A Royal Mess (8 page)

I swear he must have been at his laptop because he fired off his response with lightning speed.

Dearest Daughter [Daughter indeed, how droll! Well if he thought drollness would make things right, he was very much mistaken],
You have begged me for years to go to a ‘normal school.’ Consider this your Big Break. Besides, I love and trust Sarah enough to know that you are exaggerating her mental state. You weren’t awarded the title Queen of the Doomsday Prophesies for nothing. I am working night and day to get this script finished so that I can give Sarah [and you] the life she deserves. I haven’t slept since Sarah left, and a bit of support from my own daughter would be much appreciated. In the meantime, enjoy your mother’s company and stop whining.
Your loving father,
Bob xxx
PS: It is ALWAYS the time for creative endeavors, Calypso! You of all people should know that.

If it wasn’t a sin to dishonour your parents, I would have told him to bugger off and boil his head in his Big One. Instead I held fire and shared my despair with Portia, Georgina, Indie, Clemmie, Arabella and Star over a pile of tuck and a sip or two from our Body Shop Specials. Honey was there too, stretched out like a lioness on her bed. I had reached the stage with Honey where I was pretty much able to pretend that she didn’t exist.

‘I feel soooo disloyal about Sarah. I mean, I know she’s distressed and upset and I
do
want to see her Sunday, I
do!
But I want to see Freddie as well, and believe me, I know my mad madre will not just say ta-ta and wave me off. It’s not the American way,’ I explained as I took a sip of the vodka that Star passed me.

‘Darling, you could always combine the two,’ Star suggested. ‘I’m sure Freddie would
love
to meet Sarah. I think she’s cool. Totally bonkers obviously, but cool.’

Well, yes, but –’

Though Calypso can hardly pull Freds with Sarah
looking on,’ Georgina reminded her. Finally, some sanity from my posse!

I didn’t say anything, but the last thing I wanted was my baby-talking-reverting mother scaring Freds off. Is that evil? I think it probably is.

‘Could you ask for some alone time with Sarah? Suggest she come to chapel, and then the two of you have a lovely mother-daughter lunch somewhere fabulous in Windsor and duck off to meet Freddie afterwards?’

‘But you understand, Sarah will want to come,’ I insisted.

‘Not if you suggest to Sarah that she might like to meet him on another more formal occasion, like a proper lunch the next weekend? Apart from anything else, she might be feeling a bit stronger by then,’ Portia suggested as she unwound the towel turban her hair had been drying in. Her idea was pure genius. I wanted to hug her but settled for passing her the vodka.

‘Brilliant,’ George agreed. “Rents love it when you suggest things they think they’ll have to force you to do.’

‘Is Boojie-Woojie ashamed of her mumsy, then?’ asked Honey in a baby voice.

I threw a Jelly Baby at her but unfortunately she caught it adroitly on her serpent-like tongue. ‘And I thought you PC Americans were soooo keen on the Christian values of honouring your folks?’ She said all this in a bad attempt at a piss-take of a southern accent. I think it is the only American accent she knows how to do.

‘Oh, and what might we have here?’ demanded Miss Bibsmore, suddenly appearing in our doorway.

All of us sat there on the floor looking dumbstruck. None of us had heard her stick coming down the corridor, and as I looked down, I saw why. She’d wrapped the bottom of her stick in duct tape.

‘Just a little chat, Miss Bibsmore. Would you like a sweet?’ Portia asked casually, offering up a bag of marshmallows.

‘No, I would not like a sweet, thank you, Briggsie, but I would like to smell what it is you’ve been drinking from that shampoo bottle.’

You could hear the collective gulp of our room as Star passed up the Body Shop bottle to Miss Bibsmore.

Miss Bibsmore sniffed it, wrinkled her nose and then stuffed one of her stumpy old fingers in it. Licking her finger, she pronounced, ‘Vodka.’

