Tamsin

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  TAMSIN

  Copyright © 2020 D J Cook

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written consent from the author, except that of small quotations used in reviews and promotions via blogs.

  Tamsin is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Shower Of Schmidt’s Designs

  Editing by H.A. Robinson

  D J Cook on Social Media:

  Instagram - @author_djcook

  Facebook - @AuthorDJCook

  This book is dedicated to Erica.

  In a scary world full of change, one of the only things that remains constant is my love for you.

  Thank you for being the greatest mum anyone could ask for.

  Acknowledgements

  It may be my name that’s on the front of this book, but it wouldn’t be if it weren’t for some crazy talented people, along with my closest friends and family. So here goes:

  Heather. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have started this book, let alone finished it. You waved your magic over this book whilst editing, and prompted me to start writing it in the very first place. You’re one of the most selfless people I know. That shows by you allowing me to donate to Macmillan instead of paying you for your editing talent. You are a legend. My legend, forever.

  Eleanor. You gave me the book cover I’d dreamed of, and more! Nothing was ever too much for you, and I’m so eternally grateful. I can’t wait to get to know you more.

  Ruth. Not only are you one of my closest friends, you were a sounding board for the majority of this book. The countless hours we spent together–half of the time using writing as an excuse to get drunk–are times I never want to forget. Thank you just doesn’t cut it.

  Thank you to all those that constantly asked how I was getting on with writing. It was those little prompts and nudges I needed to get my ass into gear. To name a few: Simon, Jodee, Jamie, Sylwia, Hannah, Potter, Abi, Blaire, Georgie & the list really does go on. I don’t have much of a family, but with you guys around, it never feels that way. I’m so lucky to have you all.

  And finally, I couldn’t forget about my biggest cheerleader of all, Evan. In all of my endeavours, you continue to support me, no matter how big or small. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have finished this book. You motivated me whilst I was writing, you listened when I needed you to, and you picked me up in the final days of looking over my drafts. You are the best. On a personal note, no matter how many book boyfriends I may write or read about, you’re the only one I’ll ever truly need. I love you.

  PROLOGUE

  “Don't forget the parsley.”

  The stern words came from my boss, accompanied by an intimidating look. He couldn't have sounded scary if he’d tried. His Irish accent made him too lovable. I couldn’t resist it. Aidan was a great manager, and as passionate as they came when it came to his pub, especially the presentation of the food. I didn’t dare serve fish and chips without a sprig of parsley; I'd never have heard the end of it. I guess it was good that he never gave me the chance to forget to put a sprig on.

  “Oops. Sorry, hun. It's parsley my fault.” Liam said laughing at himself.

  “He's right. He was talking too much. It's his fault. Punish him!” I yelled dramatically.

  “Parsley your fault? That pun doesn't even make sense,” Aidan said as I pulled a sprig and placed it on top of the battered fish. I then battled to balance the hot plates on both palms, ready to head out of the kitchen.

  “Yes, it does. It’s a food pun. The word parsley is used instead of partially. Get it now?” Liam argued back in a joking way. He had been the class clown for as long as I'd known him, always finding new ways to make me laugh. Liam was my closest friend, and very gay. I think that made me love him more, and was the reason we got on so well. We were a perfect match. Typically, males intimidated me and I didn't have many female friends either, aside from the ones we went to high school and college with. They were the only girls I could stand to have a conversation with, although we always knew their loyalties lay with each other and not with us.

  “Stop trying to make food puns happen. They are not going to happen,” I said, mocking him. He chuckled at my attempt to adapt his favourite film quote.

  The Rusty Tap wasn't the classiest pub in Chester; the name said it all. It was a proper local British pub–good grub in the day, televisions tuned into sports all day long and as soon as the clock struck nine pm, the tables would be moved to make way for the dance floor, no matter the day of the week. I loved my job so much that I regularly offered to work longer shifts because I genuinely couldn’t get enough of working there. I couldn’t get enough of spending time with Liam, so after I’d worked there for three months, I recommended him for a job. The money wasn’t too bad either. It paid for the steady flow of alcohol while I was at university at least. The thing I was most thankful for was the working environment which helped me come out of my shell. My confidence was growing and so was my experience of a working business. Part of me wanted to work at the Rusty Tap forever. I think Aidan wanted that, too, but deep down I knew it was a means to an end. Until then, I was thankful for my job, the people around me, and still working on my confidence. I had to; otherwise I wouldn't get a word in edgeways around Liam.

  “Tamsin, we've got a delivery. Aidan wants us to sort it.” Liam leant over the bar to tap me repeatedly, knowing it would irritate me.

  “Be there in a sec’. Just gonna finish cleaning the bar.”

  “Okay. Owl wait,” he said, holding up his hands.

