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Somewhere in the interval between Charles's mother's funeral and the preparation for yet another big catering order, Shelly Makepiece popped into the O'Hara family kitchen.
Taggie was secretly delighted when she did so. Shelley might drop by several times a day: sometimes to reluctantly brew coffee, other times to recount a fresh piece of gossip with immense enthusiasm. And almost always, she would pinch a bite of something tasty that Taggie had just prepared, regardless of what the dish actually was. With her mouth full, Shelley invariably justified herself:
"Just a taste test."
This habit no longer amused her and sometimes annoyed Taggie, but she was quick to let it go and, a moment later, would be genuinely laughing at the latest nonsense her guest spouted.
It was an ordinary Thursday. Shelley flew into the kitchen with a tray of dirty mugs and immediately started loudly grumbling:
"Freddy is really pissing me off! I bet Valerie isn't putting out, so he’s taking it out on me with this coffee."
Taggie merely hid a smile, continuing to energetically knead the dough. Meanwhile, Shelley grabbed the jar of coffee and put the kettle on. A few minutes later, discovering that there wasn't enough boiling water for all the mugs, the girl nonchalantly topped one of them up with water straight from the tap.
"What are you doing?" Taggie gasped. "Let me put the kettle on again."
"No, this one is specifically for Freddy," Shelley cut her off. "And you just sit tight on your ass and mind your own business. What's this going to be, by the way?" she asked, nodding at the table.
"It's going to be lasagna," Taggie replied, looking with pride at the fruit of her labor.
"For home or for work?" Shelley was openly prowling with her eyes in search of something edible, but found nothing besides raw dough.
"For work. I have an order for tomorrow, though Dad and Patrick and Caitlin will get some too. And your coffee is getting cold, by the way."
"Whatever. So, are you catering for someone tomorrow?"
"No. I'll just drop the food off, and then I'm free. Why you asking?"
Taggie already had perfect plans for this long-awaited free evening. Ladyhawke was supposed to be on TV; Patrick had assured her she would absolutely love it. Her favorite strawberry ice cream was waiting for her in the freezer, and a Babycham was chilling in the fridge. She was already picturing herself wrapped in a soft blanket, with faithful Gertrude at her feet. And during the commercial breaks, she would just pop out to check if everyone had eaten their dinner.
"I just thought we could go to the bar again, like that weekend they put on the play. You seemed to like it."
"I did like it, but I don't know, Shelley... Whether Dad will let me go, and besides, I'm needed here," Taggie felt this responsibility particularly sharply because, given the wild success of the play, it seemed like her mother was abandoning them for good.
"Let you go? Taggie, what are you, twelve?" Shelley rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter. "Stop asking him for permission for every little step and worrying about a grown man. You have a legitimate day off. Here's the plan: you're staying the night at my place. My house is closer to town, and we won't be driving anyway because we'll be drunk. And we'll start at my place, too."
Taggie blinked in slight confusion, wiping the flour from her hands.
"You mean... we're going to start drinking before we even go to the bar? Why?"
"Because Kev will absolutely kill me if we drink on his dime again," Shelley snorted. "Last time we never paid our tab, and then he got carried away and started buying drinks for random people too... Anyway, long story short, they deducted a percentage from his paycheck. And I'm not about to nurse a single shot all evening. So we'll get properly drunk at home, and then see how it goes."
At these words, Taggie suddenly felt her cheeks burn. It hadn't even occurred to her that they had left a debt behind and caused someone trouble at work.
"Oh God... we didn't pay Kevin?" she said guiltily. "How embarrassing... I feel so terrible about it."
"Oh, whatever! He's my brother, he's supposed to put up with it," Shelley brushed it off and finally scooped up her tray of mugs. "So, I'll pick you up at seven?"
"At seven... Okay," Taggie nodded uncertainly, but with a faint smile already forming. "Only I'll bring some food with me, then."
"It's a deal! Get ready!" Shelley tossed over her shoulder as she walked away, vanishing down the hallway with the dirty dishes with bad coffee.
Taggie was a little nervous before heading out, although there was no good reason for it. Her father had let her go without any extra questions.
"Have fun, Tag," he tossed out, not even looking up from his papers, just planting a warm kiss on the top of her head as she walked by.
Caitlin made her swear that tomorrow she would recount the dirtiest details of the evening in vivid color. And Patrick was in his usual repertoire. When Taggie, already completely ready, was standing in the kitchen packing homemade toffees into a small tin, he leaned lazily against the doorframe and smugly declared:
"You know, Shelley wanted to sleep with me."
