Eternally North (31 page)

He stroked my cheek.
"You are strong and brave, you blow my mind every day and I
completely adore you too – you have no idea – but are you
listening to me, Tash? It's not bad admitting being with you, I'm
simply protecting you. We will get our happily ever after, but it
can’t be public, yet."

"Why?
What are
you protecting me from?
" I groaned.

If I have to ask
that question one more time…

He paused, pinching the
bridge of his nose, controlling his emotions, debating what to tell
me. He eventually sighed and bowed his head in defeat. "I'm
gonna go, give you time to cool down. I'll see you soon okay."
He tried to kiss my cheek as he moved past.

I pulled away. "See
yourself out."

I could feel him
staring at me, willing me to face at him, but I couldn't . I couldn't
look him in the way he wanted, I thought I would break if I did.

He rubbed his hands
over his pale, unshaven cheeks and swiftly left, slamming the door
for effect.

Now what's a girl to do
when she's feeling low and unloved? That's right, I hit the gym and
worked out my frustrations.

Yeah, right!

I hit the cupboards,
brought out as many things containing chocolate I could find and
watched my much-loved DVD of
Wuthering Heights
, featuring Tom
Hardy as Heathcliff, on the sofa decked in my (somewhat fitting) snug
piggy onesie. I sat there for hours, wallowing in misery, and found
myself screaming at Cathy to ditch Heathcliff as a friend or
otherwise, that he was wrong for her, that he would ruin her with all
his schizophrenic actions and broodiness, that she should just love
Edgar Linton, have a nice loving life with Edgar Linton. No matter
how much I screamed at the screen, Cathy didn’t listen to me and my
fantastic advice – even in death she chose the heavily-tattooed and
muscly Tom Hardy interpretation of Heathcliff. Why do women always go
for the bad boys? Can't live with them, can't live without them.

Oh My God!

I bolted upright,
crushing chocolate wrappers under my ever-expanding arse as it dawned
on me.
I
was Cathy and Tudor was Heathcliff, just instead of
moors in Yorkshire we had condos in Calgary! Shit a brick! Kate Bush
should be crooning about Mr. Tribal Tattoo and his perpetually
confused curvy tit-bit!

Tink came in a few
hours later and gasped at the amount of wrappers spread around my
comatose and sugar-ravished body. After blowing a kiss and slapping
his arse at Tom Hardy on the screen, he proclaimed, "Well, toss
my greens and call me Caesar!" and started to wade through the
sea of rubbish to reach me.

"What's he done?"

I groaned at the
chocolate-induced sickness swirling in my bloated stomach. "He’s
issued a statement on this fine winter day telling the world that we
are not together, that I'm a friend he met only briefly while
prepping for a movie or some shit like that. How fucking splendid!
And how was your day, darling?"

Tink squished next to
me on the couch and looked at me wearily, “I saw the photo,
Prosciutto."

That snapped me out of
it. "And?"

"And I’ve
already spoken to Tudor. He called me a couple of hours ago, worrying
about you and the way you were feeling when he left. He explained
that he had issued a denial statement, but that he was doing it to
protect you, and that we were not due to cash in our
'You dare
hurt Tash and we'll throw down'
deal just yet."

I sighed. "Did he
tell you what he was protecting me from?"

He shook his head.
"Tate reckons that Tudor is having a tough time at the moment,
like, sandpaper-rough; like,
non-moisturised-face-in-a-harsh-winter-rough; like,
a-Northern-lass-on-the-walk-of-shame-rough; like–," I ignored
the rest of Tink’s beautiful analogies.

"Then why won't he
explain things to me?"

He moved in for a
cuddle. "Look, Wil, I love you, and I see how Tudor is with you.
It makes me happy to see you together now. If he says he is keeping
things from you for your sake, I'd be inclined to let it go. I
wouldn't stand by and let him hurt you without issuing him a bitch
slap if I thought he was being malicious and cruel."

I huffed and rammed a
whole Cadbury's Dairy Milk bar into my mouth –
I know, talented
aren’t I?
"Easier said than done!" I mumbled through
my full mouth.

"Well, keeping
things from the ones you love is difficult, but sometimes if you
think it's for the best, you go with that option." he said with
conviction.

"Oh yeah? And how
would you know, gobshite?"

