Road Trip by Cobalt Librarian

This fic is for red card who requested : a wee story based on Nikki and Helen driving up to Scotland for the first time to meet Helen's family?

DISCLAIMER:

Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film.

I am happy to accept constructive feedback openly as it will improve the quality of my writing. Please use Private Message or email for any feedback of an extensive nature.

Once again, thanks to Kathy for her awesome betaing skills.

Author : Cobalt Librarian

Rating : 15


ROAD TRIP

Nikki drew up outside the house and parked the hire car. Hopping out of the Range Rover, she let herself into the house, wondering how Helen was getting on with her packing. The worst of the rush hour should be over by now, and Nikki was keen to get out onto the M25 while things were still relatively quiet. While they were only going as far as York before stopping over, Nikki could think of better ways to spend her time than sitting in a traffic jam. Especially with a stressed Scot in the passenger seat.

Nikki sighed. They’d been together for most of a year, and Helen, displaying her usual integrity, had been open about her sexuality from the start. She had come out to her family within a month of them moving in together, and most of them had been supportive, if slightly puzzled by the fact that Helen had apparently decided to try women after a lifetime of sticking to men.

Helen’s father, however, had stayed true to type by vehemently disapproving of his daughter’s decision and informing her that she was living in a worse state of sin than she had been when she had made the decision to have Sean move in with her. Nikki had watched Helen’s half of that phone conversation and had been so angry about his reaction that the only thing that had stopped her from ringing him back and giving him the benefit of her uncensored opinion had been the need to comfort her partner.

It hadn’t affected their day to day life at all until Helen's Aunt Margaret, who had invited them to her cousin Graeme’s wedding, had rung up to tell them, almost apologetically, that she would have to invite Helen's father as well and to ask them if they still wanted to come. Helen had hesitated for a brief but noticeable period and then firmly told her auntie that they would both be attending. She had put the phone down before adding softly, “And to hell with my father and his bigoted opinions.”

That had been three weeks ago and Nikki didn’t think Helen realised what hard work she had been since that conversation. She covered it well, but she had been getting increasingly nervous and short-tempered as the date of their trip to Scotland came closer. In turn, that had made Nikki, who had been quite calm, apprehensive about how the whole thing would go.

They’d had a number of spectacular arguments about apparently unrelated things since receiving the news, and Helen, who took self-deception to new heights when she was stressed, had alternated between insisting that there was nothing wrong and wearing them both out with some of the most energetic sex they’d had since the honeymoon period when they’d first started living together. Nikki didn’t mind that - she preferred it to the rows, and it relaxed both of them physically. She just thought that Helen would be happier, in the long term, if she faced up to how much her father’s reaction was upsetting her and how worried she was about what might be said at the wedding.

She glanced at her suitcases and decided that she might as well put them in the boot of the car. She’d been packed since last night, with everything Helen had insisted they’d need, from casual clothes to midge repellent cream to a really nice dress for the actual wedding and reception. She was just glad that Helen hadn’t been so traditional as to insist on a hat. They would have had another fight about that; while Nikki was aware that she was giving in to her partner more than usual, there were lines she was not prepared to cross.

Coming back into the house, she heard a noise upstairs and went to investigate. Helen was standing in their room, frowning as she looked into her wardrobe, her overnight bag open on the bed next to her. Nikki took a moment to admire the shape of her legs in her jeans and joined the Scot.

“Got everything?” she asked.

“I keep thinking that I’ve forgotten something,” Helen said with an exasperated sigh.

“Like what?”

“”Well, if I knew that, it wouldn’t be forgotten, would it!” Helen snapped.

“OK,” Nikki said, “I’m heading for the garden. I think I’m just in the way here. Do you want to try and get away before lunch?”

“Course I do. It’s a long drive.”

“I’ll give you half an hour, then.”

“Stop managing me,” Helen said and turned suddenly, zipping up her holdall with short, jerky movements.

“I thought you wanted to do another check?”

“No. Since you’re obviously dying to get away, if I’ve missed anything, I’ll buy it en route. Happy?”

“Calm down, Helen,” Nikki said gently. “I have packed the wedding present and made sure our outfits are in the car. There are shops in York and Scotland. But I’m sure you’ve got everything you need. Come on, let’s go. I want to play with my new toy.”

“What?”

“The four wheel drive.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You were the one who said we might need it in the Highlands.”

