Once the Clouds Have Gone

by KE Payne

  “A joint Grainger effort?” Freddie smiled at the pacing Tag.

  “That’s exactly it. It’s brilliant. Blair will be stoked that Magnus is getting involved, while at the same time seeing what an awesome artist his son is.” Tag stopped in front of a painting on the wall. She reached up and straightened it. “It couldn’t be any more perfect.”

  Tag’s mind whirred. Slogans, photos, drawings swam in front of her eyes. Catchphrases. Dates. Information. Statistics. Magnus would be perfect for it. She’d photograph aspects of the mill—everyday scenes, machinery, smiling faces. Then Magnus would do the most exquisite pencil drawing of each, in Magnus’s own unique way. They’d use those on flyers, advertising hoardings, the website.

  “I want to get some advertising out on the bypass too,” Tag continued. “Remind people we’re still here, and that they don’t need to get their coffee from some grotty bypass cafe.”

  “Maybe we could put out an advert on local radio?” Freddie offered. “Tell people if they want a taste of the real Scotland, they need to come to us. We could throw in a free refill offer with every cup of tea or coffee too.”

  “Freddie Metcalfe, you’re a genuis.” Tag rushed to her and pulled a startled Freddie into a hug. She held her, long enough for her to appreciate her softness, every curve of her body, then reluctantly released her, too afraid of what she might do if she held her too long.

  Tag spun round, eyes skimming the cafe. Scenes came to her. She’d need photos of the bakery, the gristmill. The waterwheel and the watermill. A panorama of the land behind the watermill, to show customers just how far their wheat had travelled. Her insides danced. This was just what she needed: a free rein to prove to Blair just what she could do. No, to prove to herself just what she could do. This project would pull everyone together: her, Blair, Magnus, Freddie. They’d make an awesome team. She and Blair and Magnus would work as Graingers, and Tag could prove to her father that the mill, finally, meant something to her.

  *

  “You want to do what?” Disbelief dripped from Blair.

  “Change stuff.” Tag spoke firmly.

  “Change stuff?”

  “Change brings in new customers,” Tag explained, “while at the same time bringing back the old ones that have forgotten all about us, thanks to the bypass.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Okay.” Tag shoved away from the sink and picked up her bag which was hanging on the back of the kitchen door. She pulled out her iPad and set it down on the kitchen table. “So?” She glanced back to Blair.

  “So…what?”

  “So now we have to focus on getting back the customers that we lost when the bypass was built,” Tag said, “along with some new ones who don’t already know about us.”

  “You’ve said. Twice. And how do you propose we do that?” Blair ran his hands over his face.

  “I had some ideas.” Tag placed her iPad in front of him. “Look.”

  Blair stared at the iPad screen, the light from it bouncing off his glasses as he bent closer to inspect the document Tag had brought up.

  “Rebranding?” He slid his glasses up onto the top of his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Tag tapped the screen with her pen. “Just look at these case studies I’ve worked on down in England over the last few years, and then tell me you don’t think it’s a good idea. Look at how much their profits rose after we’d helped them to rebrand.”

  Without a word, Blair pulled his glasses back down and leaned forward in his chair. His eyes scanned the screen. He pursed his lips in concentration as he scrolled down the page, occasionally raising an eyebrow or giving a soft tut of disapproval.

  “She knows what she’s talking about, Blair,” Ellen chastised. “Just go with it, will you?”

  He took his glasses off and placed them on the table next to him, then looked evenly at Tag. Eventually he spoke. “You have a lot of Scottish mills in Liverpool, do you? Are you an expert on them, all of a sudden?”

  Not the reaction Tag wanted.

  “No, but I have experience in advertising, don’t I?” She tried not to be irritated. Her brother was stubborn at the best of times. Question his capabilities, and his stubbornness increased hundredfold. “So quit acting like a big kid.”

  “Me the big kid?” Anger flashed across Blair’s face. “Can I remind you that—”

  “That she’s trying to help,” Ellen butted in. “For God’s sake, Blair. Take some help when it’s offered to you.”