"Every single one of my friends has wanted to sleep with you, Patrick," Taggie countered without missing a beat, not lifting her eyes from the candies.
He let out a genuine laugh, and then, casting an observant glance over his sister, added softly:
"You look really nice, Tag. Seriously."
Taggie gave a barely noticeable smile, feeling her cheeks grow warm from the compliment. She had chosen her new, simple but elegant light-blue summer dress with thin straps, its skirt flowing lightly with every step. It was nice buying clothes knowing that her mother wouldn't steal them. Her makeup was neat and fresh: a little mascara that accentuated her eyes, a light peach blush, and a soft gloss on her lips. She felt like herself.
After all, she hadn't been out anywhere in ages, if you didn't count that spontaneous evening after the play. She catastrophically lacked the time to visit her friends in London, and to be honest, during their rare phone calls, they seemed increasingly distant to her. Catherine had finally saved up enough money and plunged headfirst into her studies. Emma was still working at the restaurant, but had suddenly gotten into some dubious home massages, declaring in all seriousness that this was true medicine. And yet, Taggie achingly missed those hours when they would go to the pub after a hard shift at work. Usually, Taggie hardly drank there, or just a tiny drop, but she absolutely loved dancing, shaking off her exhaustion.
At seven-thirty, a sharp, impatient car honk sounded from the street.
Taggie grabbed her purse and ran out of the house. Shelley was behind the wheel of the Makepiece family's beaten-up old car, which usually only Mr. Makepiece drove because it barely started, and she looked like the absolute polar opposite of Taggie. Saturated blue eyeshadow screamed on her eyelids, blended almost all the way up to her eyebrows, her cheekbones burned with bright pink blush, and her lips were generously painted in fuchsia. Her hair was teased into an incredible, almost aggressive volume, fixed dead in place with hairspray. But she still looked beautiful in Taggie's eyes. It was, as Patrick would say, organic to Shelley.
"Hop in!" she shouted over the noise of the engine.
"Hi! I brought something," Taggie settled into the passenger seat and held out the tin. She had noticed that these were Shelley's favorite candies, as wrappers from them were so often left on their table.
Shelley's eyes widened with delight. She instantly snatched a candy, popped it into her mouth, and mumbled:
"Oh my God, Taggie, you are a saint!" She vigorously cranked the steering wheel and slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. "Right, let's go!"
The car lurched forward, leaving the quiet priory behind. The warm summer wind rushed in a powerful stream through the fully open windows, mercilessly tousling Taggie's styled bangs and vainly attempting to ruin Shelley's hairdo. The cabin smelled of petrol, sweet bubblegum, and the intoxicating feeling of freedom.
Suddenly, the first wildly energetic synthesizer chords blared from the car stereo. Shelley's eyes lit up. She cranked the volume to the max and, completely unashamed of the pedestrians on the streets, screamed at the top of her lungs:
"Fame! I'm gonna live forever!"
Her voice was simply atrocious. She couldn't hit a single note, broke into a rasp, and comically stretched out the words, but she did it with such fantastic dedication and drive that Taggie couldn't hold back. At first, she just laughed until she cried, covering her mouth with her hand and watching Shelley beat out the rhythm on the steering wheel with her palms. But the energy was so infectious.
When the next verse began, Taggie let go of her hesitation.
"I'm gonna learn how to fly!" she joined in, a little timidly at first, and then louder and bolder.
They sped down the road, singing horribly off-key in two voices, shouting over the wind, until they reached Shelley's house.
And after a while, the car parked with a rumble outside a small red-brick semi-detached house. The small front garden under the windows was planted with rose bushes that had grown a little wilder than they strictly should have, but they looked lush; it was clear the lady of the house cared for them. The paint on the front door was peeling in places, but the brass handle had been carefully polished to a shine.
Taggie stepped inside for the first time, because usually, after work, she only gave Mrs. Makepiece a lift home and brushed off her invitations to come in for tea. And the first thing she noticed upon entering was that the hallway smelled of fried onions, meat gravy, and a hint of hairspray. The narrow hallway was papered in a small floral print that had slightly faded in the sun, and a patterned carpet sprang softly underfoot, designed to hide accidental shoe stains, though they were there all the same.
