India walked into the Sea Containers restaurant and saw Frankie right away. Being tall, sharply dressed and deliciously butch, she was easy to spot.
“Just the woman I need to see on this cold, miserable February lunchtime!” Frankie Stark gave India a firm hug.
India hugged her right back. “Good to see you, too,” she replied over Frankie’s shoulder, breathing in her aftershave. Always aftershave. Frankie was old school. They parted and settled into their seats.
India hadn’t been lying — it really was good to see her old friend. It represented some kind of normality seeping back into her life. Frankie and India were an unlikely pairing, but they’d hit it off as soon as they met. Frankie was a club promoter famous in the queer London scene. India was a business powerhouse turned semi-famous lesbian. They both enjoyed making deals and charming people. Their relationship had started off as a mutually convenient one, but soon blossomed into a full-on lesmance.
When they’d first met, Frankie had been far more brash. She’d needed to be, working in such a male environment. Years in the spotlight had smoothed her rough edges, but her attitude and energy were still punchy, her Yorkshire accent as strong as ever. It was a badge of honour with Frankie. She always told India the day she lost her northern accent was the day she should pack up and leave London.
“Good to have you back in the land of the living after scuttling off to America.”
India pressed her thumb into the palm of her opposite hand. “I didn’t scuttle anywhere.”
Frankie tilted her head. “Nobody would blame you. Andi was a total bitch.”
“Ancient history.” India didn’t want to dwell. She glanced around the restaurant at the bottom of the modern hotel, overlooking the river. The grey of the day was offset by the restaurant’s strong lighting, a yellow haze all around the room. “Although did we have to meet on Valentine’s Day? Should I have brought you a cuddly toy?”
“I’d have clonked you over the head with it if you had.” Frankie gave her a grin. “Are you back for good, now?”
India rolled her head left, then right. “Yes and no. I have a lot of European visits with work, so I’m in and out of the country for the next few weeks. But I’m still based here. No more filming. No more New York.” India paused. “How are the Pride preparations going?” Frankie was co-chair of London Pride this year, her third time in a row.
She rolled her eyes. “You know how it is. Same shit, different year.”
“I also happen to know you love being in charge, whatever you say. Give you a loudspeaker and you’re a hopeless case.”
“What can I say? I was born to be a professional shouter.”
They ordered the set menu and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, India giving the restaurant the once-over. Nobody appeared to be noticing her, which she was pleased about. It was only over the past three years, when she’d become a minor TV celebrity, that she’d shot to fame. Suddenly, she’d gone from being mentioned in business pages and the occasional feature in women’s magazines, to being papped coming out of a nightclub with a woman on her arm. It’d been quite the adjustment, and one her parents were still coming to terms with. It had also played havoc with her relationships.
“Now that I am back in London, I want to make a splash. Show that the Chocolate Delight campaign wasn’t just a one-off to swoop in and take the pink pound for a ride. This year, I want to do a Pride biscuit.”
“A Pride biscuit?” Frankie sat forward. “That Chocolate Delight campaign is still causing ripples throughout the lesbian community. The pressure to smear chocolate spread on your lover’s lady garden was out of control for a while there.”
India snorted. “Lady garden? How is Phyllis and her lady garden, by the way?” Frankie had been with her wife Phyllis for years.
“Good as gold.” Frankie glanced over India’s shoulder, and her face dropped. “Oh, shit.”
India twisted and followed Frankie’s gaze until it landed on precisely the person she least wanted to see today. Or any day, for that matter. Andi. Alone at a table on the far side of the restaurant.
India sank down in her chair, a chill working its way through her.
Frankie reached out a hand and put it on her arm. “If she comes over, I can deal with her, okay?”
India winced. “You don’t have to, I can cope. But I doubt she’s going to come over.” She stared out the window in the opposite direction. The Thames sat stony and grey in her eyeline. A river taxi swished by. It was a normal day and they were out for a normal lunch. India could totally handle this.
At the table next to them, a man and a woman sat down, the man presenting the woman with a bouquet of red roses. She kissed him on the lips as she accepted his gift.
