Eternally North (Eternally North 1)

With that, the floodgates of my pain opened and I cried. I cried all night long. I must have blacked out at some point, as the next thing I knew it was morning. Tink was lying next to me, and flashes of the previous day came back to haunt me. We are nothing.

I was numb to it, numb to Tudor, numb to being treated like crap. Tink edged closer to me and kissed my head. He knew how I felt and that no words could comfort me. No explanations needed.

It was simply time to move on. No more Tudor North.

Tudor bloody North!

* * *

It was Tuesday before I knew it, the day before the show’s opening night. I was in my classroom getting all of the final details tied up – programmes, call sheets, props lists – when there was a gentle knock at the door. In walked Boleyn.

“Hey Boleyn, are you okay?” I asked, noticing for the first time just how similar in colouring she was to Tudor. Saying that, I had also thought the burn marks on my toast looked like him that morning – tattoos included.

Yep, I’m definitely moving on!

“Yeah, Miss, I just wanted to speak to you about tomorrow night.”

“Of course, come and take a seat.”

Boleyn sat down opposite me, and was all smiles.

“Are you excited, chuck?” I asked her.

“Yeah I can’t wait, Miss, I’m really nervous, but excited as well. Erm, I came to see you about seating tomorrow night for my family.”

“Sure, how can I help?”

“Well, as you know my brother is kind of… well known. You remember you met him a while ago?”

My heart sank. Tudor had obviously not mentioned to his family that he had been seeing me, even as a friend. Just more strings to his ever-secretive bow.

I nodded at her question. “I remember, Boleyn.”

“Well, he wants to come tomorrow to see me, but doesn’t want to cause a commotion by sitting in the auditorium. No-one’s supposed to know we’re related, right? Is there anywhere he can sit out of sight? I really want him there to see me perform.” She looked so nervous, it was obvious just how much her big brother meant to her.

“Well, we do have the theatre boxes. Box six is out of sight, high enough that you can’t see into it from the Dress Circle and Stalls. We can put your family there, maybe? Yes, that could work. The rest of the boxes are being left empty, but in your circumstance I'm sure we can make an exception.”

She squealed and clapped her hands. “That’s perfect, Miss, Tudor will be so happy. He’s been trying not to come, he was so reluctant for some reason, but now he has to come, doesn’t he?”

I nodded gently and smiled back at her glowing face.

Boleyn got up from the chair and practically ran for the door. “See you tomorrow, Miss!”

When she was gone, I let my head fall to the desk.

Great. Tomorrow will be just great!

Chapter 15

The show must go on

Show night, and backstage was bedlam. There were people everywhere, make-up powder was fogging up the room and enough hairspray was being sprayed to completely eradicate the ozone layer. The audience were filling the seats, and the atmosphere was electric. I loved the feel of the theatre on opening night.

I had dressed to impress, wearing a cap-sleeved, fitted black dress that went to my knees; with my hair down and curled at the ends; and subtle and classy make-up. I looked good. As the director, I would have to mingle at the post-show party, and Ms. Thomas had insisted I dressed professional to please the fee-paying parents. I’m not sure how she felt about my usual attire, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that.

I was busy making all of the final checks: microphones had batteries, spotlights had new bulbs, and scripts and props were in the correct places. A tap to my shoulder stopped me in the middle of counting the plastic swords.

“Ms. Munro, my family are in the parking lot. Where should I tell them to go?” asked Boleyn, portraying the perfect embodiment of Fantine, minus the prostitution and starvation.

Ugh, time to deal with Tudor.

“I’ll take them through the back entrance to the boxes. No-one will see them there. Tell them to go to the south-west door. I’ll meet them now.”

Boleyn grabbed her phone and relayed the message. She pulled me in for a hug – a strange move for the usually unapproachable teen. “Thank you, Ms. Munro. You’re the best!”

“No problem, hun. Now go and get ready. Curtain call in fifteen minutes.”

I walked to the back door, and there on the other side were the Joneses – or the Norths, as they were by law. I opened the door and moved back as they all piled in.

Boleyn’s mother, Pamela was the first in and she grabbed my hand as she walked by. “Ms. Munro, thank you so much for organising this. I realise we are an awkward bunch!”

Her smile was one of guilt.

“It’s no problem, really,” I assured her, and I meant it. They were a lovely family. Well, all except one certain heartbreaker.

“Hello Tash, nice to see you again,” said Henry and Samantha in unison, the picture of happiness, his arm tightly around her shoulder and all smiles for each other.

A few paces behind them stood Tudor. I allowed myself a quick peek at him, heart in my throat. He looked bloody fantastic.

Damn it!

He wore dark jeans, a white knitted hoody with a low neck, showing the impressive chest tattoos that went to his neck, and a grey fitted blazer that clung to every ounce of his corded muscles. For once his head was absent of a hat, and teamed with his five o'clock shadow he looked positively yummy.