‘Yes, it’s a special, erm, shampoo they’re doing this season, Miss Bibsmore,’ I blurted. ‘It makes your hair wildly glossy and, well, lovely and soft. Portia’s just used some on her hair …’ I pointed to Portia’s lovely freshly washed glossy hair.

Miss Bibsmore ignored my mad rant. ‘I’ll hazard it’s yours, Miss O’Hare,’ she said, turning her attention to Honey.

‘You’ll hazard no such thing, you mad old witch. Why would it be mine?’

‘Oh, I got my eye on you, madam.’

‘A blind eye, maybe,’ Honey sneered, her collagen pumped-up lips blistering with derision.

‘Well, evidence would suggest that as I don’t see young Mr Tobias in the room, you are the most likely suspect an’ all.’

‘What’s Tobias got to do with it? He’s a soft toy!’ Honey argued, bug-eyed with the horror that she was being so unfairly persecuted. In Honey’s mind, she had the patent on unfair persecution. I almost felt a bit sorry for her, although she was only making matters worse for herself by referring to Tobias as a ‘soft toy.’ I mean, we are talking about a bear with his own custom-made LVT trunk and designer outfits.

‘How dare you!’ Georgina spat, diving off the floor and looming over Honey’s bed, her eyes flashing with fury.

Miss Bibsmore interjected, placing her stick between Georgina and Honey. ‘Soft toy or no, he’s a full fee-paying student at this school and the only other student, apart from you, Miss O’Hare, in my dormitory what ’as a drinking problem.’

‘Tobias has given up drinking,’ Georgina assured Miss Bibsmore earnestly. ‘He took himself off to detox over half term.’

Miss Bibsmore thought about this and nodded. ‘Well, I hope the treatment sticks an’ all, Miss Castle Orpington, and that’s genuine, that is. But Mr Tobias isn’t my concern on this occasion. So, Miss O’Hare, you can come down with me to Sister Constance.’

This is outrageous. You have singled me out for persecution since you first laid eyes on me.’

I could relate to that, as that was exactly what Honey had done to me.

Miss Bibsmore cackled. Well, you were the one wot told me that you sued the last person what treated you like everyone else.’

‘Ugh!’ Honey grunted as she started punching numbers into her phone. Well I’m calling my lawyers! There are witnesses here who have just heard you admit you’re singling me out –’

Miss Bibsmore swooped on the little gem-like phone and pocketed it. ‘You can call your lawyers after you’ve spoken to Sister. Now up you get, one, two, three.’

The rest of us sat in stunned silence as Miss Bibsmore bustled the loudly protesting Honey from the room. We waited all of a minute before bursting into raucous laughter.

The maddest thing was that we still had the rest of our Body Shop Specials piled amongst our tuck feast.

SIX
Be Warned! Life’s NOT All Nicey-Nicey

Naturally, I couldn’t follow the advice of my friends to overlap my meeting with Sarah with my meeting with Freddie. After careful thought I decided even Portia’s flawless plan left room for random ’rental disobedience. I knew how much Sarah was longing to meet Freds. Formal lunches sounded all well and good, but formality and Sarah were just not a natural fit. I had no choice. Imagine Freds, heir to the throne of England, meeting my baby-talking-reverting mother? He’d run a mile – with Sarah following him in hot pursuit.

No, as dismal a prospect as it was, I would have to put Sarah first and cancel Freds. I tried and tried to think of an alternative, but I owed it to Sarah to be there for her in her time of need. There was no way out. As I composed the txt the next evening, little tears banked up behind my eyes at the thought that I wasn’t going to see Freds on Sunday and
feel his lovely lips on mine, or smell the lovely lemony smell of his neck.

Soz, but Sunday isn’t go to work, the madres in town and wants me all to herself. Next Saturday though promise, xxxx Calypso

I watched the screen of my mobile for what seemed like an eternity, but there was no response, and eventually I had to go off to study period. I told myself that he was obviously wildly busy … either that or furious and planning to dump me.