The loud voices of a TV quiz show echoed from the living room. The girls peeked into the room, which was densely packed with chunky furniture. Crocheted doilies lay neatly on the sofa and armchair armrests. Mr. Makepiece sat in front of the bulging TV screen, while Mrs. Makepiece was ironing clothes.
Mr. Makepiece, wearing a stretched-out but clean domestic jumper, sat in his favorite armchair.
"Is the car all right, Shel?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the screen with a serious look.
"Everything's grand, Dad, runs like a dream!" Shelley brushed it off.
Mrs. Makepiece, meanwhile, set aside the ironing and smiled warmly at her guest.
"Taggie, love! How are you doing? Did you drop off your last order alright? I hope those clients didn't wear you out too much?"
"Everything went well, Mrs. Makepiece thank you," Taggie nodded politely, feeling her heart warm at this simple, genuine question.
"That's lovely. Have fun tonight, girls, you've earned it." The woman walked up to her daughter and, with a habitual, bird-like flutter of care, adjusted the collar of her denim jacket. And then she quickly spat on her thumb and wiped away the bright lipstick that had accidentally smudged onto Shelley's chin.
"Mu-u-um!" she groaned indignantly, pulling away, though without any real anger. "Right, we're off!".
Shelley dragged Taggie up the narrow stairs. First, they passed through a small room with a pull-out sofa and boys' things scattered around. This was Kevin's territory. Or rather, it used to be just a walk-through area by the stairs, but over the years, Shelley had so confidently and unapologetically commandeered the only proper, separate bedroom on the floor that her older brother had to resign himself to his transient living situation.
Shutting the door to her room behind her, Shelley rolled her eyes and snorted:
"My mum absolutely adores you. She probably wishes she had a daughter like you."
In reality, Mrs. Makepiece loved her bright, noisy daughter to distraction; she was proud of her go-getter attitude and wouldn't have traded her for any other child in the world. But occasionally, she really did allow herself reproachful remarks along the lines of: "If only you were a bit more like Taggie O'Hara, who helps her parents so much and works so hard!" She did this solely to stir up Shelley's ambition. As for Taggie... Deep down, Mrs. Makepiece's heart ached for this quiet, innocent girl, whom her own family seemed intent on working to the bone with endless chores, entirely depriving her of normal care and attention.
Taggie looked at Shelly in disbelief. How was that even possible? She wasn't a particularly good daughter. Not smart enough, completely uninteresting in the eyes of her parents, who always spoke to her in that specific condescending tone, as if she were slightly slow and incapable of grasping complex things. Taggie thought bitterly that her own mother would probably have much preferred Shelley: lively, self-assured, someone who, given better opportunities, would have achieved far more.
"Make yourself at home," Shelley ordered, tossing her purse somewhere into a corner. "I'll go grab us some drinks. The cheapest strong cider, a bit of Dad's lager, and a hell of a lot of blackcurrant cordial, makes a proper Snakebite! Gets you properly smashed, too! Oh, and I made some cucumber sandwiches, I'll bring them up."
Taggie instantly took a step toward the door.
"Do you need help?"
Shelley stopped in the doorway and sternly pointed a brightly manicured finger at her:
"Oh, don't be daft! You're my guest. How many more times do I have to tell you to sit tight on your ass?"
Left alone, Taggie looked around the room with interest. There was almost nothing left of the old, drab striped wallpaper; the walls were densely peppered with dozens of clippings from teen magazines, stuck on with hastily torn bits of tape. Cardboard shoeboxes packed to the brim with audio cassettes peeked out from under the bed, a massive knot of tangled plastic necklaces hung from the wardrobe handle, and the narrow windowsill was entirely cluttered with half-empty bottles of nail polish, makeup, and empty mugs. Despite this avalanche of scattered denim, lace tops, and heaps of trinkets, it wasn't dirty in here at all; on the contrary, the air smelled warmly and pleasantly of soap and floral perfume.
The door flew open from an energetic kick, and Shelley barged into the room, expertly balancing a tray. On it sat two large glasses filled with a frothy, deep, cloudy-pink liquid, a bottle of the same, and a plate of sandwiches.
"Here it is, fuel for our evening!" she announced triumphantly, setting the tray down on a patch of carpet free from clothes.
Taggie immediately noticed the sandwiches. They looked as if the bread had been sliced blindfolded with a blunt knife: one edge was incredibly thick, the other almost translucent. The butter lay in uneven clumps, and thick rounds of cucumber were practically itching to slide right out. To Taggie, whose perfect, symmetrical canapés were the pride of any buffet in the county, it looked comical. But she felt only a sharp pang of tenderness and paid no mind to the crookedness. This was food that had been prepared for her. Shelley, meanwhile, got out her tin of toffees.
