by KE Payne
The watermill.
Tag looked away, back out to her flowers. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about Freddie, or their kiss in the watermill that day. Each time her brain drifted back to her, to remember her voice, her eyes, the outline of her mouth, Tag would snap the TV on, or turn some music up until it was loud enough to send Freddie away from her again. She wouldn’t allow herself to wallow. She couldn’t. Every memory of her, every conversation they’d had, every touch was too painful. Tag had decided the day she returned to Liverpool that forgetting about Freddie, at least for the time she was away from her, was the only way she’d make it through the four months.
But with Freddie so close to her again, Tag couldn’t look away. She stared into the eyes that looked back at her, consumed every tiny detail of her face. Loved how she looked in a simple turquoise T-shirt that perfectly complemented her auburn hair and showed off slightly tanned, taut arms. She looked stunning. Classic. Beautiful. Tag hadn’t seen her in that T-shirt before. Of course she hadn’t; last time she’d seen Freddie they’d still been in winter clothes. Tag pulled her glance away again. It had been such a long time.
The flowers bobbed. Tag wiped away a tear. She hadn’t cried—well, not much—since she’d left. Not in the last three weeks or so, anyway. It was curious, she thought, as she twisted the ball of her hand into her eye, that the one thing that had set her off again, after such a long time, was Freddie’s turquoise T-shirt.
*
The AC was on in Freddie’s car for the first time that year. The cool air tickled her skin as she pulled out of her parking spot in the car park of the college where she’d just been meeting with the college’s course directors. It had been a successful meeting: another twenty places secured on her bread-making afternoon, to be held in July. A good mixture of people too. Freddie slid her sunglasses up her nose. It had been a good day all round, really, and she should be happy. If only she could shake the unhappiness that had kept her shackled since Tag had left.
Tag might have left Balfour, but she had never left Freddie’s heart. As hard as she’d tried, memories of Tag repeatedly flooded her mind: their very first conversation, when Tag had grumbled about her bill; when Tag had cried on her shoulder at the park. When they’d kissed, and Freddie had been overwhelmed by an explosion of fireworks.
Tag’s presence was everywhere. Blair talked about her endlessly; Magnus gave Freddie in-depth analyses of games played with her online; customers repeatedly asked her who was to thank for the resurgence in the cafe.
Freddie swung her car out onto the main road.
“Blair’s sister,” she’d tell customers. “Blair’s younger sister has turned this whole business around.” Saying her name out loud was too painful.
Tag, Freddie now thought as she sped up, had kept her promise on two things. She’d put her heart and soul into saving the business, just as she said she would. Her money, sent home each week to Blair, had paid for enough advertising, meetings, favours, and lunches out with prospective investors to see the business well into Christmas. But more importantly, she’d given Freddie the space she’d needed. Since Tag had left, she’d heard nothing from her. No texts, no phone calls, nothing.
She had been true to her word.
Freddie slipped into the flowing traffic of the bypass heading around the town centre and hit the accelerator, pushing her sunglasses up onto the top of her head as the sun slid behind a large band of clouds. But it had been more than just Tag proving she’d been true to her word. She’d proven things on so many other different levels too, adding more layers to her character than Freddie had ever noticed before. Tag loved her family. That was a given. But she also loved the mill and loved Balfour. Giving up her time and money had been so much more than just trying to win back her family’s respect and affection. Freddie knew that now. She glanced in her rearview mirror and pulled out into the fast lane. Tag genuinely wanted to be a part of the business again—the same business she’d hated as a teenager. But people grew up, and it seemed as though Tag had finally understood that.
Her campaign had been awesome. Better than Blair or Freddie could have ever imagined. It wasn’t a temporary fix, either; Tag had proved she was in it for the long run. She was dedicated to her family, to the business, to Balfour.
To Freddie. To Skye.