“Which gives you carte blanche to hire some gas-guzzling monstrosity.”

“Pretty much,” Nikki agreed.

Helen smiled for the first time since she had come into the room and kissed her, slipping her arms around the taller woman’s waist. They stood together for a second before Helen moved away and picked up her bag.

“What was that about?” Nikki asked.

“Do I need a reason to kiss my partner?”

“No. I just wondered.”

Helen looked fondly at her. “I love the way you get such pleasure from little things.”

“Being inside‘ll do that for you,” Nikki said and then bit her lip as Helen’s face changed. That was the other thing her father had made great play of when he’d found out. According to James Stewart, Nikki’s violent tendencies and criminal record were just further proof of the moral degeneracy her lesbianism demonstrated in the first place. The mood, which had lightened slightly, soured again.

“I’ll go and get my coat,” Helen said.

Nikki did a last, quick tour of the house, making sure that everything was switched off and secured, and then climbed into the driver’s seat. Helen was already belted in, her face abstracted as she fiddled with the controls on the car stereo. She put her hand on Nikki’s thigh when she’d closed the door, an attempt at making peace.

“Radio or CD?” she asked.

“Whatever you want,” Nikki said. “I’ve got a powerful car, the open road and a beautiful woman in the seat next to me. I don’t care what the soundtrack is.”

“Bloody Toad of Toad Hall,” Helen said teasingly, and leaned across to kiss her cheek. Nikki squeezed the hand on her thigh reassuringly, then checked her mirrors, indicated and pulled out into the road, enjoying the feeling of driving a bigger car than usual.


They chatted about inconsequential things as they drove round the M25, and though Helen was still tense, she seemed less nervous than she had been for days. Nikki supposed that now they were actually on their way, they were committed - there was no turning back and that must be a relief in itself. At least Nikki hoped so.

They’d made it partway up the M1 in amicable silence when Helen nudged Nikki and pointed at the fuel gauge, which was looking dangerously low. Nikki glanced at the dashboard and swore.

“This thing really does drink diesel, doesn’t it?” Helen commented.

“Doesn’t matter, we’ve got services in three miles,” Nikki said. “We can get a coffee, if you want.”

“I don’t think I’ll bother. I wouldn’t mind using the toilets, though.”

“I bet the shop sells chocolate.”

“Not the good stuff,” Helen said firmly. Nikki smiled. What Helen didn’t know was that there was a box of her favourite Charbonnel et Walker tucked away in Nikki’s suitcase. It was an extravagant purchase, but Nikki thought Helen might need it to get through the next few days. And if not - she’d enjoy it anyway.

Pulling into the petrol station, Nikki filled up the tank, paid and then drove over to the main services.

“See you in the shop?” she asked. Helen nodded and vanished in the direction of the facilities. Nikki navigated her way around the stressed families, salesmen and random, screaming children, giving the noisy games room and burger bar a wide berth, and headed for the newsagents. At least there’d be papers there. After her years in Larkhall, Nikki had become an unrepentant current affairs junkie - while she had mostly concentrated on classic literature while she had been locked up, she had quickly got back into the swing of events once she could influence them on the outside.

Walking past the shelves and shelves of chocolate, boiled sweets, snacks and tacky souvenirs, she headed straight for the newspapers and magazines. One thing about motorway service stations, they usually had a wide range of material, everything from Woman’s Own to Coarse Fishing Monthly. This close to London, there were often foreign publications as well.

Nikki disregarded the ‘lifestyle’ section and the wedding and home makeover magazines, homing in on the current affairs. She picked up New Statesman and The Economist, hesitating before finally selecting The Spectator for balance. She spared a brief glance upwards toward the ‘top shelf’ magazines, feeling her usual weary contempt for the products of the porn industry. Frowning, she realised that Gay Times and Diva were both up there, next to a variety of titles she didn’t want to think about too closely. The Diva was the latest issue and she snagged a copy, adding it to her other purchases and going to stand in the queue, which was stretching down most of the shop. She took a moment to wonder if it was a deliberate tactic to encourage impulse buying before grabbing a couple of bottles of mineral water and a packet of the crisps she knew Helen liked.

Five minutes later, as she’d finally got to near the front of the line and was watching a toddler work up to a truly spectacular tantrum in the next aisle because his mother was refusing to buy him a packet of sweets, Helen walked up to stand beside her. Nikki turned and smiled at her.

“Sorted?”

