Jenny felt a hand on her forearm. 'Jenny!' said a familiar voice, and she turned to see Louise, who she had known for years. Before she could speak, Louise said, 'Listen, Jenny, there's someone you absolutely have to meet!' She secured her grip on Jenny's arm and almost dragged her away. Jenny wasn't reluctant to follow, as the man she was talking to had spent the last fifteen minutes boring her with his life story while gazing at her chest. They went to another room, where Jenny stopped.

"Who?' asked Jenny. 'Who do I have to meet?'

"No-one,' replied Louise, 'but I could tell you weren't having a good time with that ... freak.'

Jenny burst out laughing. 'He was a freak! Thank God you managed to save me!'

"Isn't this a boring party? I haven't met anyone worth talking to. Apart from you, of course.' She waved a bottle of vodka. 'Come on, let's go somewhere quiet and get hammered.'

They crept off and found a quiet corner upstairs, at the end of the landing away from the toilet so that they weren't constantly disturbed by people wandering past looking for relief. They sat there, going over old times, old gossip, getting drunker by the minute. Vodka and orange is a deceptive drink. It doesn't take like alcohol. You can drink it for hours and not realise how far gone you are until you try to stand up.

The next day was a typical Hangover Sunday. Jenny woke up and tried to work out what was wrong. She felt terrible. She forced open eyes that seemed glued closed, and the world swam into focus. She recognised her own bedroom, which was good. She didn't remember much ... oh, there had been a party. Vague memories came. She had been bored, and then met Louise, and then they had lots of vodka ... that would explain things. She tried to move, but it was like someone hammering a nail into her head. 'Never again,' she muttered as she had a thousand times before. Eventually she managed to crawl out of bed and get to the bathroom, where she started running a hot bath. She forced down a few mouthfuls of water from the washbasin, and then got into the bath. It was hot, and she kept the hot tap running into it, slowly making it hotter. It was the best hangover cure she knew.

Jenny lay in the bath, the almost scalding water turning her skin bright pink. She knew she dozed off now and then, and some vague part of her mind was worried that she might slip under the bathwater and drown. Dream-images came and went, and so did the returning memories of the party. She remembered being upstairs with Louise. She remembered being cosy together, huddled in a corner with the vodka. She remembered being happy in Louise's company. But something was tugging at her mind. There was something out of place. She didn't concentrate on it--she didn't concentrate on anything--but in her unfocused mind, she was aware of a jarring note in the background.

"Louise,' she said, leaning close. 'Thanks for saving me. Getting me away from that freak.'

Louise put her hand around Jenny's shoulders. 'Anything for you, darling,' she said, giggling.

"No really,' said Jenny, with the earnestness of the very drunk. 'Thank God you saved me.' She put he hand out onto Louise's shoulder, so that now they were almost in an embrace. 'You're my best friend, Louise.'

Louise smiled and leant forward, until their foreheads touched and they were looking into each other's eyes. Their arms were loosely around each other now in a jumbled drunken hug.

"You're my best friend,' said Louise, grinning like a drunken idiot. Then her head moved and she kissed Jenny on the cheek, just at the corner of her mouth.

Jenny jerked awake in the bath. She panicked, then calmed. She was in the bath. It was a dream. After a little while, her eyelids drooped again.

"You're my best friend,' said Louise, and she kissed Jenny on the cheek, just at the corner of her mouth. Then she kissed a little closer in, nearer the centre of her mouth. Jenny turned her head so that their mouths were together, and their lips brushed each other again, with more purpose.

Jenny woke again, gasping with alarm. What was she doing? She was dreaming about kissing another woman! What was going on in her head?

As the hangover slowly wore off, sleep faded completely. She was now sure she was awake, though weary. Her eyes stayed open now, without a struggle. But the dream-image was still there in her mind. The other dreams she had had in the bath had almost faded completely. She tried to remember them, but it was like trying to catch hold of mist. But this one stayed. Then the awful truth dawned. It wasn't a dream. It was a memory.