"And this is for dessert! Oh my God, it's an absolute feast!" Shelley dropped to her knees by her shoebox of cassettes, rummaging intensely through it. "Right, I'll find something decent now. None of that sugary pop wailing! I remember how sentimental you are."
She tossed aside a cassette with disco rhythms and, with a triumphant gesture, pulled out another with a worn cover. A moment later, the thick, pulsating bass and the guitar riff from the song "Blue Monday" filled the room from the small cassette player.
They clinked glasses. Taggie took a cautious sip. The Snakebite turned out to be treacherously delicious: the strength of the lager and cider was almost entirely masked by the sweet, sickly taste of the blackcurrant cordial. It went down like lemonade, but the heat from it instantly spread down her throat and dropped somewhere into her stomach.
"Wow," Taggie breathed out, blinking.
"What did I tell you!" Shelley took a smug bite of her sandwich. "Two of these, and Kev can count on us dancing on the table. By the way, did you see what Valerie wore to the priory on Wednesday?"
Taggie settled more comfortably on the floor, tucking her legs underneath her, and reached for a toffee.
"No, what was it?"
"It was a nightmare! She threw on this blouse the colour of someone puking up bright green paint, and with these giant shoulder pads on top of it! She looked like an American football player trying to seduce Freddy! I thought I was going to burst out laughing right in the hallway!"
"Poor Valerie," Taggie giggled, taking another, larger sip of the Snakebite. "I think she's just trying very hard to look authoritative."
"She's trying to look like she has an ounce of taste, but it's hopeless. Unlike you, by the way. That dress is absolutely super."
"Thank you! And your denim jacket is lovely!"
Time flew by unnoticed. The music played, the glasses emptied rapidly, and the first's sandwiches vanished before the second song ended. With every sip of the sweet alcohol, the tension that forever bound Taggie's shoulders dissolved. Her movements became freer, her laughter louder. They gossiped about everyone at the studio, picked apart Kevin and Patrick, and even complained about the prices in clothing shops.
The alcohol pleasantly fogged her head. Taggie leaned back, staring at the ceiling where bizarre shadows from the streetlamp fell, while Shelley sat nearby, twirling her empty glass in her hands.
"You know, at first I thought you were..." Taggie didn't get to finish.
"A bitch? I get that a lot."
Taggie burst out laughing.
"You're so upfront! And you describe everything so precisely. You described that Shakespeare play so beautifully..."
"That's all because I was going to be an actress. I moved to London after school, but nothing worked out for me and I had to come back here to parents."
"Oh! I'm sorry."
"No, don't pity me! All is not lost. I'll either marry well or become a star on the telly. After all, I work for TV now, and my debut as Miss Corinium is already legendary."
Taggie laughed again.
"It's such a pity Dad didn't let everyone hear the results."
"Yeeeah. Your dad is sometimes mad as fuck."
"Yeah. He punched Rupert once because he thought there was something between us. Even though there wasn't anything yet back then."
Shelley nearly choked on the dregs of her Snakebite. Her eyes widened so much that her bright blue eyeshadow almost reached her hairline. She sat bolt upright, nearly knocking over the plate of half-eaten sandwiches.
"Back then?!" she exclaimed, barely catching her breath. "So those trashy papers and that bitch on the telly were right?! You actually had an affair with Rupert Campbell-Black?!"
Taggie nervously tugged at the hem of her dress, suddenly feeling a hot flush flood her cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol she had drunk.
"Well, not exactly an affair..." she mumbled, awkwardly averting her gaze to her hands. "But...We kissed."
"Mother of God!" Shelley dramatically clutched her head. "You were kissed by Rupert Campbell-Black himself?! My God, Taggie, that's like seeing Paris and dying!" She paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes slyly, and added: "Or rather, it's like driving up to the outskirts of Paris. Because you guys haven't fucked yet, have you?"
Taggie instantly covered her burning face with her hands and shook her head frantically.
"But would you like to?" Shelley's voice suddenly lost all its volume, dropping into a quiet, conspiratorial whisper, as if she were coaxing out the most important secret in the universe.
Taggie froze. She could have lied, could have laughed it off, but the intimate dimness of the room, the sweet alcohol, and her unconditional trust in Shelley did their job. Without taking her hands from her face, she gave a slow, but very definitive nod.
