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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 27 2008, 03:36 PM (41,550 Views) | |
| Samsta | Sep 27 2008, 03:36 PM Post #1 |
Down the Block
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The opening chapter of a post Series 3 endeavour - the spelling is unapologetically English. Disclaimer: Most of the characters contained herein are the property of Shed Productions as are the original storylines. They have indisputable copyright over them. I am tagging along simply for literary diversion, hopeful entertainment but certainly not profit. I am happy to accept feedback openly - but remember - ’ brevity is the soul of wit.’ Chapter One Blood everywhere accompanied by an agonised, amplified groan of disbelief, fright and pain. So many emotions echoing through the empty building in one inarticulate cry. It was ringing in her ears on a continuous loop like a manic tinnitus. She shook her head violently from side to side trying to dislodge the noise - and then - silence. Large, deep brown eyes opened wide in a pale sweating face, the fear of the nightmare images replaced by the utter terror of the unknown. Why was it so dark, so quiet, so warm? Why was the air so fresh and the room so large? Nikki sat bolt upright, the fear crawling through her veins making her heart pound and her hairs stand on end. She scrambled out of bed in desperate confusion to the dim source of shadow and looked out onto a garden scarcely visible in the thin moonlight. She could feel her body shaking as she leant, fists down on the sill and all the emotions from dreaming to waking ebbed as her brain kicked into action. Freedom. This was freedom, a bedroom in a house with cotton sheets and a warm duvet, carpets on the floor, curtains at the unbarred window. Nikki took a deep steadying breath and walked over to the light switch. The warm glow filled the room and she returned to the bed and leant back against the pillows. Monica’s house - as far from a prison cell as you could imagine, elegantly furnished, a haven of peace. Monica was overcome by seeing Nikki. She had watched the news reports of her appeal and release and her heart had sung - justice at last for the younger woman who despite all her sharp edges had been her rock at Larkhall. Sitting in front of an open fire, the two women had talked long into the night, discussing the events in their lives since the older woman’s release - her dedication to improving the post-incarceration lives of female convicts. “It’s done something to fill the aching void left by Spencer’s death.” Monica explained needlessly, “and has allowed me to work to put right some of the appalling injustices I witnessed as a prisoner.” She had tentatively enquired about Nikki’s future plans and had intimated that she would welcome an ally with the younger woman’s charisma in supporting her crusade. Nikki had smiled at the compliment and at the same time recalled her utterance to Barbara Hunt that prison was the last place she wanted to think about on her release. Pulling the duvet over her bare legs, she reached for a cigarette but stopped herself, that was a prison habit started out of boredom and desperation. Best to begin a new life with new resolutions. In truth she felt scared of returning to sleep. The nightmare had been palpable and she knew why it had occurred now. For the past four years in prison, Nikki had slept like a cat, asleep but never fully unconscious. The gaol was rarely quiet or dark; it was either too warm or too cold and the thin lumpy mattresses were designed for anything but oblivion. She had quickly learned to not ever let her guard down and sleep had been light and intermittent - so she had never dreamed. Never allowing herself to relax into the slumber that permitted the mind and imagination to enter a maze of memory. Here in this beautiful room, in this wonderfully comfortable bed, in the silence of the suburbs, dulled by a few glasses of wine and decent food, she had allowed herself to relax in a way that had eluded her for four years. For that length of time she had locked away the images and sounds of that fateful night. Prison life with its many inhumanities was bad enough without being haunted by the images of that act that had led to her conviction. She feared that her taste of emancipation was already tainted by terror. Nikki glanced at the small digital clock by her bedside - 4.30 am it glared. The three hours of sleep that she had managed were barely sufficient to wipe away the exhaustion of the previous day. Her acquittal, the celebrations at the club, the congratulations of friends who had stuck by her, her re-acquaintance with Trish and the strange, unlooked for meeting with Helen. How much emotional diversity could one 24 hour period encompass? As she had lain awake the night before the judgement, she had inevitably wondered what the future would hold for a 35 year old ex-convict whose crime had been splashed across the front pages, promoting the usual tabloid/broadsheet split of vilification and human rights outrage. ‘Lesbian Lunatic Cop Killer’ - her heart had wept but she had brazened it out, calmly accepting her judgement, thus, prompting journalists to describe her as cold and calculating. Some papers had questioned the murder conviction in their editorials but they had been the liberal minority. Nikki