Once the Clouds Have Gone

by KE Payne

  “Like, say, an apron with our brand-spanking-new logo on it?”

  “Tell your friends!” Tag spread her arms out wide. “You too can own this awesome apron if you book with Graingers.” She giggled. “Roll up! Roll up!”

  “It’s got success written all over it.” Freddie laughed out loud.

  “The apron does?” Tag raised her eyebrows.

  “You’re silly.” Freddie dropped her gaze.

  An embarrassed quiet descended.

  “Blair’s home, by the way,” Tag said, purely to break the silence. “I meant to tell you yesterday.”

  “I saw Ellen in town earlier,” Freddie said. “So I knew.” She looked at her from the corner of her eye. “That’s why I didn’t ask.” She faltered. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t bothered.”

  “Don’t be daft.” Tag looked fleetingly to her, then back out of the window. “I know you care,” she said. “Anyway, he’s fine. Very chatty. Reckons he’ll be back out there soon enough.” She lifted her chin towards the fields.

  “How do you feel about that?” Freddie asked.

  “Scared for him,” Tag said truthfully. “Scared that things will return to how they were before I came up here.”

  “That Blair will shoulder everything alone?”

  Tag nodded. “Want to hear a confession?” She threw a look to Freddie. “In some ways, I’m glad this happened.”

  “Blair?”

  “Mm.” Tag picked at a flake of paint on the sill. “Because it’s given me the wake-up call I needed. It’s given us all a wake-up call.”

  “Blair, because perhaps now he can let go a little?” Freddie offered. “And you, because?”

  “Because I’m needed and wanted,” Tag said simply. “I’ve felt like I’m part of the family again just lately. I’ve missed that.” And because I was lonely before I met you. The truth stung with such ferocity, the words snagged in Tag’s throat. Loneliness wasn’t something she would have ever admitted to in the past. Loneliness happened to other people, not her. Old people were lonely. Unemployed people. Not successful advertising executives with swanky apartments in—

  Tag bridled that train of thought. What gave her the right to think she was so superior? That loneliness couldn’t ever affect her?

  “I’ve been lonely.” The declaration was out before Tag could stop it. “In Liverpool, I mean. I don’t have that kind of family unity down there.” Her shoulders sagged. “I have a smattering of friends who are all so busy with their own lives that they can’t see that I’m unhappy.” Tag bit at the skin inside her bottom lip. “And I’m quickly coming to think that I don’t belong there any more.”

  “You think you could belong—”

  “Here?”

  “Mm.”

  “I thought coming back here would be horrendous,” Tag said.

  “And now?”

  “It feels like I’ve never been away,” Tag admitted. “I like that feeling. I guess it kind of surprises me that I do.”

  “Because it’s home?”

  “Possibly.” Tag frowned. “It’s like it’s woken up something I’d forgotten about years ago.”

  “I think perhaps we humans are good at blocking certain things out.”

  “I guess. But I didn’t realize just how much I’d missed Blair and Magnus.” Tag drew her eyes heavenwards. “God knows, even how much I missed this place, however fucked up that sounds.”

  “Family ties are like that, aren’t they?” Freddie smiled kindly. “They ping you back like bungee ropes.”

  “I just wish I’d come back sooner.” She looked at Freddie. “While Dad was still alive.”

  “But you’re here now.”

  “Yes, and that’s why I don’t want to go back to Liverpool.” Tag’s eyes sought Freddie’s. Because she didn’t want to leave Freddie either. Because she’d made squares for Skye. Because she’d felt so comfortable the day before, surrounded by warmth and love, that the very thought of going back to her previous existence chilled her. “Every time I think about it, it makes me feel sick.”

  “But your life’s down there,” Freddie said simply. She paused. “Won’t your boss mind you staying here?”

  “You mean Anna?”

  “Yes, Anna.” Tag sensed that her name pricked. “Doesn’t she need you to go back eventually?” Freddie asked.

  “Nothing and no one is as important as staying here,” Tag replied. No one is as important as you. “I like having a family again.” Tag shrugged. “I like waking up every day, knowing I’m going to see them.” She kept her eyes on Freddie. “I like knowing I’m going to see you and Skye.”

