A Royal Mess (53 page)

‘You gave them photographs of her drinking alcohol in a bar!’ Portia pointed out. ‘What sort of profile were you hoping to raise, exactly?’

Honey shrugged. ‘Actually I thought it was a très flattering shot, considering I took it with my mobile.’

‘How did Bob and Sarah take it?’ Indie asked, looking at me with her chocolate brown eyes.

‘They were absolutely amazing about everything.’

‘What? Even about the essay?’ Star probed.

I laughed. ‘You know Bob. He thinks it was inevitable that his progeny would be a literary genius, and of course it’s only natural that I used artistic licence.’

‘I knew they’d support you, whatever you wrote,’ Star reminded me, chucking me a Hershey’s Kiss.

‘I know. I guess I underestimated their capacity to worship all creative endeavours, no matter how rubbish it is.’

‘I think you underestimate how much they care about you, actually. You’ve got the coolest ‘rentals out of all of us,’ Star insisted.

Everyone seemed to agree – even girls who’d never met Bob and Sarah.

‘Listen, a part of me doesn’t want to give you this, but, well, you probably should check out what he has to say,’ Star told me as she chucked a letter from Freds at me.

It wasn’t on palace paper, but I recognised the writing.

‘It’s from Freds,’ I said as I opened it up. I looked at the eager faces of the girls gathered around me in the room. ‘I’ll read it later,’ I said but Honey told everyone apart from my closest friends to leave. Actually, what she said was, ‘Ciao, ciao, peasants.’ Then she clapped her hands at them as if dispersing hens. Naturally, she stayed on and only about half the crew left, but I read the letter out anyway. I
was too desperate to know the contents to hold on and too terrified to read it on my own.

Dear Calypso,
I’m not sure I should even be writing you this letter. Last time I wrote you a letter you went into a huge strop and accused The Palace of writing it. Well, I’m using school-headed paper this time, so unless you believe the dark conspiracy of The Palace extends to Eades, I hope you’ll accept this letter is written in my own hand and take it in the spirit in which it’s intended.

First up, BIG SORRY for the dumping by txt thing. I was totally out of order. Totally.

Secondly, BIG SORRY if you feel guilty about The Counter Dump thing. Don’t! I deserved it. Billy told me about the whole scheme, but don’t be too hard on him, he’s a bit dopey in matters of love.

Thirdly (is thirdly even a word?) BIG SORRY for falling in the Thames and dragging your name through the mud in yet another media frenzy. See, this is why I didn’t think I was right for you. You’re mad and wild and well, I’m not. I’d like to be, but every time I do anything remotely out of the ordinary, like fall in the Thames, it’s front-page news. That’s probably why I’m such a boring git.

I also wanted you to know that I’m really happy that you and McHamish are hanging out. He gets you and I know you get him. It kills me that I will never be able to pull a girl as cool as you again. So I guess I’ll have to stay confined to
my boring little box and face the fact that I will never be enough for you. I wish I was wilder and cooler and capable of being eccentric and worthy of a girl like you without a media frenzy. But I’m not. You give good txt Calypso and I know I’ve never laughed as much as when we were hanging out.

Anyway, this letter is getting far too meaningful and pathetic. A sad, tragic part of me even wants to say I hope we can still be friends. (I hope you’re not reading this out by the way.)

Instead, let’s just leave it as it is,
Laters,

Freds. xxx

I felt tears prickling my eyes as I folded the page up and slipped it carefully back in the envelope. I would
definitely
be hanging on to this letter, however tragic Star thought I was.

‘I was wrong,’ Star blurted, her eyes tearing up.

‘What?’

I couldn’t believe it, but her lip was actually wobbling. ‘About Freds, I was wrong. You have soooo got to get back with him.’

I shook my head. ‘There is no way I am getting back with him. The Counter Dump was the daftest idea ever. I am so not –’

‘No. I mean
really
back with him. He loves you. You love him. I thought he was this up-himself boring git, but he’s not. He’s nice and he’s real and he’s –’

‘She’s pulling Malcolm now,’ Portia pointed out.

I didn’t correct her because I couldn’t bear to go through the whole Italian dumping drama – which I was fairly certain hadn’t stuck anyway.

