Chapter Text
Caroline McKenzie-Dawson understands life, on the molecular level.
Carbon. Hydrogen. Oxygen. Nitrogen. Sulfur. Phosphorus. For all that her students complain of organic chemistry, it makes sense .
Life, in the grandiose, fate-and-the-universe sense? Utter and complete madness.
This observation flits through her head, amidst the din of shit pop music and Gillian’s game of spotting sapphics in the social sphere .
Here she is, fifty-three, surrounded by eligible women and instead, leaning closer and closer to her adult step-sister, after a month in which: her crush (which, cringe enough without all the rest) shamed her for being a bereaved homosexual, her ex-husband’s mistress attempted to ask her out no fewer than eight times, said ex-husband moved back in with her (without permission) after the mistress chucked him out, and she agreed to attend this godforsaken women's disco after being relentlessly badgered about it at a bloody wake.
(That Gillian happened to be sat on her lap at the time is truly, truly the icing on the cake.)
They’ve been here for forty-nine minutes (not that she’s counting) and not one woman has approached their table. Gillian’s too distracted with pointing at town folk and gossiping about Judith to notice.
“Gillian,” Caroline interjects, “Do you think everyone thinks we’re a couple?”
“Define everyone, Caz, I’m pretty sure Harry and Megan don’t know we exist-”
“-Here, Gillian. Do you think all these… ladies presume you and I are together, or am I really as pathetic as I feel?”
“D’ya want me to be a more active wingwoman? I thought I’d let you settle in a bit, get a few drinks in, then we really put the moves on these gals-”
“No, I absolutely don't want.”
Gillian gives her that kicked puppy look, and Caroline immediately backtracks.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, I’m just, well, frankly, too fucking exhausted to even want to dance. None of these women are my type, anyhow.”
“Not true! I told you that one was Raff’s teacher!”
Against her better judgment, Caroline chortles.
“God, I really am pathetic, huh? I mean, for all Ruth’s nastiness there was a bit too much truth in all that, wasn’t there?”
Gillian shakes her head, determinedly.
“Hey, now, listen, Caz, I know I was a right shithead you know, way back when, but I really do think you’re brave, putting your actual heart on the line, you know? I know everyone thinks I’m a slag, but that’s only because I’m a b- bloody fuckup when it comes to actual relationships.”
Caroline grabs her hand reassuringly.
“All the same, I think tonight, getting through the door was enough, yeah? It’s been a hell of a week already, no need to risk the indignity of,” she gestures broadly at the undulating masses of women before them.
“Yeah, alright, long as you’re buying the next round,” Gillian concurs.
_
In the taxi home, curiosity gets the best of Caroline.
“Why were you so dead-set on me going to this women’s disco anyways? And before you start, I don’t want to hear about me getting back on the horse or whatever because we both know you’re not that magnanimous.”
Gillian blushes, looking at her shoes (Converse, natch).
“Dunno, had always wondered what it was like. Never had an excuse to go.”
The last time her voice had been this quiet, she’d been confessing to murder. Caroline shudders away the thought. She’s had too much of a week to take on any more emotional burdens.
Better keep it light.
“Well, what’d you think?”
“Simultaneously fascinating and dull. You’d think it being all women, the mating rituals would be more evolved, and yet.”
Caroline grimaces with the memory of accidentally stumbling upon a couple mid-act in her quest to find the loo.
“Well, Gillian, if I’m not proof that coming out doesn’t magically solve one’s romantic woes, I’m not sure what is.”
Gillian giggles.
“I love how you still talk posh even when you’re pissed.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, eh?”
She waggles her brows in faux-seduction and it’s a testament to Caroline’s dry spell that she’s more than a little charmed.
Fortunately, they’ve arrived at their destination, the driver requires compensation for putting up with the two of them, and Caroline’s sense of duty and propriety will always outweigh her desires.
_
They’ve snuggled up on the sofa, mugs of chamomile tea in hand. Gillian’s perpetually heavy eyelids are dangerously languid. For all that Caroline mentally compares her to dogs, she’s quite feline, in this particular moment.
(Speaking of dogs, Ruth is currently resting her chin on Gillian’s thigh. Caroline is deeply moved and superficially jealous. She really has got to stop drinking.)
“What would you do, if Ruth came around, changed her mind, said she did fancy you and all? Would you forgive her?”
Caroline snorts.
“I think it’s a bit too late for all that.”
Gillian shrugs.
“You and me ‘ave done alright, and we’ve called each other worse.”
“And it took us, what, seven years to get here? And we’re just… friends.”
It feels wrong the moment it comes out of her mouth, and Caroline flashes back to all the times she’s said “my friend- well, actually she’s my stepsister, but-” when attempting to explain what she and Gillian are to one another.
“I wouldn’t call us just friends, Caz, you changed a tyre in a field of shit for me.”
“And don’t you forget it. Anyways, I can forget the things she said about me. To me. But, it wasn’t just me, it was Kate-” Her eyes wander to the photograph, her fingers twist the ring she still can’t bear to take off.
“Do you still talk to her?”
Caroline nods.
Lately she’s got a lot of opinions about you, pal. But Kate’s always been a hopeless romantic- she was as starry-eyed as John when she heard about your dad and my mum.
“That’s good. I mean, she always had a good head on her shoulders, so I expect her advice is just as good as ever.”
“You mean ‘swallow my pride, quit being a twat, do the right thing?’”
“Exactly. Always liked her. Tell ‘er I said hello next time she pops round.”
“Hmmph. That’s the last thing I need- you two ganging up on me through the astral plane.”
Gillian yawns, stretches, makes Caroline marvel at the wonders farming does to the human physique (she has got to stop drinking).
“Right, then, I’m too old for this sleep-over “stay up all night talking about dead spouses” shit. Thanks for a wonderful evening after a hellish month.”
“Likewise. Let’s do it again sometime.”
The devilish glint in Gillian’s eye guarantees that she’ll remember that offer, drinks be damned.
As Gillian ascends the stairs towards the guest room, Caroline swears she hears the mellifluous sound of Kate’s laughter.
“I’m glad someone’s having fun here.”
“What was that, Caz?”
“Nothing, good night, see you in the morning.”
Fucking hell.