Page 82 of Beyond Her Manner
“I’m not sure how to be her,” Gillian replied, her voice faltering. “I’m even less sure I want to be her.”
“You are her! This other Gillian, the cold one who protects herself, that’s not you. That’s someone you created to stop yourself from getting hurt. You don’t need to protect yourself, not with me.”
“And everyone else?” Gillian’s voice cracked.
“Does that really matter? Honestly.”
She’d suppressed the possibility of a life like that thirty-five years ago. It wasn’t so easily unpacked like a suitcase after a holiday.
“You need to work out what makes you happy because all I see is a woman who has spent a lifetime trying to make others happy, your mum, your husband, even this goddamn village. What about you? Where does your happiness come into it? What does it look like?”
“Making others happy makes me happy.”
“What bullshit. You were taught to serve others to fulfil your happiness; the two are exclusive. You can do things for others and seek additional happiness elsewhere. Would you be happy if your gravestone read, ‘Died happy by making everyone else happy’?”
Gillian didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Making others happy was all she knew. It was her safety net, her place in her community; her small world where everything made sense, where she could get on and do and shut everything else out that was scary, unknown, and unwalkable.
Viola pushed on. “If you only had six months to live, Gillian, what would you do with them? Attend a WI meeting, organise a coffee morning, sit through a sermon?”
She’d never given that question a moment’s thought. She believed contemplating one’s mortality was best avoided.
“I’m not going to push you into this,” Viola said. “You have to come willingly.”
She wanted to; she just didn’t know how. Feeling Viola’s growing frustration, she tried to be honest, whispering, “I can’t go back.”
Viola grabbed her hand. “You wouldn’t be going back. You would be moving forward, to a place you should have always been. We spoke a lot about grief. Do you not think part of you is grieving an alternate life you could have lived?”
“I didn’t live it, and it’s too late now,” Gillian snapped, frustrated by all her questions. She pulled her hand from Viola’s,
“It’s never too late,” Viola urged. “Too late is when you take your last breath, and you are some ways from that point.”
“Can’t we go back to the way we were?” Gillian pleaded.
“I’m in love with you.” Viola sighed. “I don’t think I can, no.”
Gillian’s heart leapt at her initial words, only for it to drop and shatter. Her chest tightened as if she’d been punched. She stared at Viola, searching for a glimmer of hope in her eyes. All she saw was a resolve that was both heartbreaking and final.
“We can’t—” Gillian started, her voice faltering. “We can’t just throw everything away.”
Viola’s expression softened, though her eyes remained firm. “It’s not about throwing things away, Gillian. It’s about being honest with ourselves. I love you, which makes it harder to be around you and not with you. To watch you deny yourself some true, raw happiness in life… it’s not for me.”
Gillian swallowed hard, trying to process the weight of Viola’s words. She reached out a hand, but Viola stood. The space between them felt impossibly wide. “What happens now?” Gillian asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Viola took a deep breath. “I will return to work. You should get back to what you do, to what is most important to you — avoiding your unhappiness by living vicariously through everyone else’s happiness. Christmas is on its way. I’m sure you must have something to organise. I’m sure that will make you happy. I hope it’s enough for you.”
With that, Viola turned, her footsteps on the gravel fading until silence surrounded Gillian, and she was left with only her thoughts. Those thoughts told her she wanted to sweep the woman up and kiss her, but it was too much, too far from what she knew. Too far from what was safe in her already uncertain future.
CHAPTER 19
Viola sipped at her coffee, ignoring the voice suggesting she add something stronger to it to help her situation. She knew by now that wouldn’t make anything better.
Staring out of the kitchen window, she contemplated calling Caroline. She needed to talk to someone, and there only was Caroline for that purpose. Forty-four years old with the sum of one friend — who was technically her agent. Her friendship with Gillian had proved it was possible to make new friends past forty, though. Should she be more trusting? She sighed. People weren’t trustworthy; her past proved that. But Gillian was different — a smile reached her lips — so very different. She’d never met anyone like her before. To say she was unique was an understatement.
A pain tugged inside her. Now she’d lost her. Had she pushed too hard? Expected too much? Asked for too much? She only wanted the best for Gillian, for her to find herself and be free of the shackles she seemed so willingly enslaved to.
She knew coming out wasn’t an easy task. It wasn’t even something she had found the courage to do herself. Someone else did it for her in the end. It may have hurt at the time, but she didn’t regret it. Being true to yourself is vital for a healthybody and mind. She couldn’t imagine what living as someone else your entire life would feel like.
All she felt now was lonely, almost as lonely as she had been when she first arrived at Kingsford. She thought the feeling had left her or lessened at least. Now she wondered if Gillian had helped mask those emotions or distracted her from them. It had been many months since her mum passed away, and her body and mind were getting used to her not being there; that much she felt. That pain resided deeper inside her now.
