Lucy Fry (below right) always felt there was something missing in her relationships with men, but was astonished and confused when she fell head-over-heels for Bella. Reports a special in the UK’s Mail newspaper. Yet she was determined to follow her heart
It was the beginning of February 2008 when it started: I was 26 and had just broken up with my boyfriend. Our three-month relationship had been much like a rich French meal: delicious and indulgent while it lasted, but afterwards leaving a slight nausea. Although he and I were physically attracted to one another, we were unsuited emotionally. Yet I still felt upset by our decision to split, largely because it was another in what I saw as a long line of failures.
Back to square one in the search for a soul mate. But why did I even want one?
Perhaps I wasn’t made for relationships; I couldn’t work through things, preferring to run away from mess and start afresh elsewhere. Besides, nothing I ever got from any man was enough. However loving they were, soon enough I’d start to feel that familiar yearning: I wanted more. But more of what? I didn’t know.
And then came Bella, a theatre publicist who I had met at various social engagements but never spent much time chatting to. Now here we were again – both among a group of women invited for dinner at a friend’s. This time we talked and learned we had a mutual obsession with the arts. I knew that she was bisexual (she had been ‘out’ since she was 15) and in a relationship with a woman, and I remember feeling drawn to her while also not feeling entirely comfortable around her.
She teased me about the cowboy boots I wore with my faded jeans and brown leather jacket. ‘Are you sure you’re not gay?’ she asked cheekily, though it felt more like an accusation.
Here come the brides: Lucy and Bella on their wedding day last year. Their civil partnership ceremony took place at Chelsea Old Town Hall in London
I protested my innocence: in the past few years I had had sexual dreams about women, but apparently 60 per cent of all women do. And yes, I had thought about kissing another woman, but that didn’t mean I was gay.
But I don’t think I sounded convinced. Besides, I was curious. Really curious.
The night went on and more was drunk. By 4am, I found myself lying on the floor of our friend’s house, Bella next to me, both of us using inebriation as an excuse to stay over, while, in fact, our primary motivation was the magnetism that existed between us. But as for what happened next? I can recall only snippets – my head hovering over hers, a brief conversation before our lips met and we shared a kiss that made my stomach flip.
In the morning I woke up alone. Bella had disappeared. She did text me later that day, apologising for her early departure and revealing that she felt awful (by which I think
she meant guilty as much as hangover). We exchanged a few text messages, but there was little contact for two months. I had no intention of further upsetting her relationship and, in any case, I didn’t know how I felt about her, my sexuality or even my career. It seemed that everything around me was in flux. My parents were splitting up and, although I was working in a prestigious literary agency, I was unsettled,
still craving the life of a writer, something I’d felt drawn to since the age of eight. I found myself questioning everything – from how I felt about women’s bodies in the gym changing rooms, to the way I related to others.
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