Once the Clouds Have Gone
Page 1
Table of Contents
Synopsis
What Reviewers Say About KE Payne’s Work
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Epilogue
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Nine years after leaving the small Scottish town where she’d grown up, Tag Grainger is forced to return following the sudden death of her father—and back to a life she’s long since put behind her. After inheriting a share in a family business she wants no part in, Tag is overwhelmed by the dark clouds of her past: her brother can’t forgive her, the nephew she adored doesn’t remember her, and everywhere she goes there are whispers about how she abandoned her family.
With her old wounds reopened, Tag longs to escape again, until the appearance of the intriguing and spirited Freddie Metcalfe forces her to reevaluate much more than she thought she needed to. But while Freddie is harboring a secret of her own, can she help Tag reconnect with her family and move on from her past?
What Reviewers Say About KE Payne’s Work
Because of Her
“A must-read.”—Lesbian Fiction Reviews
365 Days
“One of the most real books I’ve ever read. It frequently made me giggle out loud to myself while muttering, ‘OMG, RIGHT?’”—AfterEllen.com
“Payne captures Clemmie’s voice—an engaging blend of teenage angst and saucy self-assurance—with full-throated style.”—Richard Labonte, Book Marks
me@you.com
“A fast-paced read [that] I found hard to put down.”—C-Spot Reviews
“A wonderful, thought-provoking novel of a teenager discovering who she truly is.”—Fresh Fiction
Another 365 Days
“Funny, engaging, and accessible.”—Kirkus Reviews
The Road to Her
“A wonderful, heart-warming story of love, unrequited love, betrayal, self discovery and coming out.”—Terry’s Lesfic Reviews
Once the Clouds Have Gone
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eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Once the Clouds Have Gone
© 2014 By KE Payne. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-259-5
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: October 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri (GraphicArtist2020@hotmail.com)
By the Author
365 Days
me@you.com
Another 365 Days
The Road to Her
Because of Her
Once the Clouds Have Gone
Acknowledgments
My sincere thanks to Ruth Sternglantz, Stacia Seaman, and Cindy Cresap for their continued help and advice. To Sheri for another fantastic and beautiful cover, and to each and every other member of the Bold Strokes Books team who make publishing my books such a pain-free journey. Thank you all.
Thanks, as always, to Sarah Martin for her beta-reading skills, and to Mrs D for always being just an e-mail away if I need someone to lean on.
BJ—you’re the best. Thanks for always being there, and for putting up with all the grumbling when it comes around to grumbling time. Without your love and support, none of this would ever be possible.
Finally, a massive thank you to all the readers who continue to buy my books, and who take the time to contact me. I truly appreciate every e-mail, Facebook comment, and Tweet that you send me. Your continued support is immensely important to me—thank you all so much.
Chapter One
The paint on the door was olive green. That was different. The last time she’d stood in front of it, just as she was now, it had been dark brown. Russet, her father had called it, rather than just plain brown. Tag Grainger lightly ran her fingers over the bobbled wood of the cafe’s door frame and smiled wistfully. Her father had always been a stickler for those finer details. Her eye fell to a small crack in the bottom corner of one of the door’s windows and she gave a quick blink, remembering in an instant that she had caused the crack so many years before. A cup thrown. Or had it been a plate? Tag couldn’t bring those finer details to her mind at that moment, but did it really matter now? It wasn’t important any more, even if it must have been important to her at the time.
“Excuse me.”
Tag swivelled round.
“Are you arriving or just leaving?” The elderly man standing behind her lifted his chin to the door.
“Arriving.” Tag swallowed. “Sorry. Please. After you.” She pulled the door open and stood to one side, allowing the man to pass, acknowledging his thanks with a brief nod.
Her gaze was drawn back to the broken window frame. So they could repaint the door but not replace a broken piece of glass after all this time? Sounded about right. With a final longing glance out over the car park, towards the sanctuary of her car, Tag followed the man into the cafe and closed the door behind her.
Her past rushed to greet her as the door clicked shut, trapping her inside. Her childhood, locked away for the last nine years, clambered about her, vying for her attention, pulling her by the hand to revisit past sights and smells. Tag looked about her. Although the cafe looked slightly different now, it smelled the same as it always had done: an unmistakable odour of fresh coffee and baking, mixed in with the faint whiff of cleaning fluids and the heady smell of musty age that still clung stubbornly to the walls.
“What can I get you?” A girl from behind the counter called over to Tag.
