I almost – almost – had sympathy for him.
“Well Mr. North, I have had a few sips of amaretto and I am still trying to figure out who drank the rest. The bottle is empty and I don’t know how; it was full a few hours ago. I'm suspecting goblins, but who the hell knows, eh?”
“Tash, are you drinking, well, drunk, because of me? Did I do this to you because of today?” he groaned sadly.
“Of course I am, you clueless knob!” I laughed harshly, all tact gone, and feisty Geordie Tash taking over. “You have crushed me, absolutely crushed me… don’t you remember, you silly man? Let me remind you then,” I coughed and mimicked a deep Canadian voice, “‘I don't like you like that, don’t read anything into it, it was nothing, we are nothing’. I paraphrase, but I reckon you remember well enough!”
“Please, Tash. Stop,” his voice cracked. “Can I come over? Can I come and see you?”
That stilled me, all humour gone. “Come over and I’ll break your legs.”
His breath hitched at the end of the line.
“You were right, Mr. North. From this day we shall no longer see each other, and I don’t think I can keep on liking you like this. You know what’s funny? I have been falling for you, like big-style falling for you – the laughs, the time spent together, the touches, the smiles, just... you for you, not the movie star, just you. Just my Tudor. I thought you were special to me, I thought I was maybe special to you, too. You sometimes act like I am, you lead me on. How funny does that sound, right? Mr. Superstar liking little old me? It was stupid of me to even think it. Mr. Unattainable, Mr. I-live-to-torture-Tash. What a fool I am, but hey, at least I know now that you are the emotionless twat that I first suspected, and that you think me less than shit on your shoe – just another man to disregard me, and toss me aside. If you try to come over I swear I will go Newcastle on your arse and–"
The phone was ripped from my hands by Tink, who must have finally gotten through the lock. “Tudor, I heard everything she said. Leave her the fuck alone or I’ll be forced to intervene, and don’t fool yourself into thinking that a fairy can’t hurt you. When it comes to Wil, I’ll take on anyone or anything to protect her. You got that, butch?” and he hung up.
He knelt down in front of me, putting a hand on each knee, and asked in a soothing voice, “Are you okay, my little sausage?”
With that, the floodgates of my pain opened and I cried. I cried all night long. I must have blacked out at some point, as the next thing I knew it was morning. Tink was lying next to me, and flashes of the previous day came back to haunt me. We are nothing.
I was numb to it, numb to Tudor, numb to being treated like crap. Tink edged closer to me and kissed my head. He knew how I felt and that no words could comfort me. No explanations needed.
It was simply time to move on. No more Tudor North.
Tudor bloody North!
* * *
It was Tuesday before I knew it, the day before the show’s opening night. I was in my classroom getting all of the final details tied up – programmes, call sheets, props lists – when there was a gentle knock at the door. In walked Boleyn.
“Hey Boleyn, are you okay?” I asked, noticing for the first time just how similar in colouring she was to Tudor. Saying that, I had also thought the burn marks on my toast looked like him that morning – tattoos included.
Yep, I’m definitely moving on!
“Yeah, Miss, I just wanted to speak to you about tomorrow night.”
“Of course, come and take a seat.”
Boleyn sat down opposite me, and was all smiles.
“Are you excited, chuck?” I asked her.
“Yeah I can’t wait, Miss, I’m really nervous, but excited as well. Erm, I came to see you about seating tomorrow night for my family.”
“Sure, how can I help?”
“Well, as you know my brother is kind of… well known. You remember you met him a while ago?”
My heart sank. Tudor had obviously not mentioned to his family that he had been seeing me, even as a friend. Just more strings to his ever-secretive bow.
I nodded at her question. “I remember, Boleyn.”
“Well, he wants to come tomorrow to see me, but doesn’t want to cause a commotion by sitting in the auditorium. No-one’s supposed to know we’re related, right? Is there anywhere he can sit out of sight? I really want him there to see me perform.” She looked so nervous, it was obvious just how much her big brother meant to her.