"Oh God,' she said aloud.

On Monday evening, Jenny's phone rang. 'Hi Jen,' said a familiar voice. 'It's Louise.'

"Oh, hi, Louise,' replied Jenny, trying to stay calm. Her heart ran wildly. Did Louise remember as well? What could she say? How could she apologise? They couldn't carry on in the same way, not with this between them.

"Did you enjoy the party?' Louise got straight to the point.

"I ... I don't remember all of it.'

Louise giggled. But it sounded forced to Jenny. 'God, we got so smashed. Do you remember going upstairs with that vodka?'

"Yes. Yes, I remember.' Jenny was having difficult with speaking. Her throat seemed tight.

"Do you remember much after that?' Louise's voice was all forced lightness, trying to make it sound like an innocent enquiry, but it was obvious that she had something on her mind.

"Well, some things, maybe...' Jenny trailed off lamely.

"You remember, don't you?' Was there ... a hint of pleading in Louise's voice?

"Uh, look, Louise, I--'

"Look, I was wondering.'

"What?'

"If ... I was wondering if you want to--do something. Like, Friday night.'

"Do what?' asked Jenny.

"How about, say, I cook you dinner?'

"Dinner?'

"On Friday. Friday evening. What do you..."' Louise's voice trailed off into uncertainty.

"Uh, okay.'

"Great! How about you get here, say, seven thirty?'

Jenny was in a tizzy all week. What was Louise planning? Did she want to talk it all out, clear the air, establish that this was just a blip and things were going on as normal? Or ... did Louise want more? Jenny's stomach turned somersaults every time she thought about it.

And what should she wear? She agonised about it all week. Perhaps she should wear a baggy old jumper, jeans and trainers, to look as un-sexy as possible. That would give a clear message that she wasn't interested in Louise's body. But was it going too far? It would obviously suggest that she thought Louise was making a sexual advance on her. Would Louise be offended by that idea? But if she dressed her best, Louise might take that as a sexual invitation. In the end she settled for a middle course, elegant but not provocative: a white blouse, a café au lait coloured skirt that demurely reached almost to the knee, matching shoes with only a little bit of heel, no jewellery, minimal make-up.

When Louise opened the door to her, Jenny was almost stunned by what she saw. Louise had really gone to town. She was wearing that strapless backless classical little black dress--it was too little, indecently short, and it hugged her figure close. Below that, her legs were encased in black silk, and her gleaming black leather shoes had stiletto heels. Her rich dark brown hair was done up into an intricate knot in the back of her head, with sliver pins holding it in place. Glistening emeralds hung from her ears, and a simple silver chain descended to just short of her plunging neckline.

"Louise...' stuttered Jenny, 'you look...'

"Thank you,' replied Louise. 'So do you.' She put her hands on Jenny's shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. This was not really the done thing in England at that time, though a few people were trying to introduce this Continental custom. 'Come in.' She made a sweeping gesture. The lights were low, and two tall candles lit a table set with two places.

Jenny didn't know what to do. This was clearly an attempt at seduction, nothing more and nothing less. Could Jenny run away now? She knew Louise to be the consummate hostess, who loved the ritual of presenting dinner as well as being justly proud of her culinary skills. Could she ruin years of friendship by running out on Louise's big moment? Or would it be better to enter the spider's web? But then the time would come when Louise tried to make her move, and Jenny would have to refuse her. It could not end well. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but she could not--it would be like making a scene.

They made smalltalk over the first glass of wine, then Louise brought in the first course. The first two plates were tiny and deliciously simple: a slice of melon drizzled with wild forest honey and dusted with cinnamon, followed by garlic and basil mushrooms. Then came the masterpiece itself: a baked shoulder of lamb with redcurrant jus, served with potatoes dauphinoise and vegetable sauté. After that, the perfect thing to cleanse the palette was a lemon sorbet.

