Page 38 of Beyond Her Manner

“You once said you lost everything. Do you really think that’s true?”

“Yes,” Gillian replied softly as she clicked on her seat belt.

“You have a house; you’re respected in the community.”

Gillian laughed. “You have to be respectable to be respected.”

Viola’s eyebrows shot up. “What on earth does that mean? You are respectable.”

“If people really knew me, they wouldn’t see me the same way.” Gillian sighed and looked out the window.

“I see you, and I think you are respectable.”

“You’re different. You’re like me.”

After a pause, Viola replied, “You mean because you like women? It kind of sounds like internalised homophobia to me. That can be a very lonely place.”

That assertion knocked Gillian back on her heels. Was she ashamed? She didn’t know who she was. She’d spent most of her life hiding, pushing herself into a box to quash parts she didn’t like, putting on a performance to display what was left so it was palatable to other people. She had grown up in a different era; it was what you did to get by.

“I’ve been lonely my whole life… except for a brief time, with Hen.”

“Maybe that’s why you do so much for the village, to feel less lonely. Surely Bridget is good company.”

“Bridget is my rock, yet we are worlds apart in some respects. Sometimes it can feel more isolating when you are surrounded by people who don’t understand you… if you know what I mean.”

Viola nodded. “I do. I’ve never felt more alone than I have singing onstage in front of hundreds of thousands of people. It’s quite a transition to go back to the dressing room. To begin with, there was only me. Then Mum.”

Gillian watched a smile tug at Viola’s lips as she started the car’s engine and began reversing onto the high street.

“She was there when I sang with Elton, for the queen and the pope. She even came to the front lines with me to sing for the troops in Afghanistan.”

“I’m sure she was very proud.”

Viola’s smile fizzled away, replaced with a touch of melancholy which matched her tone. “I’ll have to get used to it being me again.”

“Have you not performed since she died?”

“No. I cancelled a few performances. I can’t put off returning to work for too long, though; people might forget who I am.”

“I doubt that,” Gillian replied.

Viola’s face pinked as a small smile returned, only to disappear again. “Before I go back, I need to rediscover my creativity.”

“‘We are all born artists; the problem is staying one.’”

“Picasso?”

“Indeed,” Gillian confirmed, impressed Viola knew. “Self-doubt and fear crush creativity.”

“Mmm,” Viola mumbled. “I haven’t even written anything since Mum died.”

“Give it time. I’m sure you will get there.”

“I came here to hide from the world. I’m not sure I’m ready to return to it yet.”

“Why are you hiding?” Gillian murmured.

“Oh, grief, exhaustion, stress, anxiety…” Viola sighed. “How long have you got?”