by Cole, Tillie
His face was as white as a sheet. He was shaking his head profusely. “You don’t mean it.”
I released an angry breath. “Yes I do, and enough is enough. I’m a good person, I should be in a good relationship. I want total honesty. Now, tell me what’s going. Please.”
He put his hands on the back of his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t, Sunshine.” And, just like that, my emotional cord to Tudor was severed, setting us both free.
I felt the water spill from my eyes but welcomed it; at least now I knew where I stood. I walked back to the kitchen, placed my empty glass down and then made my way to my bedroom. I brought out the few clothes he had left in my room, his scarf from under the pillow included, and walked slowly back towards him, holding out his possessions for him to take.
“Tash, don’t,” he begged. He pushed the scarf back at me, pleading me with his gaze to stop.
“Goodbye, Tudor. It has to be this way, I can’t keep doing this.”
He shook his head, not accepting the situation, reached for me and smashed his lips down to mine, gripping my hair in his fists, willing me to feel his kiss, his love.
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond.
He drew his head back. “Kiss me, Tash.”
He tried again, clutching me tighter. I still didn’t reciprocate the kiss, my lips tight and still against his probing tongue. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.
He staggered and whispered. “Are you serious? Are you really done with me?” Oh God, he sounded so broken.
I let my head fall. “I’m done with the secrets, with hiding our relationship – it makes me feel worthless, like you don't trust me. Just let me in and we can be together, properly, and actually give what we have a chance. I feel like we haven’t even moved from the starting blocks. We take one step forward and two steps back. I’m like friggin’ Paula Abdul, without the tap shoes or cute cartoon cat. At the moment, I’m questioning whether I really know the real you at all.”
He held my face in his large hands. “Sunshine, I can’t tell you. But I don’t want to lose you either. Don’t make me choose. I need you. Please.”
I removed his hands one at a time, my voice cracking with distraught emotion. “You already have.”
I kissed the palm on each of his hands and moved back. “Bye, Tudor,” I whispered.
He swallowed and nodded resolutely, finally accepting my decision. “Goodbye, my Sunshine,” he said breathlessly, choking on his words as he slowly edged towards the door but not before he swerved back. “I wish we could have had a real chance at this, it’s just real fucked-up timing I guess. For a while there, I thought I had finally found my soul mate. Actually, I still do and I can't believe that I've just fucking lost her.”
And then he left, clicking the door shut. I moved numbly to my bedroom and robotically packed to go home, trying not to trawl through my memory bank of Tudor – my bed, my bath, my heart. I took a scalding shower and, like a zombie, put myself to bed.
Later that night, I heard my bedroom door creek open and my best friend climbed into my bed and held me tight without saying a word. He let me cry on his shoulder until there were no more tears left to be shed.
* * *
'Earlier in the week, we received a photo showing what most believed was Tudor North with his new love, but boy, we couldn’t have been more wrong. Tudor’s people confirmed to us that the girl in question is just a girlfriend of a friend and that his on/off relationship with Raquel Banks is, at the moment, very much on. Raquel spoke to reporter Ted Smith today,
“I did see the photo, and I can assure you that the girl in question is just a friend, I know her quite well. We’ve all had a great laugh over all the confusion. I’m seeing Tudor this holiday, and can I just say that he will be very excited to unwrap his Christmas present, if you know what I mean!”
Well, there you have it folks. Keep tuned for more festive make-ups and break-ups after this break…’
Tink and I sat staring at the screen in the waiting lounge of Calgary International Airport and watched the entertainment report in silence. When it was over, Tink took my hand and stood, smiling a big smile. “Come on, sausage. Let’s go home.”
I swallowed my hurt, slapped on a determined grin and made my way to the plane bound for the UK.
There’s no place like home.
Chapter 25
The truth will set you free
Being home was exactly what I needed. I got to spend time with my parents and my best friend, and that kept my mind from thinking about Tudor... well, too much anyway.