imagined that the morning press would again be split down the same bigoted lines before she became yesterday’s news. The nine years that Nikki had spent with Trisha establishing their nightclub and setting up home seemed a lifetime ago. There was no regret, she loved the woman and admired the way that Trisha had single-handedly carried on running the business with great success. It was a fair exchange, Nikki had lost four years of her life for her ex-lover and Trisha knew that keeping the club thriving was her side of the deal. It would be easy to fall back into their old routines, returning to live in their well-appointed home, gradually picking up the reins of business again, but the dark blond haired, hazel-eyed woman who had nervously edged her way across the crowded dance floor of Chix yesterday afternoon had added an unplanned for complication. Nikki closed her eyes and filled her mind with the image of Helen Stewart, and those five startling words echoed through her head, “but I want a woman”. Smiling as she remembered the encounter, Nikki warmed to the feeling of Helen’s body fitting against her own as she hugged and kissed her ex-gaoler for the first time as a free citizen. Her heart started to pound again and her hairs lifted but this time in joy not fear. She did not recall how long they had stood leant against a brick pillar oblivious to the bustle of the London street around them. There had been a cool breeze but they had been cocoon-ed in a warm flux of love and desire. Eventually, Helen had tucked her head under Nikki’s chin and suggested that perhaps they should move. It had been Trisha who had persuaded Nikki to follow the young Scotswoman, believing that she had lost her dark-haired lover’s heart and realising that anything Nikki owed her had been paid many times over. She had stayed by the bar not daring to allow herself to watch her former lover leave and not knowing when she would see her again. “I have to talk to Trish.” Helen nodded and agreed to go and wait in the coffee shop over the road. Gazing into the mirrored back wall, Trish caught sight of the tall, elegantly slim figure, still immaculate in dark suit and shirt walking through the crowd - some of whom stopped to congratulate her. She caught her eye in the reflection and they held each other’s gaze as Nikki walked up behind putting her arms around her and leaning her head against her’s. Trisha shivered at the intimacy and closed her eyes to stop the tears that she knew were about to fall. “I know, Nik.” she whispered , her voice catching in her throat. Nikki pursed her lips and wrinkled her chin - not quite having the power of speech. She held her ex-lover tightly and kissed her head. They had so much history, was she being stupid to let it all go and make some leap into the unknown with a woman who had given her a reason for living, yes, but who had also created emotional turmoil? A woman who until now had been avowedly straight? Nikki opened her eyes to a reflection that took her back four years to an image of a settled loving partnership. “It would be so easy to stay,’ she muttered. Trish turned in her arms and put her hands around the taller woman’s face. She pulled her head gently forward but kissed her lips fiercely. “I love you, Nik. Now, go.” Nikki looked her ex-lover in the eye, “I’ll call you in a day and let you know where I’m staying - Monica’s probably.” Trisha’s raised eyebrows prompted, “I need some time to adjust, babe... and think.” The two women grasped each other tightly, Nikki looked into blue eyes and wiped away the tears gently with her fingertips. Then she let go, reached behind the bar for a holdall of possessions that Trisha had thoughtfully transferred from the see-through prison issue sacks and with one final squeeze of the blond woman’s hand she turned and walked out of the club. Trisha watched her proud shoulders and gazed at the curls nestling on the collar gasping back her emotion before moving quickly to the rear office, locking the door behind her and collapsing into a heap on the sofa, sobbing and wretched. Nikki turned on her side, pulling the cover up to her chin and frowned at the hurt she knew she had caused Trish and the uncertainty she was leading herself into. When she had crossed the road, unexpectedly deafened by the traffic noise to which she had grown unaccustomed, she stopped outside the coffee shop and stared in at the window. She could not find Helen and her blood froze. Had the last hour just been some sort of of vivid dream or had the Scot suddenly realised that this was not what she wanted and had made her exit? Nikki rested her head on the cool glass and closed her eyes gripping the handles of the bag more tightly, struggling to suppress the choking sob rising from her throat. When she re-opened them it was to the image of a red leather jacket topped by dark blond hair sitting at a small table with her back to the street. Nikki blinked away the incipient tears, squared her narrow shoulders and walked in. Helen was leaning on her elbows, eyes closed, chin cupped in her hands, oblivious to the steam rising from the mug. When she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder she leant her head against its warmth and released a long held sigh. The hand moved and Nikki sat across the table, dropping the holdall by her feet. “I didn’t know what to get you.” Helen murmured; and