Eternally North (32 page)

Boleyn was against the
wall and was angry as hell as she used the sleeves of her shirt to
mop up her wet cheeks. I turned to face her. “Right, what is going
on? If you have a problem you can talk to me about it. Lashing out in
class is not like you.”

She laughed scarily.
“Oh, I do have a problem…you!”

Ah, so she did see
the photo then. Get yourself out of this one then, Tash!

I nodded, trying to be
a calming presence. “And why is that?”

She moved from the wall
to get right in my face. “Because you came into this school like
Mary fucking Poppins and tried to make everything better, but you
can’t, can you? You’re just like everyone else, helpless to do
anything!”

I pinched in my brows,
confused. “Boleyn, you can talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong, I’m
sure I can help.”

She walked away for a
few steps then turned back, furious, and shouted, “Why? ‘Cos
you’re screwing my brother?”

I stepped back in
shock. “W-What?”

“I know it’s you he
keeps disappearing to. I saw the photo, even if he won’t admit to
it!”

“Boleyn–” I
stepped towards her.

“No! Get back. You
know nothing about me, my family or my brother! Why don’t you just
go back to England for good? No-one wants you here! I don’t want
you here. I thought you would make things better but you have just
fucked them up more!” She began walking backwards.

“How? How have I made
things worse? Boleyn, I don’t understand?” I tried to placate.

She scowled. “Just go
away and leave us alone! I
hate
you! You’ve made it all come
back! It’s all going to happen again, and it’s your fault!” And
she fled out of the building.

Running back into my
classroom, I quickly informed Ms. Thomas via the phone in my office,
and was told that everything would be sorted without my help. She
wouldn’t tell me any more than that, and I was left reeling.

With that, school broke
up for the holidays.

Merry bleeding Christmas!

As soon as school was
done – literally on the bell – I went straight home. I opened the
door aggressively, ruthlessly taking out my anger on the eight-foot
contraption, and there was Tudor, waiting on the couch.

Perfect!

I threw down my bag,
walked straight past him to the kitchen and poured myself a large
glass of wine. I took a long sip and turned towards my distant lover,
who was now standing in the centre of the living room, looking
incredibly awkward. “Where’s Tink?” I asked curtly.

“He let me in as he
was leaving to meet with Tate; he flies back to LA tonight for the
holidays. He went to say ‘bye.”

I nodded, remembering
Tink had told me that earlier that morning, while at the same time
noticing that Tudor was decked in all black, a perfect reflection of
my less-than-stellar mood. He cocked his head to the side, motioning
for me to sit down next to him on the sofa.

I walked over and
dropped down beside him. He looked at me cautiously, judging my mood.
“So, how was your day?”

I laughed bitterly and
took another swig of wine. “Oh, just peachy! Your sister went
bat-shit crazy at me in class and basically announced to the entire
school that I was shagging you, and then guess what? I wasn’t
allowed to have any say in her punishment or be clued-in as to why
she went nuts at me for what seemed like absolutely no reason! Oh,
she also told me to move back to England permanently as no-one wanted
me here.”

He threw his head back
and groaned. “She doesn’t need punishing, Tash. I’ve been with
her the past couple of hours and she feels bad enough for everything
she said, she's in a real bad way. She definitely doesn’t need any
further punishing.”

“Really? Why, because
she’s your sister? Because let me tell you, if any other student
went off at a teacher like that, they’d be at least suspended.”

“Just leave it, Tash.
Leave her alone,” he said forcefully.

I slapped my hands down
on my knees. “Oh this is priceless!
You
won’t tell me
what’s up with you, your sister throws the mother of all wobblies
and she’s let off the hook, and you tell me to just leave it? All
these secrets are making me crazy, Tudor. Any more and I'll be one
flew over the cuckoo's nest!”

He stood up, glaring
down at me. “You have no idea what we are all going through, so
just friggin’ leave it alone, Tash. God!”

He was a stranger to me
at that moment.

I stood up to match his
pissed-off stance. I was
so
done. “I’m going to ask you
one more time to explain things to me, or at least tell me a hint, a
tiny morsel of what you’re going through. If not, then…” I
shrugged.

He grabbed my arm.
“Then what?”

I snatched it away
aggressively. “Then we are done, Tudor.”

I saw the horrified
expression on his face; I didn't let it stop me in my tirade. “I
have been so bloody stupid. People must be having a great laugh at my
idiocy! Actually, scratch that – they wouldn’t be, would they?
Because nobody knows about us, I’m your dirty little secret! I
mean, we got very serious way too quick with a freakin’ raincloud
of secrets hanging over us every step of the way. I’ve acted like a
hormonally-charged teenager and let my attraction for you outweigh
what this relationship should be, you know, an adult one built on
honesty and trust. But I have had enough. I knew deep down that I
wouldn’t be able to live with not sharing everything with you, or
rather you with me, but I tried because of how much you mean to me. I
want to give you one last chance to tell me what is going on, to
salvage this, us, to put your faith in me once and for all.”

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.

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 gud Scottish stock! That’s
the kinda man ya need, Natasha, one that can scare the shit outta
folk!"