by Cole, Tillie
What did he mean by ‘he only had one night’? One night to do what?
“I made him leave as I was back to take care of you, and ‘cos I thought you had given in and boned him against my wishes. I was pissed off!”
“Well I didn’t, did I? And now you’ve upset Tudor for no reason.”
“What do you care? What’s he to you?” he quizzed, eyes boring into mine.
“A new friend, one who kindly stayed with me to let you go on a date, and you graciously kicked him out after doing so.”
Tink sighed and played with his fingers, jutting out his bottom lip. “I was protecting you. I thought he was taking advantage,” he whispered.
I moved my hand down my body. “No advantage taken. Anyway, like I’ve said a million times, he DOES NOT fancy me! He even mentioned some actress or someone he was interested in, for fuck’s sake.”
I cringed, trying not to feel the arrow through my heart at the reminder of that revelation.
Tinks eyebrows furrowed. “He did? Tater-Tot never mentioned any actress when I asked.”
Pookie? Tater-Tot. Oh, I think my best friend is about to be bitten by the love bug; he only gives out pet-names when he really likes you.
“He’s private, maybe Tate doesn’t know.” I argued.
He sighed again, theatrically this time, and grabbed me in for a hug. “Sorry Wil, I may have slightly overreacted. Are you okay?”
“Slightly? And yes, I’m fine. I have always said nothing was going on.”
“Okay, I jumped to conclusions, but you must admit it looked bad.”
“Call Tate and apologise to Tudor. Yes?”
I could hear his teeth grinding. “Fine,” he agreed reluctantly.
Stubborn as a mule!
After failing to stay in my mood with my meddling best friend for more than thirty seconds, my curiosity got the better of me. “So how was your date? Where’d you go, what’d you do, what’d you see?”
Tink’s eyes lit up and he got all mushy. He pulled the duvet back to slide under next to me and held my hand in excitement,
“Wil, it was totes amazeballs! He took me to the Calgary Tower and he had managed to hire the whole flippin’ thing. It was so romantic,” he gushed, releasing my hold and putting his clasped hands under his chin.
“We had a fabulous dinner, drank fountains of champagne and then we went to the viewing deck upstairs and, and… he kissed me. Ahh, it was a dream.” He fluttered his long lashes.
I was elated seeing him like that. “I’m glad, hun. So you like him?”
He laid back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “I really like him, more than anyone before. I know it's early doors but I think he could be a definite keeper,” He seemed surprised at his own strength of feeling. “Did you ever think I’d feel this way about anyone, ‘cos I certainly didn’t? And so quickly too?”
I shook my head in astonishment – my slapper of a bestie tamed... oh, there’s those flying pigs!
“So what did you talk about?” I grilled.
“I’m still shocked that we did talk... we talked... actually talked about personal things. Normally, it’s meet a guy and ‘wham bam thank you ma'am’ and we go our separate ways. With Tater-Tot, it is completely different; I actually care what he has to say.”
“So, what did you discuss specifically?”
“Everything – jobs, our backgrounds, family. He has a great relationship with his mam, dad and older brother, and is really close to Tudor’s mam. I told him about my fucked-up home life and about you and your family practically adopting me. Lots really.
“Did he talk about Tudor?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Just that he’s really private, and they move a lot for family reasons. He didn’t say much else. I have a feeling he’s been given a gagging order on the subject.”
“Mmm, probably.”
Tink shuffled his body towards me. “So, what did you two talk about during the Tudor-Tash jigsaw sesh?”
I turned away, embarrassed. “Same really – family, TV, music, his acting, nothing of great substance. Oh, he did say one thing though. He thinks you hate him.”
Tink was genuinely shocked and upset. “I don’t hate him, I don’t hate anyone. Negativity gives you wrinkles. I just don’t trust him with you. It is my job to see you don’t get hurt again, and I think he is pain and heartache all tied up in a Tudor-shaped gift box.”
“Well, go easy on him, okay? I’m not going to discuss this again. I appreciate the concern but there is nothing to be concerned about. We are drawing a line under it, capisce?”
He smirked. “Capisce.”