Shelley threw herself back onto the bed and let out an uncontrollable roar of laughter that filled the room.
"Well, of course! Who the hell would doubt it!" she choked out through her laughter, slapping the duvet with her palm. Suddenly, Shelley shot back up as if she'd been electrocuted. "Oh, wait, hang on a sec! I remember! He was openly groping you at some party. And then he turned up on New Year's Eve and gave you that gorgeous bracelet! Is that when you kissed?"
Taggie lowered her hands. Her breathing hitched slightly as the memories washed over her with renewed force.
"No," she replied quietly, staring into the empty space in front of her. "It was later. The night we won the franchise bid."
"Whaaat?" Shelley's jaw literally dropped. "But hang on... He was already with Cameron then, wasn't he?"
"Yes." A treacherous bitterness slipped into Taggie's voice, one she had tried so meticulously to hide from everyone. "He kissed me... And then just disappeared. And the next time I saw him, it was when he came back so cold, and then already with her."
Shelley took a deep, sympathetic breath, and then her eyes flashed:
"Oh my God... I knew it! I just knew nobody cuts a fringe like that without a bloody good reason!"
"Hey!" Taggie cried out indignantly, instinctively touching her hair and frowning.
"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, it suits you brilliantly!" Shelley brushed it off, instantly sitting right back down, shuffling closer across the carpet and tucking her legs underneath her as if she were about to watch the most thrilling movie. "Right, now spill. Tell me everything from the beginning, in all the dirty details, right this second."
Taggie blinked in confusion, gesturing toward the door.
"But aren't we supposed to be going? Kev is waiting..."
"To hell this!" Shelley decisively set her empty glass aside. "First of all, it's only nine o'clock. And second, I will literally die on this very spot if I don't find out absolutely everything about this right now!"
And Taggie told her everything. Having been granted the much-desired permission to vent, the words poured out of her in an unstoppable torrent, mingling with the sweet aftertaste of the Snakebite.
Shelley turned out to be the most appreciative listener in the world. She reacted exactly as one should: genuinely, boisterously, and without a drop of judgment. She laughed until she was in stitches, cooed while pressing her hands to her chest, and got fiercely angry in the parts where justice demanded it.
Taggie started, of course, with their first meeting on the tennis court, when she found herself entirely bewildered in front of him. Shelley listened with her eyes wide open, and then her first and absolutely serious question was:
"How many inches is his cock"
Taggie snorted and burst into uncontrollable laughter, covering her mouth with her hand, while Shelley, not the least bit embarrassed, began seriously rummaging through her desk drawer in search of a ruler. Fortunately or unfortunately, there wasn't one there, so she waved her hand in disappointment and demanded that Taggie continue.
Next, the subject turned to that awful evening when Taggie saw him with Sarah Stratton and when he touched her. She described how his hands had possessively traced Sarah, and how everything inside her had boiled with such fury when he then touched her that she felt capable of killing him right on the spot. Shelley angrily bit off a huge chunk of her sandwich and hissed through a mouthful of food:
"Wanker."
The next revelation was the story about New Year's Eve. Taggie told her about Ralphie, who, as it turned out later, hadn't loved her at all this whole time and had been casually seeing another girl. And about how she and Caitlin had naively, stupidly thought that the gorgeous bracelet in the velvet case was from him.
"Aha!" Shelley triumphantly poked the air with a half-eaten cucumber round. "And where, pray tell, would a skint student get that kind of mad money for a diamond bracelet?!"
When it was revealed that the gift was actually from Rupert, and Taggie described their slow dance to Lady in Red in a quiet, dreamy voice, Shelley's eyes sparkled dreamily. She grabbed Taggie by the shoulders and shook her:
"Oh my God, you would look absolutely stunning in a red dress! You simply have to wear one sometime, just to drive the bastard completely mental!"
The narrative smoothly transitioned to how Rupert had stayed behind after the party, unexpectedly taking on the role of photographer and dealing with all the chaos left by the guests.
"Wow," Shelley raised her eyebrows impressively, taking another gulp of cider. "So he's attentive outside the bedroom, too."
Taggie kept quiet about the moment he had gently carried her upstairs and tucked her into bed. She lowered her eyes, feeling the corners of her lips pulling upwards all on their own. It was a moment too fragile, too sweet, belonging only to her and him. The way he had looked down at her, the way the soft morning sun had fallen across their faces... She tucked this memory deep inside her heart, like her most precious treasure.