that simple sentence summed up so much that was strange about their relationship. They had known each other two years, had kissed and even slept together, but Helen had no idea if the tall, dark-eyed woman sitting opposite her, whose face had haunted most of her dreams, preferred tea or coffee, Americano or latte. Nikki felt the whole weight of the ignorance that lay between them but grinned in an effort to make light of it. “It’s a cup of Earl Grey for me, not too strong and no milk.” They had made one tea and coffee last an hour. It had been a delight to taste the scented blend from a china cup. She had always detested the plastic beakers and milky slop that passed for tea in prison. For a long time they sat in silence watching each other - there was so much to say that neither knew how to start. Nikki noted that Helen took her coffee strong and black and smiled to herself realising that was what she had expected. When pressed about her mild amusement they began a trivial conversation about drinking habits. “I never expected you to be a fancy tea woman!” Helen had exclaimed and they played a childish game of watching the other cafe patrons and trying to guess their chosen beverages. It was as fun and frothy as a cappuccino and the two women giggled and sniggered like schoolgirls. Thinking about it made Nikki grin again, there were so many other urgent issues that they needed to discuss but it was a delight after the momentousness of the day to talk of nothing and to make each other laugh. How often had they had the chance to do that at Larkhall? As the coffee house emptied and the dusk drew down, they stopped the banter and held each other’s hands across the table. Nikki informed Helen that she intended to go to Monica’s. The raised eyebrow was fleeting and Nikki wondered now if Helen had expected to take her home to her flat. She thought it would lead to a discussion that she did not want but wonderfully, Helen had shown instinctive understanding and insisted on driving her. The walk to the red Peugeot had been unnerving for the newly free woman. Once again, the noise and the dazzle of the traffic disconcerted her. She had wanted to reach for Helen’s hand out of a child-like need for reassurance but had stopped herself unsure of the Scotswoman’s reaction to such a public display, even after they had stood snogging in the middle of a Soho street earlier in the day. The car journey was just as strange, especially as Helen seemed nervous about having Nikki as a passenger. The tall woman tried to gain her bearings, aware that she felt a little out of control. Having lived her life for the past four years constrained by familiar walls and doors, governed by bells and screws, travelling through the post-rush hour traffic with a woman who used to lock her up and whom she knew both intimately and not at all served to make her feel edgy, and she could see her knuckles pale in the dim light as she clutched her hands tightly in her lap. On arrival at Monica’s Georgian palisaded home, complete with wrought iron gate and coaching lamp, she felt a huge sense of relief. Helen had pulled into the kerb and looked expectantly at her. “I don’t know how to contact you, Nikki.” she said plainly. They exchanged numbers and Nikki promised to get a mobile sorted out. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” and she leaned over and kissed Helen lightly on the lips, only to to find the smaller woman’s hands on her lapels as Helen deepened the kiss. “I know you need time, my love. I can’t imagine how huge today had been for yer. I understand why you’re here - or at least, I think I do but don’t leave me too long, Nikki. I’m not sure I could stand it.” With that she had kissed the dark-haired woman more fiercely. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” and then let go. Leaving Nikki with a head full of questions, she had started the ignition and put on her seat belt. Nikki got out slowly not knowing why her eyes were damp. She reached for her bag and shut the door firmly. placing her palm flat against the window. Helen had smiled up at her and mouthed, “Go.”. At that she had opened the smoothly oiled gate and crunched up the gravel path to ring the bell, not daring to look back at the green eyes that she could feel watching her. As the door swung open and the warmth and light of the hallway enveloped her, she heard the little car pull away into the night. “Nikki - I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you.” and the elegantly dressed older woman had taken Nikki in her arms like a long-lost relative. It was now nearly six am and the neighbourhood was beginning tentatively to awake. A timely, gentle knock at the door startled Nikki from indulging in summoning up the beauty that was Helen Stewart. “Come in, Monica.” “I saw the light on , otherwise I wouldn’t have disturbed you.” The older woman looked intently at her young companion, noting the large eyes looking ever more deep in contrast to the pale, drawn features. “I take it that your night was not entirely restful, then?” Nikki shrugged, “I made the mistake of relaxing in your wonderful home, Monica. Even here I can’t let my guard down.” “Bad dreams.”, she replied to Monica’s questioning gaze. “About prison?” “No, about ... about Gossard. How long does it take before you start feeling as if you belong in this world again, Monica?” The