  Freddie didn’t answer.

  “It makes me realize how empty my life is in England.” Tag twisted away and stared out of the window. “And that makes me mad at myself for wasting all those years when I could have had what I’ve got now.”

  “Which is?”

  “Security,” Tag replied. “And love.”

  She gazed down through the smears on the window to Blair’s tractor. Soon, she knew, he’d be in it again. Preparing the land and thinking ahead to next year, despite their money worries. Because that’s what you had to do. You had to always look forward, never back. Always look to the future. What future did Tag have? Liverpool returned to her thoughts. Anna’s face, Stefan’s, even. Who were they? Tag wondered. What exactly were they to her? Her apartment, too, wrestled its way into her conscience. Empty and cold. Would Anna have even gone over there to check it over? Tag doubted it. It would be just as she’d left it, she thought with a heavy heart. Characterless and soul-destroyingly sterile.

  “You’re crying.” Freddie’s voice sounded beside her.

  “Nah.” Tag wiped at her eyes. “Maybe just a bit.” She felt foolish, wishing the tears would stop. “I don’t even know what I’m crying about.” She gave a rueful laugh.

  Freddie stepped closer to Tag and threaded an arm across her shoulder, drawing her to her. She wrapped both arms around Tag and let her bury her head into her shoulder.

  “Sorry.” Tag mumbled into Freddie’s coat. “I’m making a habit of crying on your shoulder.” She pulled back, her eyes searching Freddie’s. The look on her face, eyes dark, quickened Tag’s breath.

  She leaned in cautiously to meet Freddie’s mouth. A fleeting worry flashed through her mind as she bent her head to kiss her that she might have misunderstood the situation and this wasn’t what Freddie wanted. Her hesitation intensified when Freddie didn’t kiss her back at first, but immediately turned to relief when Freddie finally moved her lips over hers. Exploring, teasing.

  The feeling of Freddie’s lips tasting her own sent a pulse down Tag. She fisted her hands in Freddie’s shirt and pulled her closer, kissing her more deeply. Her lips slid urgently over Freddie’s, wanting more and more of her with each kiss. She tentatively slipped her tongue against Freddie’s, unsure at first, but then more forcefully when Freddie didn’t protest. Freddie moaned as she traced the tip of her tongue along Tag’s bottom lip. Tag angled her hips forward into Freddie’s. They melted into one another, their bodies locked together, their kisses becoming more urgent as days of shared pent-up longing were finally released.

  Without warning, Freddie pulled away. She stalked away from Tag, covering her face with her hands, her back turned from her.

  “Shit!” Freddie’s head sank further into her hands. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled from behind her fingers. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why?” Tag half laughed, confused. “Was it really that bad?” She stared at Freddie’s back, willing her to turn around and face her. She didn’t. Instead, Freddie walked further from her.

  “I don’t get it.” Tag reached out to her. “I thought that was what you wanted.” Her insides froze to ice as Freddie twisted away and headed back towards the staircase.

  “I have to go.” Freddie’s face was dark and pained. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  Tag’s lips still tingled from their kiss. S
he could still taste her on her tongue and still feel her against her. Didn’t Freddie feel it too? How could she not? “I don’t understand.” She watched, helpless, as Freddie hastened to the stairs. “Why was it a mistake?”

  “Just forget everything.” Freddie’s footsteps receded. “I can’t do this.”

  Forget everything? A wave of sudden clarity forced Tag to lunge over the rail. Charlotte. Freddie was still thinking about Charlotte.

  “How can you tell me to just forget what happened? Freddie!” Tag slammed her hands on the wood and shouted down to her. “Freddie, I’m not Charlotte! And the sooner you realize that, the better.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Freddie stumbled from the watermill, tears stinging her eyes. Tag’s cries rang in her ears as she hauled the heavy oak door open, letting it swing closed behind her with an angry thud. The thud, Freddie thought as her hands flailed for her car keys, mirrored her leaden heart, its hefty, dull clang sounding the death knell for any hope she might have ever had of having some sort of relationship with Tag. Thanks to her stupidity. Thanks to her fleeing at the first real sign that their friendship had taken a different direction.