But she gladly shared how openly he had flirted with her, and how he'd written a funny Valentine's card for Gertrude.
"That is so sweet!" Shelley pressed her palms to her cheeks, nearly spilling her drink. "And he even remembered about that thingy of yours!"
"Dyslexia," Taggie said softly.
"See!" her friend threw her hands up. "I don't even have it, and I can't say it properly!"
When the story reached the point where Taggie ran, trying to stop him from that disastrous television interview, Shelley practically bounced on the bed:
"God, you're so reckless! I would never risk my neck like that for a bloke in a million years!"
However, the warmth in the story sharply turned to cold. Taggie painfully recalled the ice that had suddenly paralyzed their relationship, when Rupert became distant and aloof. But even despite this coldness, he had still helped her with her father, and later even pitched Declan the brilliant idea of going for the franchise.
"That is so lovely!" Shelley melted again, nudging Taggie with her shoulder. "I bet you were the one who inspired him to do it!"
"Of course not!" Taggie blushed deeply at the mere suggestion.
"Whatever you say," Shelley squinted slyly, clearly sticking to her own opinion.
The story took a sharp turn when Taggie brought up his return from Spain and that incredible gift.
"...And he came back to me with this... well, this really beautiful thing, sort of like an egg covered in jewels."
Shelley suddenly froze. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers.
"Hang on... Are you saying Rupert gave you a real Fabergé egg?!"
"I suppose so... Why?" Taggie blinked, genuinely not understanding her shock.
"Nothing," Shelley breathed out, slowly shaking her head as if trying to comprehend the sheer scale of what was happening. "Absolutely nothing."
The tone of the conversation grew heavier after that. Taggie told her how she had found out that he had cynically used Cameron, and how she had nursed a grudge against him. But all those walls had come crashing down, and she had simply melted into his secure embrace after that horrific, traumatic incident in the car.
"Awww, that's just brilliant!" Shelley rolled her eyes dreamily, picturing this cinematic rescue scene in her head.
And then came complete absurdity. He was back with Cameron again, and she had Seb. And yet, Rupert had asked her of all people to go with him to meet the constituents. Embarrassed, Taggie reenacted her clumsy monologue about the stupid cheese. Shelley laughed so loudly, clutching her stomach and falling back against the pillows, that for a moment Taggie actually felt like it truly was funny.
And finally, having exhausted all the backstories, they got to the main event. To the kiss. To that unbelievable second when his strong arms had wrapped around her figure, pulling her flush against him as if they had become one whole.
Shelley squealed so piercingly and with such delight that the muffled thumping of Mrs. Makepiece’s mop hitting the ceiling could be heard from below. But the girls no longer cared.
"And what did he say?!" Shelley gripped Taggie's arm with a death grip. "That he can't breathe without you?! That's straight out of a bloody romance novel! And how exactly did he hold you? Like, was he groping your thighs, or did his hands stay put?!"
Taggie blushed to the very roots of her hair, waving off these questions, but the euphoric atmosphere evaporated quickly. It was replaced by memories of hurtful, unbearably painful words. About how he had vanished without a trace, and then appeared out of nowhere, barged into her kitchen, and said the most horrible things in the world. And about how she had said equally horrible things back to him.
Shelley instantly dropped her mask of bravado. She scooted closer and pulled Taggie into a tight hug, stroking her back.
"There you go. Have a cry, love, have a cry, let it all out, you need it," she murmured gently, carefully wiping a tear from her cheek with her thumb. "He's a bastard. An absolute bastard."
Having calmed down a little, Taggie sniffled and continued. She recalled the moments when he had ended up by her side once again and saved her reputation from that humiliating fiasco with the spoiled meat.
"Decided to make it all right with one good deed?" Shelley arched an eyebrow skeptically, getting her fighting spirit back.
And finally, with immense tenderness, Taggie talked about the hours spent with his children. About those wonderful little people who had reached out to her with such trust, seeking warmth. And about that phrase... About how he had looked at her and left his "I wish..." unfinished.
"I wish he'd piss off," Shelley snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
Taggie gave a weak smile at such categorical bluntness. Taking a deep breath, she summarized how things stood now: he had become completely aloof. He was keeping his distance because he was scared. Scared that he, with his past and his very nature, would ruin her. And, of course, there was Cameron standing between them.
