A Royal Mess (23 page)

Portia’s poise betrayed none of her strategic intent. But I knew that aloof demeanour now. I knew what she was about to do – or so I thought. I planned to draw her out again – after all, I was the aggressive fencer – but Portia surprised me. No sooner had the President called play than Portia leapt forward, delivering a terrifying volley of attacks, and though I parried successfully there was no way I could have landed a riposte. She was like a lunatic Samurai. Bollocks to her aloof demeanour, this was war.

With a flash of insight, I trapped her blade in an
envelopment, giving me that micro-second to plan my next move. Portia disengaged, readying herself for her next assault, but she’d betrayed herself, and it was too late. My blade flicked across her stomach in a deft attack she could never have anticipated. The buzzer trumpeted my victory, and the crowd erupted into tumultuous applause.

The president formalised my win. ‘Fifteen-fourteen, victory Kelly.’

I tore off my mask, spraying my adoring crowd with a deluge of sweat as I saluted Portia with an old-world flourish, and then the president with the standard casual flick. Portia, her hair as disgusting as mine, ran forward, and dispensing with the formal handshake, swept me up in a toast cuddle. A cuddle that soon turned into a group hippie hug when Bell End, Sarah, Sister, Freddie and Billy joined us.

It was all so mad after that. The long prophesised scout materialised in the form of a be-suited BFA representative inviting Portia and me to try out for the British national team. Even Malcolm whisked me into a whirl. ‘Miss Kelly, what a killer you turned out to be!’

‘Thanks, Malcolm, that’s really sweet.’

‘So, thing is, can you give this DVD to that scrumptious friend of yours, Indie?’

‘Yaah, sure,’ I said, slightly dazed.

‘Cool. See you round, then.’ He waved as he turned to leave, and I watched his distinctive head of red hair disappear into the crowd.

It was all a whirl of congratulations, adulations and cup presentations after that. I had to stand on a stage for the ceremony as all the boys clapped for me. Freds was at the front with Portia and Billy, clapping and whistling madly. Bell End was sobbing uncontrollably with pride, although my mother and Sister Regina tried to console him. My only regret was how sweaty I was.

TWENTY-TWO
Sarah’s Car of Shame

After the match, I wondered if I would ever get over such a high. Freds loved me. I loved Freds. I was going on to the Nationals and best of all, so was Portia. It was a fairy tale come true. Even Portia chucked her aloof demeanour that night back in the dorm for a celebratory party in Georgina, Star and Indie’s room.

It was Tobias’s idea. These things usually are.

‘But I thought he’d given up drinking?’ I remarked, referring to his recent bout in detox.

‘He’s fallen off the wagon, darlings,’ Georgina explained, covering Tobias’s ears. Her lower lip wobbled with the faux sorrow of it all. ‘I think the best cure might be for him to let off a bit of steam, don’t you?’

We most certainly did. Piling our tuck and Body Shop Specials in the middle of the room, Indie offered to do the DJ-ing, which essentially meant sticking CDs in her laptop. Soon everyone, including Portia, was dancing on the beds wildly. Honey took her usual dancing spot by the mirror so she could see herself better. Or as Star
whispered in my ear, ‘She’s checking that she still has a reflection.’

Nothing could spoil our high that night. Even Miss Bibsmore was late doing her rounds. When she did pop her head in, all she did was tell us that while we deserved a ‘bit of a party,’ we should try and keep the noise down.

I had to concede that Honey said nothing bitchy to me all evening. Well, nothing at first. Even when I tried on Indie’s cool mini-skirt and it was too tight around the hips. She even asked if she could cadge a ride from me to Windsor the next day. Sarah was picking me up to take me to lunch with Freds. That’s why I was trying on Indie’s clothes, to find something truly stupendous to wear.

‘I want something that says I’m stunning and wonderful and lovable,’ I explained to my friends.

‘And I have a wonderful house in Clapham, darling. You must come and stay, Your Royal Highness. We’ll get out our best serviettes and you can sit on the lounge and watch some chav telly,’ Honey added in a common accent.

I knew I’d been naive to think she could resist taking the piss forever.

‘You do such a great chav accent, darling,’ Star marvelled. ‘Scarily good in fact. Are you sure you don’t have a little chav blood in your gene pool?’

Honey looked like she wanted to mace Star, but instead all she did was laugh as if she thought Star were really funny. Then she turned to me and said, ‘So, you and the adorable Sarah are lunching with Freds tomorrow, are you?’

We’re meeting up for a pizza, if that’s what you mean by “lunching,”’ I said.

‘Poor Sarah.’ Honey sighed, pausing presumably to think up what her next spiteful remark could be.

‘I love Sarah,’ Georgina interrupted as she danced around the room with Tobias, who was already pretty tipsy by the look of him. ‘She’s cool. Tobias adores her too,’ she added as she did a dance spin with Tobias and fell dizzily onto the floor. ‘He’s a marvellous dancer, but I think he’s had too much to drink,’ Georgina continued, which I think was her way of changing the subject. Georgina is about the only person Honey is scared of. Georgina said that’s because she knows where the bodies are buried. Star used to say that’s because Georgina helped her bury them. But that was before Star decided that Georgina was cool, after all.