older woman sat on the edge of Nikki’s bed and stroked her face noting the bruised blush of shadow under her eyes. “I’m not sure you ever do fully, Nikki.”, she had replied pensively. “That’s not what you want to hear, I know, but Larkhall lives with me still. I’ve just got rather good at not letting it show.” She smiled apologetically. “Stay here as long as you wish, and come and go as you please. I’ll give you a key.” Suddenly, a wave of tiredness overwhelmed Nikki, her eyelids drooped and a lethargy washed over her limbs. She wanted to fight it, scared of being haunted by her past. “It’s getting light now - I found in the early days that the reassurance of a new day allowed me to sleep peacefully.” Nikki was already drifting out of consciousness into a world of hazel eyes and dark blond hair. Monica pulled the duvet to her chin, stroked her brow and noiselessly moved from the room, flicking the switch and closing the door quietly as she left, just pausing briefly to look at Nikki’s sleeping form, the face now relaxed against the pillow. It was going to be a hard transition for the younger woman, Monica knew. Prison was a vile degrading place at times but while she baulked at using the word institutionalised especially to describe someone as adaptable and intelligent as Nikki, it defined you. The tall dark-haired woman had had a clear role as protector, sometimes even vigilante - she had been a long way up the hierarchy. Society however, would not see or welcome the ex-con, copper killer in the same favourable light. Monica was determined to be here for her in the same way as Nikki had been in Larkhall. |
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| lann88 | Sep 27 2008, 04:46 PM Post #2 |
Up to Basic
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YAY! Another new story and author! Welcome! |
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| sterwart wade | Sep 27 2008, 04:49 PM Post #3 |
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Out of Dorm
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Wonderful start........ I like the new view this story takes, can't wait to see what path you take Nikki on. I'm guessing it won't be easy........... Keep up the good work sw |
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| Celine1968 | Sep 27 2008, 05:54 PM Post #4 |
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Karen
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I second that I can't wait for the next chapter.
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| 5mins | Sep 27 2008, 07:53 PM Post #5 |
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G2 landing
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Nice job, Samsta! Your descriptions and interactions between characters really pulled me in. Looking forward to more great reading on this board.
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"You look at the world with smiling eyes and laugh at the devil as the train goes by" - Alison Krauss + Union Station | |
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| emtsue | Sep 27 2008, 07:56 PM Post #6 |
G3 Curtain and Duvet!
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Welcome Samsta!! Seems we have quite a journey ahead of us.You've wasted no time in setting up a most intense atmosphere,presumably only to forewarn us of the raw emotions which lay before us. Deep breath everyone! |
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| JustThinkin | Sep 27 2008, 08:09 PM Post #7 |
Out of Dorm
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great start. thanks for posting. |
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| Jane22 | Sep 27 2008, 08:55 PM Post #8 |
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G2 landing
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Great start. I look forward to more. Thanks for sharing! |
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| win211 | Sep 27 2008, 11:03 PM Post #9 |
Out of Dorm
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cant wait for the next chapter |
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| terriw1979 | Sep 28 2008, 04:58 PM Post #10 |
Terriw1979
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wow, what a breathtaking beginning! Excellent writing. I hope to see more of this soon! |
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terriw1979@hotmail.co.uk | |
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| owsl | Sep 28 2008, 07:04 PM Post #11 |
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Owlsy Night
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thank you for this new wonderful story. more please. |
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{o,o} |)__) -”-”- | |
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| sapphire | Sep 28 2008, 10:28 PM Post #12 |
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Out of Dorm
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Welcome Samsta! Really enjoyed your start, and am looking forward to see where you are taking us. |
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| yankeelady | Sep 29 2008, 03:26 AM Post #13 |
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G3 Curtain and Duvet!
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Wonderful start ....I'm loooking forward to many more hours of reading pleasure. Welcome...
