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In Taggie's defense she really tried to act normally. To follow her routine like nothing was happening, similar to what she had been doing since that fateful night in her kitchen, but everything seems so different this time because he was right there.
Rupert.
It was even harder to pretend when she knew exactly where he was, just a few miles from her own home, he was like a curse that crept all over Rutshire following her around everywhere. And Taggie couldn't even act like she was still mad at him because honestly she wasn’t. She was sad of course, hurt unlike anything she ever felt before, but she couldn’t bring herself to stay mad at him for long. Not when the tiny, rational part of her brain understood that he was right, of course a man like him belonged to people like Cameron. Smart, cunning, independent, older. Nothing like Taggie O’Hara.
And even then he was still so kind to her, often Taggie wished that he wasn’t. That he could be awful to her like everybody claimed he was, that he would mock her like everyone else did so easily, but no. Rupert would come running and save her disastrous dinner, he would laugh at her silly jokes, introduce her to his children and treat her with a familiarity that cut deeper than any insult.
So, in her heart, Taggie had silently forgiven him for the aftermath of the kiss a while ago. But even if she hadn’t she didn’t think she would have the heart to act like it wasn’t killing her from the inside to know that he was hurting and not do anything. The sequence of terrible events of the last days were hammering in her mind and she couldn’t stop thinking about him. The terrible truths that Bettie Johnson revealed, the election, his resignation, Venturer. God, it was like the universe was out to get him. If he was here he would probably make some joke like that but he wasn’t and that was precisely the problem.
The last time Taggie saw Rupert was on television when he announced his resignation and ever since that he had disappeared from the Priory. It wasn’t like he had any business there anyway after being kicked out from Venture yet every morning Taggie's traitorous heart would cling to the hope that he would show up unannounced to one of the meetings in true Rupert Campbell-Black style. An even smaller, quieter part of her hoped that one day he would come to seeking her. Neither of those things came true and Taggie was left in misery, desperate to know how he was, to ask anyone for news about him but she seemed to be the only one worried while the rest of their friends followed their lives like nothing ever happened. It has always pained Taggie that she was always the different one, whether at school or among her family, little Taggie was always left behind by everyone else and this time was no different.
It was that emotional turmoil that kept her from sleeping, as a normal person would be at that hour, and led her to make the reckless decision to go to him. It had been the most ordinary Wednesday, she had spent the day cooking with Bas, cleaned the house and when the time was right she went to bed with Gertrude with a weight on her chest so heavy that she felt like she couldn't breathe. She had to know that he was alright, that he wasn’t drinking too much or smoking too much, that he wasn’t terribly depressed and that he was aware that she was right there whenever he needed her.
So with a new determination and a plan forming in her mind Taggie stepped out of bed, donned the first jacket she could find and slipped out of the Priory in the dead of the night. She considered taking the car but she didn’t want to call that much attention and she probably needed the long walk to sort out what she would say to him.
“Hello, Rupert. Forgive me for appearing like a phantom in the middle of the night. I simply couldn’t sleep without seeing your face.”
“Sorry, Rupert, I know you have a bloody girlfriend, I just couldn’t stop myself from crawling here like a lost puppy.”
“I miss you. I love you. I don’t care what any papers say about you.”
Yet, the more she walked the worse this idea seemed. He might be sleeping, or perhaps tired and busy. At the very least Taggie knew that Cameron wouldn't be there because she was in London with daddy sorting some business regarding Venturer but actually the fact that Taggie was deliberately choosing a moment where his girlfriend wasn’t there didn’t that make this entire visit look even more clandestine? They had navigated this path once before, behind everyone’s back like a sordid secret, and the weight of that memory still clung to Taggie’s conscience like a terrible mistake.
No, I shouldn't have kissed you. His words still haunted her darkest hours. But this was an exception, right? She was merely checking on her neighbour, they weren’t doing that anymore. It was just a friendly visit, even Cameron would be glad to know that someone cared to check if he was still alive while she wasn’t there. No, scratch that, Cameron would definitely not be happy about that.