After the sorbet was finished, they retired to the sofa where Louise insisted on Jenny's having something from her excellent liqueur cabinet. Jenny was reluctant: the wine was starting to go to her head. But already that mood was coming on her, in which the alcohol she'd already had whispered to her the throw caution to the wind and do as she pleased. She had a glass of Bailey's to sip.

Having poured the liqueurs, Louise sat down too close beside her. She was saying something quietly, but Jenny could not hear her. Panic was overrunning Jenny's mind. This was the moment, she knew. Louise would make her move now, and Jenny would have to stop her. Louise's face was drawing closer to her own, and she knew she should run now, as she should have run when she saw how Louise was dressed this evening. But her body refused to move. She seemed to be turned to stone, unable to act, unable to think, her mind full of what was happening--Louise's smiling face approaching her, the press of Louise's breast against her own, the breath from Louise's nostrils caressing her neck and cheek, the palm of Louise's hand settling on her waist. Then it happened: their lips touched, very lightly, moved apart and touched again.

How could she permit this to happen? Yet the urge to flee seemed to have gone from her. The alcohol in her brain whispered to her not to resist. Perhaps she might enjoy it. Had she not enjoyed it that night at the party? She couldn't remember. Louise pressed her mouth in closer, and without meaning to, Jenny realised that her own lips had responded. The part of her mind that was the sensible Jenny she knew told her to run away, and she tried to pull back. But all she managed to do was to recline limply on the sofa. It was one of the couches with huge soft cushions, in which it was possible to sink and almost drown. Louise moved forward, lying on her gently, and kissed her again.

To her own shock, Jenny realised that she was enjoying it. This was good kissing, better than anything she remembered with any man. Louise was gentle, and didn't ask too much at first. How many hours passed before their mouths opened? Was it midnight, or dawn, when Louise's tongue first touched Jenny's lip? Jenny was lost in it now, the closeness of it, Louise's body weighing down on top of hers, gently moving together as they breathed, the magic of mouth and mouth together.

Eventually Louise pulled away and looked Jenny in the face. Throughout, her hand had been running slowly up and down between Jenny's waist and her thigh, occasionally straying up to her ribs. Now it glided up, over Jenny's belly, wrinkling the white blouse, and coming to rest on her chest. Louise's fingers massaged there with exquisite lightness, then moved to the top button of Jenny's blouse.

Jenny's reaction was sudden, a shock after her hours of passivity. 'No, Louise,' she said sharply, and both of her hands clasped Louise's. 'Not that. The kissing--yes, but, but ... not that. Only the kissing.'

"Alright,' said Louise in a l--ittle, disappointed voice. She leant in to kiss Jenny again. But it was not the same. The spell was broken. Jenny felt like something was being done to her against her will now, and she withdrew.

"I should be going now,' she said. Louise was looking at her with a pathetic look of rejection. It was heartbreaking, but Jenny would have no more of this tonight. She had broken too many barriers already. She needed to sleep on it. She looked at her watch. It was almost one in the morning. She called a taxi. As she waited for it, they sat at opposite ends of the sofa, not speaking. Jenny was happy with to have silence, uncomfortable though it was. Louise obviously wanted to say something, and several times seemed on the verge of speaking, but kept silent until the taxi arrived.

Before she left, Jenny felt compelled to pay some thanks for her hospitality. 'Thanks, Louise ... it was lovely ... lovely meal, I--' she stumbled until interrupted.

"Next week?' asked Louise, failing to suppress the eagerness in her voice.

"I--I don't know--we'll see--' and she turned and fled from Louise's flat.

When she got home it was almost two, and she went straight to bed. But there was no sleep for her that night. When she had been happy in Louise's arms, before the spell was broken, it had been like some lovely warm dream where she was secure and calm. Now, alone in her own bed, her mind swam with confusion and churning emotions. Sleep had still not come to her when the sky started to grow light outside.