We shook on it. Well, slapped hands twice, blew two kisses to the side and Eskimo-kissed with our noses – our own version of a hand shake.
“So what’s the plan for today?” I asked.
“Pookie’s going to pop around, and I thought we could have a movie day.”
“Sounds good, what we watching?”
“Well, we’re starting with Priscilla Queen of the Desert, then The Rocky Horror Picture Show and maybe Mamma Mia to finish?” he proposed, seeking approval.
I laughed. “Bloody hell, Tink, do you sneeze glitter?” I teased.
He pouted and nodded. “I sure do, and I piss pink martinis! So are you in?”
“I’m as in as you are out!”
“Then let’s get this fairy show on the road,” he winked.
About midday, Tate let himself in, armed with an arsenal of camp DVDs and enough sugar-filled candy that he could have been Willy Wonka himself. I settled on the sofa and Tink and Tate sprawled out on the sheepskin rug in front of the fire.
We made light conversation, and they were talking animatedly about the view of the skyline from the rotating Calgary Tower. I let my gaze wander around the room and smiled when it landed on the vase full to the brim of sunflowers. They always made me happy.
Tate interrupted my day dream. “Do you like the sunflowers, Tash?”
I beamed. “They are my absolute favourite, I can’t believe you knew to get me them. Talk about being bang on.”
He coughed, hiding a grin.
“What?” I inquired, confused.
“Err, I actually picked tulips for you. Tudor was watching me from the car, and when he saw me picking the tulips, he got out – even though he hates to be noticed – marched into the store and said that the tulips didn’t suit you at all. He searched the shop and stopped dead in his tracks at the sunflowers. He picked as many as he could carry and took them to the counter. When I asked why he chose them, he said that they reminded him of you. Said that they were bright and bold and that they always make people smile – funny how spot on he was, eh? Plus, the woman who owned the shop had no clue who he was – so I’d say it was a successful trip all around!”
I could feel the heat rising to my face, glowing red. How weird that he knew that I adored them. What was he, a bloody flower psychic?
‘Mmm, Natasha these sunflowers are the botanical personification of you and your exuberant personality.’
“Erm yeah, he picked well I guess,” I said, flustered.
Tink suddenly interjected, “Why didn’t he give her them himself, then? If he went through all that risk to get them for her, why let you take all the glory?” He wasn’t being bitchy, just genuinely curious.
Tate squirmed. “He thought it may have looked a bit forward and he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, you know, receiving flowers from a movie star, most people would think it meant more than a ‘I’m sorry I gave you a concussion’ and more of a ‘My dreams are coming true, a movie star loves me!’”
My heart sank right down to my big toe. If I had harboured any remaining delusion that Tudor liked me as more than a friend, maybe even just as a ‘Mmm it could maybe happen one day’ or even just a ‘I bet Tash would be a cracking shag’, then that comment alone killed it.
After a few moments of increasingly awkward silence as Tate became aware he might have just put his size nine winkl
e-picker in his mouth, I suggested we put on the first film.
Tink looked at me as his new fellow operated the DVD, and mouthed, “You alright?”
I smiled and nodded. Tink knew what I had been fighting against in my head. I liked Tudor... a lot.
There, I’ve said it!
I let out a dejected sigh. “What we starting with, Tater-Tot?” I teased, using Tink’s inventive pet name.
“Priscilla okay?” I could tell he was worried he’d offended me.
“Yep, let’s watch a cock in a frock on a rock,” I quoted.
He gave a shy grin, and we settled back and watched our fill of Australian drag queens bopping to the soundtrack of Cece Peniston and lots of ‘fucking’ Abba.
We had just started the second film in our movie-marathon day, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, when there was a knock at the door. Tink jumped up and seconds later he walked back in, followed by Tudor. My fairy drew my attention and gave me his ‘I told you so’ glare.
Tudor moved from behind him to meet my eyes, and gave me his lop-sided smirk. The killer Tudor smirk.
Heart. Skips. A. Beat.
“Hey, Tash. How are you today?” he asked in an upbeat tone.