Before the responsible and sensible side of her could convince her to go back to bed Taggie found herself facing Penscombe. High and beautiful like always the house stood there in complete darkness, its windows black and unblinking. The night air was chilling, and for the first time Taggie actually felt cold. There she was standing in the dark wearing nothing but a red cotton dress, a yellow jacket that belonged to Caitlin, clutching a small flashlight ready to knock on Rupert’s door just to check on him. Had she lost her mind?
She hesitated, torn between retreating to the safety of home and the impulse to knock, when a sharp bark from within shattered the silence. Great, she had roused the dogs, and likely Rupert himself, leaving no room for retreat. Resigned, she reached for the door, only to discover it was already ajar. As Taggie stepped into the hall she was greeted by two dogs that in the moment they realized who was the unexpected visitor in their house wagged their tails excitedly and lunged toward her. The place was covered in darkness except for Taggie’s flashlight and worry took over her. Why would Rupert leave the door open at night? Was he even there?
Venturing further into the house, with the dogs faithfully following her, she finally noticed a light coming from a room at the end of the hallway. Rupert’s office, she recognized. The embarrassment that had previously held her back had given way to concern, and this time Taggie did not hesitate to march toward the office.
The first thing she noticed was how the rest of the dogs were scattered across the room, the second was the pungent, heavy smell of alcohol that made her stomach turn. There, sitting on the floor in front of the dying fireplace, was Rupert. As always, her heart raced at the mere sight of him. Handsome as ever, even in his ruin, he was leaning heavily against an armchair, one hand loosely gripping a bottle of whiskey while the other was buried in his own hair. His eyes seemed utterly lost as he watched the fire burn, and he barely even moved or acknowledged the new presence in the room. Slowly, holding her breath, Taggie approached him.
“Rupert,” she said softly, kneeling close to him on the hearth rug. “Hey.”
It took him a long, agonizing moment to slowly turn his head toward her, his gaze clouded and a deeply confused expression masking his features. This close, Taggie could see just how utterly wrecked he looked. She didn’t think she had ever seen him so undone, his eyes were bloodshot, his hair disheveled, and a dark shadow of stubble roughened his jawline. Instead of answering, he reached out a trembling hand and cupped Taggie’s cheek, the sheer shock of his touch was like a bolt of lightning tearing through her body.
“Taggie, Taggie… Even more real than the last time, Angel,” he whispered, the words like a heavy secret.
He must be dreadfully drunk, she realized, far worse than I ever expected.
“I’m very real, thank you very much,” she murmured back, her voice shaking slightly. “God, Rupert, how much did you have to drink?”
“Taggie?”
“Yes, it's me. Hi.”
The fog in his mind seemed to lift for a fraction of a second, and he finally understood that she was truly there. Instantly, he snapped his hand away from her cheek as if he had been burned and Taggie felt as though she were burning, too, from the sudden absence of his warmth.
“What are you doing here? What time is it?” he stammered, pulling himself up slightly, trying to claw back some semblance of his usual dignity, a very difficult feat, considering the state of him.
“It’s not that late,” she lied softly. “I just came to check on you. Are you alright?”
The question hung heavily in the air, weighing between them in the quiet room.
Rupert had been in a state of perpetual drunkenness for the past two weeks, some days more, some days less, but never truly sober. It went without saying that throughout those hazy weeks, his mind had conjured all kinds of dreams and hallucinations. Almost every single one of them included Taggie O’Hara. In some, she was all gentleness and light, and they were blissfully happy; in others, she was broken and resentful, leaving him to plead for her forgiveness like a madman. Yet, none of those phantom visitations had ever felt as terrifyingly, beautifully real as this. That was how he knew she was actually here. Taggie, his Taggie, kneeling on his rug to ask if he was alright. Rupert felt the alcohol begin to drain from his veins, his body sobering up from the absurdity of the situation.
“Rupert?” she called softly, a gentle reminder that her question still remained unanswered.