On Tuesday, Jenny received a text message from Louise. r u on for friday? Jenny smiled involuntarily. Texting is a safe haven for those who don't want to get caught in an embarrassing conversation. But when she thought of how to reply, she realised that she didn't want that conversation either. After two days of agonising, she replied with a one-sentence text saying that she was on for it.

It was largely a repeat performance, with variations in the details. Jenny dressed as she had before, attractive but not provocative in a blouse and longish skirt. Louise was not quite dressed to kill as she had been the week before, though she still looked very chic. They made smalltalk over the first glass of wine, then they had a dinner even more sumptuous than the week before, then they retired to the couch for glasses of liqueur, which were poured but never consumed, because their mouths were too busy with other things. After several wordless hours of simple kissing, with Louise keeping her hands from roaming too much, Jenny said 'I should be going now,' and Louise replied 'Next week?' Jenny assented with a nod and a smile, and left for another night of sleepless turmoil.

That night in bed, Jenny asked herself: what am I doing? She was sure that she wasn't a lesbian. She liked men. She liked sex with men. She had had as many boyfriends as most women her age, plus a few one night stands, mostly when drunk at parties. She was normal. What was this thing that she was doing? Somehow, it didn't feel like sex. She and Louise were simply friends, expressing friendship physically. No, she rejected that idea. The kissing had built a wall between them. They had lost their friendship, as Jenny had to set limits, which Louise couldn't cross. People always said that a woman should never go with a man who was her friend, because they couldn't stay friends. Was that happening to her and Louise now? Were they destroying the friendship they had always had? But Jenny knew that things couldn't go back to how they were. This would always be between them.

On the third week, Louise was dressed differently. She had imitated Jenny's style: she was demurely dressed in a skirt almost as long as Jenny's with a thin white cotton blouse and no jewellery, her brown hair loose about her shoulders. But was the blouse a little too thin, revealing the lacy white bra beneath a little too obviously? Again they went through the familiar routine, the first glass, the light chatter, dinner, liqueurs forgotten on the table, and kissing. After some hours of heavenly mouth-to-mouth, Louise excused herself for a moment. She left the room, and returned a minute later without her skirt or her blouse. She almost returned to her place on the sofa, but instead of sitting down again, she stood there for a moment, posing, one hand on the arm of the couch. Her left foot was flat on the floor, or as flat as can be in high heels, while the other stood on tiptoe, the knee slightly bent. She turned her hips and shoulders this way and that very slowly, as though dancing almost imperceptibly to a very faint beat. Jenny looked at her in speechless amazement. Her gaze swept over the pink flesh encased in its white lingerie, unable to take her eyes off Louise's voluptuous form. They might have stayed like that forever, Louise smiling invitingly and Jenny gazing her dumbstruck, but Louise broke the spell by resuming her position on the couch and moving forward to embrace Jenny once more.

"Louise! What do you think you're doing?' Jenny's tone was sharp, like an angry teacher catching a pupil misbehaving.

Louise's face fell. 'But I--I wasn't doing anything wrong...'

"Louise! I told you, nothing but kissing!'

"I wasn't going to do anything else,' whined Louise pathetically. 'I was only going to kiss, like before. Just, just...'

"Just naked?' snapped Jenny. 'Or half-naked at least!' She pushed Louise away physically and stood up. 'I'm going!' she declared.

Louise cried out and reached toward her, grasping Jenny around the waste and burying a cheek in her belly. 'Please don't go!' she wailed. 'I'll be good! I'll put my clothes back on, and then we can--'

"No, Louise! Don't you understand! There are limits, places I won't go.'

"Alright, I won't then. It'll just be like before. Can't we have it like it was before?' she pleaded.

Jenny pulled away from her roughly, and Louise fell forward, her hands hitting the floor while her knees still rested on the couch. Jenny made for the door, and Louise cried out 'No, please don't go!' There were tears in her voice. But Jenny ignored them and stormed out. When she got home, she broke down in tears.