22. Holly, Berlin

Casey stretches out on the grass, and I zoom in on her perfect face. Almond-shaped eyes framed by long black lashes and thick eyebrows, soft, defined cheekbones, a well-proportioned nose, and full pouty lips. Not one mark on her skin apart from a tiny mole on the right side of her upper lip. Her gaze flicks to the camera, and she has that look. I'm not sure it's even directed at me; it's just who she is. I hold down the shutter as the camera captures several shots.

‘When you said you wanted some photos, I didn't think you meant of me,' she says.

I drop down onto the grass beside her. ‘The camera loves you.'

‘I think it might love you, too.' She takes it from me. ‘May I?'

I shrug and rest back on my palms, lifting my face to the early afternoon sun.

She kneels in front of me and clicks. ‘You're so beautiful.'

I pull her to me. ‘You'd say that to anyone who gave you orgasms all night.'

She grins. ‘Fair point.'

I shuffle closer and retrieve the camera. ‘Can I take one of us?'

‘Sure.'

I set the timer, press the shutter and position the camera. Casey wraps her arms around my waist, pushes her nose against my face and releases a melty sigh. I instinctively lean my head towards her.

The camera clicks, and I look at the display. ‘Oh,' I breathe, because the image is everything – brimming with the type of intimacy that only exists between kindred souls. ‘I love it.'

Casey rests her chin on my shoulder and peers at the image. ‘Mmm,' she says, with an unmistakable dreaminess. ‘It's like Sappho and Erinna.'

I lift a brow. ‘Friends of yours?'

She laughs. ‘Kind of. It's one of my favourite paintings.'

‘I don't know it. I remember Italia und Germania, but a lot of the other art you talked about was lost on me.'

‘I didn't know about the Sappho and Erinna painting when we met,' Casey says. ‘I discovered it in my final year at university and spent a lot of time staring at it online. Then the Tate acquired it and I got to see the real thing.' She faces me, eyes squinting in the sun. ‘It brought us alive in my head again. Helped me kind of process things.'

My heart lifts, and it feels so light and free that it could carry me away. ‘You're a true romantic.'

She lifts a shoulder. ‘The Berlin air…'

I steal a kiss. ‘You've used that excuse with me before, but I think it's you.'

‘Or maybe it's the Holly effect.' She smiles and stretches out, resting her head in her palm.

‘Mmm, maybe.' I stretch out beside her. ‘You really have to work tomorrow? On a Sunday?'

‘I don't have to, but I told Felix I'd be there. The installers messed up, so they've agreed to hang the art tomorrow instead, plus we've still got a bit to do. You should totally come to the opening on Tuesday night, though.'

A buzz of excitement ripples through me. ‘Really? You'd want that?'

‘I'd love you to. It's a contemporary exhibition of local queer artists – Queer Perspectives. It'll be on for a few weeks but opening night is always good.'

‘I won't be in your way or anything?'

She shakes her head. ‘Not at all. I'll have to chat to some artists and potential buyers but not all night.'

I'm almost lightheaded with the idea of it. ‘Okay. It's a date.'

She smiles. ‘Yeah. I s'pose it is.'

I roll on my back and tuck my hands under my head. ‘Why contemporary?'

‘The exhibition?'

‘No, your job. When we met you loved historical art and wanted to work in that area. It's all you talked about.'

She rolls onto her back too. ‘I still like it. I worked in an art museum for a few years after I graduated, but I wanted to go higher and didn't feel like management took me seriously. It might be better now, but then it was a world filled mainly with old white people, and I think they struggled with a young biracial lesbian, especially one who did her master's in the history of Black art and tried to bring that into their gallery. They weren't all overtly rude or racist, and some colleagues supported me, but it's that inherent bias that's ingrained in so many people – the racist, homophobic, misogynist thing, you know? And class – I think Britain has a real issue with class. I just open my mouth and people make assumptions. I felt that me as the whole package made them uncomfortable, and I couldn't be bothered educating them. Besides, all the artists were dead. So I went contemporary and it's much more diverse – the staff, the art and the artists, who are mostly alive. Although, every now and then one will come along who's so difficult I long for the days of the dead ones.'