Tag looked up. The elderly man was already seated, his newspaper spread out on the table in front of him. Tag approached the counter. Tiredness dragged at her eyes, thanks to a combination of the nightmare drive up from Glasgow that morning, following a sleepless night in her charm-free motel in the heart of the city, tossing and turning over her thoughts until the small hours. The endless traffic passing by her window the entire night had done little to help her insomnia either.
“Cappuccino.” Tag paused. “Can you make it decaffeinated, please?”
<
br /> The girl pulled a mug down from a stack behind her. “We don’t do decaffeinated, I’m afraid.”
“No decaffeinated coffees?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Every cafe offers decaf, don’t they?” Tiredness inflamed Tag’s irritability. Perhaps an espresso might be a better option…
“In the city, maybe.” The girl smiled. “In a small town like Balfour?” She lifted her arms out. “You’re kind of lucky your only options aren’t just teabags and Nescafe instant.” She laughed.
Tag stared at her. The girl was a comedian.
“Then I’ll have a cappuccino,” Tag said. “Make it a large one.”
“With pleasure.” The girl placed the mug into the coffee machine. “Anything else?”
Right on cue, Tag’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that it had been too long since she’d had breakfast.
An hour ago she’d been on the familiar road that wound its way all the way up to Balfour, and even though Tag hadn’t driven along it in nearly a decade, she’d remembered every bend, every landmark, and every viewpoint as she’d slammed her rented car into fifth and floored the accelerator, enjoying the freedom of the road and the lack of other cars which she’d left far behind her in Glasgow. That was what driving in Scotland was all about, she’d thought. Freedom, space. No one else around to hold her up as the scenery had scudded past her, the road hugging the lochside, a dense forest of pine trees running alongside it. The occasional tantalizing glimpse of a murky-green loch, its surface foaming in the strong wind that was relentlessly battering it, reminding Tag of past journeys.
Journeys she’d thought she’d probably never see again.
Finally the trees had cleared and then to her left had been water as far as the eye could see. Tag had turned her head slightly, appreciating the beauty of it as she drove on. She’d forgotten how much she’d missed the bleakness of the loch in winter and the arresting sight of the snow-capped mountains dotted around them. Her home in Liverpool was okay, but for sheer exhilaration there was nothing quite like being in amongst such imposing and majestic scenery.
“Sandwich? Shortbread?” The girl’s voice filtered through to Tag. “All freshly made here on-site.”
Just as her mother used to do.
Tag snapped her head up, expecting to see her mother. Instead, a stranger stared back at her.
“Shortbread. Thanks.” Tag’s stomach gave her another nudge of hunger, but this time mixed in with the nausea caused by finally being back in the very same cafe she’d stormed from nine years before, vowing never to return.
This was really happening. Tag was back in her childhood town, and now it was really starting to freak her out. All the while she’d been stuck in traffic, and when she’d been so wrapped up in the novelty of seeing the lochs again, she’d managed to stem the fear. But now, standing in the cafe that her parents used to own, her palms were starting to sweat and an irrational feeling of panic threatened to engulf her. The demons of her past nipped at her, blinding her.
“You okay?” The girl dipped her head. “You want to grab a seat and I’ll bring these over when they’re ready?”
Tag had been staring blankly. The girl must think she was crazy.
“Cheers.” Tag walked numbly to a seat by the window, a low hum of conversation from the other customers washing around her. She sank into her chair and stared out. Her father was dead. Tag bunched her fists, watching as her knuckles whitened slightly, then slowly released her grip. She hadn’t cried since she heard the news. She’d cried for days when her mother had died thirteen years before, but then she’d just been a teenager. Now? In adulthood, was she really that detached from her emotions that she found it impossible to grieve for him? Even when her father’s solicitor had tracked her down and called her to tell her, she’d hung up, picked up the remote control from where she’d left it, flicked the TV channel over, and carried on watching as if nothing had changed.
“One cappuccino, one shortbread.”
A shadow fell across the table. Tag glanced up, then sat back further in her chair as the girl placed them both on the table, smiled and retreated. Tag followed her progress back to the counter. Cafe servers, she figured, didn’t have to have any conversation in them. Neither did their customers. She spooned sugar into her coffee, then wetted her finger, dabbed some loose sugar from the top of her shortbread, then licked it off.
Thinking about her father had clicked her anxiety up a notch again. As a distraction, Tag focused her attention on the girl. She was about the same age as Tag, possibly slightly younger, but not much. Slimmer, too, but again, not much. Tag looked down at her shortbread, smiled, then back up to the girl. She was singing softly to herself, and although Tag couldn’t hear her over the hubbub in the cafe, she could see her lips moving as she busied herself behind the counter. Her face, now that she was singing, was more animated and showed, Tag thought as she sipped at her coffee, more of her character than she had seen just before. Tag’s mood mellowed again.