India pursed her lips. Ugh, Valentine’s Day. If Andi was here with a new woman, India might not be able to hold down her lunch. She was not going to look.
“I don’t think she’s seen us.” Frankie eyed India. “Anyway, let’s ignore Andi and pretend she’s not here.” If Frankie was wondering whether Andi’s date was going to show up, she was glossing over it like a pro. “I wanted to speak to you today because you said you wanted to do more than donate to Pride this year. We’ve had a project drop into our laps that I’d love you to be involved in. Would you be up for it?”
Something to focus on other than Andi. India nodded. “Sounds intriguing.”
“It is.” Frankie reached into her bag and pulled out a large white envelope, handing it over to India as their wine arrived. The waiter went to pour, but Frankie told him she’d do it. He nodded and left.
“Put those in your bag and read them later. Keep them safe. I’ll give you the backstory.” Frankie poured the wine. “A woman sent us some love letters she found stuffed down the back of an old-fashioned drinks cabinet. They were written by a woman called Eunice back in 1960, and they tell a story of thwarted lesbian love.”
India’s stomach tightened. Her latest thwarted love affair was sitting mere feet away. “Preaching to the choir,” she replied.
Frankie gave her a sad nod before she continued. “The woman who found the letters is called Petra, and she set up an Instagram page to find Eunice. It turns out Eunice is still alive, she lives in Birmingham, and she’s just come out, thanks to this.”
Frankie drew her hand through the air. “I mean, it’s huge. She’s got four kids, nine grandchildren and three great grandchildren. But back in the 1950s, before she got married to a man, she fell in love with a woman she worked with. In the letters, she just calls the woman ‘H’. She won’t give her name. But she’s agreed to be interviewed about it and then it’s up to the woman to come forward if she sees it. Eunice is coming to Pride as our guest of honour. The theme for Pride this year is ‘It’s Never Too Late’, and Eunice is the perfect example of that.” Frankie inclined her head. “Eunice found the one, but then they couldn’t be together because of expectations. Quite some story, isn’t it?”
“You can say that again.” India had only been going out with Andi for six months, but it had been a whirlwind, and she’d briefly thought Andi could be the one. It had been short-lived. However, India couldn’t imagine finding the actual one, but then not being able to be with that person because society didn’t approve.
“What does her husband think?”
“He’s long gone.”
“Leaving Eunice free to spread her wings.” India paused. “How do you want me to be involved?” The letters were hot in her hands. She couldn’t wait to read them. A piece of living history. India put them in her bag.
“I want you to be the one to interview her. You’re used to the camera and good with people. Plus, you’re famous, so it will garner more attention if you do it. I’ve put our head of special events onto the project, and she’s happy to make all the arrangements and go with you to do the interview. You know how to bring out the best in people and make them shine.”
Their food arrived and they tucked in. India still hadn’t glanced over. “It sounds impossibly romantic and tragic, all rolled into one. Can’t we persuade Eunice to say who ‘H’ is? What if H is still alive and carrying a torch for Eunice?”
“Obviously, I’m secretly hoping you can wheedle that out of Eunice using your special famous-person charms.” Frankie’s eyes flickered as she peered over India’s shoulder. “Just to let you know, Andi is dining with a man. You can look now if you’re quick.”
India did just that. It wasn’t anyone she recognised. Relief swept through her. After such a public fallout from their relationship, at least Andi wasn’t here with a date.
Someone approached Andi and asked for a selfie. She agreed right away, posing with her killer smile. She was a much-loved Radio Two DJ. A national treasure. If only they knew.
India blinked then turned back to Frankie, giving her friend her full attention. “I’d love to help, consider me booked,” India told her. “Plus, put us down for a float with my Pride biscuits. Do you think Eunice would like to ride on it, too?”
“Depends if you throw in free biscuits for life.”
“That’s not a bad PR angle.” India shook her head. “I can’t wait to read the letters and meet the woman behind them. How old is she now?”
“Seventy-nine. But she’s fit, able and looks amazing.”
India blew out a breath. “I hope I’m amazing at 79.”
Frankie reached over and squeezed India’s hand. “You’re amazing now.”
