A Royal Mess (19 page)

‘I don’t care if you were looking for the Holy Grail, you stupid girl. They don’t put you on the National Team because you’ve chased down a spineless boyfriend in a robe.
What kind of nancy boy has you playing hide-and-seek with him, anyway?’

‘Erm, Prince Freddie, sir.’

Bell End shook his head. ‘I blame those romantic novels they feed you. Prince bloody Freddie, indeed! I bet it was that Eades fencing master set the whole thing up. Entrapment, that’s what it is. I’ll be complaining to the BNFA, I will. Entrapment.’

‘But can’t Calypso meet the scouts and, erm, spies at the regionals?’ Portia suggested gently.

Bell End bent his sword into the piste in fury. ‘No, she bloody can’t! These men don’t have memories. Here today, gone tomorrow. No!’ With that he threw his prized sabre down the piste.

‘Get out of my sight, Kelly. You’ve let me down. You’ve let everyone down. My plan to make you an Olympian, blown away like a house of straw. Spineless, big girl’s blouse, that’s all you are. Robes! Git out of my sight. Out, I say!’

I began to run out of the salle, tears streaming down my face.

Then Bell End shouted, Where do you think you’re going, Kelly?’

I turned. ‘Out of your sight, Bell End, I mean Mr Wellend,’ I whimpered.

He slapped his forehead like a truly frustrated man. ‘I don’t believe this, lily-livered girls. Git back in here.’ He pointed to the floor. ‘Drop and give me twenty, now.’

I looked at Portia. Portia shrugged.

‘Are you deaf as well as stupid, Kelly? Drop, both of you. Yes, you too, Briggs. I daresay they’d have you in a robe as well if you’d won the tournament. Give me twenty.’

So drop we did and gave him twenty press-ups.

That was how my week of fencing continued. Bell End ranting about his scout ruse being ruined followed by punishing exercises and rants about ‘bloody robes.’ I don’t think Portia was too impressed with me for bringing the wrath of Bell End down on us, either.

EIGHTEEN
The Return of Octavia

Bell End’s mood towards me didn’t improve over the rest of the week. His sacred sabre didn’t appear again, which I took as significant. Nor did the rain let up. Freddie continued to reject all my calls, which I now had to make from a call box that was a half-mile trek in the rain from the dorm. He also ignored all my e-mails. On the up side I really did try and pull my tights up when it came to my studies and handed in an outstanding Greek translation, which I was pretty sure would garner me an A, or a B, at least. Definitely a C anyway.

Sarah e-mailed me every day, but her attempt at sounding upbeat and her overuse of the word ‘super’ didn’t fool me. She was going on loads of interviews and her agent was ‘confident.’ I wished I were as confident as this agent.

Portia had already left for the tournament by the time I woke up on Saturday. It was pissing down with rain still, and breakfast was only stale cereal and powdered milk due to some transport strike. Star and Indie decided to hang with me rather than go into Windsor with everyone else,
which was really sweet of them, especially because I knew how much Star wanted to see Kev.

The truth was, as kind as it was of Star to stay with me, I would have rather been on my own and worked on my essay. Having overcome my earlier reservations, I was now keen to get cracking on the essay competition.

After breakfast, I lay in my bed and thought about what I would write. Three thousand words of personal life-changing trauma seemed a lot for an almost-fifteen-year old. It’s funny, but the more I thought about my life, the more sorrow I saw.

Being an American in an English girls’ boarding school.

The misery that Bob’s need to pursue his own creative endeavours had wrought on our family.

My concern for Sarah’s loneliness and the sense of failure she felt.

How I felt about her leaving Bob to have her regressionary breakdown in London.

And then there was Freds, who wouldn’t talk to me.

Oh, and let’s not forget the toxic Honey, using me as her torture toy at every opportunity these past four years.

Slowly I began to see that there really was some class-A trauma going on in my life. In fact, would three thousand words be enough?

Honey, Clemmie and Arabella headed off to Windsor after lessons at one o’clock but Star and Indie charged into my room just as I was making some really serious breakthroughs. I told them I was busy, but Star gave me a
speech about solidarity and standing shoulder to shoulder with the suffering of the sisterhood or something Star-ish like that. So I put my essay aside and gave in.

‘I just know you’ll win this writing competition, Calypso,’ Indie said, displaying a confidence in me she really had no reason to have, given she’d only known me half a term.

‘I told her what a genius you are with words,’ Star explained.

‘And I seriously love
The Nun,’
Indie added, referring to the magazine I’d set up in Year Ten. ‘I’d love to hear what you’ve written so far,’ she pleaded.

So I read them out what I’d written, giving a little cough to set the mood. Talk about random. This was the worst-case scenario in my long history of worst-case scenarios. But then, my entire life is a random series of worst-case scenarios. At fourteen you start to realise these things.’ I looked around my audience and smiled hopefully.

‘Go on,’ Star urged, her eyes bright with anticipation.

‘Erm, that’s as far as I’ve got, actually,’ I explained.

‘Oh,’ she said,
très
unimpressed. Then she rolled her eyes at me so I rolled mine back at her, then Indie rolled hers at both of us. I suspect we could have gone on like this until we had a fit or dislocated an eye, but we were interrupted by a tapping sound at the window.

‘It’s Kev!’ cried Star, rushing over to open the window for her very wet boyfriend.

‘And Malcolm,’ I added, recognising that red thatch of hair even though it was plastered to his head.

‘And Freds!’ Indie yelped as the shamefaced grin of my one and only true love lit up our dark little room. I didn’t care how wet he was as he pulled me into his arms and snog-aged me into a state of bliss. When we drew breath he asked if I could ever forgive him for being such a paranoid idiot.