We finally went to bed around midnight, but Portia and I were still too high to go to sleep, so we went over and over our triumphs of that day, speculating on what the Nationals would be like and trying not to get too overexcited in case we didn’t do well.

On Sunday we had a full fry-up for breakfast. Portia and I were eating loads more than we were used to, but all I seemed to do was get skinnier and taller.

After Mass finished at one, Sarah arrived in the car of shame to pick up me, Portia and Honey. Portia was lovely and gracious, of course, but Honey was sooo Honey, I could have thumped her.

Actually I could have thumped Sarah too, when I saw what she wearing.

Okay, I love her. She’s the best, but a powder blue floral skirt and matching jacket with a powder blue handbag and pillbox hat?

‘Have you been to Oxfam, Sarah?’ I asked crossly.

‘What are you talking about, Calypso?’ Sarah replied, patting the monstrosity on top of her head. But as she looked around the faces of everyone milling around us, the gravity of her mad outfit began to sink in. ‘Honey called me last night and told me that it was royal protocol to, erm, dress like the queen when meeting royals.’

Honey giggled.

Portia said nothing.

‘Royal protocol?’

We were standing beside the car of shame in the car park where taxis were pulling in to pick girls up for trips into Windsor. Honey wasn’t the only person laughing.

Actually the only people
not
laughing were Portia, Sarah and myself. Even the taxi drivers gathered in the forecourt were having a good chuckle.

Sarah was clearly flustered, and with everyone pointing and giggling she began to cry.

I turned on Honey. ‘You are such a bitch,’ I told her. ‘How dare you torture my mother, you sick psycho toff.’

Honey began filing her nails. ‘Don’t you hate cuticles, darling? I mean, what do they even do?’ she asked.

Portia spoke up before I could grapple the file off Honey
and stab her with it. ‘Sorry, Sarah, sorry, Calypso, but I forgot something. I’ll be back in one minute. Don’t leave without me,’ she said before dashing back into the dorm.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, between clenched teeth, The only person we’ll be leaving without is
you,’
I told Honey.

Honey rolled her eyes. ‘God, I was only joking. Who would have thought anyone could be soooo stupid as to believe that you have to dress like the queen to eat pizza with the prince?’

Poor Sarah. ‘Look Mummy, you get in the car while we decide what to do. Honey, you bugger off.’

‘Don’t be insane, I’m coming into Windsor with you. You’ve offered me a lift, and if I don’t go with you, I’ll have no one to go with.’

‘Good,’ I told her as I climbed into the car and slammed the door, locking her out.

Honey was banging on the car doors when Portia returned. I let her in on the other side and she chucked a pair of jeans and a hoodie over to Sarah. ‘You can wriggle into these in the car. You can pull over at Windsor Great Park – you know, where they play polo before we turn off into Windsor. I’ve brought some trainers too. My feet are enormous so anyone can fit into them, more or less.’

‘Oh, thank you Portia, dear. You really are a super girl. I won’t forget this.’

‘Just drive, Mummy,’ I told her.

Honey was still banging on the window of the car of shame as we drove out of the car park. It was with some
satisfaction that I watched her run into a puddle as she was chasing us down the gravel drive.

Lunch was perfect. Freds found everything about Sarah hilarious – in a good way. Even when she started explaining to him about leaving Bob, he was really sweet and sympathetic. I was ashamed that I had been embarrassed of my mother. He even asked Sarah for a signed photograph of herself to pin on his board. ‘You’re quite the star at Eades at the moment. Malcolm records your Hollywood slot, and we all watch it. Your interview with Tom Hanks was hilarious, especially when you kept asking him about his interest in Scientology.’

‘I get my Toms confused.’

‘Easily done,’ Freds agreed.

After pizza, Sarah was so cool she even went off to look at the shops so that Freds and I could spend some ‘quality time’ together. I still couldn’t believe I had been such a paranoid bitch, not wanting her to meet my boyfriend. I have the best mother in the world, even if she does drive the car of shame.

TWENTY-THREE
The Clapham Commoners

Unfortunately the car of shame wasn’t big enough to squeeze in Star, Indie, Georgina, Tobias, Portia, Clemmie, Arabella, Honey, all the pets and me on our journey to London on the exeat weekend. So Sarah picked us all up in a fleet of taxis, and we rode to Clapham on the train.

Sarah chatted away happily about what she’d done to the house. ‘You’re going to love it, Boojie,’ she enthused. ‘It’s right on the Common,’ she added.

I was stroking Dorothy, so I missed the look on Honey’s face as she giggled.

‘How perfect that a commoner like you should live on the Common.’

‘Yes, isn’t it? Those houses are as rare as hens’ teeth,’ Sarah explained, missing the jibe.

Honey couldn’t stop giggling, so Star draped Brian over her, which calmed her right down. ‘I think he likes you,’
Star said as she menaced Honey’s nose with Brian. Honey’s sharp intake of breath was hilarious. It wasn’t often we got a treat like this.

We got off the train at Waterloo and took two black cabs to Clapham. As we wound our way into the area, I noticed a strong police presence and notices asking for information on murders and rapes. Honey opened the window and waved to the bobbies on their beat.