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Chapter 1

Finger-trails of sunlight were starting to trace unhurried patterns across the dawn sky as the beautiful dark-haired woman looked up from the intricate collage which lay spread across the table in front of her, awaiting her mark. Stifling a yawn, she stretched and rose stiffly, feeling every muscle and bone ache from lack of sleep for weeks on end. What was she doing? She asked herself for the millionth time. How on earth had she become this... this shell of a person? Because that's what she felt like, if she was honest.

Yes, she was good at presenting a front, a professional smile and a capable, focused, cheerful attitude – so good, in fact, that she fooled herself half the time... But she only had to see herself in the mirror to read the tension and hurt there; the restless hunger that lay lurking behind the tired eyes, that had already added faintly etched lines of stress across corners of her face, eyes, mouth, and which kept her body like a coiled spring, in a constant state of wakefulness.

She'd never expected this! Bart was right: she was a freak coming to work so early – not long after the birds began to sing each morning, before the sun began to wake, every single day, like a robot. Anything to keep busy. Anything to stay focused on work: marking coursework; trying new designs; new materials; planning new schemes of work for different classes... Anything. So that she didn't have time to think. Because to think meant to open up her heart to cherished memories of pure happiness, and love, that was lost and gone and which left behind fingertips of a yearning ache like nothing she'd ever experienced ever before. So better then, to feel nothing. Better to build barriers of politeness, and duty, and responsibility, and professionalism.

Damn Foucault and his assertion that it was just social convention which imprisoned people from their true selves and made them conform to the accepted rules! And damn Tilly for so honestly showing her that, as Foucault said, to be truly free you had to learn to live beyond those constraints; rise above them and be true to yourself; learn to fly.

Damn! There was that name again – that beautiful, perfect name. She had managed to shut herself off from it, pushing it far, far away into the recesses of her mind for days, weeks now... But here it was again. Tilly. Tilly Evans. What was she doing right now? Jen couldn't help but wonder. Was she asleep at this hour in the early morning? Was she wrapped up warm and snug in bed? Were her beautiful fiery auburn curls spread out across her pillow like a wonderful velvet fan? Tiny wisps of daylight would be shyly peering into her room through a gap in the curtains, and tenderly stroking her pale skin as she lay there quietly breathing...

Jen's entire body suddenly tensed into an even greater state of alertness than usual. She was suddenly aware of the hammering of her heart and a nervous anxiety that made her want to pace the room, yet again, to clear her head and calm herself. How on earth was it possible for someone to have such a hold over her? Even now, when she had deliberately avoided her – for weeks now – even going to the trouble of re-arranging with the other tutors which exams she would be invigilating so that she didn't have to sit in on an exam with Tilly in the room. She could imagine Tilly sitting at the back, in her full view, looking, no doubt, even more beautiful and alluring when she was deep in thought answering AS level questions... All it would take would be for Tilly to look up and shine those perfect green eyes across the room at her, from beneath that silky Autumnal fringe she so desperately wanted to stroke to one side with her fingertips, and Jen would be lost. She knew it as well as she knew day from night.

Even now, after disappearing from her daily company, even now, Tilly's memory still managed to haunt her... Every minute. Every day. The memory of that lingering kiss still captivated her: soft, sweet, firm, urgent; and those lips – like an exotic sultry rosebud, slightly parted to show the luminous sweetness within... Such memories kept forcing their way through all the distractions and barriers Jen built up around herself, so that each time she had to begin to rebuild them again. Breathe. Stretch. Dress. Eat. Walk in to college. Walk up to her room. Spread out the work and begin to mark. Plan. Assess. Plan. Don't think. Don't dream. Don't do what she'd told Tilly to do and free her mind – don't do that. Just function. Yes, she thought wryly, she knew all about being one of Foucault's prisoners!

She paced across to one of the windows which overlooked part of the quad below, and stretched again, arching her beautifully sculpted back and shoulders, as she tried to relax the urgency she felt within her. She felt old, despite being only at the start of her twenties and at the very start of her career. She felt old and haggard and exhausted with it all. Was it really worth it? She asked herself, yet again. She had always been so sure of what she wanted, who she was, but now, as she stood there gazing out at the rose-coloured sky as the world began to wake around her, she didn't feel so sure. Everything was different now; everything had changed. And she knew that she would never be the same again.

It was then that she saw her.

As Jen glanced down to the pathway beyond the quad she saw a lone figure make its way towards the building. Even though the figure was far away Jen knew, too well, its familiar movement as it swayed slightly almost in an absent-minded dance with a delightful energy all of its own. Jen found it mesmerising. After all this time of not seeing Tilly, she found that she felt an impatient hunger, a basic, urgent need to rest her eyes on her, feeling safe in the knowledge that in all likelihood Tilly would not see her watching – so few people were ever aware of the upper floors of that part of the college building; they were so distracted by other things, and to a large extent the trees and bushes provided a screen of separation too. At least, that's what Jen was counting on, as she stood there, tensely, lovingly watching, gazing with unguarded affection at the auburn-haired student who had such an effect on her.

