A Royal Mess (17 page)

Everyone was really lovely to me in the ref at breakfast. Word was out that I had broken the fortress of Eades – even amongst the Year Sevens who worshipped anyone who had even pulled a boy – let alone entered the holy kingdom of fit boys.

Even Honey was sweet to me, offering me her croissant, which she’d dropped on the floor. She brushed it on my uniform before passing it to me faux kindly. ‘Darling, you must be famished after last night’s exertions,’ she sympathised, rolling her eyes and flicking her beautiful hair – which only served to make me feel even more hideous. ‘And I adore this American Tramp look you’re going for this morning, it’s soooo you.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, immune to anything Honey might care to throw at me. ‘I look like a train wreck,’ I told her, accepting the extra croissant even though I wasn’t going to
eat it. I wasn’t that hungry thanks to Portia’s thoughtfulness the night before.

Honey leaned in closer and whispered, ‘Only, don’t mention where you got that mace, darling, will you? If you do, you’ll appreciate that I’ll have to tell Daddy you lied, and I’d hate to give evidence against you in court. It would tear my heart in two.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, having forgotten all about the mace, which was still in the pocket of Malcolm’s robe in my room along with my phone.

‘Well, sweetie darling, it would be libellous were you to mention my name to Sister Constance regarding the mace.’ She pointed to her heart and looked at me with faux concern. ‘I couldn’t bear to visit you in Old Choky, darling.’

Indie gave her a poke in the ribs similar to the pokes Miss Bibsmore had rained down on me with her stick earlier.

‘Ouch!’ Honey screamed, but everyone ignored her, apart from Indie’s security guys, who flinched as if desperate for the opportunity to shoot Honey.

‘Libel is when you write it down, you illiterate chav,’ Indie pointed out.

Star giggled and had to spit out her mouthful of hot chocolate before she snorted it up her nose. Then the bell rang and we all had to run off for room inspection, registration, chapel – and in my case the dreaded interview with Sister and Sarah.

‘Is it true you were found naked in Prince Freddie’s room?’ A gaggle of tiny little Year Sevens asked – wide-eyed with awe as we made our way out towards registration later on.

‘Yes,’ Star told them, but all the good humour in the world couldn’t stop the inevitable confrontation awaiting me in Sister’s office.

Sarah was waiting on the wooden bench outside Sister’s office dressed in the same pink Chanel suit she’d worn on Sunday. Her face was ashen, though, and her hair looked as dishevelled as my own.

‘So, here we are, then, Calypso,’ she said sternly. ‘I really am at a loss as to what to say.’

‘Yes, but I can explain, Sarah. Honestly, it isn’t as bad as it seems.’

‘I think you might find it’s worse,’ she told me ominously, looking miserably down at her hands. She had a quiver in her voice. ‘Breaking into a boys’ school. And naked? Oh, Calypso, what were you thinking?’

‘I
wasn’t
naked,’ I told her outraged. ‘At least not at first!’ I blurted.

Unsurprisingly, this didn’t mollify the madre. By the time Sister called ‘Come!’ Sarah looked on the verge of tears.

As usual, Sister was in silent meditation under a life-size statue of Christ that looked down on us from the crucifix above her chair. Her hands formed a steeple on the desk while her lips moved silently in prayer. Sarah and I waited for an invitation to be seated.

‘Thank you for coming, Mrs Kelly. Please be seated,’ Sister Constance said eventually, although her voice was laden with doom.

‘Before you speak, Sister, I think there are mitigating circumstances in this case which you should know about,’ Sarah began.

Sister shot her a warning look. ‘Before
anyone
speaks, Mrs Kelly, I intend to pray for guidance from the Lord God, Our Father, in the handling of this matter, thank you.’

So, we all set off on a decade of the rosary, and I promise you I’ve never prayed so fervently in my life. When Sister spoke again it was to explain that she felt compelled to suspend me for the duration of term.

Sarah looked at her furiously. She rose out of her chair and loomed – yes loomed (which isn’t as hard as you might think for an abnormally tall woman in heels) over Sister’s ancient oak desk.

I shrank into my chair.

‘Suspend?’ Sarah spat out the word as if it were akin to ‘murder.’ ‘After everything this poor child from a broken home has endured?’ She pointed to me. I crumpled up into chair even further and began a slow slither to the floor.

Sister leant over her desk, presumably curious as to what I was up to.

Sarah was oblivious to all as she tore strips off our head nun. ‘I am disappointed in you, Sister,’ she railed. ‘Disappointed with a capital “D”! With her father in Los
Angeles immersed in his own self-centred madness, her mother struggling to pay her fees while dealing with an emotionally trying time. Just imagine what it’s done to this poor child? Have you no soul, Sister?’ she demanded. ‘Have you no mercy?’

Sister replied calmly and softly, We all have souls, Mrs Kelly. Even girls such as your daughter who run drunk and naked around Eades have souls.’

‘I didn’t run naked around Eades and I wasn’t drunk. I just had the hiccups, that’s all!’ I cried out, but they both ignored me – partly because I was now crumpled on the floor.

‘Well, then, Sister Constance. Where’s your quality of mercy? Is it strained?’ Sarah demanded to know. Sarah likes to paraphrase Shakespeare. It was usually a sign that she had dug herself into her argument and had no exit strategy in place. This was going to be a long and upsetting morning. The upside was I was missing Greek; the downside was, Sarah’s speech would no doubt end in my expulsion.

