I opened my eyes slowly and sighed heavily. “Okay, babe. Sorry.”
He smiled lovingly. “Come on, sausage, I’ve run you a bath. Have a lush thirty-minute soak and you’ll feel loads better afterwards.”
Tink led me to my bathroom, where he had lit all my strawberry-scented Yankee Candles, illuminating my cream-and-gold en-suite into a sumptuous haven. My bath tub was huge and filled to the brim with bubbling vanilla foam, enticing me to envelope my aching and battered body in its depths.
Tink moved to the iDock situated on the shelf above the vanity cabinet, and within seconds Bruno Mars was serenading me about girls being perfect just the way they are. My fairy saviour helped me undress, and guided me as I sank down into the hot and soothing water. He then pulled down the gold gilded padded toilet lid and made himself comfortable.
My bestie and I for many years have had our best discussions whilst one of us soaks in the bath and the other sits astride the loo seat. We can chat for hours. Actually, for me it’s weird to have a bath without the ramblings of Tink filling the room.
As I lathered up my nourishing coconut milk shampoo to try and remove the dried blood from my hair, I glanced at the toilet fairy. He was contemplating something. I knew because he had captured his tongue between his teeth, a dead giveaway to the fact that something was bugging him. He would tell me when he was ready, and in the meantime I enjoyed the peace.
The intro to ‘Grenade’ had just kicked in when Tink spoke. “Wil?”
“Mmm?” I murmured.
“What do you think of Tudor?"
I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. “Like, do you like him? Do you think he’s nice?”
“He’s gorgeous, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
He shook his head. “No, I mean do you like him? His personality.”
He was completely serious – very out of character.
I thought about my answer. “I don’t know. He seems too abrupt and moody at times, but then today when he let that slide he was… I don’t know… kind of… sweet.” I shrugged. “I don’t know him, Tink, and probably never will. He has a wall build up around him so high that I’ve decided not to think about it as it makes my head hurt,” I said, trying to sound convincing.
Tink shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been watching him. In fact, I made a point to watch him all last night and today while he played nurse.”
I sat up slightly. “Is this you telling me you like him – like, like him, like him?” I asked, feeling my stomach doing more flips than an Eastern European gymnast.
Woah! Calm down stomach. Why did I just react like that?
“I don’t want you to use Tate to get close to him. Tate’s lovely and I don’t want you to hurt him. He is clearly into you,” I continued, scolding.
Tink lowered his wrist from his chin and glared at me, raising his pierced eyebrow. “I like Tate too, and I am not using him to get to the obviously straight Tudor.”
“Okay,” I said crinkling my forehead in confusion.
He sat up, slapping his hands on his knees. “I think Tudor likes you,” he blurted out suddenly.
I simply stared at him in response.
“Hear me out, Wil. Last night everyone at the restaurant commented on how he watched you. You didn’t see it, as you had no clue he was even sitting at the back table. I thought that was strange enough. But today, well today it was… I don’t know how to explain it. He was about to blow a fuse at being ploughed down by us on our fabulous new skates and his face was fuming with rage, until he looked down.
“When he realised it was you underneath his bulk, his whole attitude changed. You could see it physically in his face, like he had just been told he’d won the lottery – I actually got chills. Then when he saw you were hurt, the sheer panic in his eyes was haunting. He began freaking out, and ripped off his gloves just to touch your face, took off his scarf to put under your head. I couldn’t look away and nor could Tate. When we pulled away to go to the hospital, I swear he looked broken, Wil. I-I just… I am…” Tink let out an exaggerated sigh. “I just don’t know what to make of it all. I can’t figure him out.” He physically slumped forward, the enormity of his revelations now off his little fairy chest.
I was as still as a statue, taking in everything that he had said. I shouldn’t have let myself be affected, but I couldn’t help it. I remembered some of what Tink was telling me: the fingers brushing across my face, the small laughs, the protective embrace and the crestfallen expression on his rugged face as we pulled away from the curb.
What did it mean? Did it mean anything at all? No, his reluctance at going to the hospital confirmed that.
“Tink, it’s nothing. If he was so worried he would have took me to the hospital himself,” I argued.
My frazzled bestie frowned at my words. “He talked to me about that just before I got into the car. He said that he didn’t want it to be a circus, and that it would have been with him there. Said that he can’t go anywhere anymore without causing riot and that your health was the priority and an impromptu autograph signing would distract the doctors from focusing all their attention on you.” Tink looked away and then back to me. “Tate told me something else too. He said that Tudor hates hospitals.”
I sighed. “Well who likes them?”
Tink shook his head. “No, Wil, like he can’t go in them without freaking out. He didn’t say why, but I have a feeling there’s more to it than just a general dislike. Tate made it seem that he’d react like trying to get a Geordie lass to step out of the house with non-fake-tanned naturally pale skin – an absolute no go!”
He moved to kneel at the bath by my head. “Wil, I don’t know if you should have anything to do with him. Something feels off to me, he seems too locked up, too distant, and the way he looks at you scares me – it’s possessive, bordering on obsessive. There’s more to Mr. North than we could ever know, and I want you to stay away for your sake. If not yours, then for mine.”
“Tink, I can guarantee you that Tudor North is not interested in me, and I have only known him for a grand total of, what? Eighteen hours? I am not putting myself down when I say this, but I am fully aware that I am not Miss. Universe and that people like Tudor North do not look at and desire people like me. I think he was just looking out for his sister by helping her clumsy teacher who he keeps unfortunately running – or should I say ploughing – into. It’s impossible that he would feel that way for me, just… impossible. I’m not being a Debbie Downer but him liking me will never happen. We are in two different leagues. But on the off-chance of him liking me, my new-found lifestyle would encourage me to go for it, would it not?” I joked.