  “Deveraux Enterprises has many fingers in many pies.” Tag crossed her arms over her chest. Time to hit Blair with some facts. “Brand development, corporate communications, digital marketing, image management.”

  “And? This is a small, family-run flour mill, Tag. Not some massive corporate business.”

  “I know that. What I’m saying is that Deveraux Enterprises also does advertising, which happens to be my speciality.”

  “Anyone can advertise,” Blair said dismissively. “Few flyers posted around town.”

  “I’m talking about getting people’s attention.” Stubbornness and flippancy from Blair. Not a good combination. Tag snubbed his obvious attempts at trivializing her. “A total rebrand of the mill.”

  “Total rebrand?” Blair sat back.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To remind the people of Balfour and beyond what we stand for,” Tag said, “what we can offer them, and how long we’ve been established, stuff like that.” She scrolled down her iPad. “Then maybe we can start to see some light again at the end of the tunnel.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?” Blair asked.

  “I spoke to Freddie about it last night,” Tag said.

  “You spoke to Freddie about this?” Blair repeated incredulously. “Before speaking to me?”

  “We bounced ideas off one another.” Tag ignored him. “Freddie came up with really good stuff.”

  “There’s that word stuff again.” Blair crossed his arms. “Not very professional, is it?”

  Tag had heard enough. “Okay,” she said, not rising to the bait, “shall I tell you what is professional?”

  “Hit me.”

  “Trust me, Blair. I’m tempted.” Tag slid a finger down her iPad. “You have to focus on the things that make Balfour Watermill special. Different from all the other tourist attractions around here.”

  “Everyone round here knows what we stand for.”

  “Which is?”

  “That we’re a family company,” Blair offered.

  “That we’re organic?” Tag asked. “Do they know that? Or that we have a zero carbon footprint? People want to know that. They want to know what they’re eating, and that the flour they use has only travelled as far as out there in the fields. Not hundreds of miles.”

  “Is that on the flyers?” Blair tossed a look to Ellen, who shrugged.

  “Are you on the tourist trail?” Tag asked. “Do you have leaflets down in the tourist information centre?”

  “Of course we are,” Blair said, “and of course we do.” He frowned. “We’re not complete amateurs, you know.”

  “We need to let people know that we have the best cafe for miles around,” Tag continued. She thought of Freddie. Her willingness to unite with Tag for the good of the business. Freddie’s enthusiasm for the project, as fiery as her own, as intoxicating as a drug. Thoughts of Freddie, pacing the cafe with her the previous night, so full of ideas—so full of life—spurred her on. Doing all this for her and Skye, as well as for Blair, fired up Tag more than any project in England had ever done. “We can put billboards up on the bypass reminding drivers that we’re a hundred times better than anything they’d get anywhere on the bypass. We need to get that message out there, that there’s been a mill here for generations. That we’re organic. That we’re environmentally friendly. That we’re traditional.” Tag punched each point out, remem
bering how she and Freddie had see-sawed ideas between them until darkness had fallen.

  “You’ve really done your homework on this, haven’t you?” Ellen said.

  “Because it matters,” Tag said. “We have something unique here. Tradition. You don’t get that in a service station.” She pulled her iPad towards her. “Remember the old threshing machine in the mill?” she asked. “Maybe we can get that up and running again.”

  Blair watched as Tag pulled up website after website to show him.

  “We could apply for a grant to turn the mill into a living museum.” Energy surged through her as she peppered Blair with ideas. “We can have a stall at the farmers’ market over in Swanne, selling our bread.” She beamed at him. “Don’t you see? The possibilities are endless, Blair.”

  “I don’t know.” Blair sounded weary. “It all seems like such a lot to have to think about. I mean, where do we even start?”

  “We start with some new advertising and work from there. The rest will follow.” Tag snapped her iPad off. “Here’s what I’m going to do,” she said. “I’m going to go take some photos of the place.” She stood up. “On Monday, so at least it’ll be closed. No one to disturb me.” Tag pulled her coat from the back of her chair. “And then when I get back later, I’ll tell you the next stage of my plan,” she said. “Somehow, this is the one I think you’ll like the most.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The text that was waiting for Tag the next morning couldn’t have been a nicer one to wake up to.