  I couldn't help but laugh at his animal pun. I couldn't not love him. It was a good job as we were inseparable. We danced together. Worked together. Lived together. I couldn’t count on one hand the times I’d gone home to a toilet roll fort, or the number of times I’d got home to Rihanna’s album playing full blast, yet somehow Liam managed to sing louder than the music. We walked down to the cellar together and began lugging huge kegs and cases of beer into place. Aidan was precious about how everything was placed in there.

  “What time are you in ’til today?” I asked Liam. Fridays were my long day in work, but it meant I could go home most weekends to see Mum. I hated the thought of her being left alone. Me being at university was the longest we’d ever been apart. She kept herself entertained, mostly with shopping online and going for short walks, but I knew she got lonely. She didn't have many friends, aside from the people she saw out and about. I was all she had, and Liam too, for that matter. They got on like a house on fire. I often wondered if Liam was the son she wanted but never had.

  “Until seven today. So glad because I need to go out! My assignments are killing me at the moment. You coming out?” Liam loved a night out, especially a Tuesday night.
We wouldn't dare miss a night out on a Tuesgay. Gay nights were the best, although my Wednesday morning lecturer never thought so. I’d missed most of her lecturers in first year and every few weeks I’d been copied into emails about lack of attendance. I’d still smashed those marketing assignments, though.

  “I can't. In until close, although I guess I could come and meet you afterwards?” I wasn't keen on the idea, as I knew working a twelve-hour shift would leave me a zombie the following day. That hadn’t stopped me in the past. I would simply cover the Rusty Tap logo on my work shirt and potter up the street into the nearest club after work.

  “Do it! Otherwise I'm gonna have to go out with the girls, and they are fine, but we have so much more fun together. Also, you don't mind if I pull at the end of the night, and the girls always judge me. I need sex!”

  “You always need sex. Also, I don't moan because I'm jealous. Seriously, since when is it easier for a gay guy to pull? There are fewer of you,” I joked, even though I couldn’t get my head around it. It had been months since my last encounter. My problem was I always wanted more than just one night. I wore my heart on my sleeve, and somehow guys knew that. Whether they took advantage on purpose, I wasn’t sure, but after a couple of drunken nights and heartbroken mornings, I’d convinced myself that they caused more pain than good. So instead, I’d made a plan. I focused on myself, and the ambition inside that I couldn’t dampen. I would meet a guy but before then I would have a house and a nice car. I’d have the perfect job before then and be married before thirty. I had it all planned out, yet every day, my plan felt further out of reach.

  “I know. It's not my fault. It's an instinct. Probably the only manly thing about me.”

  “You said it, Gayboy,” I jested, using his nickname with love. He may have been bullied about his sexuality at school, but when you got constant criticism for something you couldn’t control, you either became weak or gained resilience. Liam didn't care and I admired that about him.

  “Who are you calling Gayboy? Have you seen these muscles?” He rolled up his work shirt, showing off his pale scrawny arms, slightly bulging at the bicep. I knew that as soon as he finished work, he would be turning our communal bathroom orange, plastering fake tan all over his body. He wore it well, something I was never brave enough to try to cover my own pasty skin.

  “You're right. I'm sorry. You are so masc! I'm gonna go get you a pint of Stella and some drywall for you to plaster,” I mocked him again. It was one of my favourite things to do.

  “Once we're done here, I'm having a break. I don't care if we're busy.”

  “That's fine. I will pick up your slack as usual.” Sarcasm rolled off his tongue.

  “You’re a dick. You know that?” I muttered as I scraped another crate across the floor into position.

  “I know. You love dick, so that’s a compliment.”

  It took around forty minutes of heavy lifting and sarcasm for us to finish putting away the delivery, and in line with my word, once we’d finished, I sat on the step next to the lift we never used. It was where everyone dumped their things when they came onto shift and huddled during their breaks, even though Aidan told us not to. I grabbed my phone, about to open the screen when I saw a missed call and voicemail from mum. She never called, especially when she knew I was at work. I pressed play on the voicemail and placed the speaker next to my ear.

  “Tamsin, c... Can you call me back?” She was crying, sniffing, struggling to speak. Something was wrong.

  I quickly pressed call on my phone, listening to the continuous ring, until…

  “Mum. Are you ok? What’s up?” I panicked.

  “Tamsin. Can you come home?” She was still sobbing, and sounded completely different from her usual self.

  “I’m in work. Why? What’s wrong?” I probed again, worry filling my gut in the form of bile.

  “I can't tell you over the phone. Just come home,” she pleaded.

  I couldn't just come home. What was I going to say to Aidan?

  I need to go because my mum told me to.

  I'd be laughed at.

  “Mum. I can't come home. I'm in work until close. Please, just tell me.”