He laid a hand over his
chest, mouth open. "Erm... hello! Gay-boy present. I was so far
back in the closet to my family, I was living in Narnia! I met the
Snow Queen but out-bitched her, stole all of her Turkish Delight and
ravaged Mr. Tumnus, ruining him for all other fawns!"

"Fine, you do get
it... but didn't you feel better when you shared your secret?"

"Well, no-one
believed me at first back in war-torn England, but then Aslan the
lion–"

"Tink!"

He pursed his lips to
stop from smirking. "Okay, okay! Did I feel better for coming
out to the sperm and egg donors? Me, yes, I felt relieved; did they
feel better? No. I was friggin' shipped off to a gay turn-around
camp, and even though I found the pleasures of the oral and anal
variety there, I don't know. I now think that sometimes keeping a
secret may be better in the long run… for certain people. Let me
tell you first hand, when someone you love so much rejects you after
you’ve struggled for so long with such a heavy secret, that is no
fault of your own, well – it crushes you. Tudor may be scared of
your reaction to his issues; he needs to tell you in his own time and
you need to let him."

I narrowed my eyes.
"Since when did you become the wise one?"

He shrugged and batted
his Hollywood Lash extensions. "I'm like a fit fookin' Yoda,
only I'm tangerine-tan orange and have near-perfect syntax! Oh, and I
don't think Tudor’s secret is of the homo persuasion, FYI. My
internal gay-dar didn't ping when I met him. My anaconda-sized
treasured Sergeant Stiffy did, but that was simply in appreciation of
his fine muscles."

He never fails!

"Good to know. I'm
not sure I could handle two queens in my life." I said
playfully, my heart feeling less heavy.

"Pisht!
Everything's shinier with a bit of glitter!" he sang while
throwing invisible fairy dust over the room.

"Yep, okay, for
once I agree." I laughed, and then breathed a deflated sigh.

Tink threw an arm
around my shoulders. "What's up, buttercup? You still look
blue," he said with a frown.

"I just loathe
frickin' secrets, they cock everything up! You’d better not be
hiding anything from me. I can't handle anything else."

He coughed and removed
his arm from our embrace. I shuffled to face him, "What? Why are
you suddenly being so weird?" I asked, beginning to worry.

"If I'm being
weird it’ll probably just be the hormones."

"What? Hormones?"

He crouched down next
to me, knees on the carpet, taking my hands in his
perfectly-manicured ones. "Wil, I've been keeping a pint-sized
porkie too." His face was so serious that I clutched his fingers
tight.

"Oh my God, Tink,
what is it? You're scaring me," I whispered, my heart beginning
to race.

"Wil..." He
drew in a shaky breath and tears filled his eyes. "It’s a
shock but...”

“But what???” I
squeaked.

“… I'm… I’m…
pregnant!"

I threw away his hands.
Prick!
"Tink!" I screamed in annoyance.

He put his hands on his
hips. "Hey, can I help it if Tatey's super-sperm has defied
science?"

I pursed my lips
together as he moved to the floor-length mirror in the hall and felt
his 'bump', before I burst out laughing.

He ran over to me
diving next to me on the sofa. "Ah-ha, she smiles!!!" he
shouted and pulled me in for a snuggle. "For what it's worth,
sausage, I think you should trust him."

I sighed. "I'll
try."

"That's all he
wants."

I nudged him in his
ribs. "Since when did you stick up for Mr. North? This is quite
the turn around."

"Erm... about the
time I saw those thrusting glutes in action! I've dreamt about them
ever since. Have you noticed the dimples and the small mole just to
the left of–,"

"Shut up and come
here!" I grabbed him and pulled him in for a bear hug, he pulled
back, hissing, and winced. "What now?" I asked, not really
wanting the answer.

"It's my titties,
hun. Since I got knocked up they've been rock hard and hurting like a
bitch," he shrugged and put a finger to his mouth. "Must be
the beginning of my lactation."

I struggled to hold in
my laughter. “You’re a weird little freak, you know that?
Honestly!"

He wiggled his fingers
at me, cackling. "But I'm your little freak and you love me
anyway," he said with all confidence.

"God knows I do!"
I lilted.

"Well, you
and
my little Pookie."

"What?" I
screeched and pulled him to arm’s length. He smiled a huge, loving
smile.
Aww!

