by KE Payne
“I feel it.”
“It’s been hard,” Ellen interjected. “Since your father—”
“Since before,” Blair countered. “Since long before.” He tossed a look to Tag, then hunkered over his meal, his shoulders heavy. He began to eat, each mouthful more wearied than the last.
“We need to talk,” Tag said, “about the future.” Blair didn’t reply. Tag started to eat, if only to relieve the oppressive silence. For a short while, the only sound came from the scraping of cutlery on plates, or the occasional clearing of a throat. Finally Tag put her knife and fork down.
“I’m not here long, Blair,” she said. “Once we’ve sorted out Dad’s finances I would like to get something sorted about the mill before I go home again.”
“Before you run out on us again, you mean?”
“Before I have to go back to work.”
“Hang on.” Blair put his fork down too. “I thought you said you were freelance down there? Worked for yourself?”
“I am, kinda. I’m on Anna’s payroll, though.”
“So you’re not actually your own boss, then? Only…kinda?” Blair air-quoted. “Another lie. There’s a surprise.”
“Don’t split hairs,” Tag protested, wondering why she had to justify herself.
“But I thought this Anna person used to be your girlfriend,” Blair argued. “You’re telling me she’d mind if you stayed here longer? Do me a favour.” He glared at her.
“It’s complicated,” Tag said.
“Isn’t it always with you?” Blair said darkly.
“She’s not my only boss.” Tag skimmed Blair’s and Ellen’s faces. “Her husband is too.”
“Her husband?” Ellen sounded shocked.
“Priceless,” Blair sneered. “You had an affair with a married woman?”
“No.” Tag’s face darkened. “A married woman had an affair with me.”
“There’s a difference, is there?”
“When it comes to Anna Deveraux, then, yes,” Tag replied. Anna had pursued her. Relentlessly. Showered her with gifts, said all the things Tag had needed to hear when she’d been at her most vulnerable. Tag had fallen for it—fallen for Anna. Then it had all started to unravel. “I took far more time off than I should have,” Tag continued. “As it is, I came up here having not been paid for the last three jobs I’ve done for them.”
“The sacrifices we make for family, hey?” Blair replied caustically.
“Don’t.” Tag fired a warning shot at him. “You have no idea about my life.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Another silence glided briefly across the kitchen table.
“The mill.” Tag cleared her throat. Change the subject. Fast. “You know as well as I do that I have no right to my share of it.”
“At last she talks some sense.” Blair picked his plate up and took it to the sink.
“So, like I keep telling you, I want you to have my half,” Tag said. “The sooner you accept, the sooner I can go.”
Blair cast a look to Ellen.
“It’s your entitlement, not mine,” Tag continued. “John Flynn made it clear that it was Dad’s wish for it to stay in the Grainger name. So it’s only right that you have one hundred percent of it.”
“I see.” Blair hung back by the sink. “You still don’t want anything to do with it? Not even after all these years?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start with it, Blair,” Tag said. “I work in advertising in a large city. Everything I ever learned around this place has long been forgotten.”
“It’s in your blood, Tag.” Blair picked up a towel and wiped his hands on it. “Even if you don’t think you know anything about it, you do. It’s instinct.”
“I don’t.” Tag shook her head firmly. “And I don’t want any part in it. I want you to have it.”
“I need to think about it.”
Not the reaction she wanted. Why hadn’t Blair jumped at the chance to have control of the whole place? Isn’t that what he’d wanted all these years?
“But we can come up with something reasonable between us, surely?” Tag asked. Just let me get shot of the place. And soon.
“And once it’s all signed over to me? Then what?” Blair asked. “You’ll go straight back to Liverpool, I suppose?”
“I guess.” She met his eyes. “There’ll be nothing keeping me here then, will there?”
“No.” Blair hurled his towel down and brushed past her. “I don’t suppose there will be.”
Chapter Nine
Freddie could tell that Skye felt very special right now. Even though her little girl had had to stand on her small stool to see her reflection better in her bedroom mirror, Freddie knew the pinafore dress she’d chosen for Skye to wear to the party was perfect for her. With a patchwork of light and dark blue squares, a sprinkling of pink splatters, and an accompanying cream polo neck underneath, the dress was perfect. Teamed with a pair of woollen navy tights and sturdy brown boots, Freddie was confident Skye would be the best-dressed five-year-old in the entire room.