He looked good, as always. Hell, who am I kidding, he looked positively edible. He had on dark-wash jeans and a fitted long black T-shirt, showing the top of his tattoo-coated pecs and as ever, a matching black beanie hat. I quickly glanced down at myself, not remembering what I had thrown on haphazardly that morning. Standard black leggings and long denim shirt with my hair in a messy bun and the puppies pushed together, creating a fabulous cleavage. Not too shabby.
“I’m feeling loads better, thanks. Cheers for looking after me last night. Sorry I wasn't awake when you left.”
He smiled back at me, flashing the delicious dimples, and shrugged. “No problem, glad I could help.”
I stared at him, my head tilted to the side in contemplation. He seemed different – friendlier, and not as stiff. He was speaking to me like one of the guys, where before he had been more intense.
He headed in my direction, jumped onto the couch next to me and scooped up some of the sweet popcorn I was clutching in my hands, pushing the whole lot into his mouth.
“You hungry?” I teased.
He lightly punched my shoulder. “Always hungry for your goods, Tash.” he laughed.
He punched my arm, my friggin’ arm! Well shucks, friend-zone it is.
“Tate was just telling us that it was actually you that chose the sunflowers for Wil,” Tink chirped up as I nursed the burgeoning bruise on my upper tricep.
Tudor fidgeted and blushed under the fairy’s steely gaze, rubbing his lips together, exposing his dimples. “Oh, yeah... I did.”
He flicked a glance my way. “They just reminded me of you. I don't know… I-”
“I love them, thanks. A nice apology gesture from a new friend,” I interrupted, taking into consideration what Tate had just said and exaggerating our platonic status.
He looked slightly confused but chose to ignore it. “So, what are we watching? Is that Tim Currie in latex and suspenders?” he leaned forward to get a closer look.
I laughed. “Sure is. Keep watching, big boy. You’re in for a real treat!”
He fell back and shuffled closer to the popcorn bowl between us. “I have a feeling this will be educational, Tash.”
I winked. “Like I keep saying, if there is one thing Natasha Munro can do, it’s teach!”
And so the afternoon went on, involving lots of jokes and friendly banter and absolutely no touching or all-consuming stares from Tudor. I’m going to be honest and say that I was a tad gutted about the lack of physical contact or affection, but at least we were friends. When Tudor loosened up, he was actually really nice to be around.
The rest of the week went by in much the same way. Tate would come over to see Tink, Tudor would tag along, and we would chat and watch TV or play games.
Our favourite topic of discussion was linguistics. Tudor introduced me to Canadian slang words and ribbed me about my accent. He tried to imitate me, but, like most non-Geordies, he ended up sounding like a dodgy version of Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.
He laughed at my pronunciation of his name, ‘Chew-da’, and informed me that beanie hats in Canada were ‘Tuques’ (pronounced ‘Toook’) and woolly hats in no way resembled beans, thus ‘beanie’ was a stupid name in the first place. I couldn’t believe he thought ‘Tuque’ was any better.
He explained that Canadians say ‘eh’ at the end of practically every sentence, and he laughed when I told him us Geordies say ‘like’ at the end of ours. He explained that a ‘loonie’ was a dollar coin and a ‘toonie’ was a two dollar version, and I made him say ‘out house’ over and over again until we could barely breathe from laughing. I explained what the difference between a ‘bonny lass’ and a ‘canny lass’ was, and introduced him to the staple terms of ‘alreet’, ‘Aye’ and of course the obligatory ‘howay, man!’ Tudor vowed never to go to Newcastle without me there as his personal translator.
As the days passed by, Tudor was turning out to be a close friend, something I learned he didn’t have too many of, and I was happy with our new friendship. I was still not immune to him by any means, and when he flashed the dimples or when he first walked into a room, I admit I drooled a little and had to fight to keep my composure. But he was completely stunning and my body couldn’t deny that, as much as I wished it could.
Chapter 13
Blurred boundaries
Time passed quickly in our new life and it was soon November. The school show was just over one week away. It was snowing non-stop and I had on more layers than a Pass the Parcel present. Work was crazy–busy, the show taking up all my free time during the week, and weekends were filled with activities with my new bud, Tudor.