"He loves me, ham
roll, me! The sun has finally come out! I bet my bottom dollar and it
came out!"

"And?" I
pushed.

"And, I told him I
loved him too – he's my shy little field mouse," he confided
coyly.

"Babe, I'm super
chuffed for you! My mam will be so excited to meet him." I
crushed him with another hug.

"Thanks, pork
loin." He nudged me with his elbow, eying me up.

"What?"

"I think someone
loves you too."

I rolled my eyes.
"Moving swiftly on..."

"No! And stop
rolling them eyes at me! I'm telling you, he loves you and your fine
curves." He turned to me and sang, "
Tash and Tudor
sitting in a tree, S-E-X-X-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes
marriage, then come Tink and Tatey to complete the package!
"

I burst out laughing
when he pounced on me. "Come on, Wil; bring it in, on the count
of three: 'Team Four-T's!' You ready?"

I reluctantly threw in
my arms, laying them over his. "One... two... three."

"Team Four-T's,"
we shouted in unison, and then let out several belly-laughs. Tink
kissed my cheek and grasped my hand, laying his head on my shoulder
and snorting with laughter at our chant. When we had calmed down, a
peaceful silence filled the room. "Wil?"

"Mmm?"

"I think you love
him too."

I froze and then, quick
as a snit, jumped from the couch. "You want a drink, you slut of
a fay?"

Tink tutted loudly at
my avoidance of the topic. "You can't lie to me or yourself
forever, piglet!"

I cranked up Fears on my iDock and
motioned that I couldn't hear him over the music. I knew Tink’s
words were dangerously close to being the truth, and I wasn’t ready
to acknowledge it.

I went to school as
normal on Monday and Tuesday, and again, I didn't see Tudor on the
evenings. We spoke on the phone, though mostly it felt strained and
contrived. He had agreed to come over on Wednesday to see me before I
flew home on Thursday night for Christmas – it was something, I
supposed.

For my final lesson of
the term, I had the Grade Ten World Religions class, and in it was
Boleyn Jones, who had quite quickly been taken out of ‘Destiny’s
Delinquents’ and placed back into normal, mainstream classes. I was
still at a loss as to why she was ever there in the first place, and
Tudor wasn’t cracking, so as ever, I was none the wiser.

I knew for a fact that
Tudor had never informed Boleyn of our relationship, but I was
slightly nervous that she may have seen the photo of us together on
the internet or the TV, like the rest of the world – in fact I was
convinced she had. If the snickers and whispers that followed me
through the school corridors from her fellow classmates were any
indication, she had definitely seen me aboard the back of the Tudor
Express.

From the moment she
walked in, I knew something was up. I stood at the door and welcomed
in each child as normal. Boleyn was the last through the door. “How
are you Boleyn, excited for Christmas break?” I asked cheerily.

She simply and
muttered. “Oh yeah, ecstatic!”

O-kay!

“Well, someone’s in
the festive spirit! Cheer up, it may never happen!” I joked, trying
to improve her stinking attitude whilst I turned to the board writing
‘The Five Pillars of Islam’ across the centre.

I heard a screech of a
chair, and snapped around to face the class at the sound.

Boleyn was standing
near her desk, face full of thunder. “May never happen? What the
hell do you know? Believe it or not, you're not always right.”

My head shot back to
look at her.
What did she just say to me?
"Erm, Boleyn,
please do not take that tone with me. Let’s discuss this calmly."
I said firmly.

Her eyes began to fill
with water. "Why, are you struggling to understand me? What's
wrong? Can't you understand my accent? ‘Cos that’d be rich,
coming from you!"

"Boleyn, this is
your last warning. Reel it in,
now
and tell me what the
problem is!" I stared at her expression, and her bottom lip
began to tremble, tears streaming down her face. She was becoming
hysterical.

I moved around my desk
pushing my arms out, trying to calm her down. “Boleyn, settle down.
What’s wrong? Come outside, come on,” I offered as I ushered her
out of the door and into the quiet corridor, using the calming voice
that we were trained at University to use to soothe an irate child.

I craned my head back
into the classroom. “The rest of you, create five questions that
you have about the Islamic faith in the back of your books. I’ll be
back in a few minutes, and no talking!" I shrilled.