  Come over. Talk some more about plans. I want to show you an advert I’ve seen. Really excited about this. F xxxxxx

  Freddie wanted to hang out. What was previously going to be a very run-of-the-mill Sunday had suddenly got a whole lot better.

  Tag settled back into her pillows and held her phone up above her head, typing out her reply. Love to. Midday okay? A thought burrowed. It was Sunday. She could take Freddie out for lunch, couldn’t she? It wouldn’t be a date. Tag frowned. No, not a date, a business meeting. She grinned to herself. Much better. And Skye? Her grin widened; what could be better than Sunday lunch out with Freddie and Skye? Right then, Tag couldn’t think of a single thing she’d rather be doing. She tapped out an extra part onto the end of her text: Shall we take Skye to lunch at The Cherry Tree in Swanne? xxxxx

  Tag dropped her arms back to her side, feeling stupidly happy, and rolled over, tunnelling further down under her duvet. Freddie’s text came straight back: No lunch for Skye. She’s ill in bed. Tummy. I’m afraid we’ll have to stay in xxxxx

  The thought touched Tag far more than she ever thought possible. She imagined Skye, tucked up in bed, little white face poking out above her duvet. Tag’s insides melted. Although Skye was probably giving out orders to Freddie, Tag couldn’t help the rush of protective feelings that accompanied her thoughts. She imagined Freddie too. She was a good mother, a loving mother. Caring and attentive. Skye was her life, and that thought alone warmed Tag.

  Tag pulled the duvet up around her ears. A sudden thought struck her. Hearing someone move around outside her door, Tag called out, “Ellen? That you?”

  Ellen appeared in her doorway.

  “What do you give as a present to a five-year-old with tummy ache?” Tag propped herself up onto one elbow.

  “I assume we’re talking about Skye here?”

  “Mm,” Tag replied. “I thought I’d take her a small present to cheer her up.”

  “You’re going over?” Ellen raised an eyebrow and sat down on the edge of Tag’s bed.

  “We’re discussing the mill.” Tag shrugged under her bedding. “Freddie’s texting me directions to her cottage later.”

  “So it’s a business meeting?” Ellen’s lips twitched.

  “Totally.”

  “Well, don’t take sweets if Skye has tummy ache,” Ellen offered. “If you want to make an impression with Freddie”—she batted away Tag’s protests with a swish of her hand—“then definitely not sweets.” She thought for a moment. “Anything pink.” Ellen stood. “All girls love pink.”

  “Ew, not me.” Tag fell back into bed. “But thanks anyway.”

  Freddie, presents, and Skye. Tag hugged herself under her duvet. Could her day possibly get any better?

  *

  Tag had chosen her favourite long-sleeved T-shirt for her first-ever visit to Freddie’s cottage. She’d fussed forever over a mountain of clothes, tipped untidily onto her bed, finally plumping for a top that was fitted sufficiently to show off her curves, whilst at the same time demure enough to not give Freddie the impression that she’d chosen it specifically to impress her. Which, of course, she had.

  After checking her appearance in the mirror twice, dithering over whether her jeans were too tight, Tag finally left the house, offering a middle finger to Ellen’s wolf whistles as she went. Making a quick stop at Balfour’s one and only newsagents, where she hastily bought a present for Skye on her way up to Lyster, Tag arrived at Freddie’s house at exactly a minute after midday. Impressive. And if there was one thing Tag was keen to do, it was to impress Freddie.

  “Great timing.” Freddie opened the door to her, standing to one side as Tag came in. Her expression, Tag noted as she brushed past her, was a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. Cute. “I’ve just made coffee.”