I'm sitting up now – I have been since halfway through what she was saying. ‘That's bullshit that you couldn't progress in that environment because of who you are.'

‘It is, and I was angry about it back then, a lot more than I am now. But it's everywhere, innit? The world over. It must be like that in Australia, too?'

I nod. ‘Class not as much, but the other three … yes, to varying degrees.'

‘Anyway, it's my gain, because I love the gallery I'm at now. Josanne – that's my boss – is brilliant. She's got such a great vision and she's the first Black, female boss I've had. Her view is that it's pointless trying to change what exists; instead, create a new reality you want to be part of and eventually old orders in the art world will change. I like being part of that with her and the rest of our staff, including the gallery here.'

‘That must be a good feeling, finding the right fit in an area you're passionate about,' I say.

‘Didn't you like your job? Before you got the boot, I mean,' Casey says with a cheeky grin.

I poke her in the ribs. ‘Redundancy. I did. I liked working on different projects and seeing them implemented across the campuses and in the community. I'll probably look for the same type of work when I get around to it.'

Casey points to my camera. ‘You don't want to do more with that?'

‘I'd love to. I'm thinking I might set up a website at least – one of the reasons I'm keen to get plenty of travel shots. I charged for my photography for the first time in a while the night after I was made redundant.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Uh-huh.' I pull out my phone and open a browser. ‘I left work as soon as they told me and stopped at a wine bar. Their photographer had pulled out last minute for an event they were having the next night, and Caleb – that's the bloke who owns the bar – noticed my camera and asked if I'd do it.' I bring up the bar's website and pass her my phone.

I rest my chin on Casey's shoulder as she scrolls through the photos, but I'm distracted by her scent and press my nose against her neck, breathing her in. ‘God, you smell good.'

‘We're going to need to get back to one of our rooms fast if you do that to me,' she murmurs.

I smile and pull away. ‘Sorry.'

She chuckles and returns to my phone. ‘You took all of these?'

I nod.

‘They're good, Holly. Really good.' She points to a photo of the woman who was giving me flirty looks that night. ‘She either fancied you, or someone standing right on top of you.'

‘Oh,' I say. ‘Yeah, she was kind of giving me that look through the night, and I wanted to capture it.'

‘You didn't talk to her?' Casey asks. Her tone is hesitant, like she knows she has no right to ask but that she also needs to know.

I shake my head. ‘No. I wasn't in a good headspace. Just lost my job, trying to work out what to do, deal with how I felt about Tom.'

Casey's brows shoot up. ‘This was the Saturday night before you came over here? As in, last weekend?'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘Oh,' she says, ‘Tom is that recent?'

‘Yep, we were together three years. The night after I took these photos, I booked my flight, let him go to work the next day so he couldn't talk me out of it, and packed everything up. When he got home, I was waiting with my suitcase. I told him and left.'

Casey's eyes widen. ‘Whoa.'

I wince. ‘That's bad, isn't it? An awful thing to do. But at the time, I had to go.'

She shakes her head. ‘It's not bad.'

‘I should've talked to him sooner, told him how I was feeling, but I didn't fully understand it. You know when you're in a situation and there's something a bit off about it, but you can't work out why or what to do, and it's not until you're alone or away from it that you think, how fucking stupid was I? Why couldn't I see that then?'

Casey stares at the ground, picking blades of grass and tossing them to the side. ‘That was a really brave thing to do. I wish I could be more like that.'

‘I'm not sure I would've been so brave if I wasn't going overseas. But I figured I couldn't just leave without telling him something.'

She nods, but she's silent as she continues to pick at the grass.

I lean forward so I can make eye contact. ‘You okay?'

She turns her whole body to me and eyes me intently. Her face carries a pained expression, but it's more than that – it carries a story, too, some history. My heart crashes back down from wherever it had drifted off to. Whatever her story is, I don't want to hear it. Not today. I'm not so naive to think that she doesn't have a past, and probably a present of some kind too, but I can't lose this yet.