It was Wednesday evening. The ceilidh. The cafe at the Mill was in a mixed mood, and the staff and their families that were now mingling inside were a combination of those who were determined to celebrate, regardless of the circumstances, and those who thought mourning Adam was still more appropriate, rather than drinking and dancing.
Freddie clutched her drink. Her cafe, cleaned from top to bottom just that afternoon, was always a source of pride to her, and seeing it filled to near capacity pleased her. If only it could be this busy all the time, though. Tag’s words to her two days before returned. What had she meant, she’d have to have a think about things? Regardless of what Freddie had told Tag, the lick of fresh paint and a few new paintings flung up on the walls had done little to encourage customers in. Thanks to the new bypass, now taking much needed passing trade away from the cafe, there were days—increasingly just lately—when all Freddie had to do was sit at her favourite table by the window and wait for the next customer to arrive, watching as the cakes went stale.
And Freddie so desperately wanted Tag to think she was capable, and not just from a business point of view either. The truth was—and Freddie had had plenty of time to think about it over the last few days—that she cared increasingly as the days drifted past, about not only what Tag thought of the cafe, but what she thought of her too.
“You okay?” Pete spoke loudly to be heard over the band. “You look a million miles away.”
“Just thinking how nice this is.” Freddie lifted her glass to the room. “Seeing it full of life and voices.” She glanced around her. “Skye okay?”
“She’s showing Magnus Colonel Sam.” Pete nodded his head to the corner of the room.
“She brought her plastic soldiers?”
“Just the colonel.”
“Well I suppose he is head of her platoon.” Freddie laughed.
“So, I met Tag just now,” Pete said. “And guess what? She’s not the snooty bitch everyone in this village made her out to be. You were right.”
Freddie’s stomach twinged at the mention of Tag’s name.
“Fancy that.” Freddie rolled her eyes. “Village gossip gets it wrong again.”
“I thought she was very nice, actually.” Pete took a drink from his glass.
“Seems to be,” Freddie said, her face giving nothing away. Her eyes immediately fell onto Tag. Of course they did; she had barely been out of her line of vision for the last ten minutes.
“And what do you think?”
“Oh, she’s nice enough,” Freddie said, choosing her words cautiously. More than nice. Attractive; funny; attentive. Trouble and unobtainable. Freddie frowned down into her glass. Definitely trouble.
“I’m sensing a but.” Pete leaned his head to one side.
“But, well, it’s like I told you before—she’s one of my new bosses, isn’t she. Blair I can cope with. But what if she goes ahead and does what I’ve been thinkin
g she’ll do and recommends a load of changes before she goes again?” She stole another look towards Tag. “I’ll be on my guard with her for a while, I think. Just until I know what she’s planning on doing while she’s here.” On her guard professionally and emotionally.
“I guess she’s not here long enough to make an impact,” Pete said pragmatically.
“What I’m worried about,” Freddie said, steering Pete into a corner, “is that she’ll do something when she finds out the mill’s not ever going to make her a millionaire.”
“Sell, you mean?”
Freddie shrugged. “Or close parts of the mill. The cafe in particular. Whatever she says, whether she sticks around or not, she does own half of it.”
“She’s a Grainger,” Pete said. “If she has even a quarter of Adam’s kindness, you’ll be okay, though.”
“I did think that too,” Freddie said. Her line of vision drifted across the room and settled on Tag again. Memories of their afternoon spent together in the cafe after the funeral came to her, swiftly accompanied by the now familiar feelings of sympathy and attraction. “I wonder exactly why she left all those years ago.” Tag was alone, sitting at the counter. “The rumour mill came up with so many things. I reckon she’ll have a few skeletons in her cupboard.”
“Interested?” Pete sized Tag up. “She’s kind of cute.”
“Don’t even go there.” Freddie patted his stomach. “But yes, she’s very cute.” She widened her eyes to Pete, making him laugh. Humour, she figured, was always a good distraction to deflect someone’s true feelings. “Still, one to be avoided, I think.”