  Freddie banged her fist on the steering wheel. Had that really been what she’d wanted? A relationship with Tag? She stared back up to the watermill. To a door that never opened. All the time she and Tag had been consigned to the odd bit of hand-holding, Freddie had felt okay. She’d enjoyed it. The flirting, the texts. The longing looks. But now? The situation had shifted towards something Freddie didn’t think she’d be able to cope with.

  She looked towards the door again. Tag was still in there. Should she go back in and tell Tag her thoughts? What was Tag doing right now? Was she sitting on the stairs, thinking about how wonderful it had felt to kiss her, just as Freddie was now? How, if she closed her eyes, she could still feel her? Taste her?

  Freddie’s brain ached with conflicting thoughts. Tag wasn’t the girl she’d heard gossip about over the years and wasn’t who she’d expected her to be. She wasn’t selfish or unreliable when it came to her own family. Tag loved her family and loved being a part of a family—both her own and Freddie’s. She’d seen it in her eyes the day before, when she’d cuddled up to Skye on the sofa. Had seen it in her expression when it had been time to go, and had seen it in her brimmed tears just now in the watermill.

  But yet, everything still always came back to Skye and her needs. She needed a loving, stable environment where she could feel safe. Freddie gave her that. Being with Tag could ultimately subject Skye to more heartbreak, and that was something Freddie would never, could never risk. Despite everything Tag was telling her, at some point Tag would have to return to England, to her old life. She’d still only be a part-time presence in her life, dropping by each time she came back to visit. It just wasn’t enough. Skye needed more than that; they both needed more than that.

  Freddie fired her engine. This was why she had to be strong. For Skye. Skye was the most important thing in all of this, not her, not Tag. She released the handbrake. And for Skye’s sake, she and Tag should go back to how they should have been from the start. Employer and employee. It was far simpler that way. This was why she had to ignore her feelings for Tag and try and move on. This, Freddie thought as she pulled from the car park with one, final glance to the watermill’s door, was why she’d forget Tag’s kiss had ever happened.

  *

  The roads were quiet in Balfour after six p.m., Tag realized. Quieter than Liverpool, anyway. Where did everyone go? Back to their homes? Back to their families? To the pub to drown their sorrows?

  Tag bunched her fists in her coat pockets. Pools of orange from the streetlights shimmered and rippled in the puddles as she ambled down the road, her mind foggy with thoughts of what had just happened. What had just happened? How had it happened? Tag angrily kicked a pine cone into the gutter and watched as it rolled three times before finally coming to a halt, then walked on.

  She missed Freddie. Missed Skye.

  Why couldn’t Freddie see that?

  What was the name of that girl she’d hooked up with when she was nineteen? Just after she’d moved to England? Tag stared down at the pavement as it disappeared under her feet as she strode down the road. Izzy? No, not Izzy. Lizzy? Nope. Lisa? Tag frowned. Mia. Tag dug her hands further into her pockets. That was it. Mia.

  Mia had had a niece, Tag remembered, who used to hang around them a lot. She used to be deeply irritating, although perhaps not as irritating as Mia eventually turned out to be. Tag smiled down at the pavement. But Tag had been nineteen then, hadn’t she? Mia’s niece had just been an annoyance to her back then. A small person who got under her feet and pestered her to sit and watch cartoons with her when all she wanted to do was make out with Mia.

  But that was then. She was twenty-seven now, not nineteen. Older, wiser. Okay, maybe not wiser. But more mature, that was for sure.

  The wind billowed up around Tag’s ears. She hunkered her shoulders up higher and walked on. The roads were deserted. Balfour was a lonely place after dark when you were on your own. Tag shivered, but not from the cold.

  She loved Freddie. There, she’d admitted it to herself. She loved her.

  But Freddie had shrugged her away, hadn’t she? Rejected her. Tag’s stomach clenched. Waves of sadness and despair swept over her. She loved Freddie, but Freddie didn’t love her. That was the reality of it. Simple as.