“Just about. It was filthy in there,” Helen said fastidiously. “Dysentery outbreak waiting to happen.”

“OK,” Nikki said. “I’ll cross my legs to the next services, then.”

“You do that.”

Nikki turned back to the checkout assistant as they got to the front of the queue, putting her purchases down on the till. She didn’t spare him much attention, too busy fishing out her wallet, but his reaction when he got to Diva caught her notice. Up till then, he’d been pretty indifferent, scanning her purchases through like a machine, obviously thinking more about whatever interested him than the job in hand. When he picked up the magazine, he looked at both of them, a quick, furtive study that couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried.

Internally, Nikki rolled her eyes. Yes, dykes exist, she imagined saying to him, and they don’t all wear dungarees. Once, in her younger, more aggressive days, she might have done just that. Now, she merely favoured him with a beaming smile as he looked at her, then at Helen, obviously trying to work out who was the dominant one in the relationship. Who was the ‘man’.

He blushed as he caught her knowing, amused gaze and leaned over. “Do you want this one in a bag?” he asked quietly.

Nikki frowned. “No,” she said in the exact second that Helen said, “Yes.”

Startled, Nikki glanced at her partner, who was looking down, refusing to meet her eyes. Slowly, she reached out and slid Diva into the middle of her other purchases, hiding the cover. “Put it all in one bag, OK?”

The boy at the counter ducked his head and did as he was told before ringing through the purchase and letting them go. On the way out to the car, Helen put her hand on Nikki’s arm.

“Nikki ...”

“No, it’s fine,” Nikki said. “You want to drive for a while?”

“Yes.”

Nikki handed over the keys and then waited as Helen adjusted the seat and mirrors, making herself comfortable. They pulled out of the car park in tense silence, and Nikki sighed and concentrated on the rich, lush scenery she could see out of the window, the slightly dissonant hum of the traffic providing a soundtrack to her thoughts. She was so distracted that she started slightly when Helen spoke.

“You see, this is one of the things I hate about being gay. It’s the way it seems to give everyone the idea that they’ve permission to look at you and speculate about your sex life.”

Nikki bit back the impulse to tell Helen she was being paranoid. Her partner didn’t need that at the moment. Instead, she shrugged. “I think he was just a bit embarrassed.”

“Bollocks,” Helen said robustly, swerving across lanes and cutting up a business type in a Ford Mondeo. ”He was undressing us both with his eyes. It was perfectly clear what was going through his mind.”

“We’re not that obvious. It’s not like we go round in T shirts with slogans on! For all he knew, I’m a dyke and you’re my best friend.”

“You weren’t watching his face,” Helen retorted.

“No, I wasn’t. For one simple reason. His bloody opinion doesn’t matter!” Nikki said. “Who I sleep with and why and how I do it is my business, so long as it’s between consenting adults in private. If he wants to find material for his wet dreams, he can do it in those magazines they were selling.”

“So you don’t care that we’re featuring in his filthy little fantasies?”

“No,” Nikki said. “When I’m with you, all I’m thinking about is you. The fact that some sad bastard wants to imagine two women together doesn’t come into my mind.”

Helen frowned. Nikki reached out and touched her shoulder, careful not to distract her from driving. “Helen, he may see you as nothing but a lesbian. You don’t have to define yourself that way. It’s only part of what you are. Just like the fact that you’re Scottish doesn’t define you.”

“I suppose,” Helen said quietly. “I just hate being put in a category.”

“The people who do don’t know you. Or they’re not worth knowing,” Nikki said.

Helen was silent for a little while and then took her eyes of the road long enough to glance at Nikki and smile. Her forehead had smoothed out and her scowl had gone.

“I love you, Nikki Wade.”

“Good, because I prefer it to be mutual. Less embarrassing that way.”


They got to York mid-afternoon and checked into their hotel. Standing by the window of their room, Helen looked out across the city.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Fancy a walk round the walls?”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

They wrapped up warmly, Nikki in her battered old leather jacket and Helen in a more modern waterproof, and set out. After a certain amount of getting lost in the winding streets and lingering to look into shop windows, they found one of the gates and climbed the steps up onto the wide grey stone walkway on top of the walls, strolling along hand in hand as they pointed things out to each other. The warm, late August sunlight bathed them in light and heat, compensating for the colder temperature of the North and the wind that sighed across the top of the parapets beside them.