“Well, we do have the theatre boxes. Box six is out of sight, high enough that you can’t see into it from the Dress Circle and Stalls. We can put your family there, maybe? Yes, that could work. The rest of the boxes are being left empty, but in your circumstance I'm sure we can make an exception.”
She squealed and clapped her hands. “That’s perfect, Miss, Tudor will be so happy. He’s been trying not to come, he was so reluctant for some reason, but now he has to come, doesn’t he?”
I nodded gently and smiled back at her glowing face.
Boleyn got up from the chair and practically ran for the door. “See you tomorrow, Miss!”
When she was gone, I let my head fall to the desk.
Great. Tomorrow will be just great!
CHAPTER 15
The show must go on
Show night, and backstage was bedlam. There were people everywhere, make-up powder was fogging up the room and enough hairspray was being sprayed to completely eradicate the ozone layer. The audience were filling the seats, and the atmosphere was electric. I loved the feel of the theatre on opening night.
I had dressed to impress, wearing a cap-sleeved, fitted black dress that went to my knees; with my hair down and curled at the ends; and subtle and classy make-up. I looked good. As the director, I would have to mingle at the post-show party, and Ms. Thomas had insisted I dressed professional to please the fee-paying parents. I’m not sure how she felt about my usual attire, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that.
I was busy making all of the final checks: microphones had batteries, spotlights had new bulbs, and scripts and props were in the correct places. A tap to my shoulder stopped me in the middle of counting the plastic swords.
“Ms. Munro, my family are in the parking lot. Where should I tell them to go?” asked Boleyn, portraying the perfect embodiment of Fantine, minus the prostitution and starvation.
Ugh, time to deal with Tudor.
“I’ll take them through the back entrance to the boxes. No-one will see them there. Tell them to go to the south-west door. I’ll meet them now.”
Boleyn grabbed her phone and relayed the message. She pulled me in for a hug – a strange move for the usually unapproachable teen. “Thank you, Ms. Munro. You’re the best!”
“No problem, hun. Now go and get ready. Curtain call in fifteen minutes.”
I walked to the back door, and there on the other side were the Joneses – or the Norths, as they were by law. I opened the door and moved back as they all piled in.
Boleyn’s mother, Pamela was the first in and she grabbed my hand as she walked by. “Ms. Munro, thank you so much for organising this. I realise we are an awkward bunch!”
Her smile was one of guilt.
“It’s no problem, really,” I assured her, and I meant it. They were a lovely family. Well, all except one certain heartbreaker.
“Hello Tash, nice to see you again,” said Henry and Samantha in unison, the picture of happiness, his arm tightly around her shoulder and all smiles for each other.
A few paces behind them stood Tudor. I allowed myself a quick peek at him, heart in my throat. He looked bloody fantastic.
Damn it!
He wore dark jeans, a white knitted hoody with a low neck, showing the impressive chest tattoos that went to his neck, and a grey fitted blazer that clung to every ounce of his corded muscles. For once his head was absent of a hat, and teamed with his five o'clock shadow he looked positively yummy.
Tash! You are in a mood with him, remember?
He was smiling tentatively, his eyes regarding me warily. “Hey Tash, thanks for doing all this for me.”
I simply nodded, pretending not to see his out-stretched hand. His face fell. Ha! Good!
The door behind him flew open dramatically, and in poured Tate and Tink, snapping me out of my Tudor-filled haze. My fairy godmothers here to save me.
My face broke into a huge smile. “Hi, Tate.” I quickly hugged him before heading for my amazing and absolute best friend.
“Tink, you big fibber! You said you had to work,” I chastised him whilst I grabbed him for a hug, loving his white three-piece suit with pink tie and crystal cane.
Fab-u-lous!
He just laughed. “Gotcha, sausage! As if I would miss your show. I never have before and I am not going to start now.”
He kissed my head and I sighed, calming down some. “Love you, Tink.” I really did; just like the real Tinkerbell, he was always there when you needed him.
