Eternally North (17 page)

Tink opened his mouth
in shock and began sifting through the mass of desecrated posters,
his face expressing every freaked-out thought he was feeling.

“I’m going to let
that bitchy comment go seeing as though you have clearly lost your
marbles. So I’ll ask again: What. The. Heck. Happened?”

I fell back, and
giggled at the room spinning. “What happened? Well, where do I
begin?
He who shalt be nameless
took me ice-skating whilst you
were bumping uglies, and once again I massively cocked up and fell on
top of him. Yep, and I, Natasha Munro, gave him, Mr. Unemotional, a
huge, stonking hard-on!”
Hiccup
. “… then he played that
song on his phone and I couldn’t speak at first, but then I asked
if he fancied me and I stupidly told him that I liked him. Stupid,
stupid, stupid!” I hit myself in the head repeatedly.

Tink grabbed both hands
to stop me.

I looked into the
worried eyes of my best friend. “But why
that
song if he
doesn't want me? I didn’t know what it all meant, and then he
shouted at me and told me ‘
we were nothing
’ and that he
never wanted to see me again, said I’m not his type,”
hiccup
,
“… and, and then I came home and got this bottle –”

I reached for the now
near-empty bottle of booze and put a hand on my head, “Hey! Where
did all the amaretto go?”

I began looking under
my bed to see where the pesky liquid had run off to.

Oops!
I fell off
the bed and onto the floor with a thud. “… Anyway, I came home
and Mr. Amaretto and I made friends and had a little party for two.”

Tink stroked my hair
and I pushed out my bottom lip in sorrow. “I tried to get away from
thinking of him but he was all over the internet. If he was a normal
person I could easily forget, but his first name got three million
results alone, three million! So, I decided to erase him, scribble
him out,”
hiccup
“... now he is nothing too. Just like
me.”

Tink turned away,
trying to quell his fury and the vein on his forehead began to
protrude. “Tate!!!!” he screamed, sounding remarkably like a
strangled cat. I just laughed until my stomach began to ache.

He faced me again. “Ham
roll, I don’t understand what happened, what song? You’re talking
nonsense. Did you tell Tudor you liked him?”

Tate came running into
the room at that moment and saw the mess on my bedspread and carpet.
He picked up the pictures one by one, his face full of horror.

Tink lifted me up on
the bed, and spoke to his lover. “Get him on the fucking phone
now!”

Tate put his hands out.
“Tink, wait, I can’t call him for you. What the hell happened?
What’s wrong with, Tash?”

“He screwed her over,
just like I knew he would! We all saw that he liked her, and we all
knew he’d do something like this. Now I’ll ask again, get him on
the bastard phone,
now
!” he commanded.

Tate headed back to
Tink’s room, looking slightly unsteady on his feet, and returned
seconds later scrolling through his phone, holding out a hand in a
placating manner.

“Let me speak to him
first, please. I’m not allowed to give his number out, it’s in my
contract. This is way out of my job description.”

Tink turned a bright
shade of red. “You have ten seconds, Tate. I mean it. I'm so
friggin' angry with him.”

I flipped on my side
and put my hand over my mouth to muffle the hysterical giggles
cascading out of me, causing the paper to crackle under my weight.
Tate was pacing the room, running his hands through his hair and
glancing up at Tink, who was still as a statue beside my bed,
radiating pure rage.

Tate held the phone to
his ear. “Tudor, it’s me. Listen, erm… I’m at Tink’s. Tash
is in a bit of a... situation and Tink wants to speak to you… erm…
she’s had a lot to drink and is not doing too good.”

Tate winced listening
to Tudor’s response.

Tink, in his fury,
stormed over to his boy-toy and snatched the phone out of his
trembling hands. “You total arsehole! I warned you! I told you not
to do this to her!” he yelled down the phone.

Wait! He did? When?

“What the hell have
you said? She is a mess and keeps talking about a song, and saying
you called her nothing. How could you?” he shrieked, his voice
inching up an octave.

I could vaguely hear
Tudor raising his voice in response on the other end of the phone. I
couldn’t take the fighting. I had an idea.