By Saturday morning at 5:00 a.m., when my alarm woke us for our drive up to the tournament in Sheffield, Freds
still
hadn’t responded to my txts. Yes, tragic as it sounds, I’d sent several txts because each time I told myself he was probably in divs (that’s what they call lessons at Eades) or chapel, or well, just very, very busy loading up his iPod. After my recent phone txt face-off with Freddie before half-term – which turned out to be all Honey’s fault – I wasn’t going to let any sort of misunderstanding between us happen again.

After Freds’ reaction to Honey selling that mobile phone snap to the tabloids, Star has always thought Freddie was overly keen on himself. She’s always telling me I’m too good for him, but then she’s so fiercely loyal she doesn’t think any boy is good enough for me. I hadn’t told Star that I had chucked meeting Freds on Sunday
altogether because I didn’t want him to meet my regressing madre. She would not have been impressed by that, nor, deep down, was, I, but… well, I could hardly have Sarah baby talking to the heir to the throne, could I? In the past three days she’d called me diddums, like, nine times! Diddums? What was I, a cat?

On Saturday morning, Portia and I dressed in our jeans and hoodies in the en suite so as not to wake Honey, who was snoring so loudly, I swear, it’s a miracle she doesn’t ever wake herself up. Then we rushed down the stairs with our torches and out across the damp lawn to the nun’s house, where the tiny little form of Sister Regina was already at the door waiting for us in an overexcited state. She was hopping from one foot to the other.

It had been decided by Sister Constance that one of the nuns should chaperone us to the tournament, and so they’d had a raffle and the lucky winner was Sister Regina. After a lot of nun-ish clucking and cuddling and telling us how all the other nuns were sick with jealously, she led us into the kitchen of the convent, which hadn’t been updated since the fifties.

She’d cooked us a full English breakfast, bless her. Well, you’ll need the nutrition with all that swordplay you’ll be doing. And I’ve packed tuna sandwiches for the journey!’

‘Oh, that’s really sweet, Sister,’ Portia and I told her.

‘Only, don’t say a word to Sister Michael, because it was her tin of tuna I stole.’

‘Sister!’ we chastised.

‘Oh, stop. We each get a little treat in the weekly shop, see, only I always choose cigarettes,’ she explained, dropping her voice to a low whisper.

‘Sister, that’s very, very naughty. Now we’ll feel guilty,’ Portia teased. ‘Poor Sister Michael.’

‘Oh, shush,’ she said, cackling wickedly as she bustled busily about the kitchen, dishing out the eggs, bacon, sausages, toast and baked beans onto the old, chipped green plates. ‘Sister Michael won’t even remember she ordered it. She’s about to reach her century in another month, she is.’

Wow!’ I exclaimed. That’s … totally cool.’

‘Yes, and they’ll be a big tea with scones and cream and cucumber
and
tuna sandwiches. We’re all looking forward to it, but while the body may be strong, the mind’s not all it could be in Sister Michael’s case, bless her. Last night when we were playing animal snap, she didn’t get
one
hand in. Even the chicken had her flummoxed and she always gets the chicken – always. Anyway, she wouldn’t mind. Truth is, all of us nuns are very proud of you, and I’m sure no one could begrudge two lovely girls like you a little tuna. Now eat up and stop fussing.’

We were just scraping our plates when we heard Bell End knocking on the door of the cottage. It was only six o’clock now and still dark, so all four of us used our torches to make our way to the school mini-bus. Bell End gallantly led Sister Regina through the wet grass. ‘Isn’t this exciting,
girls?’ she kept exclaiming. ‘Oh, Mr Wellend, I do hope they do well.’

Bell End had already packed our kit. ‘Can’t trust you bloody girls to remember your own heads,’ he’d insisted when we’d offered to help the day before. ‘No, leave it to the master; at least that way I’ll know everything’s in order.’