Sister tried to interject at various points, but Sarah waved her away dismissively. ‘It beggars the belief of any right-thinking moral person that you, a woman who has supposedly devoted yourself to the spiritual care of young ladies, can toss this poor child from a broken home onto the scrap heap of life to fend for herself while her mother is struggling to find her way in a new country and her father is on another continent, immersed in his bloody Big One!’

‘Sit down, Mrs Kelly,’ Sister commanded authoritatively.

Sarah obeyed, stunned I guess by Sister’s transformation from earnest nun to terrifying draped woman. ‘Now, get off the floor Miss Kelly. That is no place for a girl of Saint Augustine’s to repose.’

‘Yes, Sister,’ Sarah and I chimed as I clambered back onto my chair.

‘Now, as I said before your well-intentioned interruption, Mrs Kelly, my
inclination
is to suspend Calypso for the duration of the term. But one does not always give in to one’s inclinations, does one?’

Sarah and I shook our heads fervently.

‘So, as this is Calypso’s GCSE year and her record, up until now, has been relatively blemish-free, I am prepared to be lenient. Taking in the circumstances of your parents’ marital breakup and your mother’s, erm, breakdown, Calypso, I am prepared to suspend your sentence and leave it as a weekend gating for now. However, and I mean this, so listen very carefully …’

Sarah and I both strained our ears to hear.

‘Should you ever pull a stunt like this again, I warn you, I will not hesitate to give way to my inclinations and suspend you, GCSEs or not. Understood?’

‘Oh, Sister. Thank you for showing such mercy,’ Sarah grovelled shamelessly. ‘Calypso learnt a very valuable lesson and I’m sure she’s very sorry and grateful for your leniencey.’

I was not soooo grovelly or shameless, though. ‘Hang on a minute, Sister. You haven’t even asked me my side of the story. This is soooo unfair. I was only at Eades because Freds wouldn’t take my calls and I had to say sorry about, well, never mind about what, but since when has saying sorry been a crime?’ I blurted.

Sister looked down at her lap.

Sarah jabbed me in the ribs. ‘Ouch!’ I yelped. Was this Jab Calypso in the Ribs Day or something? ‘I was only wearing Malcolm’s robe because my own clothes were wet.’

‘I think, Calypso, you have said and done quite enough.’

I scowled at her. Sarah patted my shoulder. There, there, Calypso, you’ve been under a lot of strain lately,’ she soothed as if I were some sort of lunatic.

I shrugged her off. ‘Besides, you can’t gate me this weekend. I’ve got the tournament! Mr Wellend says people are watching me. Spies and BNFA-type people. He’ll go bonkers.’

Sarah mouthed the word ‘shut up’ at me.

Sister looked up. The gating was not a suggestion, Miss Kelly. You are gated, young lady, tournament or no tournament,’ Sister said in a tone of voice that brooked no further argument.

‘But Bell End, he’ll have my guts for garters,’ I blurted.

‘Have you heard the expression, “Skating on thin ice”?’ Sister asked me.

I nodded.

‘How about the expression “When you’re in a hole, stop digging”?’

I nodded again.

‘Well, Madam, you are skating on thin ice and digging one crater of a hole for yourself. As part of your gating you will also lose all mobile-phone privileges.’

‘But you can’t do that, it’s against – something or other!’ I shrieked. ‘It’s against European Law and violates my human rights under the, erm, Belgium Convention!’ I hazarded.

Sister rose and glared. ‘For the sake of your future here at Saint Augustine’s School for Ladies, Calypso, I am terminating this meeting before you jeopardise the lenient punishment the Lord has guided me to grant you. Good morning, Mrs Kelly.’

And with that, Sister Constance swept out of her office, taking my future with her.

I looked up at our Lord on his cross. ‘So that’s what you call lenient, is it, oh Lord of Mercy?’ I asked sarcastically.

‘I’ve been fired,’ Sarah said, quietly.

‘Fired?’

‘Yes, they’re cutting back.’

I put my arm about her as if I were one of those rock-solid-type daughters as opposed to the dependent, emotionally needy daughter I really was. ‘You’re madly talented, Sarah, you’ll be snapped up before you can say –’

‘Snappy dialogue.’

‘Exactly, snappy dialogue,’ I agreed.

‘No, that’s why they fired me. They said I was too scripted, that my dialogue wasn’t snappy enough.’

‘Idiots,’ I said.

We sat there for a bit. I stroked Sarah’s back and she made a brave, resigned face. I didn’t ask anything tricky about who’d pay my fees or how she’d afford the house or, well, anything that might yield an answer that might make me feel even worse.

But Sarah must have sensed the thoughts chasing through my mind because she said, ‘I’ve got some savings; they will hold us for a few months, but after that –’

‘And I might win the essay competition. You never know.’

Sarah smiled. ‘You’re everything to me, you know that, don’t you, Calypso?’

I nodded as I squeezed her hand. ‘I know. And, erm, sorry about the, you know, going to Eades thing.’

‘Oh, darling Calypso, I don’t mind about that, really. I did it myself more times than I care to remember. Do you really think I’d be cross with you about a streak through Eades?’

I didn’t get a chance to tell her ‘yes’ because the bell for the next class rang, so I had to leg it to get my books for English.

SIXTEEN
The Extreme Trauma of Privilege

‘Miss Kelly,’ said Ms Topler as I wandered into class all of one minute late.

‘Yes, Ms?’

‘Come and see me after class, please.’

This was soooo typical. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, now Ms Topler wanted to give me a blue. I hated teachers.

I slumped into a chair next to Star. ‘So what did Sister say?’ she whispered.

‘No mobile phone for a week and a gating.’