Freddie’s thoughts turned to Skye. She’d sometimes asked about Tag, of course, after she’d gone. Still did now. But something about Skye was different. Less concerning than when Charlotte had left. All Freddie’s worries had stemmed from Skye, but Freddie now realized, her worries had been groundless. Skye was okay. In fact, for a five-year-old, she’d been positively philosophical about Tag going.
“But this is Tag’s home, isn’t it?” she’d said recently during another conversation about Tag. “Melissa’s cat went missing for ages once, but it still came home. They do. Home’s…well, home, isn’t it?” Skye had thought very hard about that particular point. “It’s where everyone loves you. You can’t stay away from somewhere where everyone loves you.”
Freddie had been astounded.
“And it’s not like Charlotte,” Skye had said firmly. “She never said she was coming back. I don’t think Charlotte loved us really, but Tag does. That’s why she’s coming back. Because she loves us.”
So instead of the anticipated endless questions and tears from Skye about where Tag had gone, Skye simply hadn’t crumbled when Tag had left. She’d been fine. Her world hadn’t ended, because she knew, with absolute conviction, that Tag would come back one day.
If only Freddie had been as positive as Skye.
The thought struck her, as she sped down the bypass, that it had been her, rather than Skye, who had asked endless questions and had cried herself to sleep through missing Tag. It had been Freddie, not Skye, who had lost out, and who was desperate for Tag to come back to Balfour. Ultimately, it was Freddie, not Skye, who had crumbled.
The huge advertising hoarding passed Freddie in sea of colours, grabbing her attention as she pressed on down the bypass. Freddie grinned. There it was, at last. Their advert: hers and Tag’s. The one they’d thought up together the night before they’d kissed. The advert had happened, just as Tag promised it would. It had taken time, money, and a lot of phone calls to the Highways Agency to allow it to be placed on the bypass, but it had happened.
And now Tag wasn’t around to see her hard work come to fruition. She couldn’t share with Freddie the results of their teamwork. Couldn’t enjoy the feeling of knowing they’d both made something happen for the good of the business.
And it had all been Freddie’s fault for ever doubting her. Freddie shook her head. She hadn’t believed in Tag, even when Skye had, and now she was paying the consequences.
The clouds parted and the sun beamed down again, coating everything in a warm glow. Freddie frowned. The clouds had gone. Everything was suddenly so much clearer. More beautiful. Warm. Suddenly everything made sense; it was as though the clouds parting had given Freddie clarity for the first time in months. She’d been so stupid. So selfish. Freddie pulled back into the fast lane, gripping her steering wheel tighter, her heart racing.
“You idiot,” she muttered under her breath. “You absolute idiot.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Tag moved her laptop from her knees and let her head drop back against the sofa. Magnus had Skyped. Again. This time on the pretext of asking Tag how Valmour was supposed to steal diamonds from Argo without getting killed in one of the Xbox games Tag had bought him before she left. Tag had talked him through it, stage by stage. She’d laughed with him, ribbed him for his ineptitude, and missed him more than she’d ever missed him before. She loved hearing from him, hearing how things were progressing up at the mill. She looked forward to every call, gratified that all her hard work for the business was clearly paying off, but each one was agony because it just made her miss home all over again. Magnus had changed too, she was convinced of it. In just a few months. Of course,
he hadn’t, but Tag’s pining process made her brain think that he’d grown some more each time, as if just to prove how long it had been since she’d seen him in the flesh.
What time was it now? Tag grabbed a folder. Inside was her work from Anna for the weekend. It was seven p.m. on a Friday evening and where was she? Holed up in her sterile apartment with a weekend’s worth of prints to go through because she had nothing else to do and no one else to see. She looked around her. The apartment was too big. She rattled round it, feeling more and more swallowed up by it each day. What she wanted, of course, was a cute little cottage. Something the right size just for her. Tag sighed. Preferably by a loch, near a mountain, so she could still snowboard with Magnus. A cottage with Blair and Magnus in the next village, and Freddie and Skye just down the road.