Hearing this, Shelley merely snorted contemptuously. She took the empty glass from Taggie, placed it on the bedside table, and looked her straight in the eye:
"Like I said before, you're not twelve years old. You're a grown woman who can make her own decisions. And if he only sees you as some fragile crystal angel he's terrified of breaking, while at the same time happily throwing himself at other women like Cameron... Then the problem lies entirely with him. If I were you, until he drastically changes and sorts his head out, I wouldn't let him within a mile of me."
Shelley adjusted her teased hair and, smiling a little more lightly now, added:
"Now I completely understand why you were so sour and miserable during that play. Like I said earlier, what you urgently need right now is to get some nice cock inside you."
Somewhere deep down, Taggie found it even a little funny to hear such pompous, motivational speeches about self-respect from a girl who, not too long ago, had unashamedly given some bloke a blowjob right in the middle of the street. But, come to think of it... Ultimately, Shelley had wanted to do it. She always did only what brought her pleasure, lived by her own rules, and absolutely couldn't care less about what others would say. And Taggie... Well, Taggie didn't know how to do that.
She sighed heavily and started aimlessly tracing her finger around the rim of her glass.
"I don't know, Shelley..." she drawled uncertainly. "I've only ever been with Ralphie, and that was purely because I genuinely liked him. I don't even know if I'll ever be able to sleep with someone again just like that, without any feelings."
This evening, Shelley seemed to be breaking all records for astonishment.
"What do you mean you've only slept with Ralphie?!" she practically choked, staring at Taggie as if she had just confessed to murder. "And absolutely no one else?! Christ...Did he at least make you come?"
Embarrassed, Taggie lowered her gaze and slowly shook her head, feeling her cheeks starting to burn once more.
"God, this is a disaster...This is a national emergency!" Shelley groaned, falling back onto the pillows and covering her eyes with her hand. But a second later, she sat bolt upright, a sly spark igniting in her eyes. "Well, never mind. Maybe you'll just fall in love with someone else. Or... Oh! Or we play the jealousy card and drag that rake bastard into your bed!"
"What do you mean?" Taggie blinked in confusion.
"Well, he kissed you back then because he was jealous of Seb, right? Oh, I've got it!" Shelley snapped her fingers joyfully. "Let's make Seb Carlisle start openly hitting on you!"
"But haven't you already got your eye on him for Kevin?" Taggie reminded her cautiously, trying to keep up with her friend's lightning-fast train of thought.
"Pfft, Kevin's an idiot, he'll find someone else for himself," Shelley brushed it off easily.
"I don't think it'll be that easy for him to find someone..."
"Oh, Taggie, you're so naive. Nowadays, in the age of AIDS, we're surrounded by far more gay men than you can possibly imagine."
"Really?"
"Yeah!" Shelley leaned closer, dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "Take Charles, for instance. Did you know he's gay?"
"What?!" Taggie practically jumped, nearly spilling the dregs of her Snakebite on the carpet. "Charles?!"
"Yep."
"How do you know that?"
"Kev told me in secret. He claims he's got some sort of radar for guys like him."
"What? How does that work?"
"Yeah. Like, he just senses it somehow, some kind of vibrations... Don't ask, I don't fully understand it myself," Shelley waved a hand, returning to her cider, which was already running low in the bottle she had brought. "Anyway, I figured out one very convenient rule for myself ages ago: any bloke who's ever turned me down is a hundred percent gay. It makes life so much easier."
"Even my brother?" Taggie asked with a touch of irony.
"Oh, you never know how they're going to turn out! Plus, Cameron isn't putting out for Patrick, and who knows how his psyche will recover after a blow like that."
"Hang on, how did you even know he likes her?" Taggie frowned in surprise.
"Oh, come off it, everyone saw him kiss her on New Year's Eve! He was practically drooling. But you know..." Shelley chewed her lip thoughtfully. "If I were him, I wouldn't be worrying about Rupert, like he's doing now. I genuinely don't understand how he hasn't noticed."
"Worrying about who, then?"
"About Declan, obviously."
"What?! About my Dad?!" Taggie jerked so sharply that Shelley, who was pouring her the last of the drink, spilled it on the carpet. "Are you mad? He can't live a single day without my mum!"
"Yeah, maybe so," Shelley shrugged nonchalantly. "But the sexual tension between him and that Cameron is still off the charts, sparks flying everywhere. Marriage is marriage, but they might just get up to something one day. After all, everyone around here is having sex, Taggie."
"Everyone except me," the girl concluded bitterly, wiping her sticky fingers on a napkin.