“Love you too, Wil. Now, where are our seats, Director-Bitch?” he demanded, slapping my arse with the sharp end of his cane.
We began to walk up the back stairs leading us to the highest point of the theatre, where it was quiet enough to help Tudor stay incognito.
“How is she feeling?” said Pamela, obviously referring to her daughter.
I beamed. “She’s great, very excited. It’s a fantastic show, and her voice will knock your bloody socks off!”
Everyone laughed. “Can’t wait!” said the proud mother.
I led them to their private box and made sure they were all seated. Tink immediately reached for the complimentary binoculars and demonstrated to Pookie how to use them. I suspected he already knew, but I was discovering that Tate tolerated Tink’s dramatics out of pure adoration, and I for one loved seeing the look he had in his eyes when he was around my best friend – complete happiness.
I clapped my hands to get everyone’s attention and said, “I will have to go on stage after the show but I’ll come and get you when it's over. There’s an after-party in the grand hall if you’d like to go. I can’t hide you there though, I’m afraid, so just let me know what you want to do later on.”
I never once looked at Tudor, although I could feel him staring at me.
“Enjoy the show!”
I turned to leave, nodding at the thank yous and wishes of good luck. Tudor grabbed my hand discreetly as I walked past. “Break a leg, Tash,” he whispered, quickly rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.
I stopped dead and nodded once, avoiding his direction. I snatched my hand back and made a speedy exit.
“Wil,” Tink shouted from behind. He had followed me out and witnessed me holding the wall for support.
“You okay, hot dog?”
I stared at the floor, unable to speak for fear of crying, the emotional lump in my throat bobbing higher like a buoy.
Tink pulled me in to his chest and cuddled me tight. He knew.
“Pookie asked me to sit with them tonight, and I swear I just want to slap the beefcake silly every time I see him, and I have developed some pretty inventive suggestions on how to use this cane on the sod. Just ignore that he is here and have a fabulous show, yes?”
I nodded silently and he sighed, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You still like him, don’t you, porky?” he whispered, gripping me harder.
I bit my lip and nodded against his chest. “I can't help it, I've never felt this way before about anyone, but it doesn’t matter does it? We are nothing, remember?” I croaked, wiping away a stray tear. “Every time I ever think of him fondly, that memory snaps me right out of it.”
I kissed Tink on the cheek and pulled out of his embrace. “I’ll see you later, babe. I can’t think about all this right now and do my job.”
He squeezed my hands and headed back to the private box, but not before I saw Tudor peering through the privacy curtain with a grief-stricken expression upon his face, obviously having heard everything we had said.
I stared back for what seemed like an eternity, then sharply twirled away, desperately trying not to be buried by the mountain of hurt he had made me feel for the past several days.
The show was a huge success, and Boleyn was outstanding. The production received a well-deserved standing ovation, and the cast had me in tears as they presented me with a huge bouquet of red roses on stage after the show.
As I made the thank-you speeches, Tink and Tate whistled and whooped from the private box, causing curious looks in the main audience as they tried to work out who was up there. I announced the start of the after–party, and the audience gradually began to file out, making their way to the French Revolution-themed hall.
After making sure everything was settled backstage, I made my way up the back staircase to the Norths. I pulled back the curtain to the excited sounds of the family chattering, and Tink and Tate huddled close, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears.
As I entered, Tink – always my biggest fan – screeched and ran over, picking me up and spinning me around. “Wil, that show was amazing, the best yet, in fact. I’m so proud of you! Big G and Glyn-Glyn would have loved it too.”
I laughed as he grounded me, and welcomed the congratulatory hugs from Pamela, Tater-Tot, Samantha and Henry. Tudor came towards me, and Tink, seeing my body freeze in anticipation of his embrace, grabbed my hand and jerked me towards him, leaving my heartbreaker the only option to simply pat me on my shoulder awkwardly and compliment me on a good show.
At least his family weren't picking up on the tension and uncomfortable vibes.