I had decided on our arrival at Manchester Airport that I would switch my Canadian phone off until I got back. Tudor probably wouldn’t call anyway, but it helped me cope with the whole crazy situation better knowing that I was detached, at least electronically. I wanted my time at home to be stress-free, fully focused on catching up with those closest to me and moving on from the most turbulent – albeit shortest – relationship of my life.
My parents knew nothing about my relationship with Tudor, and Tink and I agreed to leave it that way. My mother suspected I was pining for a man, somehow she always knew the score, but due to their lack of interest in the world of celebrity, the danger of the ‘rents learning about ‘the photo’ was small. I said that I had met someone but I didn’t think it was going to go anywhere due to his personal issues. Her only concern was she didn’t want me to have another disastrous relationship. My mother wouldn't have cared if my chosen significant other was a chimney sweep or the President of the United States – if he hurt her baby girl, then he had better get ready to feel the wrath of her rolling pin!
My father was in his usual fettle: rude, brash and hot-headed as hell, but it wouldn't have been Christmas without his affectionate swearing and hate-filled monologues against the English and their inferior celebratory festive traditions of 'Yule Tide' and 'Hogmanay'
Tink had proudly announced his relationship status to my mother, who already had him married off with kids (I was to embrace my ‘Fruit-Fly’ duty and be the volunteer surrogate, apparently). She beamed like a lighthouse at the thought of planning a civil partnership, and she made Tink promise to bring Tate over as soon as possible to meet the ‘in-laws’. Even my dad was happy for the clearly-besotted Tinkster, going so far as to promise him that he would honour the occasion by going 'full Scottish' under his kilt at the assumed future wedding.
On Boxing Day, a contented Munro clan gathered around the TV, over-stuffed with food and drink and having a lazy family day. My dad was switching through the movie channels at a dizzying rate, dismissing each film as ‘Pish’ or ‘for eejits’ and eventually settled on one he could stomach: the Sky premiere of The Blade Reaper, starring none other than (dun, dun, duuunnnnn!) Tudor North.
Tink and I were having a little tipple with my mam on the sofa when we recognised Tudor's familiar raspy-rough voice (minus his strong Canadian accent) through the very expensive surround-sound Dad had just got for Christmas. Tink, unable to disguise his shock, proceeded to spray his mouthful of Bucks Fizz all over my mother as she was polishing off her sizable third extra-strong Snowball of the afternoon.
I had never seen any of Tudor's movies – purposely, I might add – since I’d met him, and I definitely didn't want to start now, but watching him on screen, playing someone else so well was something to behold. I ended up sitting next to Dad, mesmerised, right through until the credits. Pamela was right, he was so talented and he completely blew me away, and my God, did he look fit…
Damn you, weak willpower!
There was an awkward moment when my father pointed at the ripped and bare-chested Tudor and proclaimed, "Feckin' hell, wud ya look at the size of that bugger! I betcha he would pack a few punches tae ya mooth and yer wud'nae even ken before ya lost ya teeth! At least he's not one of these namby-pamby wee snotty-nosed shits that usually poison ma screen. He cud've stood b'side Wallace and took off a few Sassenach heeds! I'll tell ya noo, he'll be from g
ud Scottish stock! That’s the kinda man ya need, Natasha, one that can scare the shit outta folk!"
I smiled inwardly, knowing that my dad would have approved of us as a couple – every girl wants her father to like the one she loves, err... likes, I mean likes, people!
The next ten days at home continued in a blur of food, wine and laughter, going by far too fast but I loved every minute of it. Way too soon, it was time to get back to normality. Well, whatever normal was these days…
So there we were, back in Calgary. The third of January and minus twenty degrees – toasty!
Tink had parked Bumblebee (now sporting some excellent new snow tyres) at the airport, and we were settled in our heated seats ready to head home.
Tink was bouncing with excitement at seeing Tater-Tot again, who had already been back in Calgary for a week and was meeting us at the condo. I, on the other hand, was not looking forward to hearing their reunion all afternoon, but as Tink had already told me on the flight, "You have to like it or lump it, I’m still scarred after seeing you get pummeled against the wall by Tudor’s mammoth thighs. A little bit of fairy sex-singing you can take, think of it as penance!" He did have a point, I guessed.