India patted Frankie’s hand. “Sweet of you to say.” She paused. “I’d be even sweeter if I could find a new place to live. Somewhere of my own. I was just saying to Luca when I saw him recently. Do you know any good estate agents in central London?”
“This is your lucky day,” Frankie told her. “I’ve got a great estate agent. She’s got some cracking properties, sorted me and Phyllis out with our place.” Frankie picked up her phone and scrolled. “I’ll ping you her number. Call her and arrange a meeting. Her name’s Gina. Tell her I sent you.”
Frankie had to run to her next meeting right after lunch. She kissed India on the cheek as she left.
Andi was nowhere to be seen, so India relaxed for the first time since she’d arrived, her shoulders falling. She stopped to use the loo, applied more bronze-red lipstick and puckered her lips in the mirror. Maybe Frankie was right. She looked good on the outside. She just had to work on her inside, too.
She could do this.
Fuck Andi.
India ran a brush through her dark, wavy hair just as the bathroom door opened. When she looked up, her stomach sucked itself in like a vortex had just been created in her soul.
“India.” Andi walked up beside her, until their reflections were standing side by side in the bathroom mirrors. “Good to see you.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
The comment pinged off Andi as if it had never been said. “Your hair looks beautiful, by the way, just like always.”
Where India was dark-haired, professional and all about business, Andi was blond, calculating and all about making a good impression. Her tapered jeans and fitted blazer with satin lapels screamed for attention. Her long, red fingernails left people guessing. Her laser-beam green eyes drew you in. India knew all about them.
The song on the hotel speaker changed to a tune India had once considered ‘theirs’. Now, every time it came on the radio, she switched it off. In fact, she hadn’t been listening to the radio a whole lot of late. Not when there was a chance Andi would be on it.
Andi glanced up to the speaker. “They’re playing our song.”
India’s muscles stiffened. Even saying words to Andi took a monumental effort. “There’s not an us anymore, so the song isn’t ours.”
Andi moved her head back. “There will always be an us. We didn’t work out, but you can’t just erase us from your history. That’s not how it works.”
India narrowed her gaze. “I decide how things work in my world.”
Andi was doing it again, wasn’t she? Twisting things, making herself sound reasonable. How did she do it with such ease? India had defended her when they were together, but she knew how Andi operated now. On her own terms, and hers alone.
“I saw you out there with Frankie. Is she still running Pride?” Andi brushed her lapel. “I need to see if I can get on a parade bus this year. I’m guessing I’m not welcome on the Stable Foods double decker?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” India crossed her arms, concentrating hard on staying in control and not getting emotional. She didn’t want to give Andi the satisfaction.
“It’s a shame. Can’t we still be friends? We’re going to see each other around. We’re successful, famous lesbians. People expect us to play nicely.”
“I don’t want to play nicely, Andi. Nothing about you is nice or playful.” India shook her head. Andi had put a severe dent in India’s self-esteem, one she wasn’t yet fully recovered from. One day they’d been together, the next, nothing. It was too soon to be in the same room as her. Too soon to look into Andi’s face, because India could still recall all the lies Andi had told her. The ‘I love you’ notes scattered around her flat.
Andi put a hand to her chest. “Ouch. I’ve got feelings, too.”
“You sure?” After the callous way Andi had dumped her, India often questioned whether Andi had a heart. It’s something she’d only noticed towards the end. Everything about Andi was too perfect. People had flaws, it was what made them interesting. India had realised too late Andi had no layers at all.
Andi put a hand on India’s arm. “Are you being too sensitive again? Remember we talked about that, it’s an issue of yours.”
India saw red, flicking her ex’s hand away. “Being sensitive is not a bad thing.” Thunder coiled in her stomach.
Andi put on her faux-concerned face. “You need to sort out your anger issues.” She paused. “But it’s good we ran into each other, because I’ve got something to tell you.”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” India picked up her handbag and turned to Andi for a final time. “I hope whoever you’re stringing along right now understands what she’s getting into.”
Andi’s face as India left the toilets was a picture. She wasn’t to know that India’s heart was hammering in her chest, and beneath her perfect makeup, every nerve ending she had was tingling and red raw.