“You haven’t had a date since Charlotte.”
“Even so”—Freddie drained her glass—“it’s not about me any more, is it?” she said. “My focus is Skye. I have to think about her.”
“Even though you’ve just told me you think Tag’s cute?” Pete nudged her.
“Cute, but way too much hassle.” Freddie meant it too. For as much as Tag intrigued her and crept into her thoughts more and more frequently the more she saw her or heard her name mentioned, Freddie knew her life needed simplicity. And Tag didn’t suggest simplicity to her.
As Freddie watched Tag from across the room, she saw Magnus attract Tag’s attention. Tag’s expression changed in a heartbeat from melancholy to delight, pricking at Freddie’s insides. Tag hopped down from her stool and made her way across the cafe floor towards him, saying something that Freddie couldn’t quite pick up, despite her full attention now being on her.
“You think she’s trouble?” Pete’s voice cut through the hubbub in the room. “The black sheep of the family?”
“I think she has a story to tell, for sure,” Freddie said. Magnus was talking excitedly to Tag. She had, Freddie noticed, her entire focus on him alone, as if no one else in the room mattered. “I think it’ll be an interesting one too.” Tag, Freddie figured, didn’t strike her as boring. A frisson of curiosity spread across her chest again. Freddie took a gulp from her drink, swallowing the feeling down before Pete could notice. Her eyes, though, returned to Tag.
She was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest. Skye was to one side of her, Magnus to the other. Colonel Sam in front. Tag was talking animatedly to Skye. Arms were lifted, eyes widened. Skye was transfixed, so was Magnus, even though he was pretending not to be. Although his head was bent over a phone, he repeatedly grinned into his fleece and lifted his head as he listened to Tag talking. Freddie was entranced at the ease and friendliness with which Tag spoke with both children.
Pete set his empty glass on a nearby table. “I think I better go save her.” Pete nodded towards Tag and her fan club. “Skye has one of those looks on her face that says, You’re not leaving here until I’ve told you my entire life history.”
“I’ll go.” Freddie drained her drink. There was no way Pete was getting to Tag first. “Could do with a refill anyway.”
She wandered from him before he could stop her. Grabbing another wine for herself, and a bottle of beer for Tag, she weaved her way around others in the room and approached them. Tag’s voice filtered through the closer she got.
“…it was this big, and this wide…the biggest I’d ever seen…fell into the water and splash!”
Skye’s stream of giggles drew a smile from Freddie, who continued to watch, fascinated, as Tag told her tale, Skye’s eyes fixed firmly on her, as if there was no other person in the room at that moment. Tag, Freddie thought with a small flutter of excitement, had the same effect on her. It was as though the second Tag was within Freddie’s vision, nothing and nobody else mattered to Freddie. Tag’s effect on her, Freddie thought as she gripped her wine glass tighter, was enthralling.
She was a natural with Skye too, Freddie noted, as she continued to both entertain and delight her, treating her with both gentleness and kindness. That warmed Freddie. Rarely—certainly not since Charlotte, anyway—had Freddie seen Skye so wrapped up in one person. Tag, for her part, seemed to be perfectly enjoying her storytelling too. Freddie studied her face and her body language as her tale reached its conclusion and saw no hint of anything other than genuine pleasure at the reaction she was getting from both Skye and Magnus.
As Freddie approached the trio, Skye finally pulled her eyes from Tag and gazed up at Freddie. “Tag caught a fish,” she managed to say through her laughter. “And fell in the water.” Her eyes immediately went back to Tag, fascinated.
“The fish fell in the water?” Freddie peered down at them.
“No!” A chorus of voices.
“Tag did,” Skye corrected. “She fell in the water.” More giggles. Then a hiccup. More laughter, even from Magnus as well this time.