Tag snatched the folder up. No thinking about Freddie and Skye. That was the rule. She flicked through the folder, seeing words but seeing nothing. She tossed it to one side and sprang up from the sofa. A drink. That’s what was needed. Tag looked at the empty beer bottles lined up in the kitchen. One more wouldn’t hurt, would it? She slouched to the kitchen and pulled a fresh bottle from the refrigerator, then listened to the satisfying hiss as she flicked the lid.
Tag glanced at her mobile as she heard it ring. It would be Anna, checking up on her to make sure she’d have everything ready for Monday’s presentation. She mouthed an obscenity at it and then drank back her beer. It was the little things that pleased her.
Tag jabbed at the on button on her TV. It coughed into life and a quiz show immediately brightened the room. Questions and answers ebbed and flowed as Tag fell back onto the sofa, beer bottle propped on her knee.
The medical name for a shoulder blade…
“Scapula.” Tag tossed her answer at the TV.
Clavicle.
You’re saying clavicle?
“It’s scapula.” Tag said aloud.
Yes, Brian.
“It’s scapula, you idiot.” Tag took a drink from her bottle.
You’re saying clavicle. The answer, I’m afraid, is scapula.
“Fuckwit.” Tag snapped the TV off.
Only the buzz of the intercom prevented Tag from hurling the remote at the TV. Anna? Surely not. She was at Mason’s, wining and dining the Pritchard brothers with Stefan. Tag frowned and ignored the second buzz. The third buzz, however, finally pulled her from the sofa. Cursing, she snatched up the intercom phone. Her planned rebuke died on her lips as she heard the quiet voice at the other end.
Freddie.
*
Tag was aware that she’d stopped breathing. She rested her head against the wall, the cool of the bricks settling her.
“Are you going to let me in?” Freddie’s voice was shaky.
Tag pressed the button without answering. She waited to hear it catch, then replaced the intercom phone in its cradle. The few minutes it took Freddie to come in through the main front door and up to the fourth floor of the apartment block felt like forever. The rap on the door was expected but still made Tag’s heart hammer in her chest when she heard it.
The Freddie she answered the door to wasn’t the same Freddie she’d left. She looked tired and defeated. Grey smudges shadowed her eyes, caused, Tag guessed, by weeks of lack of sleep. She knew, because her own lack of sleep had done the same to her. Eyes that when she’d first met her seemed to have sunshine in them were now dead. But despite all that, she was still Freddie. The unpretentious disposition was still there. So, too, the beautiful hair and the upturned mouth that made her look like she was always smiling.
“How did you…?” Tag finally found her voice as Freddie came into her apartment.
“Blair gave me your address.” Freddie stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.
Tag couldn’t take her eyes from her. She was here. She was real. Months of yearning intensified as Tag stood, just feet from Freddie, desperate to touch her. To hold her.
“Blair?” Nerves hit Tag. “Is he okay? Is it Magnus?” She’d only spoken to them hours before. How could they…
“They’re fine.” Freddie stood in Tag’s lounge.
“And Skye? Is she okay? Was she at school today?” The words tumbled out.
“She’s fine too.” A smile spread across Freddie’s face at the mention of Skye’s name. “Asks about you all the time.”
“Does she?” Tag looked up. “What does she say?”
“She knows you’re away working,” Freddie said. She gazed around at the spartan lounge. Tag knew what she saw. No pictures, no posters, nothing. Just plain blank walls. “She keeps asking when you’re coming to the park with us again.”
“What do you tell her?” The thought of Skye asking about her was too much. Tag’s voice caught. “A drink. I haven’t even offered you a drink.” Concentrate on the practicalities. She walked to the kitchen, holding a hand out to Freddie, motioning her to follow. “Do you tell her I miss her?” Tag asked over her shoulder. “Because I do.”
“I do tell her, yes.” Freddie stressed to Tag’s retreating back. “Every day.”
“She knows it? Knows I think about her all the time?” Tag turned to face her.