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| Nikki...Don't get jealous... | |
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| Samsta | Sep 29 2008, 07:02 AM Post #14 |
Down the Block
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Such generous comments. Countless thanks. Living up to your expectations could well be a challenge. Anyway, for better or worse, here is the next installment. Chapter 2 Eight miles away, twisted sheets and a rucked duvet were clear evidence of another disturbed night. Pillows had been constantly turned to find their cool side and then discarded across the room. In the centre of the bed, eyes wide, body swaddled in a foetal position lay Helen Stewart, her face pale except for the the bruised shadows of sleeplessness. If only she had a job to focus upon, to give her a routine to this, surely the hardest day of her life. Yesterday had certainly been the strangest. She had watched Nikki Wade emerge free from the Court of Appeal on television and her breath had caught as she looked at the ex-lifer resplendent in dark suit, and eloquent in her condemnation of women's prisons, and then she had thanked her - in front of the national media. Helen had been unable to contain the tears that coursed down her cheeks or the pain at seeing this gorgeous, articulate woman at long last set free but not into her care. Where was the fairy tale ending? Sitting against the bar downing her third vodka of the day laced with bitter tears, Helen knew that if her life was to regain any meaning and purpose then this was the moment when she had to do the chasing. Despite the bedlam around her and the leering looks of some of the patrons, Helen saw in startling clarity the irony of the situation and in a further unlikely moment of self-revelation, the reason for it. During the Larkhall years, she had frequently put Nikki at arms length, usually telling her it was over between them but always safe in the knowledge that the lifer would be the first to apologise, seeking her out with those longing brown eyes and a heartfelt “sorry”. Helen always knew that each time she broke things off, Nikki would be there, eager to rebuild the bridge and then, and then ... the most extraordinary thing had happened. Nikki gave up the chase. She surrendered to what she had perceived to be the unstoppable force of heterosexuality and ceased to be the immovable object in Helen’s life. She had actually wished her and Thomas well; and from having always known where to find her female admirer she had now lost her at the very moment when she needed her most - when she really had given up everything that gave her life order. Oh the bitter irony - why had Nikki stopped chasing? Helen hunched her shoulders and wiped the tears from her eyes. She dialled Claire’s number and after a tedious discussion about confidentiality had elicited the location of Trisha and Nikki’s Soho club. When she arrived outside the chic evening venue, the chrome and etched plate glass of which oozed success, she nearly lost her nerve. She could feel the thrum of the music reverberating through the thick polished metal bars of the doors and she stopped in her tracks haunted by the realisation that despite her misanthropic bookishness, this was probably where Nikki felt at home, and yet it could have been Mars to Helen. The decision to enter was taken out of her hands by the bouncer who opened the door for her and flashed her an admiring glance. Helen lowered her gaze and walked into the club, her senses violated by the noise and heat. The dance floor was crowded, which perplexed her, it was only five in the afternoon, and then she realised that this was Nikki’s party and most of these people probably knew her with varying degrees of familiarity - most of these women she corrected herself. Helen’s impression of Nikki was of a solitary person with a close set of friends at Larkhall and a much larger group of distant admirers, but who never had any visitors after the split with Trisha. It was so easy to forget that before her time in prison Nikki had led a full, independent and successful life. She stopped dead, her heart pounding in her chest, there at the bar with a woman she recognised as Trisha was Nikki, still immaculately dressed and coiffeured. She had her elbows on the counter and was laughing with a small group. She looked so relaxed - and gorgeous, Helen added to herself. Aware that Trish was staring at her, the Scot felt uncomfortable and more and more like an intruder. Why would Nikki not look her way? Helen glanced back up as Trisha nudged Nikki and turned to the bar to speak to her. She saw the taller woman suddenly look over and then with four long, elegant strides she was in front of her. Helen immediately lost herself in Nikki’s eyes and they exchanged pleasantries and then something heartfelt. She knew she was grinning inanely, trying to keep the tone light and the distance between them decent when all she wanted to do was throw herself at Nikki Wade’s smartly booted feet and beg her to love her, make love to her and be hers forever. In the awkward silence that ensued their initial greetings, Helen saw the possessive look on Trisha’s face and knew that she had no right to be here. She started taking her leave of