*
Tag, her cheeks suffused with warmth from the heat of the room and from her spirited storytelling, glanced up at Freddie, pleased that Freddie’s eyes were already on her. At last she’d come over to her; all the while Tag had been storytelling she’d been acutely aware of Freddie and Pete watching her from across the room. She had willed Freddie to come over and talk some more with her, rather than hanging back with Pete. Now, with their eyes firmly on one another’s, Tag knew if she didn’t cut her storytelling and take the opportunity to talk to Freddie again before she left, she’d regret it. Talking to Freddie—no, being with Freddie—was all she could think about just lately. Tag spied the bottle of beer in Freddie’s hand and, hoping desperately Freddie had brought it over for her, immediately saluted Skye. “It’s been lovely to meet you, Skye,” she said. “And Colonel Sam.” Another salute. “Keep up the good work, Colonel.”
“Are you going?” Skye’s face fell.
“Just for five minutes.” Tag scrambled to her feet. “And when I get back, I’ll tell you the story of how I saved a fox from the River Dynne when I was smaller.”
Skye’s mouth widened. “You saved a fox?”
“I certainly did.” Tag took the bottle of beer that was handed to her. “So you wait there and I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“Okay.” The word was drawn out.
Tag high-fived Magnus, who didn’t look up, and moved away from them. She waited for Freddie to finish giving Skye whatever instructions she was giving her and return to her.
“Thank you for the beer.” She chinked the base of her bottle lightly against Freddie’s wine glass.
“You looked like you needed a top up,” Freddie said. “And saving from Skye.”
“She’s lovely.” Tag looked back over to her, a smile automatically returning to her lips.
“So I think you’ve met everyone now?” Freddie asked. “Vernon, just before the music started up again, was the last one.”
“I think so, yes,” Tag replied. She was alone with Freddie, tucked away in the corner of the room. Tag allowed her eyes to linger on Freddie, to her slightly flushed cheeks, to her hair that tumbled around her face, and felt her own skin flush even more. It was astonishing, Tag thought as she drank her beer, that a girl whom she’d barely known
for seventy-two hours could have already started to infiltrate her thoughts; that her very existence made Tag wake up each morning excited about what the day might bring with her.
“Well that’s the worst bit over,” Freddie said, and Tag realized she’d been staring. She couldn’t help it. There was just something about Freddie Metcalfe that made Tag want to look at her, again and again, to study every detail of her face, to envelop herself in her. Tag took another hasty drink.
It was more than just Freddie’s beauty and personality which had hooked her, though. Freddie’s kindness had knocked her for six too, and her compassion, Tag thought as she gazed out around the room, had really touched her. A sea of faces had greeted Tag when she’d arrived at the ceilidh earlier. Some she recognized vaguely from her past, others she remembered seeing at the funeral. Others she didn’t have a clue who they were. A sense of dread had washed over her as she’d seen the expectation and worry on their faces, and the realization that they were—albeit temporarily—her responsibility had hit her like a train.
Each person had introduced themselves to her over the course of the evening, their names barely filtering in to Tag’s panicked brain: Alan, George, Tim. How had this happened? Steven, Sally. How, in the blink of an eye, had she inherited all this when she neither needed it, wanted it, or felt able to cope with it? Graham, Vernon.
Tag had sought reassurance from her brother but had found none. Blair, it seemed, was deliberately allowing Tag to shoulder everything on her own. Rather than being with her when each member of staff had approached her, bombarded her with their questions and worries, Blair had chosen instead to secret himself away with his Scotch in the corner of the cafe and let Tag just get on with it. She knew Blair was teaching her a lesson. She wasn’t so naive that she didn’t know what he was doing. So he’d taught her a lesson and Tag had handled it with maturity. Perhaps now Blair had got it out of his system, he’d finally start to come round.
The only reassurance the entire night, she thought, had been from the eyes that now met hers. Freddie. She had been a rock when Tag felt as though she was floundering. Freddie’d told her more about who each person was after they’d left; she’d stood by her side as new faces and names came to her, time and again. It was only when Vernon had finished his small talk with her that Freddie had finally left her side. Tag had appreciated that. Freddie was kind and funny, a refreshing change from the curtness she’d been used to from Anna. She stole another look at her. Kind, funny, and beautiful; some people had it all. Freddie certainly did. Tag looked away, embarrassed, as Freddie caught her looking again.