As we hit the highway, I decided that I had better switch my Canadian phone back on. I was surprised to see several missed calls and voicemails in my mailbox from Tudor, the latest listed two days ago. I took a deep breath and pressed my phone to my ear, bracing myself to hear his voice once more.
"Hey, Sunshine." Shit, he didn't sound too good. "I’ve tried calling a few times but I suppose you’ve switched off your phone, being back in the UK. I... I just wanted to speak to you, see if you have had a good Christmas break? I... I'm sorry to call you, after everything, I probably shouldn't, but… I'm having a rough time at the minute, family stuff, and you always make me feel better. Anyway, I... I just want to tell you that I've been thinking of you and... I miss you... a lot. Okay, well... ‘bye, Sunshine," and the message went off.
Tink looked at my torn face from the driver’s side. "Tudor?" he guessed, and I nodded, not speaking while I swallowed the lump in my throat.
He was having family issues? That was the most he had ever told me about what was going on, how he was feeling. But we weren’t even together and it was on a friggin’ voice mail! How many times had I begged him to tell me something, anything, and he finally sheds some light on his problems to my phone’s answering machine while I’m four thousand miles away. Frustrating is not the word!
I wondered what he meant by family issues? Jesus! Ten minutes back in Calgary and I’m thinking of the hulking man already – I need professional help!
I decided to file away dealing with the voicemail until later when I was in the safety of my own home and I could comfortably cope with the ever present Tudor-related issues.
We were heading downtown on Deerfoot Trail when Tink’s in-car Bluetooth phone went off – ‘Pookie’.
He pressed the accept button and Tate's gentle voice filled the car. "Hey, baby. You back yet?" Tate’s dismembered voice asked.
I eyed Tink and saw by his expression that he too had noticed that his boy sounded off, not his usual cheery self.
"Hey, sugar tits. Yep, we are about twenty minutes from the condo. Where are you, everything okay? Wait, what's that noise?"
There was shouting and banging in the background, and Tate rushed out his next sentence in a hushed and panicked tone. "Look, I'm calling as I can't come around tonight, something’s come up. I'll call you later, okay?"
I could hear police sirens wailing in the background, getting louder by the second, obviously heading closer to where Tate was.
Tink looked frantic, his hands shaking on the steering wheel. "Tatey, honey, what's wrong? Are you okay? I'm scared!"
So was I.
"I'm fine, baby, look I have to go–" There was loud shouting, banging and someone swearing.
"Tudor, no!" screamed a feminine voice, a voice that sounded absolutely petrified. I gripped the seat belt at hearing Tudor’s name.
"Look I have to go..." The phone went dead.
I whipped my head to Tink. "Oh my God, what was all of that about? What if something’s wrong with Tudor?" My voice was scaling a few octaves higher and my heart was pounding in my chest.
Tink bit the nails on his right hand. He must be really worried if he was putting his Shellac at risk. "I-I don't know," he said in a quiet, shaky voice.
I narrowed my eyes – the little liar! "What do you know? And don't lie. I can see you're hiding something by the way you can't keep your perfectly polished talons out of your mouth," I demanded.
Without checking his wing mirrors, he pulled over onto the hard shoulder, ignoring the horns and name-calling from the other drivers on the road. He laid his head on the steering wheel and groaned. "He made me promise not to tell!"
My breathing grew laboured. "Tell me what?" I screamed, shaking Tink's arm.
"Look, he didn't go into detail but when we were away, Tatey flew back to Calgary and something was going down with Tudor and his family."
"What was it?" I pushed, my heart now moving from a steady canter to a full-blown Seabiscuit gallop.
"I don't know but I think it's bad, my boy was so scared," he whimpered.
"Of what?”
"I don't know what of. Look, Wil, Tate takes his job very seriously and he signed a confidentiality agreement when he took the position, so I have no details. Believe me, I’ve tried but he won’t crack, he’s like the freakin’ Enigma Code!"
Was this what Tudor had been keeping from me? It had to be. What else could it be? What the hell was going on? I had to go and find out once and for all. I needed it to move on.
