Chapter 39
2023
Stella and Hetty slid into a cab just after 9 p.m., which was only slightly before Hetty would usually be sliding into bed. She yawned.
Stella raised a finger. ‘Ah, I got this. Figured this might be a late one for you.’ She shook a can of M&S espresso martini and handed it to Hetty, who looked at it in confusion.
‘What … How do I …?’
Baffled, she saw Stella staring at her with equal bemusement.
‘You really, actually, do come from the past, don’t you? I’m still not sure whether to believe you, but one way or another you’re definitely not fromhere.’
Hetty smelled the heady, familiar scent of lemon and mint as Stella leaned over and opened the tin can for her. ‘Drink – it’s alcoholic, if you’re up for drinking tonight?’
Hetty sniffed at the can. Coffee. She took a sip. Strong, tipsy-smelling coffee. She pulled at the hem of her scary, exciting silver dress. Yes, she was indeed up for drinking tonight. She worked her way through the can as Stella prepared her for the night ahead with an agenda.
‘So it’s gonna be noisy, Hetty.Loud. And proper crowded, but don’t worry because you’ve got your phone. Oh, and I’ve brought you earplugs in case it gets too much. We’re going to the pub first so you can meet the lads.’
‘Which lads?’
Stella laughed – truly Hetty’s favourite sound in the world – and grabbed her bag as she paid the cabbie and handed Hetty out.
‘Oh, I don’t know what they’re going to make of you. I hope you like them, Hetts.’
This evening Stella came up past her shoulder, much taller than usual in tottering golden shoes. Her bright yellow dress was far smaller even than Hetty’s, and Hetty was both awed by and admiring of her audacity. She couldn’t help looking, even though her eyes didn’t seem to know where to look – Stella’s eyes, her legs, her smooth arms, her breasts …
Stella caught her finger under Hetty’s chin and brought her face up to her own. ‘Enough ogling the goodies, you. Come and meet my favourite people in the whole wide world.’
Hetty was glad of Stella’s briefing as, hand in hand, they left the freezing cold darkness of the street and headed into the brightly lit, stiflingly hot pub. She smelled mixed perfumes as Stella hauled her through crowds of chattering, laughing people – but none of the heavy, clinging scents of sweaty humans she’d experienced on her few trips to 1800s London as a child.
And strangely, instead of panic, she felt a buzz of excitement. She felt like part of something.
And she supposed shewaspart of something, now.
Stella introduced her to three men. The first was in the most beautiful makeup Hetty had ever seen, kissing anotherwith long brown hair in a corner, while the third rolled his eyes at them and grinned.
‘Alright, Jimmy?’ said Stella, embracing him.
‘Will be when these two stop snogging each other’s faces off,’ replied Jimmy. He nudged the other two and they all stood there expectantly.
‘So come on then, Stella, hurry up! Introduce us to the Famous Hetty Bainbridge before we all die from curiosity.’
It was not 1817 now. Hetty felt a thrill of ecstasy run through her as she was hugged by each man in turn and truly felt, for the first time, concrete evidence that she could be herself in this world.
She squeezed Stella’s hand, her heart burning up with joy, and impulsively raised it to her mouth and kissed it. Stella’s arm wrapped around her middle and together, as a group of wild renegades, they made their way to the nightclub.
Hetty jumped up and down to the thumping beat, not caring about the noise, or the sweat, or the dazzling lights. Only caring for Stella and her friends, jostling against her in the crowd. She and Stella drew closer and closer with every move, until it seemed to make much more sense if their arms twined around one another.
‘Groove Is In The Heart’ was being wailed bythe singer over a frenetic rhythm – ‘MY FAVOURITE REMIX!’ Stella yelled – and Hetty couldn’t agree more. She couldn’t ask for another – not another place, not another time, certainly not another person.
The DJ’s voice echoed across the room, as if by magic, Hetty thought, and the crowd started the countdown to a new year. A new life, Hetty thought, being hugged by each of Stella’s friends in turn and then feeling her body tingling allover in minty, lemony welcoming arms, her face burning as plump lips brushed her cheek.
On the few occasions she’d attempted to wade through novels – my god, how she’d hated the predictably trite morality of her time – she’d always wondered what happened after the happy-ever-afters. Did the heroine settle down into marriage, risk the dangers of childbirth, manage her household? How on earth could she ever adapt to normality after the supposedly life-affirming adventure of, for example, being kidnapped or very nearly ravished by an evil villain?
It had never occurred to her that perhaps the heroine would go on to dance and drink and revel in the joy of life. That theafterpart might be the best part.
As the song ended and they made their way through the crowds to the frankly disgusting privvies, Hetty smiled back at Stella’s shining face and kissed her hand. Was this it – after the happy-ever-after? She never wanted it to end.
