her.

  There was an awkward silence that Rebecca broke with an impatient sigh.

  "We've been living together for four years," she said, directing this information at DC Simpson. He duly wrote it down in his notepad.

  "Could you go through this morning's events, and if possible fill us in with Ms Simmons' timetable for the day?" Rebecca told him about their morning, although she omitted information about their lovemaking.

  "So there was nothing out of the ordinary today?" he asked.

  "No."

  "And the artist whose exhibit she was attending tonight was a personal friend?" he continued.

  "Of Genevieve's, yes. Look, if there's anything else, I'll give you my number to contact me, but I really want to go back and see if there is any change." Rebecca could feel DC Smith glaring at her as if she knew there was more to the story than she was letting on, but she'd be damned if she was going to sit here with this intimidating woman and reveal the intimate details of their betrayal of Paul.

  Both officers stood up.

  "That will be all for now," DC Simpson said, closing his notebook and slipping it into the side pocket of his jacket. Rebecca stood up, took her card out of her bag and handed it to him, completely ignoring DC Smith. Feeling somewhat remorseful she said, "I'm sorry if I haven't been that helpful, but if anything comes to mind, I will call you. I just don't know where my mind is at the moment." She left the room and its hostile atmosphere.

  * * *

  Genevieve's parents were not at her bedside when Rebecca returned to the ward. The nurse informed her that they'd gone to speak to the doctor. Sitting down beside Genevieve, she took her hand in her own and stroked it gently as tears began to well in her eyes again.

  She spoke to her in a whisper.

  "If this was a movie, you would wake up now looking like you had just had a makeover and this nightmare would be over. I wouldn't have to sit here wondering if I will be burying you or caring for you." She rested her head on Genevieve's hand. She felt the presence of someone standing by the bed and as she looked up, she immediately recognised him.

  It had been four years since she had seen Paul. He still looked the same, but his handsome features looked drawn and his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles beneath them. He stared down at Genevieve, not uttering a word to Rebecca or even acknowledging she was there. He took Genevieve's hand in his and sobbed. Rebecca was at a loss. She didn't know whether to offer him words of comfort to let him know that she understood his pain; after all, he had also loved Genevieve once.

  Before she could do anything, she heard Genevieve's mother.

  "Paul, oh Paul! Thank God you're here; thank God!" Paul turned around and embraced her tightly. Her father joined the hug and Rebecca was left sitting there like an outsider.

  "What happened to her?" Paul asked as he released her parents from his grip. "What the hell happened?"

  "We don't know all the facts yet, Paul," Genevieve's father responded. "All we know is that she was attacked — well, they think it was a mugging — but the police haven't got much to go on. There apparently were no witnesses as far as they know."

  "Will she be alright?" Paul asked, turning round to look at Genevieve again.

  "The doctor doesn't know; they can't know for sure until she wakes up and they can do tests on her," Genevieve's father said.

  "If she wakes up," her mother wailed. Paul once again took her in his arms to comfort her.

  "Oh pull yourself together Elsie, for God's sake!" Genevieve's father said, struggling to hold his temper.

  "She'll be fine, Elsie, don't worry, she'll be fine," Paul responded sympathetically.

  "I hope so, Paul, I hope so," she said, dabbing a tissue at her eyes whilst cowering at her husband's reproach.

  "We've just got to have faith in the good Lord; He'll see her through it," her father said with confidence. "It's good to have you back in the fold, son," he said, grabbing Paul's shoulder.

  The nurse entered and informed them there were too many visitors and someone would have to leave. For the first time since they had been playing happy family, they all turned and looked at Rebecca. She was determined not to make a scene, so she leant over and kissed Genevieve's forehead, aware that her movements were being watched by the family, but she didn't care. She gave Genevieve's hand a quick squeeze and left.

  Peter was waiting for Rebecca in reception at the entrance of the hospital. He sure was a sight for sore eyes and she had never been so relieved to see him. His face was pale, but there was warmth and concern in his eyes and for that she had never been more grateful.

  "Come here," he said taking her in his arms. "How bad is it?" he asked after a few seconds.

  "Bad," was all she could say through her tears. She had to stop crying. Tears were not going to solve anything and she had to be strong. Not just for herself but for Genevieve as well. Whatever the outcome, she just had to deal with it.

  She released herself from the warmth and security of Peter's arms.

  "And to top it all off," she continued, "Paul is up there with her parents acting like they are the Brady Bunch."

  "Paul?" he asked dubiously. "What's he doing back on the scene?"

  "Quite a lot, by the look of it. God, the way they are behaving, it's as if he is their long-lost son and I'm the invisible woman."

  "I take it you being there wasn't on their wish-list."

  "Peter, they shunned me like I was a leprosy victim. Paul only acknowledged me when they all ejected me out of the ward with their eyes."

  Peter was starting to feel angry and resentful. He'd heard of stories like these, where the parents of gay couples lorded it over their partners when emergency situations arose. Instead of respecting their children's wishes, knowing that they would want their partners treated with respect and full involvement with any decisions that were made, they were banished to the sidelines instead. Whether it was a power play or just plain, disgusting ignorance, he didn't care, he just wanted to go up to that ward and tell them exactly what he thought. He was a witness to the great love both women shared. Their love had hurt no one. Standing there in the hospital reception
with Rebecca while Genevieve was upstairs made his heart ache.

  "Come on, I'll take you home and make you one of my famous toddies." He took Rebecca by the arm and led her to the car park.

  * * *

  After drinking several of Peter's whiskey concoctions, sleep had come easily to Rebecca. For those few hours that she slept, she dreamt of clear visions of Genevieve, who was conscious and her usual vivacious self. She awoke smiling and was just about to tell Genevieve about the weird dream she'd just had when reality kicked in and the enormity of the situation hit her.

  She lay there for a few minutes letting her thoughts run randomly through her mind, then sat up briskly with the intention of getting things in order. She was grateful it was a Saturday — she'd have more time to organise things. It would be better to email work and do a follow-up call on Monday when she had more information to go on. Next on the list was to cancel all of their joint and singular dinner dates and appointments. She knew it was a bit impersonal, but decided to email their friends about what had happened rather than phone everyone. She just didn't have the emotional strength to answer all the questions and knew they would understand and wouldn't be offended. Before all that, she needed a shower and a strong cup of tea, then she would pack an overnight bag for Genevieve. She picked up Genevieve's pyjamas, which she always left folded under her pillow, and put them to her face, breathing in her scent. She willed herself to get out of bed and then literally ran to the shower, knowing if she didn't get off the bed now she would just stay there and wither away.

  At six a.m., she took a cab to the hospital, not wanting to wake Peter by phoning him. He'd stayed with her until the early hours, only leaving when he could see that she could no longer keep her eyes open. She made her way to the ICU and was relieved that it was relatively quiet at that time of the morning. She rang the bell and was buzzed in. She was flooded with relief when she saw that Genevieve was by herself. The parents and Paul were nowhere to be seen.