Feelings

You're Horrible!

"But Muuuum! It was HER. She broke your vase! It wasn't me.  TELL HER SOPHIE. TELL HER IT WAS EMMA NOT ME!"

Sophie stood and looked at him, looked at Emma and then, then she just shrugged.

"Thomas William Hiddleston! Will you stop it now! Your sister and her friend were just sitting playing with their dolls. How could they possibly break the vase? YOU were the one playing with the ball indoors. Against all the rules we agreed to. This really is too much Tom..."

"But Muuuuuuum!" He whined, hands on his pockets, shoulders hunched. "It wasn't me. I promise!" His blue eyes were filled with tears. Why didn't his mum believe him? He'd been naughty before. He was an eleven year old boy after all, but he'd never lied to his mum. And he hadn't started now.

Emma and Sophie were best friends. Sophie was a quiet little thing, at least,  if you were a grownup. When it was just her and Emma, she was a shrieking whirlwind. The pair of them making his life a misery. Following him around,  taking the mickey out of him and generally spoiling the fun a boy his age had. 

Now, it had gone a step too far.  It had been a genuine accident, and Emma had simply bashed into the table.  The three of them had been in the living room one wet Tuesday in August when, amongst the melee of their usual battles, his mum's favourite vase got broken.  They stood and stared in horror. It wasn't worth a lot of money, but it was of great sentimental value.

Hearing the noise, she came through from the kitchen to find Tom picking up the pieces. He'd intended to try and glue it back together.  She walked in, took one look, and, with a ferocity that made him wince, she laid into him about his responsibilities.

"Big Brother, "Example" ," and "punishment" all spilt forth. It ended with him being marched away to his room.  The last thing he saw was Sophie and his sister, laughing in the corner, and he stuck out his tongue.

"You witches!" He cried out as his door slammed.

He was due to go back to boarding school the next week, and as is common with girls - and boys - friendships change. He never saw her again. 

Until today.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for attending our little get-together today. We hope you enjoy this exhibition of engravings and early folios, and we sincerely wish to thank Mr Hiddleston for sparing the time to come and read for us."  The sponsor of the evenjng, a very pleasant chap named Simon Russell, made a short speech.  They all stood around doing the usual balancing act of drink in one hand, plate in the other just looking at the canapes that had seemed a good idea at the time. 

The those in the small gathering who'd had the sense to find one of the few tables to use applauded.  Tom turned and bowed slightly.

"This, as Im sure you're aware, has always been a passion of mine.  I relish any chance to promote our national bard and my personal obsession? " he shrugged, and  everyone laughed.

It was a small gallery, tucked away in the heart of Covent Garden.  From the outside, a small, fairly nondescript shop.  But on the inside a bright, cheery and tonight busy, little hub of activity.

It was this very fact that made what happened next, somewhat inevitable .

As Tom wended his way through the crowd, nodding here and chatting there, he banged into someone's elbow.

"Dammit!" The curse from the elegantly dressed woman took him by surprise. She was medium height , so in turn small to him, blonde and wore her designer clothes with an air of comfort suggesting she was no stranger to Armani.

Standing with her back to him, he'd instantly turned back to apologise. She was shaking the wine from her jolted glass from her perfectly manicured hand.  Her face as she turned was a picture of contempt.

"Do you mind!"

"I'm so sorry, it really was an accident. Please, if there's a cleaning bill, I'll be more than happy to meet it for you." He looked at her and smiled, hoping his reputed charm was true.  The last thing he wanted to do was upset anyone, let alone cause a scene. She looked him up and down, realising who had done it and instantly changed.

"Oh please Tom, don't worry about it. If I'd known it was you..." she smiled but it didnt reach her eyes. Her eyes reminded him of someone. Someone from long ago.  She laid a hand on his arm. "Please, dont let me hold you up. We can talk after you've done your reading I'm sure." There was a tone to her voice that made Tom uncomfortable and he smiled and politely made his way to the little stage.

Putting the encounter to the back of his mind, he began his reading.  Some excerpts from his favourite Shakespeare works. The evening was a fundraiser to retain a first folio copy that would be coming up for auction soon.

As he spoke, he did his usual scan of the audience. Who was listening. Who wasnt and who, as some did, was reciting the pieces along with him.

There were a couple of women obviously just there because he was, all red faced and virtually panting. A crusty old scholar or two ready to.pick apart his use of iambic pentameter and the usual mix of art and literature types, including the woman. He spotted her immediately. 

Not because she was particularly stunning, although she was good looking, but because she was standing at the edge of the crowd berating some poor girl who seemed to be her flunky.  She'd obviously displeased her in some way and the elegant finger, previously caressing his arm, now wagged in the face of the little blonde whom he could half see, head bowed nodding furiously.  Her body language said it all.

It made his blood boil. It was just plain rude.

With effort, he finished his piece and left the stage to more applause than the crowd would have suggested.

He wanted to find the girl, make sure she was ok.  She was nowhere in sight, but her boss made a beeline.

"Ah there you are Tom, well read I must say." She oozed at him and he coughed, then said a small

"Thanks. I wasnt sure youd heard? I saw you were busy."

She was so carried away that he'd been watching her, she missed the sarcasm. She smiled and Tom suddenly thought she resembled nothjng so much as a shark, circling it's prey.

"Oh her? She's not important. You're the important one tonight. Perhaps we could have a drink and discuss just how important." She winked unsubtly and he cringed inwardly.

"That would have been a lovely idea," he said raising her hand to his lips, "however I'm a fraid I have another pressing engagement so must leave. It's been... well it's been..." he bowed and walked away, leaving her standing open mouthed and fuming.

As he left, he pushed the door that night, a woman cursed him out.

"Watch where you're bloody well going would you? As if my bloody night isnt bad enough. Get the bloody sack then my one decent jumper - cashmere by the way- is ruined by some klutz who cant even look where....YOU!" suddenly she stopped her tirade and as she finally met his gaze her eyes blazed.

"HIDDLEPIDDLE!"

His mind could hardly comprehend what was going on.  As he looked at her, he was suddenly 11 years old again. She hadn't changed - well she was quite simply gorgeous now but she was still her.

"SOPHIE SOFA!"

The years, it seemed, had not taken the edge off their hatred.