Just as her lips part to presumably tell me something, I jump in. ‘Tell me about your family.'

Her shoulders drop and her face brightens. ‘Ah, my fam. They're the best. Jazzy's too.'

‘Your families are besties, too?'

‘Yep, next door neighbours forever – well, since me and Jaz were about four. We were like identikit families. Terraced houses. Black dads. White mums. Jamaican grandparents. Lesbian daughters. Hetero siblings. The only difference is I have a younger sister and Jaz has a twin brother. Oh, and Jaz is a total femme.' She pulls out her phone and switches it on. It buzzes with messages, and she quickly swipes the screen, taps the ‘do not disturb' option and opens the photo app.

I don't want to link the action with her pained expression, so I flick it away, like a bug crawling across my skin. Right this minute, we're together and she's focused on me; I'll take that.

‘I'll show you some pics.' She scrolls for a few seconds and brings up an image. ‘That's Jazzy.'

I take the phone for a closer look. The woman staring back at me has warm brown skin like Casey, incredible black curls, cheekbones that glow with a shimmery bronze blush, full lips covered in clear gloss and deep brown eyes. ‘Wow. She is very, very attractive. Like, beautiful.'

‘And she takes full advantage of that,' Casey says, taking her phone back.

‘Does her twin brother look like that too?'

‘Uh-huh.' She narrows her eyes. ‘Hmm, maybe I don't want you to meet them. You'd totally be both their type. Although, Jazzy has lots of types, and her brother is married with a new baby.' She pulls up another photo. ‘That's Mum, Dad and my sis, Chandice.'

I take the phone again and immediately see where she gets her looks from. ‘Oh, your dad. He is seriously handsome.' I look at her. ‘You have the same features.' I glance at the photo again. ‘They're young. Or maybe they just look good for their age. Mine were pretty old when they had me, so everyone's parents look young to me.'

‘They are young. Mid-fifties.'

I stare at the photo a moment longer, enjoying learning about this side of Casey's life. ‘Your mum is tiny compared to the three of you.'

She smiles fondly. ‘What she lacks in size, she makes up for in ferocity. But in an admirable take-no-shit way, know what I mean?'

I nod. ‘Must be nice. Having a close family, or two close families, around you.'

Casey's face falls. ‘Sorry, I?—'

‘Don't be. I'm interested.'

‘I'd love you to meet them one day.'

I raise my brows. ‘I'm meeting your best friend and your family? This is moving very fast.'

She glances away shyly, but I catch the smile in her eyes.

I find a photo of my own family and show her. ‘Me, Adam, Mum and Dad.'

She stares at it for a few seconds. ‘You're very…'

‘White?' I say with a grin.

She laughs. ‘Well, yeah, but I was going to say similar. You and Adam are a lot like your mum.'

I nod. ‘Yep. Dad didn't get too much of a look in, although Adam got his height.'

She points to my camera. ‘Speaking of photos, you could do more of this and charge, yeah?'

‘I guess. Not sure I could make a full-time living from it, but while I have a year's salary in the bank, I'd like to use the time to do more photography.'

Her eyes widen. ‘A year? They paid you out a year?'

I nod. ‘Almost a year and a half.'

‘That's something, then.' She slips her arm around my shoulder. ‘I'm sorry you lost your job, but if you hadn't, we wouldn't be sat here right now.'

I cup her cheeks and hold her face close; it's the most delicious sensation and I could sit like this forever. ‘Like I said this morning: fate.'

‘Mmm. I'm starting to believe that, too.' She kisses me then tweaks my chin affectionately. ‘Want to go to another gallery?'

I pull away and come back to reality. ‘Sure.'

‘Actually, do you want to see mine? The new exhibition isn't fully set up yet, but a few pieces are up, and the current exhibition is still mostly up.' She points behind us. ‘It's only about a ten-minute walk that way.'

‘Let's go,' I say, jumping up and brushing the grass from my skirt.