The girl had a nice face. Expressive and open. It was little wonder, Tag reflected, that her father had employed someone like that. The friendly face of the cafe.
Dad.
The low hum of conversation returned to her ears as she turned away from the girl and stared, unblinking, out of the window. Images of her parents danced on the edge of her subconscious as snapshots from her childhood played out in her head, intermingled with more recent images of just her father. They lasted only seconds before they drifted from her mind again.
Tag fixed her eyes on the table, panic rising in her throat again. Her mother returned to her, this time standing in a park in summer. Which park? The one in Balfour? Or somewhere else? Tag couldn’t tell. Her mother was wearing a blue dress—the one she’d always said was her favourite. Tag shook her head, chasing the image away. Remembering her parents now wasn’t going to change a thing.
Tag pulled her phone out from her jacket pocket. A distraction. That’s what she needed. Anything to quell the next panic attack that was just one more thought away. She peered at her contacts, needing to talk to someone. Anyone who’d tell her everything was going to be okay. But who? Anna? She was nothing to Anna now. Why would she want Tag calling her up, pouring her heart out? Tag scrolled down the list in her phone. There was no one else she felt she could ring. They were acquaintances, not friends. The result, Tag thought as she put her phone back into her pocket, of spending your life acting like you don’t need anyone’s help.
She was alone, she knew that. Just like always. And, like always, she’d deal with this on her own. Tag gazed down into her coffee, and then, unthinking, pulled out her wallet and the familiar battered photo from inside it. She looked down at the photo, cracked and dog-eared from years of being stuffed in and out of her wallet, and studied the faces staring back at her.
Yep. Alone.
Drinking back her coffee, Tag pushed her shortbread away, uneaten, and stood. She placed the photo back in her wallet and walked to the counter.
“All okay?” The girl’s eyes flitted to Tag’s table, to the uneaten shortbread, then back to Tag.
“Fine.” Tag checked herself. Her server didn’t deserve rudeness. “Thanks.” She opened her wallet again, tucking the photo further inside as she did so, and thumbed a note out.
“So, one cappuccino, one shortbread.” The girl ran her finger down her menu. “That’s four eighty-five, please.”
“How much?” Tag had misheard, surely.
“Four pounds and eighty-five pence. Thanks.” The girl held out her hand.
“For a coffee and a biscuit? How did you get that?” Tag frowned up at the drinks menu on a board behind the counter.
“Two eighty-five for the cappuccino. Large. And two pounds for the home-made shortbread.” She emphasized the home-made part, as if to drive her point home.
Tag lifted a brow. “Wow. Okay. Bit steep”—she glanced at the name badge on the girl’s polo shirt—“uh…Freddie.” Tag placed a fi
ve-pound note on the counter.
Freddie’s eyes flicked down to her name badge then immediately back to Tag. “Our regular customers would disagree.” Freddie swept the note from the counter. “They appreciate good quality home-baking.”
Tag’s eyes met hers. Freddie’s slow blink and continued stare made Tag’s neck go hot, even though she was determined not to break the stare first.
“Fifteen pence.” Tag held out her hand.
“I’m sorry?”
“My change.”
Finally, to Tag’s relief, Freddie turned away. She opened the till, scooped the change from it, and dropped it into Tag’s still outstretched palm.
“Thank you.” Tag stuffed the two coins into her trouser pocket.
“Pleasure.”
Tag strode from the counter without another word, pulled the door open, and stepped outside. Four eighty-five! Was that her father’s doing? Hiking up prices in what was, frankly, just a two-bit cafe in the middle of nowhere?
Tag dragged in a lungful of air. The thought of her father brought her reason for being back in Balfour crashing back to her. She pulled her car keys from her pocket, then looked at her watch. Tag swallowed down the coffee that was threatening to rise as hot acid back into her throat. Nearly midday. Time was creeping on, which meant that in just under three hours she would be at her father’s funeral.
Then the demons really would come back out to play.
Chapter Two
It was like time had stood still when Tag drove down from the cafe and along the high street of her old town. Okay, the shops had changed, but the basis of Balfour was still there. She named the old shops as she passed them: Gordon’s the Butchers, now a haberdashery; Wendy McKay’s hair salon, now a bike-hire shop; the sweet shop that she and Blair used to visit each Saturday morning, now a violin repair workshop.