I looked to Tink and he began preemptively shaking his head. "Tink…” I threatened. “Take me to the Aspen/Spring Valley area, at the end on Seventeenth Ave South West. I know that’s the area he lives in, and, by the sounds if it, if we follow the sirens and flashing lights we'll figure out which is his house pretty damn quick."
Tink stared at me like I was crazy. "Wil, I don't thi–"
I cut him off. "Just do it, Tink, for fucks sake!" I screamed, and he quickly pulled back onto the highway and floored it all the way to the commotion at the exclusive and wealthy neighbourhood.
It didn’t take us long to find the right place.
When we got there, emergency service vehicles were spread out along the long driveway of a house situated on its own in about four acres of land, completely segregated from other properties nearby. I could only assume was the residence of the Norths.
At the sight of police cars and ambulances, my fear kicked into overdrive and before the Camaro had even stopped, I was out of the door and running towards the scene. I could hear raised voices in the house from the driveway and I could make out crying, it was full of pain and anguish. My eyes began to fill up with tears in fear of what I would find.
I reached the end of the long graveled road and began sprinting up the brick stairs only to see Tate, head in hands, hunched over and crying against the side of the huge white-with-black-beams mansion – Tudor-period style (go figure).
He saw me running his way, eyes wide, and he rushed over to meet me. "Tash, what the hell? You can't be here right now," he cried, trying to usher me away.
I stood stock-still. "Where is he? What's happening?" I could hear Tudor’s voice. I had to get to him, check he was okay.
"Tash, now is not a good time. You need to go." He tried to physically turn me around.
"No! I won't leave. Tell me what’s going on," I bellowed.
Tate's face crumpled. He broke down and began to cry. He laid his head on my shoulder, unable to stop his torrent of emotions.
I kissed his head. "Shhhh, it’s okay, sweetie, what happened?"
He let out a painful groan. "He got to her just in time, it was awful. He just lost it, and I called the police. I was in my study working on the other side of the house. It was… it was awful!" he sobbed and sobbed, dren
ching the shoulder of my coat.
I heard Tink running up from behind me and Tate looked up, unwrapped himself from my embrace and took off in the direction of his boyfriend. I watched him throw himself into Tink’s shocked and worried arms. Unshackled, I set off in the direction of the front of the house. I turned the corner and my path was immediately blocked by an ambulance. I moved to the open doors, and inside was a young girl, bloodied and clearly shaken, clothes ripped and crying.
No! It was Boleyn.
Pamela North was hovering over her, fussing and petting her outstretched hand, clearly in emotional pieces. The paramedics worked on Boleyn’s injuries and one of them was injecting something into her arm. I was frozen in place, I couldn’t move or speak.
Catching sight of me, Pamela let out a large cry and stepped outside of the vehicle, shocked beyond measure. I suddenly realised coming here was a terrible mistake. This was clearly a very personal family matter and I was intruding, trying to involve myself in something I should never have done, all because of my own insecurities.
I opened my mouth to apologise and leave when she spoke, eyes glazed over and replaying some horror in her head. "He must have snuck in through her window and I didn't hear. What kind of mother doesn’t hear? And Tudor, oh God, Tudor… just wouldn't stop. Please go see him, he needs you... please, do something... it’s too much for him to cope with on his own."
The paramedic moved to the doorway and, giving me a polite nod, closed the doors. The sirens blared and blue lights filled my vision as the ambulance moved carefully up the driveway.
I looked around, trying to locate someone I knew to try and grasp some idea of what the hell was going on, but all I saw were officials and discarded Christmas decorations thrown on the perfectly landscaped, hilled lawn. With no other avenues to explore, I moved towards the front door.
Before I could reach it, two policemen came out of the main entrance, struggling with a bloodied and heavily beaten man in handcuffs. He had fair hair and was tall with a stocky build. He looked (at least from what I could make out) to be in his mid-to-late fifties and he was limping on his right foot. He exuded an air of malice; it was practically pulsing around him. I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself as he passed.