Page 93 of Obedience

‘Are you gonna take me to Clarks and put my foot on that measuring thing, needlessly squeeze my big toes and make me walk up and down in front of the shop lady?’ Dylan teased.

Greta rolled her eyes. ‘Dyl. Just let me buy you a pair of fucking shoes.’

Dylan hummed, conceding with a grin. She slid her arms around Greta’s waist and kissed her cheek, her eyes still fixed on their reflection. ‘Well, the deal is, we get like-for like-ish Converse, and I buy brunch.’

Greta pressed her hands into Dylan’s forearms, her lips curling into a smile. ‘Deal.’

A few moments passed as they watched their reflections. The weight of unspoken words filled Dylan’s chest, pushing into her throat, almost forcing the confession out involuntarily like a breath. Before she could speak, Greta canted her head, resting it against Dylan’s cheek.

‘I really like you, Dylan St John,’ she said softly.

Dylan couldn’t stop the wide smile that claimed her face, despite her best efforts to play it cool. ‘I like you too, Greta Vincent.’ Dylan placed a lingering kiss on Greta’s temple. ‘Right!’ She clapped her hands together in front of Greta, making her tut and flinch. ‘Brunch? What about Federal Cafe? I need those ‘shrooms and that spicy sauce in, on, and around my boat race.’

***

They checked out of The Midland, the overnight bag slung over Dylan’s shoulder, her hand resting in the small of Greta’s back. With their fingers entwined they wove through town toward the Northern Quarter, dodging the throngs of Saturday shoppers. The sun was actually out, a rare treat in the usually rainy city. It was pleasantly warm for spring, but whenever the shadows of the tall buildings brought back the chill, Dylan would pull Greta tightly into her side.

They joined the queue outside Federal Cafe, pressed hip to hip on the narrow pavement while the Metrolink trams tooted and rattled around them. Greta had expected to feel exposed or awkward with the eyes of strangers on them, but she didn't. Being with Dylan, her nearness and affection, overrode every part of her doubt and self-consciousness. The feeling of Dylan’s hand in hers, the weight of her strong arm over her shoulder, the sure and steady way she held her waist as she guided her through the busy streets, was all Greta had spent so long wanting.

Over the past few months when her eyes had drifted shut at night, or during the times she had allowed herself to think of Dylan, she had imagined simply leaning into her firm body. Not in exciting far flung and exotic places but just here; in her ordinary life. On the familiar streets of her city. When Greta looked at Dylan, really looked at her, she didn't feel like a mere collection of memories and grief. For the first time in years, she just felt like herself. She felt like Greta Vincent.

No longer willing to overthink, Greta had accepted, from the moment they left the hotel and Dylan possessively took her hand—as though she had been doing so for years—that this was it. Exactly this. Right now. She knew that there was no future for her and Dylan…not unless she allowed right now.

They moved along in the queue, chatting breezily about nothing in particular. Dylan drew in a fast breath and looked at Greta; already laughing at the—most likely— terrible punchline.

‘Wanna hear a joke?’

‘Always,’ Greta replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

They took another step. Dylan cleared her throat as though she were about to address a sold-out Albert Hall. ‘Why can’t dogs operate CT machines?’

‘Tell me, Dylan. Why can’t dogs operate CT machines?’

‘Because cats can,’ Dylan laughed. ‘Catscan…get it?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Greta scoffed, unable to stop herself from laughing; albeit at Dylan’s amusement at herself, rather than at the joke itself.

‘Nope. Not even he can help you now,’ Dylan chuckled.

As their laughter at the terrible pun gathered momentum, a soft Liverpudlian voice yanked them both back to reality.

‘Greta?’

Greta tore her eyes from Dylan and reflexively dropped her hand. ‘Leila— Erm… hi. How are you? Hi,’ Greta stuttered, the words tumbling into one another.

Professor Andy stood before them, smiling, her hand clasped around the hand of a much younger woman. Greta scanned them quickly; they both wore wedding bands, looked close and very together. The woman smiled as she leaned into Leila, her free hand pressed against Leila’s upper arm. Steeling herself with a steadying breath, Greta pushed her hand back into Dylan’s, only to feel Dylan’s fingers wrap tightly around hers in response.

‘Miss Saint John, I presume?’ Leila said, turning her gaze toward Dylan.

To Greta the interaction stretched into eternity, even though Dylan answered quickly with a breezy, charming smile, hiding the fact that she knew who it was, and that her stomach had most likely plummeted into her knackered Converse.

‘Oh, it’s actually pronounced Sinjin,’ Dylan said. ‘But yeah, that’s me. Hiya.’ She gave a small awkward wave before pushing her hand back in her pocket. Her other hand squeezing Greta’s even tighter.

‘This is my wife, Kate,’ Leila said.

The women stared at one another, Greta blinking much more rapidly than usual. From the look on her face neither Dylan, nor she, were entirely sure what the fuck was happening. Unwilling to acknowledge even an iota of impropriety, Greta steadied her voice.

‘Hi, Kate. Lovely to meet you. This is my—’ She cleared her throat. ‘Dylan.’