Soon, we're stopping at a set of glass doors with ‘Mitte Contemporary Galerie' engraved into a large silver plaque beside the entrance. Casey taps in a security code, the door clicks and she holds it open to let me pass through before locking it behind us and flicking a switch that floods the gallery with light. The space is airy, bigger than it seems from the street, with dark wooden floors and white walls covered in various-sized canvases and frames.

She points at the artwork to the left and then to the back of the gallery. ‘Tomorrow these will be replaced.' She gestures to the long wall on the right. ‘But some of these are for the new exhibition.'

I run my eye along the display, automatically drawn to the photographs. ‘These photos…'

‘I thought you'd like those.'

I slowly take them in, one by one. Portraits, street photography, landscapes.

‘Come through to the back. There's a piece I want to show you.'

I follow her, still gazing at the art around me. We pass through a door and into a storeroom. Propped on a large wooden easel is a sizeable canvas that at first glance looks like a photograph, but as I edge closer, I realise it's paint. I spin around, my mouth dropping open. ‘This is a painting?'

Casey nods. ‘It's incredible, right? You thought it was a photo?'

‘I did.' I step closer, squinting as I inspect it. ‘Is it oil?'

‘Uh-huh.'

It's a naked woman, lying on a bed, her hand resting against her inner thigh, her other arm stretched over her head. Thick, auburn hair falls across one breast. The other is exposed, pink nipple erect. My eyes drift down her torso, over the small rise of her belly, along the sharpness of her hip bone, across the triangle of hair between her legs, and down her shapely legs. The woman has a contented smile, satisfied eyes, and a body that shimmers with an after-sex glow. Her lips are slightly parted, almost like she wants to tell a secret, or maybe she's telling her lover to come back to bed.

My body stirs, and I slowly walk backwards to appreciate it from a distance, tilting my head to take it in.

Casey is leaning on the edge of a desk and I rest against her. She wraps her arms around my waist. ‘Like it?'

‘Mmm.' I run my hands over her forearms. ‘It's beautiful. The detail makes it so lifelike, down to the pores in her skin and the hair on her arms.'

Casey brushes her lips against my ear. ‘How does it make you feel?'

I swallow as heat pulses between my legs. ‘A little turned on. But I guess that's the point.' Her mouth moves to my neck and I tilt my head further to allow her better access.

‘Just a little?' she murmurs, her fingers slipping under my T-shirt and skimming my stomach.

My skin warms and I steer her hand towards my breast. Over the silk of my bra, she gently squeezes my nipple then slips her fingers under the fabric while her other hand travels up my inner thigh. I'm too hot now, the ache between my legs too intense. I place my hand on hers and guide it inside my underwear.

She releases a soft sigh. ‘I love the feel of you.'

My breath quickly becomes more rapid as my eyes scan the painting, my fingernails digging into Casey's forearms. Her hand moves faster in response, and I clench my jaw to stop myself calling out.

Within minutes, my legs begin to weaken as ecstasy builds, and when they buckle, Casey holds me up, whispering ‘I've got you' in my ear.

For several seconds we stay like that – breathless and stunned with her hand between my legs and her lips pressed against my temple. As my heartrate normalises, I remove her hand and turn to bury my face in her neck. My heart is exploding, turning to liquid and drowning me.

She kisses my forehead. ‘You all right?'

I hold her tight and nod, my eyes stinging.

She pulls her head back a little and scans my face. ‘Are you crying now?'

‘Just a little.'

‘Fuck. I'm sorry,' she says. ‘Oh, fuck. That was too much, wasn't it? Was that weird? I've weirded you out. I was just taken by the moment.'

I cry-laugh and shake my head. ‘No. It was perfect. It was so fucking perfect, and you're so fucking perfect. And this…' I gesture between us. ‘This is so fucking perfect, and it blows my mind, and I just wish I knew what you were thinking and feeling because it can't all be one-sided, and?—'

Casey swallows the rest of my sentence with a kiss, then says, ‘The same, I feel the same, because you ruined me for everyone else, too.'