“It’s so flat,” Helen commented.

“Flood plain of two rivers,” Nikki said.

“Since when were you into geography?”

“Never. I just read a novel set in York once.”

“Oh?”

“It wasn’t very good. One of the things it did have was great chunks of information every so often. Some of it stuck.”

Helen nodded. She knew that Nikki had been on a limited ration of books before she’d started as wing governor and given her permission to have more than the usual allowance of titles in her cell. As a result, she’d often had to re-read the ones she did borrow several times before returning them to the library, and could usually quote passages from her favourites verbatim. The ex-con sometimes joked that it had been one of the things that had turned her into a critic instead of just a reader, the situation forcing her to analyse the writers’ tricks and techniques as a way of keeping her interest up when she knew the story already.

The Scot slipped her arm comfortably around the taller woman’s waist and felt Nikki put her left arm around her shoulders, returning the gesture. Helen didn’t have to say anything - she knew that Nikki understood why she had hugged her and appreciated it.

They were standing on a section of the wall near the Lord Mayor’s Walk, overlooking the Minster, and the area was busy with tourists. A family group sailed past - a severe looking man and his harried wife with a group of gangling teenage boys in tow. The parents ignored them, beyond a glare from the man and a disapproving sniff from the woman, but the boys started to stare and whisper as soon as they came into sight, their conversation going on as they vanished into the distance, together with much nudging and glancing back.

Nikki glared back at them as she felt Helen stiffen slightly and move away, covering the action with a comment about the Rose Window in the Minster. She scowled and resisted the impulse to kiss Helen, knowing that it was only a form of marking her territory and that her partner wouldn’t accept it; she would recognise it for what it was and be angry with Nikki for even having the thought. For just a second, Nikki wished she lived in a world where people could simply be accepted on their own merits instead of who they chose to go to bed with, and then shrugged, putting the impractical hope aside. Impractical for today, anyway.

“D’you want to go and get a cup of tea?” she asked.

Helen nodded silently and they made their way to Taylor’s, where they had a light meal before returning to the hotel via another bout of window shopping. Once they were back in their room, Helen went for a bath while Nikki settled down with a magazine. She looked up as she heard the sound of swearing from the bathroom and crossed over to the doorway. Helen was standing, naked, rooting through her sponge bag.

“What’s the matter?” Nikki asked.

“Forgotten my razor. I need to shave my legs. What with everything else that's been going on ...”

With how distracted you’ve been worrying about your father, Nikki supplied mentally.

“Well, borrow mine, then.”

She crossed over to her stuff and hauled the razor out. “New blade. It won’t catch.”

“Thanks,” Helen said gratefully. “The last thing I want to do is look like some hairy-legged stereotype in front of my family.”

Nikki stilled, hardly able to believe her ears. Then she turned, thrusting the razor at Helen, who took it from her hand, slightly startled.

“You know what, Helen? The problem isn’t when other people think crap about you. The problem is when you internalise it. If you’re going to start believing it and hating yourself for what you are, then you’re on a fucking slippery slope!”

Now it was Helen’s turn to glare.

“You’re talking bollocks!” she said. “I get upset about one little thing, and you turn it into an opportunity to psychoanalyse me.”

“It’s not one little thing! You’ve been bloody impossible since you found out that your father would be at the wedding!”

“He doesn’t influence my decisions!”

“No, but he sure as hell casts a long shadow over your moods. Just what did he do when you were a kid that made you so scared of him? You’re an adult woman, Helen, with a successful career. Get over him!”

“Over what?”

“I don’t know. You never talk about it. Maybe you should.”

“To a professional, I suppose,” Helen said bitterly. “Emerge smiling and happy about my new identity. Able to live up to your ‘out and proud’ standards.”

“Don’t twist my words,” Nikki warned, aware that three weeks of strain was spilling out now and that she was starting to lose control of her temper, always a danger with the Scot, who seemed to have the knack of pushing her buttons in a way no one else could. Probably, Nikki thought bitterly, because her opinion matters so bloody much to me.

“I’m not. You should hear yourself. You sound like a page from a textbook on political correctness!”

“Well, I’m sorry if I shock you,” Nikki said, “but I’ve never been ashamed of what I am or who I go to bed with. And anyone who tries to make me can fuck off!”

“Well, hurray for you,” Helen retorted, “but some of us don't live in a vacuum, and we actually care what other people think.”