“You shouldn’t be here.” The bluntness of his own voice made her flinch, and Rupert wanted to kick himself. “I only mean… it must be very late, darling. Are you alone?”
Taggie looked suddenly timid, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear while pointedly avoiding his eyes. “I am alone… but so were you! That’s why I came to check on you.”
For the first time that night, Rupert truly looked at her, not as a conjecture of his tortured mind, but as a real flesh-and-blood person,and his heart ached. She looked so small in a red nightgown that brushed her feet, swallowed up by a oversized yellow jacket. Her long hair was beautifully wild from the night wind, and her cheeks were flushed a soft rose. She really did look like a dream. His dream girl.
“I’m alright,” he finally answered, though Taggie didn’t look remotely convinced. “Well, I’m as alright as a jobless, ruined man can be.”
“You’re not ruined!” Taggie protested instantly.
“But I am jobless. You didn’t deny that part, did you?” He offered a faint, self-deprecating smile, but she didn’t laugh.
“I’m sure you could get another job in a heartbeat,” she said with fierce earnestness. “I’ll hire you myself.”
This time, a genuine sliver of amusement broke through his gloom, and they both laughed softly. Seizing the sudden warmth in the room, Taggie shifted to sit cross-legged on the floor directly opposite him.
“I must warn you, Taggie. I could burn a boiled egg.”
“No problem at all.” said Taggie, her voice warmth and familiar in a way that always enchanted him. “I would teach you everything from scratch.”
“That does sound promising, then.”
Rupert let out a soft, dry laugh, and for a fleeting second, the ghost of his old, wicked smile touched the corners of his mouth. It was a glimpse of the Rupert she first knew, the charmer who could command a room with a single look. Taggie found herself smiling back, a fragile, aching reflex. For a beautiful moment, the suffocating shadows of Penscombe seemed to retreat. They were just Rupert and Taggie, safe in their own small bubble of the universe, teasing each other on a cold Wednesday night.
But as the laughter died down, the silence of the massive, empty house rushed back in to fill the space once again.
Rupert’s smile faded, his gaze dropping back to the amber liquid in his bottle, his broad shoulders slumping once more under an invisible weight. The vision was to much, too sad and too cruel. Looking at him there, so close she could feel the heat of his breath mixed with the scent of whiskey, Taggie felt a sudden, violent twist in her chest. The memory of him on the television screen, looking pale and defeated as he surrendered everything he had built, flashed behind her eyes. It was too much to hold inside. The dam she had built over the last weeks simply broke.
“I’m so sorry,” Taggie blurted out suddenly, almost breathless as the words spilled over each other. “About Venturer, they were so very wrong to kick you out. And I’m so sorry about your seat, you didn’t deserve to lose it. And I’m sorry about Bettie Johnson, she is ab—abominable!”
“Oh, Taggie…”
“And I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she cried softly, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t.”
“Please, darling, you don’t have to say anything at all. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve a single word of your sympathy. I’m the one who should be begging for your forgiveness for letting your name be broadcast on that vile show.” Rupert said, his voice heavy with a sudden, sharp agonizing pain. His handsome face twisted in lines of pure shame. “Taggie, I don’t deserve to even talk to you.”
“That isn’t true. It wasn’t your fault, really,” she tried to console him.
Suddenly, Taggie felt entirely lost. There it was again, that dark look of self-hatred in his eyes. She had seen that look before, when they had talked about Helen and how he believed himself utterly incapable of making anyone happy. It had broken her heart then to hear how poorly he saw himself, and it shattered her all over again now. All this time, through every agonizing day they had spent apart, he had been sitting here in the dark, believing he deserved every bit of it.
“It was my fault, Taggie. You know everything they’re saying is true,” he muttered, his voice raw. “I can’t even deny it, because it’s all true. Well, except for the AIDS part. But the tapes, the scandals... that was all me..”
