A Royal Mess (11 page)

In the second it took her to realise that her
flawless
counterattack had been flawed, I had already snapped
my arm into a blinding riposte. Feeling the satisfying
thwack
as my blade made contact on her
lame,
I heard the hit registering the electronic buzz that proclaimed my victory.

NINE
Even Toxic Psycho Toffs Can Talk Sense, Occasionally

The first thing I wanted to do as the victory light buzzed above my head – apart from taking off my mask – was txt Freds. Sister Regina, Sarah and Bell End were a compelling fan club, but it was Freds I wanted to scoop me up into his arms – after a shower anyway.

Over the deafening roar of the crowd because now EVERYONE was cheering
me,
I looked around and saw it might be a while before I was left alone long enough with my mobile to txt Freds. I think Bell End was even more thrilled by my victory than I was. Jenny was very sweet too, even when Bell End pushed her away like a stray dog and attempted a non-sexual manly hug with me. With Sister Regina and Sarah hanging off him, though, things didn’t go as planned, and we all landed in a tangled heap on the floor.

‘Need a hand, darling?’ Portia asked, bemused.

‘My guardian angel,’ I said, reaching my hand out to her.

‘Me? I saw the last bit, darling, and believe me, you do
not
need an angel to protect you.’ She was laughing as she pulled me out of the tangle of bodies, nun habits and banners and hugged my sweaty head. ‘And what was Bell End on?’ she asked. We could hear him over at the boy’s end. Incredible. I’m sure poor Sister didn’t have a clue what she was singing. At least I hope not?’

I spotted Billy standing behind her, grinning madly. ‘Bloody brilliant, Kelly. Where’d you learn to do that?’

‘Jerzy Pawlowski,’ I explained in a South African accent, but only Portia got the joke.

‘Best bloody sabreur that ever lived!’ Bell End announced with a slight wobble in his voice. I watched him affectionately as he roughly wiped away a tear trickling down his cheek. That’s my girl!’ he told me gruffly as he stood up and squeezed my shoulder. That’s my bloody girl! I’ll make an Olympian of you, girl. I’ll get you gold.’

Sister and Sarah had helped one another up, and Sister was marvelling at what the power of prayer could do. ‘Not that you weren’t a terrific little swordplayer, Calypso, but heavens, well, simply remarkable! The other nuns will eat their habits when I regale them with the events of today.’

Sarah hugged me as well and told me how proud she was – without reverting to baby talk – and then she pinched my cheeks really, really hard. It was mortifying,
having my mad madre gripping my cheeks while all around people snickered. One moment the champion, the next a figure of fun.

I was rescued by Bell End, who took me aside briefly. ‘And don’t think it’s only me who noticed your talent today, girl,’ he whispered darkly. Then he pointed around the hall. ‘Spies and scouts are everywhere.’

I looked around the hall where the girls and their fans were gathering their gear and preparing to leave and the boys were still fencing. That’s why I want to get going quickly, before they can get to you,’ he said, tapping his nose.

‘But why do they want to get to me? What do they want?’

‘You, Kelly. You, damn it. You might be a remarkable sabreur, but you’re not the sharpest tool in the box, are you, Kelly?’

‘But what do they want me for?’ I asked, confused.

‘Sponsorship deals, advertising. But don’t worry, they’re not going to get you. At least not today,’ he explained darkly, tapping the side of his nose again. We’ve whet their appetite, though, haven’t we, Kelly?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I agreed, putting his madness down to a long and exhaustive bout of inflicting abuse on poor Jenny and her fans.

We’ve whet their appetites good and proper.’ Then he threw his head back and laughed like a lunatic. He really had lost his marbles, poor man.

On the journey going back everyone chatted excitedly about the tournament. Bell End was especially proud of his spine-chilling attack on Jenny and her fans. He kept asking questions like, ‘And did you see their faces when I yelled, “Spit down the little weasel’s throat!”’

‘Oh yes, Mr Wellend, your imaginative
bon mots
really seemed to discourage the other side,’ agreed Sister.

Well, I had a fantastic back-up chorus,’ he said, giving Sister and Sarah their due. Even Portia was unusually chatty as she shared the details of her own victories and defeats. Although I had won the tournament, Portia had distinguished herself sufficiently to give rise to Bell End’s hopes that she’d also make it to the Nationals.

Our excitement levels hadn’t dropped when we finally got the chance to tell our friends about the day. After we returned from supper slops, Star insisted that we have a tuck fest to celebrate, and Portia and I were happy to repeat our tales of victory once more. Even Portia was animated beyond her usual regal demeanour and acted out some of Sister Regina and my mother’s maddest antics. We were high on the whole adventure, and with a pile of sweets on the floor nothing was likely to bring us down anytime soon. Even Honey – who sat by the window smoking cigarette after cigarette – couldn’t dent my excitement.

We’re definitely coming to the next tournament,’ Star insisted firmly.

‘Definitely,’ agreed the others – even Honey.

Indie laughed. ‘Sorry, I keep thinking of your mother and Sister Regina and that banner. We’ll have to make our own banner!’

Portia and I looked across at one another in solidarity. The fact of the matter was, Bell End, Sarah and Sister Regina had actually done us proud.

‘Yes, let’s all go,’ Honey added in syrupy tones, stubbing out her cigarette on the window sill and spraying the room with Febreze. ‘It sounds like fun. I want to be there next time to see you rinse the competition. And Bell End sounds hilarious. We could all join him in insulting your competition.’

