Ahh well, enough of that now.
Tink and Tate had waited the day away with me in the ER, and it was lovely to see my normally bolshie and commitment-phobic best friend humbled by a geek-chic lovely with the sweetest disposition I had ever encountered.
Tate was very quiet in nature and only spoke when necessary, the polar opposite of me and Tink, the Odditt and Dodditt of Gobshite Central. Easy conversation had flowed and they chatted non-stop – well, mostly Tink chatted – but they each gave fleeting flirty glances and gentle touches at any given opportunity.
When we were leaving, all discharge papers signed and aftercare instructions dictated, we waved goodbye to Tate, who jumped into a nearby taxi, much to Tink’s disappointment but Tate made sure that before he left, he and Tink exchanged phone numbers and home addresses for the impending first date that had been promised during ‘skater-gate’. My loved-up fairy chatted excitedly about potential venues all the way home.
Walking through the door to our condo gave me that ‘there’s no place like home’ feeling à la Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Tink placed me on the sofa and turned on the fire, making me all warm and cosy, the room only lit from the amber glow of the coals. He brushed a kiss on my head and walked towards the bathroom, where I heard the calming sound of running water. Tink may be as daft as a brush and as ditzy as all hell, but he is as loyal as they come and fiercely protective of the people he loves. I closed my eyes and let the world drift away.
“Oh no, missy! No closing those bush baby-sized shutters. Doctor’s orders,” chastised Tink from the end of the sofa, with his arms crossed and a disapproving look on his face.
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.