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.