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It took balls to walk into a situation like Cal’s, she decided. Big balls. The kind of balls that could ride that big motorbike all day. She shivered a little at the thought of it and allowed herself a second of imagining her legs around Cal’s body again.

For fuck’s sake. She snatched her hand away from the mug, pulled out a tea towel and mopped up the boiling water.

The woman really had an effect on her. Was it fair though? Sure, Lucy might be wanting something, might be in a place where she was ready for a relationship. But Cal had just lost her mother, Cal was dealing with all this and hadn’t even cried yet.

Was there an inkling of taking advantage in that situation? Lucy wasn’t sure. Cal seemed to know her own mind, seemed to be okay, but that didn’t mean much, did it?

She lifted up two mugs and then took them up the stairs, carefully carrying them and trying to figure out which of the three doors Cal was behind. She stopped and listened but couldn’t hear a sound, so in the end she went with the middle one and was greeted by the sight of Cal sitting on the edge of a double bed, the wardrobe open in front of her.

“It’s green tea, I think,” Lucy said, putting the mugs down on the dresser. “Well, if it’s not then it’s moldy tea and I’m not sure that’s a thing.”

Cal gave a cracked laugh and Lucy frowned, moving in closer. Close enough to see that tears were streaking down Cal’s face and her eyes were red and her shoulders were shaking.

“What?” Lucy asked.

But she knew as soon as she got close enough. The open wardrobe let out a smell of slightly musty clothes overlaid byperfume, a perfume that must be as familiar to Cal as her own scent. The way her mother had smelled. And finally, Cal had cracked.

Now, Lucy perched on the edge of the bed and leaned in, taking Cal in her arms, holding her as Cal’s tears soaked through her t-shirt, stroking her head and feeling the bristly stubble of her hair. They sat that way for a long time. Until Cal sniffed and choked back a final sob.

“Jesus.”

“Hey, don’t complain, at least you’ve got my arms wrapped around you for once, rather than my legs,” Lucy said.

Cal pulled away slightly, but Lucy’s hands stayed on her shoulders. “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry for losing it like that. I really thought that I couldn’t… that I wasn’t going to.”

“It’s good for you. Cathartic,” said Lucy, who was beginning to see the sparkle return to Cal’s blue eyes, who was seeing the faint down on her cheeks, the way her skin stretched over the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Cal, looking down so that tears sparkled on her eyelashes. “Thanks though.”

“What on earth for?”

“Being here, I suppose.”

Cal’s lips were red and swollen and she looked like a bereft child and Lucy’s heart was full of things that she couldn’t describe. She wanted to kiss her, of course. But she wanted to comfort her too, wanted to make her feel something that wasn’t sadness. And in the end, she just did it, just leaned in and brushed her lips against Cal’s and then pushed in closer until their mouths were meeting.

Cal tasted like tears and salt and slight sweetness. Lucy moved her hand up so that it was on the back of Cal’s head, pulling her in even further, and wondering why she didn’t care that she couldn’t breathe, why she didn’t care if this kiss never ended at all, why she’d never known that it could be like this.

Then Cal was pulling away and Lucy was opening her eyes and she was seeing that Cal was confused, that maybe this shouldn’thave happened. And maybe she had taken advantage. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, getting up.

“Lucy,” said Cal.

“No, I’m sorry. That was out of order. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll go.”

“Lucy, you don’t have to go,” Cal said.

But Lucy was already half-way down the stairs and then out in the sun and then on the street and wishing that she had better control of herself, wishing that she hadn’t pushed things. Cal didn’t even like it here, Cal didn’t want to stay. This couldn’t work.

Chapter Fourteen

Well, shit. Cal rubbed her face with her hands and looked at the open wardrobe. “Screwed that up, didn’t I?” she said to no one in particular.

She could see her mum’s face now, the calm blue eyes, the kind smile, could hear what she’d say. “If it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be,” she’d say. “And if it was, well, then it’ll all come right in the end.”

She rubbed her face again. Lucy had been right, crying had been cathartic. Opening the wardrobe door and smelling that scent, the smell of home, of mum, of safety for so long. It had overcome her and then without even trying, the tears had just come.

Not that she was forgiving anything. No, the tears were for the before-times. The times when things had been if not perfect at least happy.

Her mum would have liked Lucy. Her mum liked anyone who stood up for the underdog, anyone with a voice that needed to be heard. She’d have welcomed her, plied her with biscuits. The fact that Lucy was a woman would have made no difference to her mum at all. It never had.