"Hey, don't be sad!" Shelley nudged her gently in the shoulder. "You're definitely going to fall in love with someone incredibly brilliant, you'll see. You've got your whole life ahead of you."
Taggie gave a weak smile, feeling her chest warm slightly at these simple words.
"You know, Bas told me something very similar..."
"Bas?" Shelley instantly pricked up her ears like a hunting dog.
"Yeah. When he was driving me home that time... You know, after the stupid play."
"Right, right, interesting! And what else did he say?" her friend leaned forward with impatience.
"That I have a... fabulous bottom," Taggie mumbled barely audibly, but with a hint of smugness.
"Whaaaat?!" Shelley shrieked so loudly that the windowpanes seemed to rattle. "And you kept quiet about this the whole time?!"
"What was I supposed to say?" Taggie tried to hide her face behind her loose hair.
"He was openly flirting with you!"
"I don't think so, Shelley. He's just... He's very sweet. He brought me some lovely aubergines all the way from London recently. And he also said that we 'always have tomorrow'. That was when I was terribly upset over that awful production of that stupid...Shagspeare," Taggie's tongue tripped over the words a bit from the alcohol and the excitement.
"Shagspeare?!" Shelley shrieked with laughter, clapping her hands in absolute delight. "Oh, your subconscious is definitely speaking tonight, Tag! And wait, 'always have tomorrow'?! Your surname is O'Hara! That's literally like Scarlett O'Hara, who always said she'd think about it tomorrow! Right, that's it, it's a sign! Get up, we are going to the pub right now to see yet another rake you've managed to make fall in love with you!".
"I can't!" Taggie whined, touching her cheeks. "I was crying, my makeup's all run!"
"Nonsense, you're incredibly pretty without it! Here, wipe your face!" Shelley unceremoniously yanked a towel off the windowsill and tossed it onto her lap.
Taggie hastily wiped her eyes, trying to salvage what was left of her mascara, and looked at the girl hopefully:
"Or maybe... Maybe we could just stay here? It's so cosy..."
"And do what? Sit on the carpet all evening feeling sorry for yourself? No, love, that won't do!" Shelley cut her off in a commanding tone, getting to her feet. "Especially with such amazing things going on around us. Here is the plan: we make Rupert jealous to death over Bas, and you finally get to see that arrogant prick without his shirt on!"
"I've already seen him without a shirt, actually," slipped from Taggie's lips dreamily. "Quite recently. Only he was in a vest... Harvesting the field."
"Fancy that! And he didn't burn the bloody field to the ground this time, like he always does?" Shelley arched an eyebrow ironically.
"No, obviously not."
"Oh, my sweet girl!" Shelley triumphantly poked a finger at her. "He didn't do it purely because it upset you so much last year!"
"You're making things up again!" Taggie laughed nervously, even though her heart gave a treacherous flutter at the thought.
"I never make things up, I state facts!"
Shelley's hand was incredibly sticky from the homemade toffees when she gripped Taggie's palm tightly and pulled her firmly, helping her to her feet.
"We need to get a move on anyway," she tossed out, adjusting her denim jacket, "because if Domi is in town tonight, he and I are finally getting to bed."
The girls had already headed for the door when suddenly, Taggie's drunken brain, having lost all its brakes under the influence of the Snakebite, produced something completely unexpected. She stopped on the threshold and asked with absolute seriousness:
"Oh, by the way! Shelley... What does cum taste like? I'm not asking for myself. It's... It's for Caitlin, she needs to know."
Shelley froze for a moment, looking at her with wide eyes, and then burst into such ringing, genuine laughter, completely disbelieving this pathetic excuse about her sister—which was actually the truth:
"Depends on the bloke, Tag, but believe me, it always tastes foul!"
A few minutes later, the girls tumbled out of the house, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders, and holding hands as they headed down the street.
Mrs. Makepiece quietly pulled back the lace curtain and watched them go with a warm smile. A late supper was already waiting for her children in the fridge in the kitchen, and the spare key was safely hidden under a large stone by the rose bushes. She wasn't worried. After all, you're only young once, and they were already of age. As long as Kevin didn't drag AIDS into the home, and her Shelley an unwanted pregnancy, Mrs. Makepeace considered the situation entirely under control.
And everything was certainly under control with Taggie O'Hara. Tonight, perhaps for the first time in a very long time, this quiet girl from the priory was finally acting like she was truly twenty years old, and not as if she were a respectable peer of Mrs. Makepiece herself. And that couldn't help but bring joy.