As quickly as
Natasha-possible, I catapulted myself off the bed and snatched the
phone out of Tink’s hand, ran to the bathroom and locked myself in.

I was still laughing at
my scheming when I began to look for the quiet voice saying ‘
Tash
’
that I could hear coming from somewhere in my en-suite. I looked
under the toilet seat – maybe it was a gnome? I looked behind the
shower door – maybe a leprechaun searching for his lucky charms?
But nope, it was nowhere. Oh! Duh, it was the phone, silly drunken
me!

“Helloooooo???” I
sang into the mouth piece.

“Tash?” Tudor
sounded relieved.

Tink was now hammering
on the door, but I wasn’t going to open it. No, sir-ree! I made
myself comfortable on the toilet seat.“
Mr. North
, how nice
to talk to you again. How are you this fine evening? Still a
cold-hearted bastard with no regard for anyone’s feelings?” I
inquired.

“Tash, please don't.
What have you had to drink? I don’t know what to say,” he sounded
upset.

I almost –
almost
– had sympathy for him.

“Well Mr. North, I
have had a few sips of amaretto and I am still trying to figure out
who drank the rest. The bottle is empty and I don’t know how; it
was full a few hours ago. I'm suspecting goblins, but who the hell
knows, eh?”

“Tash, are you
drinking, well,
drunk
, because of me? Did I do this to you
because of today?” he groaned sadly.

“Of course I am, you
clueless knob!” I laughed harshly, all tact gone, and feisty
Geordie Tash taking over. “You have crushed me, absolutely crushed
me… don’t you remember, you silly man? Let me remind you then,”
I coughed and mimicked a deep Canadian voice, “
‘I don't like
you like that, don’t read anything into it, it was nothing, we are
nothing’
. I paraphrase, but I reckon you remember well enough!”

“Please, Tash. Stop,”
his voice cracked. “Can I come over? Can I come and see you?”

That stilled me, all
humour gone. “Come over and I’ll break your legs.”

His breath hitched at
the end of the line.

“You were right, Mr.
North. From this day we shall no longer see each other, and I don’t
think I can keep on liking you like this. You know what’s funny? I
have been falling for you, like big-style falling for you – the
laughs, the time spent together, the touches, the smiles, just... you
for you, not the movie star, just
you
. Just my Tudor. I
thought you were special to me, I thought I was maybe special to you,
too. You sometimes act like I am, you lead me on. How funny does that
sound, right? Mr. Superstar liking little old me? It was stupid of me
to even think it. Mr. Unattainable, Mr. I-live-to-torture-Tash. What
a fool I am, but hey, at least I know now that you
are
the
emotionless twat that I first suspected, and that you think me less
than shit on your shoe – just another man to disregard me, and toss
me aside. If you try to come over I
swear
I will go Newcastle
on your arse and–"

The phone was ripped
from my hands by Tink, who must have finally gotten through the lock.
“Tudor, I heard everything she said. Leave her the fuck alone or
I’ll be forced to intervene, and don’t fool yourself into
thinking that a fairy can’t hurt you. When it comes to Wil, I’ll
take on anyone or anything to protect her. You got that, butch?”
and he hung up.

He knelt down in front
of me, putting a hand on each knee, and asked in a soothing voice,
“Are you okay, my little sausage?”

With that, the
floodgates of my pain opened and I cried. I cried all night long. I
must have blacked out at some point, as the next thing I knew it was
morning. Tink was lying next to me, and flashes of the previous day
came back to haunt me.
We are nothing.

I was numb to it, numb
to Tudor, numb to being treated like crap. Tink edged closer to me
and kissed my head. He knew how I felt and that no words could
comfort me. No explanations needed.

It was simply time to
move on. No more Tudor North.

Tudor
bloody
North!

* * *

It was Tuesday before I
knew it, the day before the show’s opening night. I was in my
classroom getting all of the final details tied up – programmes,
call sheets, props lists – when there was a gentle knock at the
door. In walked Boleyn.

“Hey Boleyn, are you
okay?” I asked, noticing for the first time just how similar in
colouring she was to Tudor. Saying that, I had also thought the burn
marks on my toast looked like him that morning – tattoos included.

Yep, I’m
definitely moving on!