  Tag blinked and pictured Freddie back at home now with Skye. What would they be doing? Watching TV? Having dinner? Tag so wanted to be with them right now, wished she could rewind the clock and go back to the previous afternoon when she’d sat with Skye watching children’s TV. Freddie had lit the fire to make the room cosier. Not that Tag had thought she could possibly feel more comfortable than she had. She’d sat next to Skye, recognizing the smell of warmth and talcum powder that was so unique to children, and one which she’d recalled from when Magnus was Skye’s age. Skye had had crumbs down her fleece, Tag remembered, from her sandwich. A few in her hair too. How did kids always manage that? But then, Freddie had managed to get flour in her hair, so…

  Tag’s heart pricked.

  But it was all pointless now, wasn’t it? Remembering how it had been. Freddie had made a mistake; those were her exact words. Tag crossed the road. In hindsight, perhaps she should be relieved that Freddie had snubbed her. After all, how could Tag commit to her? Wasn’t that what they both wanted? One hundred percent commitment? Could Tag give her that? No, despite her pain, perhaps Freddie had done the right thing after all. Perhaps it would be better all round if Tag disappeared back to Liverpool, as soon as Blair was better and the mill was back on its feet, and found herself someone who didn’t have the baggage Freddie did. Maybe then she could forget all about her. She’d be sorry to leave Freddie, sure. Hurt too. But when the hurt passed and Tag had moved on, she’d thank Freddie for rejecting her and putting her straight.

  The road petered out. Tag was at the end of Balfour high street. The Horse and Wagon pub whispered to her in the wind, coaxing her in. She looked at the pub door and heard the muffled thump of music and numerous voices coming from inside. Seemed she’d been right after all. Most of Balfour really did want to drown their sorrows tonight.

  *

  Freddie sat staring blankly at the TV. The programme, some dire comedy that had so far failed to raise even the slightest of laughs, was still on in the background. Not that she was taking any notice of it.

  It was getting late. All was quiet upstairs, but Freddie knew if she went up to bed now, she’d just lie there, churning things over and over in her mind until she’d have to get up again and come downstairs. Besides, she didn’t want to wake Pete, because that would unleash a whole cascade of questions about what was causing her insomnia, and then Freddie would have to admit she’d let her guard down and kissed Tag and…

  She hauled herself up from the sofa and padded across the lounge in the half-light. Light flickering from the TV screen
cast eerie shapes across the wall. She snapped the kettle on, then sat at the kitchen table and dwelt on what had happened that afternoon. How could she have been so weak? So stupid? Freddie plunged her head into her hands and scratched at her hair in irritation. The one thing she’d been so careful not to do, and what had happened? Tag had cried because of the mill and Freddie had let her resolve weaken too easily.

  She’d been so damn good at keeping her guard up for this long too. She had Charlotte to thank for that. But to think one look from Tag had sent her defences tumbling was infuriating. Freddie had let Tag get to her when she’d promised herself that all the time she was Skye’s guardian, she’d never let anyone get too close. She hadn’t bargained on Tag coming into her life, though.

  With the kettle bubbling angrily behind her, Freddie picked up her phone. She dreaded what she might see on her screen. Had Tag texted? Had she rung and left her a phone full of questions? Freddie had left her phone out in the kitchen the whole evening deliberately. If she couldn’t see it or hear it, she couldn’t answer it. And if she didn’t have to speak to Tag, then she didn’t exist, and their kiss had never happened, and her hurting and confusion would go away. There was that reverse psychology shit again. She was getting good at that.

  Freddie put the phone down and sighed. It was just a fucking phone. An inanimate object, incapable of reading her innermost thoughts, nothing more.

  The kettle boiled.

  But had Tag called? She snatched the phone up and pressed the screen.

  No, she hadn’t. Good.

  Freddie puffed her cheeks out, not knowing whether to be happy or sad. Flashbacks of her kiss with Tag up at the watermill still hustled in her mind. Stronger and more intense with each blink of her eyes. If she closed her eyes, she could still taste Tag. She unconsciously licked her lips. The memory of how it had felt to finally kiss her sent a pulse down through her body. Freddie felt herself swaying and snapped her eyes open. She’d been so stupid. Kissing Tag had been everything she’d thought it would be—better, even—but it just couldn’t happen again.