“I know,” she said simply. Her eyes never left his face, holding his gaze even when he looked ready to look away. “I know you, Rupert. Maybe I never met that version of you, but I always knew who he was. I used to hate you, remember? But people are allowed to make mistakes and change. And you did.”
“I’m not entirely sure I have changed all that much,” Rupert confessed, running a heavy hand over his face. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just running in circles around myself.”
“But you’re trying, aren’t you?” she said with a small, tentative smile touching her lips. “I heard someone say once that we never get things right the first time around. That’s why second chances exist.”
God, she truly was an angel. Looking at her, Rupert felt a sudden, dangerous prickle of tears behind his eyes, he wanted nothing more than to weep into her lap.
“When did you become so dreadfully wise?” he teased, his voice cracking slightly as her smile grew. He looked at her for a long, quiet moment, the gratitude washing over him. “Thank you, Taggie.” Rupert said earnestly, his voice dropping into a thick, gravelly whisper.
The warmth of the room and the sudden release of all that emotional tension were finally taking their toll, making his heavy eyelids flutter. Yet, a sudden flash of reality seemed to pierce through the alcohol fog. He looked toward the dark window, his brow furrowing. “You must go home, angel. Before the whole valley wakes up and starts to whisper.”
The harsh reality behind his words hit Taggie hard. Of course. For a fleeting moment, she had entirely forgotten how illicit this little midnight visit truly was for them. In her heart, she wished she could stay there forever, sitting in the dark with him knowing that he would be alright, that Taggie herself would take care of him and piece him together whenever he needed.
“The Priory is really quite close,” she began softly, only to be immediately interrupted by his sharp, protective instinct.
“But it’s very dark out there! You shouldn’t have even left the house dressed like that, Taggie. You could catch a cold.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she tried to rein him in. “The Priory is just down the road, Rupert, and I am right there. Always. I don’t want you to feel alone. We’re… friends, aren’t we? You can always reach out to me.”
For the second time that night, Rupert found himself questioning the very existence of Taggie O’Hara. How could anyone that profoundly good exist in this cruel world? Worse, how could someone so pure want anything to do with a man like him? It was only further proof of how utterly undeserving he was. But looking at her earnest, shining eyes, he knew he couldn’t disappoint her, not this time, not again. If friendship was the only safe harbor she could offer, then he would play by the rules. He would be her friend, the best, most fiercely loyal friend he could manage, and absolutely nothing more.
“You’re right, as always,” he whispered, a sad, infinitely tender smile touching his lips. “And you can always reach out to me, too. I might be a little broken at the moment, but I still know a few tricks, Taggie.”
Taggie offered him a tiny, reassuring smile. “I’ll leave in a little while. Just let me stay until the fire goes out.”
Rupert didn’t argue. In truth, he didn’t have the strength to make her leave, and the terrifying prospect of being alone again in the dark was more than he could bear. They fell into a quiet, easy conversation, the words flowing between them like a slow familiar river. Taggie told him about small, ordinary things; how Gertrude had stolen a piece of ham, how the autumn wind was turning the trees in the garden. Anything to keep his mind anchored away from the scandals and the pain.
Rupert listened letting her voice act as a lullaby, his head leaning back against the armchair, offering faint, sleepy smiles and occasional hums of agreement. Gradually, his responses grew shorter, his deep voice turning into a faint mumble, until his fingers completely loosened their grip on the whiskey bottle. Taggie gently caught it before it could tip over on the rug, setting it safely aside.
She reached for a discarded blanket on the armchair and carefully draped it over him. Rupert let out a long, shuddering sigh, shifting closer to the dying warmth of the fireplace, his breathing finally turning slow, deep, and even. He was asleep. Taggie stayed there for a long time, just watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, making sure that he truly was at peace. Before standing up, she leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss to his temple, a silent goodbye, a secret kept entirely in the dark.
Stepping out of Penscombe into the early morning Taggie realized that the weight on her chest was gone. He was broken, yes, and everything was still a mess, but they would be alright. And as she walked back to the Priory under the fading night, Taggie knew that, for now, it was enough.