‘I think he’s got that side of things under control,’ Portia said as she suppressed a smile.

Honey continued. ‘It must have felt fantastic, Calypso, winning the tournament like that. I’m seriously impressed. You and Portia deserved to win.’

Thanks, Honey,’ I replied, surprised by the genuine warmth in her congratulations.

‘Although with all this time you’re putting into your sabre, it’s natural that your other subjects
will
suffer.’ She flopped onto her bed, grabbed her
Tatler
and pretended to be absorbed by an article.

Once again I’d been too hasty in thanking her for her warm wishes.

‘Not that failing GCSEs matters, darling, well, not to the rest of us,’ she added, without looking up from her magazine. ‘Between Daddy’s plastic and Mummy’s
contacts, we’ll all be fine,’ she assured me. Then she looked up at me through the curtain of her implausibly long lashes and added, ‘But you don’t have a trust fund of your own do you, Calypso?’ Her collagen-inflated lower lip wobbled as if she were truly moved by the pathos of my plight. As if she really were about to burst into tears at my lack of plastic and contacts.

Once again, Star came to my rescue. This time with a bag of sugared almonds. ‘Almond?’ she offered Honey sweetly, holding out a pink coated nut, knowing full well that Honey was allergic to nuts. Once the ‘idiot chavs in the kitchen’ had added nuts to a pudding, and she’d had to be rushed to hospital and been kept in for a week on a drip. The school was forced to sack all the ‘idiot chavs in the kitchen’ for fear of a legal suit. That was back in the days when Honey was still sticking Post-it notes on my back declaring me an American Freak.

Honey shoved away the proffered nut. ‘But perhaps money doesn’t matter to an American wild child like you, Calypso?’ she continued, looking innocently into my eyes. ‘You can always make Freddie pay your way, can’t you?’

‘Pack it in, Honey,’ Portia warned.

‘Yes, once Calypso wins the essay-writing competition, she’ll get a book deal. Unlike you, she doesn’t need to rely on Daddy’s plastic and Mummy’s contacts. She’s got something you don’t even understand. Talent,’ Star said.

As if set off by satanic forces, my txt alert sounded.

Congrats on your victory. F

Merde!
I hadn’t rung Freddie! Billy must have told him about my victory. All I could think of as I read and reread the message – apart from what a horrible girlfriend I was – was the distinct lack of kisses. I should have been the one to tell him. Billy would have told him about Sarah too, and about the madness of the ‘Go Boojie! Go!’ banner. Fantastic. Just fantastic.

Star and Indie, who were sitting on either side of me, looked at the message. Arabella and Clemmie clambered over to have a look too.

‘No kisses,’ Arabella noted.

I showed Portia, who grimaced. ‘You should have txt-ed him immediately. Billy would have told him as soon as he got back.’

I was already punching in a reply.

Cheers, we just got back. I tried to txt earlier but no signal, soz. xxx C

Before pressing ‘Send,’ I held the message up for a group opinion.

Star shook her head. Too lame,’ she announced as she snatched the phone from me and changed the message.

Only half the victory without you there to witness. C U in W tomoz? xxxxxx C

‘Better,’ Indie agreed, holding up the message for everyone else.

‘But aren’t you going to Windsor with Sarah?’ Portia remarked, only she asked too late. Star, being Star, had already pressed ‘Send.’

Freddie’s reply came back at once.

C U tomoz. F xxx

‘See!’ Star trilled. You have to be more assertive with boys, darling. Look at Kevin, he’s the perfect boyfriend. Well, just about perfect. I still have some work to do on him musically.’

Kevin was Billy’s younger brother and quite possibly the sweetest boy we knew. He was putty in Star’s hand and openly worshipped the ground she walked on. Even with Star’s willful charm, I could
never
have that sort of relationship with Freddie. These heir-to-the-throne types like to keep a certain amount of power in their relationships. Kevin might enjoy Star’s tantrums (well, we all did – she was hilariously outrageous in her treatment of boys) but Freds was not, and never would be, Kev. He was heir to the throne and would never settle for being number two in a relationship.

I took my mobile and stared at Fred’s message. Even with three kisses, my fate was sealed – only not in a good way. Sarah was about to collide with the love of my life. A vision of her chasing Freddie through the streets of
Windsor with a question-and-answer form and a camera flashed through my mind.

As tired as I was, I knew I was not going to sleep well that night. In addition to the collision course with disaster, Honey’s words continued to haunt me. I suppose during all my years of dreaming of making it to the Nationals, I hadn’t really considered what that might mean to my grades. To girls like Honey and, well, all the other girls I knew, grades were not an issue. They could pursue their dreams with trust funds.

Honey might be a toxic toff but she still had a solid point. While I focused all my energy on fencing, it was inevitable that my grades would suffer. The GCSE exams were in six months, and my attention was spread very thin indeed, stretched as it was between Sarah and Bob’s marital problems, my dream of being a sabreur par excellence, and snog-aging my way back into Fred’s affections. I hadn’t even factored in my GCSEs.

But Honey had. Bob was right when he said even idiots talk sense sometimes. The essay competition and its prize money was starting to seem like an increasingly attractive idea. After all, I had always wanted to be a writer. Maybe the essay competition wasn’t such a bad idea. It might even be my big chance at having a proper career someday.

TEN
Royal Collision in Windsor