“Yeah, Miss, I just
wanted to speak to you about tomorrow night.”

“Of course, come and
take a seat.”

Boleyn sat down
opposite me, and was all smiles.

“Are you excited,
chuck?” I asked her.

“Yeah I can’t wait,
Miss, I’m really nervous, but excited as well. Erm, I came to see
you about seating tomorrow night for my family.”

“Sure, how can I
help?”

“Well, as you know my
brother is kind of… well known. You remember you met him a while
ago?”

My heart sank. Tudor
had obviously not mentioned to his family that he had been seeing me,
even as a friend. Just more strings to his ever-secretive bow.

I nodded at her
question. “I remember, Boleyn.”

“Well, he wants to
come tomorrow to see me, but doesn’t want to cause a commotion by
sitting in the auditorium. No-one’s supposed to know we’re
related, right? Is there anywhere he can sit out of sight? I really
want him there to see me perform.” She looked so nervous, it was
obvious just how much her big brother meant to her.

“Well, we do have the
theatre boxes. Box six is out of sight, high enough that you can’t
see into it from the Dress Circle and Stalls. We can put your family
there, maybe? Yes, that could work. The rest of the boxes are being
left empty, but in your circumstance I'm sure we can make an
exception.”

She squealed and
clapped her hands. “That’s perfect, Miss, Tudor will be so happy.
He’s been trying not to come, he was so reluctant for some reason,
but now he has to come, doesn’t he?”

I nodded gently and
smiled back at her glowing face.

Boleyn got up from the
chair and practically ran for the door. “See you tomorrow, Miss!”

When she was gone, I
let my head fall to the desk.

Great. Tomorrow will
be just great!

Show night, and
backstage was bedlam. There were people everywhere, make-up powder
was fogging up the room and enough hairspray was being sprayed to
completely eradicate the ozone layer. The audience were filling the
seats, and the atmosphere was electric. I loved the feel of the
theatre on opening night.

I had dressed to
impress, wearing a cap-sleeved, fitted black dress that went to my
knees; with my hair down and curled at the ends; and subtle and
classy make-up. I looked good. As the director, I would have to
mingle at the post-show party, and Ms. Thomas had insisted I dressed
professional to please the fee-paying parents. I’m not sure how she
felt about my usual attire, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that.

I was busy making all
of the final checks: microphones had batteries, spotlights had new
bulbs, and scripts and props were in the correct places. A tap to my
shoulder stopped me in the middle of counting the plastic swords.

“Ms. Munro, my family
are in the parking lot. Where should I tell them to go?” asked
Boleyn, portraying the perfect embodiment of Fantine, minus the
prostitution and starvation.

Ugh, time to deal
with Tudor.

“I’ll take them
through the back entrance to the boxes. No-one will see them there.
Tell them to go to the south-west door. I’ll meet them now.”

Boleyn grabbed her
phone and relayed the message. She pulled me in for a hug – a
strange move for the usually unapproachable teen. “Thank you, Ms.
Munro. You’re the best!”

“No problem, hun. Now
go and get ready. Curtain call in fifteen minutes.”

I walked to the back
door, and there on the other side were the Joneses – or the Norths,
as they were by law. I opened the door and moved back as they all
piled in.

Boleyn’s mother,
Pamela was the first in and she grabbed my hand as she walked by.
“Ms. Munro, thank you so much for organising this. I realise we are
an awkward bunch!”

Her smile was one of
guilt.

“It’s no problem,
really,” I assured her, and I meant it. They were a lovely family.
Well, all except one certain heartbreaker.

“Hello Tash, nice to
see you again,” said Henry and Samantha in unison, the picture of
happiness, his arm tightly around her shoulder and all smiles for
each other.

A few paces behind them
stood Tudor. I allowed myself a quick peek at him, heart in my
throat. He looked bloody fantastic.

Damn it!

He wore dark jeans, a
white knitted hoody with a low neck, showing the impressive chest
tattoos that went to his neck, and a grey fitted blazer that clung to
every ounce of his corded muscles. For once his head was absent of a
hat, and teamed with his five o'clock shadow he looked positively
yummy.

Tash! You are in a
mood with him, remember?