Nikki, and, determined to print the image of that beautiful face in her mind forever, she looked at her earnestly and wished her every happiness. It was then that she was sure that she saw the smile go out of those oh so expressive eyes. Back out in the street, the sharp breeze of an early autumn evening tugging at her jacket, Helen was at a loss, she knew she should make her way home - immerse herself in the jobs pages, update her C.V., put the washing in, tackle the ironing pile, but she could not bring herself to move away from the bricks and mortar that contained Nikki Wade. She walked a short way up the street and sat down on the steps of an anonymous building. The image of those brown eyes and the dying smile playing through her mind. When she saw the tall, slim figure trip down the steps of the club and then stop abruptly to gaze after a passing black cab she did a double take. It was Nikki and her shoulders had sagged under her sleek jacket as she had followed the direction of the taxi. “Looking for someone?” Helen had the courage to call out. It was now or never and after some triviality about coming back for a drink, Helen cut across Nikki’s gentle understanding of what she perceived to be the younger woman’s situation and told her, “Thomas is gorgeous. He’s everything you would want in a man. But I want a woman.” The gap had closed between them and Nikki’s expressive face shot through a spectrum of emotions ending with adoration as they kissed deeply in the centre of the Soho street oblivious to the world around them. Helen recalled with a shiver of latent desire how Nikki had led her to a pillar and pulled her to fit against her long, lithe body, while the emotion of so much of their past was channelled into the most delicious kiss. Only a pre-programmed sense of decorum stopped Helen from stripping Nikki naked and demanding to be fucked where they leant. Nikki’s impassioned exploration of her mouth and sensuous stroking of her buttocks convinced Helen that the taller woman probably had the same desires. Years of training and an inbred reflex to do the right thing persuaded Helen that perhaps they should move. Nikki had returned to the club to talk to Trish and collect her prison possessions and Helen had waited for her across the road in a small coffee shop. When she got to the counter, she suddenly realised that she had no idea what Nikki would like. She had had this woman inside her but had no clue how she liked her coffee - it almost seemed like some sordid little affair and Helen needed the absence from Nikki’s heat and scent to consider what their next step could possibly be. “I’ll be staying at Monica’s.” was the final surprise of Helen’s day but she knew she had no right to protest or argue. Nikki had a huge journey of re-adjustment to embark upon and maybe a night of animal passion with your one-time gaoler, who only a week before had shared her bed with Thomas, was not the best starting point. The bond between Nikki and Monica had been a close one. In fact, the older woman owed the younger her life. It was with an uncomfortable jolt that Helen realised that Monica probably knew the ex-lifer much better than she did. In many ways, Helen knew the prisoner, Monica had the advantage of knowing the person. How, why had they spent the early evening together and not even begun to ask or discuss the obvious urgent questions about their future? Instead they had giggled helplessly, playing childish guessing games about their fellow customers as if they had no other cares, as if they had known each other a lifetime and had no further intimacies to reveal. Helen kicked away the sheet in angry disbelief. She needed answers and certainties. Why hadn’t the usually intuitive Nikki realised this? Didn’t she know her life both personally and professionally was in a state of limbo? She let out a yell of frustration and sat upright in bed clawing a pillow off the floor and turning on the bedside light. Was this Nikki’s idea of revenge for all those prison years where Helen had been in control? The bitter thought lodged in her mind and then she remembered her last image of Nikki the previous evening. When Monica had opened her immaculate, panelled front door, the tall woman still in her elegant appeal outfit, had seemed to visibly relax and fall safely into Monica’s ready embrace. There had been a huge sense of gratefulness in her response to the welcome shown her, as if all the stresses of the day if not longer had been dissolved by the homely warmth of the hallway. Helen collapsed back against the pillows and tears started unbidden from her eyes. For the first time in her adulthood she was going to have to allow someone else to take the lead. Deep in her heart and soul she trusted that Nikki would eventually want to be with her but the ex-prisoner had to be allowed the time and space to adjust to life and love on the outside. As the grey morning light began to seep through the curtains, Helen relaxed and allowed the tension to drift from her body and mind as she slipped into the first real sleep of 24 hours. The annoying ringing in her ears turned out not to be part of some dream set in an all too familiar women’s prison but her doorbell. Helen cursed, pulling on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt before stumbling blearily to the door. Peering through the peephole she recognised the slim, fresh-faced, tousled form of Claire Walker. Sudden consciousness making for poor co-ordination, Helen struggled with the key, lock and latch but eventually managed to let Claire in. “You look like shit! I’ve brought coffee and bagels.” “Why are you here? What time is it? Why aren’t you at work?” The jumble of questions tumbled from half-dazed brain to mouth as Helen stood squinting in the doorway blinded by the autumn sunshine. “All questions I could ask you - except that I know what time it is.” replied Claire curtly, as she tripped up the steps to the lounge, placing her provisions on the coffee table before opening the curtains and turning up the thermostat. Helen shuffled in behind her and collapsed onto the sofa. Claire passed her the carton of steaming dark coffee and a serviette-wrapped cinnamon bagel. She accepted both - inhaling the beverage and letting it infuse her sleep-addled brain. “I called you at work.” Claire stated - waiting for the explanation that had to ensue. “I resigned on Wednesday.” “So I gathered, although it was somewhat surprising to hear it from your admin. or rather ex-admin. assistant.” Claire sounded a little peeved, partly at the memory of feeling rather foolish when Charlotte had explained that Miss Stewart had resigned unexpectedly on Wednesday afternoon and had cleared her desk by home time. If Claire had been asked about her friend’s character then the word impulsive would not have been readily on her lips but on reflection, there had been a fair number of lightning decisions issued by Helen recently. Her broken engagement to Sean, her resignation as Wing Governor when she had evidently flung some stinging home truths Stubberfield’s way and now this second resignation as acting Number One. “Helen, my love, what is going on in that head of yours?” It was a simple question asked with compassion rather than accusation and Helen could see the concern emanating from Claire as she perched on the edge of the sofa next to her sipping her coffee. Accusation, she could have coped with but compassion? That was too much and she closed her eyes and wept, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Claire, taken aback by this response, lifted the coffee from her friend’s shaking hands and held them tight. She had so many questions to ask but bit her tongue. This seemed to be a release of long-held emotions and Claire just sat stroking Helen’s palms as she silently cried. The shrill ring of the telephone made them both jump. “I’ll get it.” and the solicitor reached over the far arm of the settee to pick up the call with a no-nonsense “Hello?” There was a pause at the other end and then a woman’s voice, deep and softly spoken hesitantly enquired, “Helen?” Claire thought she recognised the tones but couldn’t place them, “No, Helen’s not available at the moment. Can I take a message?” There was further hesitation before the apologetic, “No, no its fine. I’ll um, call back later. Thanks.” was heard and the line went dead. “Who was it?” Claire turned to look at the still lovely face of Helen Stewart despite the pale wet cheeks and tired red eyes. “A woman - said she’d call back later.” With a forced, closed-mouthed smile, Helen nodded. She felt so tired. She reached back her coffee and drank it down with eyes closed. The room was warm and bright and she knew that she owed Claire some explanations but was unsure if she could find the words. “It was Nikki!” Claire murmured. She had racked her brain while Helen had sat dazed on the sofa, trying to put a name to the somehow familiar voice. She had never spoken to her client on the telephone but those deep tones were now unmistakable. “What?!” Helen’s eyes were wide and questioning. “Your caller - it was Nikki.” Was it panic that she saw in her friend's face - guilt even? What was that emotion? “Please Helen, tell me what is going on? I’ve never seen you in such a state.” The sigh was long and came from deep within her soul. The Scotswoman closed her eyes against the cheery brightness of the day and like a man stranded for years on a desert island, searched for the words to explain to Claire but also to herself the emotional turmoil that had beset her life. It was not an eloquent explanation. The accent was thicker than usual, the expressions came in starts and stops. There were times when she ground to a halt and Claire just waited, quietly, enigmatically for her to find the will to carry on. It was a thunderbolt. Helen Stewart, her friend of thirteen years who she knew as a focussed, career orientated woman of careful convictions, conventional habits, steady uninspiring boyfriends, bookish but sociable on request had taken the medium pile, neutral coloured rug and hauled it from under Claire’s feet and Claire thought, she had pulled it from beneath her own sensible shoes too - hence, here was Helen unemployed, at a loss and completely and utterly in love with the gorgeous, charming, charismatic and far from uninspiring woman who was Nicola Wade! “I dunno what to do, Claire, I want her so badly. I was devastated when I thought I’d lost her so I followed my heart but now my head doesn’t know how to catch up. I feel as if my