I cleared my throat. “So, who's coming to the after party?”
Everyone said yes except Tudor, who put his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “Is there a back way into the hall so I can say ‘bye to Bee?”
“Err… yeah there is. It’s just a corridor though, but nobody will be there, it's not been in use for years, it’ll be the safest place. I’ll tell Boleyn to meet you there shall I?”
“Yes, please. Is it possible for you to show me the way?”
Tink clenched my hand. I gave a squeeze back, signalling to him that it was okay. I nodded at Tudor, keeping up a professional pretence in front of the family.
“If the rest of you follow the staircase we came down and go out that door to the left, you will come right out at the hall. I'll take Tudor the back route again.”
I pointed over the ledge, showing them the way out. They all began to make their way down the stairs. Tink hovered behind never letting go of my grip. I smiled at him in gratitude. “You can go too. I’m only showing him the way there.”
He shook his head. “Not a fucking chance!” he declared, glaring at Tudor menacingly. For a slight guy, he had balls of steel against Mr. Hollywood Hulk.
Tudor lowered his head. “Tink, I know I don’t deserve to speak to her, or even to be near her, but please can you let her show me the way to the corridor? I just want to see my sister before I leave. It’s for Bee.”
“It’s okay. You go on with Tate,” I urged.
I looked over my shoulder to see poor Tate waiting awkwardly on the top of the stairs. Bless him, he was truly stuck in the middle of this mess. Tink rubbed his face, muttering under his breath as he walked off.
I turned to Tudor, never looking up. “This way.”
I began to walk ahead and felt his hand take mine. “Tash, please. Will you look at me?”
I shook my head, keeping my focus straight forward. “No, I won’t. Just let me show you the way please. I have nothing to say to you.” I snatched my hand back and led him to the back steps.
“Tash, please wait. I… I’m so sorry, what I said was–"
“Tudor, enough!” I said a bit too loudly, my shoulders slumping in defeat.
I turned to face him. “I can’t be friends with you, and I don’t want an apology. Just leave it alone. I am not strong enough when it comes to you to deal with your erratic friggin’ moods. You don’t get to treat me the way you did and
then act like this, like my friend, like you care. You led me on for weeks, spent every waking hour you could in my company, flirted with me, made me fall for you and only then made it clear how you truly felt – I’m not your type. I get it. Enough is enough, okay? I’m your sister’s teacher, nothing more and I’m nothing to you remember? Your words, not mine.”
“But–"
“No buts! Well, none except mine, walking away from you. Now, I’ll show you to the corridor and get Boleyn. I’m still working tonight and will not do this here, or anywhere, for that matter. Surely you understand professionalism? You were spot on when you said we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I very much agree. It’s done... just... leave me alone... please.”
I didn’t wait for his reaction and continued to lead him to the back corridor. I assumed he had followed and was through the door to the hall in record time.
I found Boleyn with her family in amongst a whirlwind of hugs and high fives and took her to Tudor. I left them to their own little celebration, and threw myself into the mob of parents to mingle and actually do my job.
By the hundredth set of parents and extended family members, I was losing the will to live. I had been meeting and greeting for about an hour, answering the same mundane questions and giving the same automatic answers, when I managed to take five minutes to grab a complimentary glass of Cava from the back bar.
I had just taken my first sip when a gentle hand on my shoulder broke me from my thoughts. I turned to see a tall, blonde-haired guy smiling at me with his hand out. “Ms. Munro, isn’t it?” he asked with a wide smile.
Wow, this guy was lovely. Light brown eyes and athletically built, blonde shaggy hair and a tanned face. Very nice.
I put down my glass. “Hi, yeah I’m Ms. Munro. Sorry, do I know you?”
I couldn’t place him, I would definitely have remember this fine man. He was as hot as a tray of scones fresh out of the oven!
He cast a shy smile. “No, excuse me. My name is Gage. I’m Arianna Scott’s brother. I saw you at the start-of-school Introduction Evening months ago, but never plucked up the courage to speak to you. ”