  The warmth inside Freddie’s cottage, after the bitter cold of outside, was welcome. A comforting aroma of warm house and fresh coffee tantalized Tag’s senses as she stood in the hallway. Nerves flapped at her insides, as the realization finally hit her that she was in Freddie’s personal domain at last. She followed Freddie into the front room where Buckingham Palace was moving across the floor towards her.

  “I see you finished it, then,” Tag said, nodding towards the boxes.

  “I can thank Pete for that.” Freddie bent her head towards the boxes. “Skye, come out and say hello to Tag again, please.”

  Skye’s familiar honey curls poked out from the box, then shot back inside again. Tag glanced at Freddie, feeling relieved when Skye appeared from round the back of the boxes and walked, more confidently than she had the last time she met her, over to her.

  “Hello.” Skye looked up at her from under her hairline.

  “Hey, Skye.” Tag crouched so she was eye level with her. “Are you feeling better now?”

  “I was sick at five o’clock this morning, six o’clock, and then again just before Tom and Jerry.” Skye counted them off on her fingers. “But I haven’t been sick again since then.”

  “And breakfast stayed down,” Freddie said, “so I think we can safely say we’re over the worst of it.” She glanced at Tag. “I hope you don’t mind her being here,” she said, lowering her voice. “Pete offered to take her out once we knew she was okay, but she was desperate to stay.”

  Tag straightened. If only Freddie knew. Everything Tag wanted was in the room with her right now: Freddie looking cutely embarrassed, Skye looking both adorable and psyched in equal measures that Tag was there. Tag didn’t think she’d ever felt more welcome or at home. It was heartbreakingly touching.

  “Stop stressing.” Tag touched Freddie’s shoulder. She allowed her fingers to travel down her arm, then linger close to Freddie’s hand, a pulse travelling through her as Freddie linked her fingers with hers, before letting her hand drop again. “I’m stoked that Skye’s here. I was worried about her. I’ve missed her.” The truth crashed around her. She had. She’d missed her more than she’d realized. It had been a week since they’d all been to the park, and there hadn’t been a day since that Tag hadn’t thought of their day out, or thought of Skye. She turned to Skye, feeling ridiculously happy. “I have to say, Skye, that’s an awesome T-shirt you’re wearing.”

  Skye visibly grew taller. “It’s my best,” she said proudly.

  “Well, I think it looks amazing on you,” Tag said. “And I totally love the sailing boat. Have you ever been on one?”

  “A sailing boat?” Skye tilted her head and plunged i
nto deep thought. “No, I don’t think I have.”

  “I went on a sailing boat once,” Tag said. “We only went round Brook’s Bay for five minutes and I was seasick.” She held her hand over her mouth, widened her eyes and puffed her cheeks out. Both Skye and Freddie laughed.

  “Let me take your jacket.” Freddie held her hand out for it, still laughing. “I’ll hang it up for you in the hall.”

  Tag unbuttoned her jacket and shrugged it off, gratified at the shift in Freddie’s expression when she saw her top. She handed her the jacket, their fingers brushing for a second, neither taking their eyes from the another’s. Freddie draped her jacket over her arm. Her lips twisted to one side as she chewed at her bottom lip.

  “Nice top.” Freddie nodded. She raised an appreciative brow.

  “You think?” Tag looked down her front.

  “I think.” Freddie’s eyes were still on her. “I definitely think.”

  “Thank you.” Tag looked straight at her. “It’s my best.”

  *

  “You brought her another present?” Freddie sat down on the floor of the lounge next to Tag, kicking her legs out in front of her. “That’s very sweet of you.”

  “You have to have a present when you’re poorly.” Tag scrambled to her feet. “Isn’t that right, Skye?”

  A hand shot out from inside one of the boxes on the floor, swiftly followed by a thumbs up sign. Skye crawled out on all fours and stood, politely expectant, next to Freddie.

  “Although, you’re not strictly poorly any more, are you?” Freddie teased, reaching up and grabbing her round the waist. Skye doubled over and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  “Don’t be mean.” Tag sauntered over and handed a plastic bag to Skye. “I hope these make you feel even better.” She sank back down next to Freddie on the floor.