“She knows.” Freddie’s breath was shallow. “She’s fine and…” She took a step closer. “Oh, Tag, I’ve been so stupid.” She took Tag’s hand and pulled it to her chest. “I’m so sorry it took so long for me to realize what was staring me in the face all along.” Slowly, shakily, she brought Tag’s hand to her lips. “I was scared. I needed time.”
Tag’s breath caught. Had she heard right? “You’re here now,” she whispered “That’s all that matters.” And nothing ever had meant so much to Tag.
“I was hiding behind Skye.” Freddie looked pained. “Using her as an excuse because I was terrified of falling in love again.”
Tag’s insides jumped. “In love?”
“I’m in love with you, Tag,” Freddie said. “I knew it from the start but I tried to ignore it.” She gazed at Tag. “I tried really hard to stay away from you, but I can’t do it any more.”
Freddie was in love with her? Tag felt light-headed.
“I needed to know Skye wasn’t just a novelty to you,” Freddie continued. “That none of it was. That you cared about us, the business, being in Balfour.”
“I do!” Tag pleaded with her. Surely Freddie hadn’t come all the way down here to rake over all her insecurities again? To tell Tag that she loved her but it still wasn’t enough?
“I know that now,” Freddie said. “It took driving past the advert on the bypass for me to finally see the light.”
“The advert?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Freddie smiled. “All that matters now is that you and I have a future. Together.” She hesitated. “If that’s what you still want?”
Freddie’s worried face was just too much. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that.” Tag pulled her closer, hesitating briefly in case Freddie didn’t want this. When Freddie didn’t move, Tag dipped her head, brushing feather-light kisses across Freddie’s neck. She smiled against her skin as she heard Freddie’s breath quicken.
“Don’t stop,” Freddie whispered.
“Are you sure?” Tag asked. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Tag’s protestations died on her lips as Freddie cupped her face, pulling her to her again. This time she knew she wasn’t going to let her go. Freddie kissed her hard, her body pressed tight against Tag’s, making her lose all rational thought.
Freddie moaned from deep in her throat as she felt Tag’s warm tongue sweep across hers, impelling her to kiss her with even more passion. This was what she wanted, what she needed. This was everything she’d dreamed of doing again since their kiss up at the watermill. Still cupping her face, Freddie pushed Tag back against the kitchen counter, helping Tag as she pulled herself up onto it. Her body throbbed as Tag wrapped her legs tight around Freddie’s waist, her heels digging into her as she urged Freddie closer and closer, desperate to feel her bo
dy against her own.
Their kisses were hard and urgent. Weeks of mutual longing spilled over as their lips moved frantically against one another’s, Freddie moaning against Tag’s lips as Tag kissed her deeper and deeper. Finally, they pulled apart. They leaned their foreheads against one another’s, their ragged breath warm against one another’s mouths. Freddie traced a finger down Tag’s thigh, drawing circles on her jeans, while she waited for her heart to slow down again.
“You were saying?” Freddie smiled against Tag’s lips. She draped her arms over her shoulders, linking them behind Tag’s neck. She kissed her slowly this time, passion replaced with an intense and slow concentration, letting her lips move so lazily over Tag’s, the muscles in her stomach tensed and fluttered.
“Nothing,” Tag breathed, when Freddie finally stopped. “Nothing at all.”
*
“I don’t know what I’m going to tell Anna.” Tag thought out loud.
“Mm?” Freddie rested her head against Tag’s chest.
“That I’m leaving again,” Tag said. “In the middle of a contract this time, though.”
“I’m sure she’ll cope,” Freddie murmured. She lifted her head. “Anyway, you’ll be too busy when you get back to worry about what Anna thinks or doesn’t think.”
“Blair told me the other night the bakery classes are a sell out,” Tag said.
“Thanks to you,” Freddie said. “You”—she captured Tag’s mouth in a long, slow kiss—“are one very clever girl.”