Saturday morning came, and my slumber was interrupted by Simple Minds’ ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ coming from my phone – the personal ringtone I had assigned to Tudor.
“Piss off, Hollywood!” I answered as politely as I could at seven-thirty in the morning on my day off.
“No can do, you lazy grouch. Get up, Tash, I’m coming for you in half an hour, and its minus-fifteen and snowing, so dress warm.”
“Ugh, what are you doing to me? Where the hell are we going at this time?” I asked, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“It’s a surprise. Chop, chop,” he ordered cheerily. Well, as cheery-sounding as someone can be when they have a moody, brooding, and gravelly voice.
After a hot shower, I dressed in my pink snow suit, applied my truck-load of make-up, combed through my hair, leaving it down, and made my way to the kitchen to grab a slice of toast.
As I turned the corner I stopped dead at the sight of Tate buck-naked apart from a small towel wrapped tightly around his waist; actually it looked more like a face flannel.
“Well hello, Mr. Muscle,” I quipped in my best seductive voice.
Tate whipped around to my direction, obviously embarrassed and clinging to his miniscule loin cloth with all the strength that he had.
“So, did you finally give up the goods and stay the night?” I asked light-heartedly.
“Erm, yeah, is that okay?” Bless, he was so embarrassed.
“Ha! Totally, chuck. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before now. Tink is not normally so… restrained.”
“Wil! Stop grilling my lover,” trilled my sex-happy fairy, appearing at his bedroom door. He turned to ‘Pookie’, “You find the whipped cream okay?”
Tate held up the can and ran back into the bedroom without looking back at me. I laughed and gestured a thumbs up to Tink, who in turn pursed his lips and used his hands to create a distance of about ten inches, winked and walked backwards into the bedroom, firmly shutting the door.
Lucky bastard!
I quickly gobbled down my breakfast, and just as I was putting my plate into the dishwasher the doorbell went.
I opened the door, and ther
e was Tudor in a black North Face jacket, black beanie hat and dark jeans, holding up white ice-skates with leopard-print laces in one hand and coffee in the other,
“For you,” he said proudly, passing me the skates.
“Arghhhh! Are you serious?” I screamed, way beyond excited.
He laughed. “Yep, I can’t quite pull off animal print. Thought I would take you skating – you know, the kind that is appropriate for arctic conditions.”
“Har-bloody-har! But, one slight problem. I can’t ice skate,” I admitted.
His face contorted in shock.
Yes, yes, it possible that I can’t skate. Bloody Canadians! Not everyone lives on frozen water.
“Then that we shall remedy!” he replied in a terrible William Wallace accent. Our attention was suddenly caught by a loud ecstatic groan coming from Tink’s room.
I quickly looked to Tudor and winced. “I say we go, unless you want to listen to the explicit soundtrack that accompanies Tink in the throes of passion?”
He shuddered dramatically. “Let’s go.”
It was at that moment Tinks bedroom door flew open. We stood gaping at the buck-naked fairy standing, without shame, in his doorway.
“Tink? What’s up?” I asked, and realised that it was very evident exactly what was up.
“I thought I heard the door.” He peered around my shoulder. “Hey, Tudor.”
Tudor tipped his chin in greeting.
“Well, Tink, we are off out. I’ll catch you later.” I announced trying leave as quickly as possible to escape the more-than-awkward situation.
“Okay, porkie.” he sang as he turned towards his bedroom on a wave.
I pushed Tudor towards the exit. Just as we were shutting the door, Tink shouted. “Wil?”
“Yeah?”
“Just so you know, don’t come a knockin’, if the bedroom is a rockin, but I’ll try to put a sockin’, while my Tatey puts his cockin’,” and with that he slammed the door.
My hand stilled on the door knob and Tudor tripped in shock, righting himself on the doorframe. I grimaced and shrugged. It was typical Tink behaviour.
“Wow!” was Tudors only response to the peep show and inappropriate verbal diarrhoea. He looked at me and we both burst out laughing. I shut the door and locked up. Tudor handed me a Tim Horton’s caramel latte, and off we went to teach me how to skate.