So she was suddenly shocked to the core when the girl looked up and saw her looking.

Their eyes locked and Tilly came to a stop. Like magnets that pulled and pulsed towards each other they both held their gaze, a current of energy, of attraction, of need, passing between them. Earnest. Heartfelt. Like two halves of a heart coming together to beat in unison at long last. Neither one could break their gaze or tear their eyes away. Not until one of the other students walking down the path behind Tilly called her name so that she was forced to turn. Only then was the contact broken as Tilly turned to see who was calling. When she turned back to look up at the window of the Art Studio the beautiful sculptured figure of the older brunette had gone, and all Tilly was left with was the erratic beating of her own heart and the pulsating of her nerve endings as her taut body pumped the blood around itself at more than twice its normal rate.

Upstairs, Jen's heart was pulsing erratically too. Her legs felt weak and her body shook slightly, momentarily, as she leaned her back against the wall just to the side of the window. She was glad of its coolness. It was something to focus on, as she started to fight to regain control over her breathing. Good God, she felt alive! She felt electrified, as if she was plugged into some national power grid or something. Surely this wasn't natural, was it? Having gone without contact with Tilly for weeks Jen had forgotten just how powerful their connection was. She knew it was a rare thing. Tilly had been right that day at the hospital when she said that this was different. Jen had experienced enough to know it was true. Nothing else made her feel so alive – not even her passion for Art. Spending time with Tilly had become an irresistible drug. One which she had been trying to overcome. And now, she knew, she'd just fallen headlong into the addiction again. She knew she had to see her, she couldn't help herself. And this, she scolded herself, was just another kind of prison.

And yet, her heart told her, Tilly was the key to this particular jail. And Jen so desperately wanted to be free. She wanted to fly. Soar. High above the clouds. Spread her wings back to her perfect student. Back to the place where, at last, everything made sense, because for all her youthfulness, Tilly made her feel, for the first time in her life, whole and complete and very much alive.

Jen turned to the back of the room where she kept a first-aid kit of make-up in one of the paint trays on the top shelf in the cupboard. Still breathless and shaking slightly, she applied her public mask of self-control: foundation, eye shadow, blusher, mascara, lipstick. She had a fleeting thought of Eleanor Rigby in the Beatles' song, who 'kept her face in a jar by the door', before standing back and appraising her own portrait framed in the dusty mirror.

Soulful light-brown eyes looked back longingly at her, the brighter daylight catching their curved edges and dancing into their jet-black centres. They still betrayed her emotions, in spite of the make-up mask. Get a grip! She told herself firmly, setting her soft lips into a fixed smile. Then locking the door behind her, she left the room, her heartbeat still erratic, her athletic body moving effortlessly, gracefully along the corridor and down the stairs, hiding her inner turmoil as she prepared to face the rest of the staff for morning briefing...

She wasn't expecting to see Tilly quite so soon.

She was standing at the lockers at the bottom of the stairs with her friend George, idly waiting for someone else. She looked up when she heard Jen's footsteps but then looked away immediately, turning her body away from Jen in a defensive act, pretending to listen more intently to whatever George was saying.

Jen took in all of this in a matter of seconds, initially feeling a stab of hurt at the apparent rejection but then she noticed Tilly was shaking ever so slightly too, with a nervous tension that Jen instantly recognised and knew only too well. Ah. So it wasn't just her, barely controlling strong emotions then? She took some comfort from that as she passed close by Tilly on her way down the corridor to the main staffroom.

As she passed her, she felt the younger woman tense and draw in a sudden intake of breath, and then she smelt the floral scent of her perfume: it was delicious. It had the immediate effect of increasing Jen's heart rate tenfold. Was this what Tilly had felt when she'd stood so closely behind her in the Art room weeks ago, when Tilly said she was putting her off because she could smell Jen's perfume? Once again, Jen remembered that morning. Vividly. ...She had wanted to press her lips against Tilly's beautiful satin neck so badly it had taken all of her self-control to stand back and resist. ...She had wanted to trace a gentle pathway of kisses, brushing her lips against the younger woman's pale skin from her temple down to the crook of her neck and then nuzzle her nose into the nook of her shoulder and breathe in her sweetness... to begin with. She had felt on fire with longing the minute she had cupped her hand over Tilly's to guide her paintbrush in sensual strokes across her canvas. That was why she'd found herself asking her if she could feel it too. And when Tilly had slowly, deliberately, turned and gazed up at her with such a heartfelt look of adoration, Jen's own heart had almost burst...

The staff briefing was over quickly and Jen had spent the entire time dazed and battling to regain control of powerful memories so that she wasn't at all surprised to find herself back in her room upstairs, with its unique smell of White Spirit and Acrylic paint, about to welcome in her first class of the day – without the faintest recollection of how she'd arrived there.

How she was going to get through the rest of the day, she did not have a clue.