Page 22 of Birds of a Feather

‘Elise!’ Gerry cried, as she flung open the door. ‘You rat. You’re back early.’

Gerry rushed over to Elise and planted rapid-fire kisses all over her cheeks.

‘Oh, how I missed you,’ she said, lying down next to her. ‘Never leave me again! Life here is awfully boring without you around.’

‘I missed you too,’ Elise replied in a whisper; seeing Gerry again had made her breathless.

‘Miss Too-Priss said you’d had a wonderful week,’ she continued, despite not wanting her disappointment validated.

‘Oh, ignore her,’ Gerry scoffed. ‘She’s a horrible woman, and her head is so far up her arse she wouldn’t know what I’d been up to. I’ve been moping around all week just waiting for you to get back.

‘Here,’ she said, as she repositioned her body and thrust a small, wrapped box into Elise’s hands. ‘I got you something. That’s what I was doing when you beat me back.’

Elise propped herself up and carefully pulled off the gold ribbon and pried open the black-and-white herringbone paper. Inside the wrapping was a luxurious silk lipstick case with her initials – ‘ES’ – embossed in gold. She undid the tiny clasp and flipped open the lid. A gold Estée Lauder lipstick shone up from the case.

‘What’s this for?’ she asked, her surprise reflected in the tiny mirror on the inside of the lid.

‘Because you’re always admiring my lipstick. I saw the colour and thought it would look beautiful on you. Here …’ Gerry took the lipstick from the case, removed the cap and twisted the bottom to reveal a stunning watermelon-coloured tint.

‘Allow me,’ she said with mock formality as she repositioned herself so their bodies were facing each other. ‘Hold still,’ she said with a chuckle.

Elise took in the warmth of Gerry’s breath, which smelled of tea and her last cigarette, and the sensation of their legs touching. She hoped Gerry couldn’t hear the butterflies thrashing around in her stomach.

Gerry cradled Elise’s chin with one of her hands and dragged the lipstick across Elise’s bottom lip with the other. She moved back slightly to inspect her work and examined Elise’s face in a way that made her feel exposed. No one had ever looked at her with such intensity before.

‘Do this,’ Gerry said, flattening her top lip.

Elise laughed nervously and copied her. Gerry slowly traced her top lip. Elise wanted desperately to lick her lips, to know how Gerry’s tasted.

‘Now do this,’ Gerry said, pressing her lips together and then releasing them in a fluid, rolling motion to even out the colour. Elise copied her, unable to take her eyes off Gerry’s mouth.

‘Beautiful! I knew that colour would be perfect on you,’ Gerry said, shifting her hips down the bed. Elise instantly missed her closeness.

‘I can’t believe you got me a gift,’ she said, resisting the urge to pull Gerry back towards her. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m just glad you’re back. Now, there’s no point in looking as good as you do if you don’t have somewhere to go.’

Gerry jumped off the bed, reached into her bag and produced two tickets to All About Eve, which was playing as part of a Bette Davis festival at one of the cinemas in town.

‘But luckily, we do.’

Sixty years later, alone in her house, Elise lifted the movie ticket stub from the black box, reading the faded text. She made a mental note to rewatch the movie; she had been meaning to since someone suggested a few years ago that the character of Eve was queer. Perhaps, she had thought then, she wasn’t the only one who hid her sexuality in plain sight. Besides, she had left the film having no idea what it was about – she had spent the entire time focused on Gerry’s hand in hers.

Chapter 14

Beth

Despite being elbow-deep in the environmental assessment of a proposed road that, if built, would likely wipe out a population of a particularly rare and fascinating moth, I jumped for my phone when I saw it was an incoming call from Gran.

I hated the thought that my actions had rattled her and had spent the night interrogating everything I had said and done. Should I have chosen a different way to tell her I’d found Gerry? Should I have made contact with Gerry myself? Should I have asked Mum for advice before telling her? Or should I have just bought her a skvader, which I had learned was a relative of the jackalope made from a hare and a wood grouse, rather than delve into her deep, unresolved issues in the first place?

‘Okay,’ she said when I answered, skipping over our usual exchange of pleasantries. ‘I’ve waited six decades to find out what happened to her. Let’s not wait another second. Do you have a profile on this networking site she’s on?’

‘Yes, I do,’ I replied.

‘Good. Can you come around tonight, and we’ll send her a message?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll come after work.’

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