“I’d noticed.”

Helen didn’t throw anything, but Nikki got the impression that it was a close run thing. Instead, her jaw firmed.

“Get out,” she said.

“What?”

“You heard me. I want to have a bath in peace.”

“Please yourself,” Nikki said, retreating, and watched as Helen closed and locked the door in her face. She threw herself on the bed to avoid pacing and tried to get her breathing back under control. She still hadn’t calmed down when Helen emerged from the bathroom in a fluffy white bathrobe, the slight pinkness of her skin showing where she had shaved her legs.

“Well?” Helen said.

“Well, what?”

“Are you willing to apologise?”

Nikki felt a cold ball of rage form in her stomach.

“Right,” Nikki said softly. Helen watched, puzzled, as her partner went to the phone and called room service.

“Hi, this is 215. Can we have a couple of bottles of mineral water, and ... do you have champagne? What kind?” Nikki listened and then nodded. “OK, that’ll do. No, put it on the tab.”

“What's that for?” Helen asked.

“We’ll need it later,” Nikki said cryptically, then sat down on the bed, taking off her shoes and jacket. She glanced around the room and then, of all things, started unpacking her suitcase, hanging her things neatly in the wardrobe next to her discarded jacket. Helen gave up trying to understand what Nikki was doing and took the opportunity to get dressed before crossing to the window, looking out across the lights of York as she tried to calm down.

She jumped slightly when there was a loud knock at the door and glanced back, distracted from her contemplation of the illuminated Minster, as a young woman, dressed in the hotel’s livery, wheeled a trolley with the order through the door. Nikki smiled at the girl and tipped her, tucking a crisp note into her hand and then strolled over and dropped her wallet on the table, placing a lingering kiss onto Helen’s neck as she passed her.

Helen swallowed as the waitress reacted to what she saw, glancing at both of them before making her excuses and leaving. Nikki closed the door behind her, putting the ‘Do not Disturb’ sign on the outside before firmly turning the key in the lock.

“What was all that about?” Helen asked. Nikki didn’t reply, unbuttoning her cuffs and rolling her sleeves up, revealing toned forearms. Helen felt her anger rise. “I said, what was all that about?”

“Oh, just making it perfectly obvious what we are. What you are to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You should. Last night, I had my mouth between your legs and you liked it. You liked it enough to come twice.”

“Don’t be crude,” Helen said, shocked.

“I’m not being crude,” Nikki said. “Crude would be describing what you did to me first to make me come.”

“Nikki!”

“The point is, darling, that we’re dykes. We both enjoy fucking other women.”

“I am aware of what being a dyke means.”

Nikki walked up to Helen, challenge radiating from every line of her body.

“It’s more than that - I’ve had enough affairs with straight women to know that even the biggest admirer of a good hard cock likes to experiment once in awhile, see what it’s like to be with someone who knows what they’re doing and not just put up with the standard thirty second’s foreplay followed by a battering that surprises you into an orgasm. Which is how I know you’re the same as me. It’s not just an experiment or a holiday for you. You like women. You like to fuck them and you like the way they are, the way they smell and taste, the way they move and think and behave. You came to it late, but you’re a natural.”

Helen looked at her dangerously, her jaw set in taut, angry lines. “Do you want to tell me what the point of this is? Apart from ensuring that I go to this wedding on my own?”

“The point is that I don’t understand why you’re lying to yourself about what we are to each other! We’ve had most of a year, Helen. It’s been more that nice. It’s been right for both of us. So what is your problem?!”

“My problem is that I don’t see why the rest of my life should be defined by one aspect of my personality. That’s not a lifestyle choice. It’s a disability!”

“So being a dyke means being less good, less worthy. Is that it?” Nikki demanded. “We’re not really people because we don’t fancy men.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Yes, it was.”

“You’re deliberately misunderstanding me!”

“Am I? You don’t want to touch me in public, you don’t want people to think we have a life together, you don't want the hotel staff to know we’re in a relationship .... Well guess what, Helen, we’re in a room with a double bed. I think they've worked it out!”

“I’m not having this conversation!” Helen said angrily. She snatched up her coat and went to the door.

“That’s right,” Nikki said, “run away. Well, you can run as far and as fast as you like, Helen. You can't run away from what you are. Believe me. I’ve seen people try.”

“Sod you, Nikki Wade,” Helen said furiously, wrenching the door open and slamming it behind her.