Malcolm tussled Fred’s hair and grinned at me. ‘The appropriate answer would be no, Calypso,’ he advised. ‘Oh, by the way, I brought you this,’ he added passing me a miniature bottle of Veuve. ‘And don’t worry, I took the precaution of removing the straw for you already,’ he teased.

I know I should have just been happy that Freds had forgiven me, but I couldn’t help wondering what had changed his mind. I hoped it was sleepless night upon sleepless night remembering our kisses that had made him realise he couldn’t live without me. But I suspected Malcolm might have had something to do with it.

Speaking of Malcolm, I couldn’t help notice the way Indie was staring at him, like a huntress eyeing up her prey. Freddie had his arms around me still, and I nuzzled his neck the way Kev was nuzzling Star’s.

Star pulled away, though. ‘I’m a huge fan of your work, Malcolm,’ she gushed.

‘Cheers, and you are?’

‘Sorry, I said. This is Star and this is Indie and –’ but Indie took it from there.

‘Star’s told me
all
about your films, especially
Trousers in Cannes.
I can’t wait to see it,’ she practically gushed. ‘I love experimental silent film. Voices are soooo overrated.’

‘You haven’t been advertising again, have you McHamish?’ Freddie teased, giving Malcolm a friendly shove (right in the direction of Indie, I noted).

‘How did you know we’d be here?’ I asked Freds. ‘I was meant to be in Brighton today.’

‘Yaah, but you’re not. Thanks to me,’ Freddie explained, looking shamefaced. ‘Kev told me. I’m really sorry about how I reacted last week. I guess I was just so shocked, seeing you there on McHamish’s bed.’

‘He was particularly pissed off about your rather fetching Snoopy bra and knickers on my radiator,’ Malcolm ribbed.

Freddie went red.

‘Oh, I know. It must of looked terrible, what with my trackie bums and –’

Star slashed her hand across her neck, indicating now would be a perfect opportunity for me to shut up.

‘I wasn’t aware they did matching Snoopy lingerie,’ Malcolm added unhelpfully. ‘Cute little ensemble, Pyke,’ he explained to Kev. ‘You see, they had little Woodstocks on them and everything. Very arty. I’m not normally a lingerie man myself, but personally I’ve always felt that Woodstock was way underrated. He carried that cartoon strip as far as I can tell.’

I glared at him.

‘Oh, by the way, Calypso,’ he continued unabashed. ‘Could I grab my robe back?’

‘Sure, it’s hanging on the back of the en suite door there,’ I told him before turning back to Freds. ‘But I only came to Eades to see you Freds. I didn’t even know Malcolm then and I was just soooo wet and lost and well –’

Freddie put his hands up in resignation. ‘I know, mea culpa, mea culpa, McHamish told all. The vine, the rain, the cold, but Calypso we need to get something straight.’

‘Yes?’

‘I get pissed off when you do these totally random unexpected inexplicable, illogical things. It’s just confusing and makes me feel, well, insecure, I suppose.’

‘How can you be insecure, Freds, when you’ve got a girl who’s prepared to brave that wisteria bush in the rain. Tomkins broke his collarbone trying that stunt, remember,’ Malcolm pointed out.

I was almost swooning, though, at the idea that I had the capacity to make an HRH
insecure.
Sorry, but how hot is that?

Star, who’d been towelling off Kev’s hair, waded in to my defence. She’s never had much time for Freds and wasn’t going to let him off his sulk that easily. ‘She was only looking for you! It’s a wonder she didn’t catch pneumonia and die. If it weren’t for Malcolm helping her out, we might all be at her funeral now, not listening to you whine about how insecure you are.’ She may as well
have added You stuck up royal high horse,’ given the tone she used.

Freds responded by going red and wiping his hand through his own dripping wet hair. ‘I’ve been a bit of a shit, haven’t I?’

I can’t tell you how adorable he looked. I wanted to give him a towel and dry him off like Star had Kev, but I got the feeling Star would flip out if I did.

‘Yes, you are a shit,’ Star told him crossly. ‘A royal bloody shit, now get down on your knees and apologise to all of us. To Calypso, for believing the worst of her. Then you can apologise to Malcolm for not being more grateful to him for helping your girlfriend out. And last but not least you can say sorry to Indie and me for having to put up with Calypso being so bloody miserable all week when she’s got enough on her plate with her parents splitting up. Oh, and to Kev for being your mate and having to put up with your misplaced sense of grandeur twenty-four-seven. Insecure my arse.’

Indie giggled, and I noticed Malcolm looking at her like a lovesick puppy.

Freddie wiped some raindrops off his face. God, he was fit. I really wished Star could see how lovely he was, which I bet she would if she got to know him properly. ‘Erm, can we go somewhere on our own for a chat?’ he asked me quietly.

After checking whether Star had heard, I nodded, too happy to trust myself to speak. Star was busily dabbing KeVs nose with the towel.

‘Calypso and I are just going to nip into the bathroom for a chat,’ he said looking straight at Star. ‘Before I go I’d just like to say, to all of you, especially Calypso, obviously, who’s the best girlfriend a boy could wish for.’ Then, and this is true, I swear, he got down on his knees and arms outstretched said, ‘Forgive me, ladies and McHamish and Kev, for I have done yea wrong.’

Malcolm gave him a gentle kick. ‘Piss off, you idiot, you were always crap at drama.’ And then everyone laughed – even Star (well, she rolled her eyes and smiled) – and Freds and I went into the en suite for a quiet chat.