  The phone went silent, but I knew she was at the other end of the line. I could hear her slow breaths as she held the phone close to her mouth.

  “I… I have... cancer.” Her slow breaths grew faster as she struggled to catch her breath. Struggled to string together a sentence. Struggled to say that word. Cancer. As if the word alone was what was stealing her breath.

  It was that phone call that changed my life. There were so many questions, so much information I needed, but I couldn't ask. Even if I could have, I wouldn't have been able to process it. Emotions flooded my body. At first, anger took over. The rage inside me made me want to throw my phone across the floor because it was the only thing near me that I could throw. It wouldn't have done any good, though. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but how could I? Who was I to know? Besides, Mum was never wrong. A dull pain ached through my body–a pain that only a hug from my mum, Theresa, would help heal. She was so selfless. I knew that even though she had cancer, she would be thinking about me. Thinking about how I was feeling.

  “Tamsin, say something.” She sniffed down the phone.

  “I’m coming home,” I said, not knowing what else to do, other than to try to hold myself together, hiding my emotions. I knew that my cries would make her worse. She wouldn’t want to see me hurt, too. I was her daughter, her best friend, and cancer was making her hurt me indirectly. I didn't want to show the pain I was feeling. I couldn’t.

  “I love you, Tamsin.” A lump grew in my throat. I was breaking. I had to end the call.

  “Lots and lots…” I replied, waiting for her to finish my sentence.

  “Like Jelly Tots.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  3 months later

  It was over, and I had no idea how I had managed it. I’d handed my dissertation in, all beautifully bound. Naturally, I’d had a second copy printed and bound just for me. For memories.

  ‘The extent of consumer trust looking at social media sites used to launch a new product, and the factors that influence this level of trust.’

  I had worked so damn hard on it. I sacrificed work, nights out, and even a few weekends of seeing mum to complete it. Somehow, I was able to bury the emotions that crept up at the weirdest of times. I’d be sat writing about social media trends and start crying. I tried my best to bury them, anyway. I didn’t let my pain, or Mum’s pain, get in the way of my future. I just hoped that my degree would be worth something in a world where you needed experience to get you where I wanted to be. I had applied for numerous jobs under the recommendation of my mentor, and with a CV I was trained to write, yet I’d had no luck. Not one single interview. All I could do was wait. Wait for my degree result to be published and wait for a business to contact me back. The thing was, I had very little patience, so I decided to do what any person would do in my position.

  “Four double vodkas with Diet Coke and a bottle of prosecco please,” I asked politely, still excited to celebrate. Liam couldn’t contain his excitement either, even more so as his assessment was due a couple of days before mine. We had been waiting for today, and it felt long overdue.

  “How many glasses?”

  “Two please.” The bar tender didn’t flinch. It was nearly eleven am after all. The Student Union bar, or the SU as we called it, was the one place you could go for a drink in the morning without being judged, because students worked there. Liam and I rarely found ourselves in the SU together; he’d be with his course friends and I’d be with mine. We knew we had to make the most of the opportunity and celebrate finishing our degrees in style. The air was stuffy outside, but we couldn’t resist sitting in the heat wave that was suffocating the UK. It wasn’t often we had weather like this, never mind in April. We perched on a patch of grass outside the bar, with our plastic cups filled to the brim with alcohol and a bottle of pros
ecco. They wouldn’t be filled to the brim for long, though. I basked in the sun that radiated against my skin. A slight breeze carried Liam’s aftershave to my nose, and I tipped my head back. Finishing university allowed a huge weight to be lifted from my shoulders, and I could almost relax. Almost. I grabbed my phone and focused on the screen after looking up at the sky for too long and sent a text.

  Mum - ICE1

  25th April 2018

  [12:38]

  Handed in my dissertation! Can’t believe it to be honest. Having a few celebratory drinks with Liam before we start packing tomorrow. I’ve told Aidan I can only work once or twice a week from now on so I can be at home more. Excited to move back in with you. Love you lots and lots like Jelly Tots xxx

  [12:49]

  Congrats, Tamsin. I’m so proud of you and Liam, too. Make sure you celebrate. There is no rush to come home. Stay in Chester as long as you want to. I do miss you, though xxx

  I was excited to move back home–to see her every day. Worry constantly filled my gut being so far away from her. At least being with her I knew I could help as much as possible. I was going to miss living in Chester, and with Liam, but I knew it was right for me to be back with Mum. It wasn’t part of my plan; I’d never pictured going back to Crewe. I’d always imagined I’d work at The Tap with Liam until we both found the job of our dreams. Maybe it had been a little naive of me to assume that would happen, but he’d always followed me everywhere.

  “So what’s your plan now that you’ve finished your degree? Are you going to get a job in fashion?” I asked, almost worried that we’d eventually be apart. I didn’t like this part of growing up.