fate’s in Nikki’s hands. She needs time to adjust to life on the outside and I’m just terrified that she’ll want to slough off everything about Larkhall - it’d be understandable wouldn't it - and that would mean shedding me too.” The end of the sentence was spoken in a choked whisper, as Helen raised a hand to her face rubbing her fingertips against her forehead in anguish. “It’s about trust, Helen. You need to trust Nikki to do the right thing and to accept that her judgement, whatever it may be, will be the right one. By the sounds of it, you’ve led her a merry dance over the last year, but she still came to you yesterday and that must be a hopeful sign.” “I know, I know but what do I do while Nikki takes her own good time to sort her head out - just sit around and wait?” “The truth will out.” Claire thought. “Here comes the control freak.” “Yes! You do just that because, let’s face it Helen, Nikki’s spent a lot of time sitting around waiting for you. You have the distinct advantage of being able to do it in a lovely home surrounded by your friends and belongings, with windows that open and allow the autumn sunshine to flood in. You can do it while sleeping in a comfortable bed in clean sheets, with carpets on the floor and your own bathroom down the hallway.” Claire’s voice was firm and reasonable, although she had a tough job keeping the accusation that the words implied out of her tone. It was the calculated approach of a successful solicitor. The growing anger that Helen had been nurturing had dissipated and she looked small and forlorn when faced with the realisation of Nikki’s sacrifices. “Whose side are you on?” she muttered. Claire grinned and replied that she was on the side of Cupid and hoped that the god got legal aid because it was going to be a lengthy case. Which at least made the Scot smile in return. “How do you know that Nikki’s the one?” Helen stared into the middle distance for some time seeing nothing but dark brown eyes, wayward dark curls nestling on the collar of a shirt and feeling the soul-filling warmth of a long strong body fitted against her own. She shivered involuntarily with desire. So, yes, there was the effect that Nikki had on her body but it was so much more than that. Despite their many mis-understandings brought about by the gaoler/prisoner relationship at Larkhall - at some deeper level they just got each other. There was an intuition between them and above all a desire to do the best by each other. “I trust her never to let me down,” Helen replied simply, “and I find her endlessly fascinating. The thought of never seeing and talking to her again was impossible to contemplate.” “Not just that she’s a good shag, then?” teased Claire. “Not just that.” was the wry response. Before returning to work, the solicitor bundled her charge into the bathroom to shower and dress ready for the remainder of the day. She prepared some lunch for her friend and insisted that it be eaten and then left her with a doorstep’s width of newspaper jobs pages. Helen helplessly accepted all that was thrust upon her and curled up on the sofa with the adverts and a marker pen. Before long the exhaustion of the morning’s emotions kicked in and she was sound asleep caught in a ray of sunshine. |
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| emtsue | Sep 29 2008, 08:50 AM Post #15 |
G3 Curtain and Duvet!
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Hiya Samsta, First off I'd like to say that over the last couple of years I've read many wonderful stories about N & H,and many... not so wonderful.What I've found most important are the way in which the words flow. If the flow is right,whatever situation the characters are put in will be believed.If it comes across sounding like a shopping list,nothing will ring true. The minute details in creating the atmosphere you ,as the author want us to "see",and the emotions you need us to feel,all come down to this flow of words. You ,my friend, have the right flow and what a pleasure it is! Now ,on to the issue of control. Hmmm....seems to be a minor epidemic running on this board,and I'm glad for it.Very interesting this particular topic,it's really something you can sink your teeth into,especially concerning Helen and Nikki. You know they both have the"I want,what I want,when I want it" attitude,except their sychronicity has always been somewhat skewed.Nikki needs to regain control lost during her time in prison, and Helen needs to relinquish hers.This for both will a process,no quick easy fixes.They have a lot of issues to sort through,suchas; trust,the willingness to lay their cards on the table and be honest, not only with each other, but with themselves as well.Helen's loss of control is obviously the bigger issue here. I think she is slowly starting to realize the prison bars are no longer in the equation, and rules have once again changed.The first being when she finally admitted to being in love with Nikki the inmate.Albeit she is still very much in love ,Nikki is now a free woman and that too is different from what she has known. I could probably go on,but I won't,I've already hogged up too much space.Till next time Samsta. |
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I can't wait for the next chapter.


8:47 AM Jul 11