‘Malcolm’s balmy,’ Star said, dismissing him with a flick of her strawberry-blonde locks.

‘I like him,’ I told her, even though my pulse was racing at what Star was saying about being wrong about Freds.

And besides, I
did
like Malcolm. The truth was I was already really missing him even though I was determined that he was too much of a drama for a drama queen like me.

‘I like Malcolm too,’ Star agreed. ‘I like him more than Freds, actually, but that’s not the point.’

‘I think Calypso’s right,’ Indie added. ‘She’s with Malcolm now.’

‘Me too,’ Portia agreed, lifting her head from her magazine.

‘Shame he doesn’t play polo, really,’ Fenella sighed. Her sister, Perdita, agreed.

‘Well, if anyone is interested in
my
opinion,’ Honey began, but she was wrestled to the ground and smothered in duvets by the entire room of girls.

Then my phone rang, and it was Malcolm. ‘How’s Rex?’ he asked.

‘Oh my God!’ I exclaimed. ‘I forgot all about Rex!’ I said to the room at large.

‘Who is Rex?’ Star mouthed as everyone all around looked on confused.

‘I’ll call you back,’ I told Malcolm, pressing End.

‘I haven’t even told you about Rex,’ I told the room.

‘Does Rex play polo?’ Perdita asked, suddenly perking up with interest.

‘Yaah, is he really, really fit?’ Clemmie asked. ‘I haven’t pulled a boy for an age, and I think my lips may have atrophied,’ she groaned, flopping backwards with the despair of it all.

Are all teenagers’ lives as fearfully confusing as mine, I wondered as I began telling my
pazzo
tale of the Last Duckling.

THIRTY-SIX
Pulling the Past in Pullers’ Woods

Sisters Regina and Bethlehem had done a wonderful job of settling Rex into the convent. Actually, all the nuns adored Rex, and the feeling was mutual. They had the gardener build a small pond, and there was talk of finding him another little companion. Not that he was ever lonely. It was so adorable the way he followed Sister Regina around everywhere she went. I wondered if I could train Dorothy to do that. It would look soooo cool wandering around Windsor with a little bunny hopping along behind me.

The entire week was disrupted by journalists trying to get a personal account from me. But Sister Constance was by now only too familiar with the ways of the paparazzi, and they were thwarted at every attempt. All trips to Windsor were banned for the next weekend, but no one resented me too much for that, as the weather was so filthy. Also, Sunday night was the Burns Supper with
the piping in of the pizza, and Star and Indie’s band was performing
my
song, which I hadn’t needed to rewrite once Indie attacked it with her thrashing guitar solo.

Malcolm called and sent the odd txt, but he was too busy editing
The Last Duckling
to give me much attention. The film was due to be screened the following Sunday at Eades, and Saint Augustine’s was invited. I wondered what the film would be like, and okay, yes, I was also wondering if he’d get the chance to pull me. But mostly I was wondering about Freds – not whether he’d pull me, because his letter had made that pretty clear – but what it would be like to see him again. I had read and reread his letter so many times and agreed with Star that I at least needed to respond. What was the etiquette with royal ex-boyfriends?

I didn’t see why it was so pathetic that we stay friends. I mean, we were bound to bump into one another, with our schools being so close and both of us being on our school’s sabre teams.

Five drafts of my reply later, I decided to txt him and see if he wanted to meet up in Pullers’ Woods for a chat. Pullers’ Woods seemed like a good place, with the paps still lurking all over Windsor and outside the perimeter of the razor wire.

Freds replied immediately.

Sun a/noon, by tree that attack dog chased you up? F

I replied:

C U there, C

I tried not to dwell on the fact that we weren’t doing x’s anymore. I decided to take Rex to meet Freds. I needed the support, and also I thought it might break the ice to have a third party there, and I didn’t trust Star not to hiss instructions to me.

It was snowing, so I had to wrap Rex in a rug, which Sister Bethlehem had crocheted five hundred years ago and smelt of mothballs. The smell made me sneeze the whole way through the woods. The snow was falling lightly, but not many flakes were making it through the bare branches of the trees. Everything felt still and magical, and I half expected a lion to wander out and start chatting to me. I was armed with Honey’s mace in the event we ran into any attack dogs who might be in the mood to eat ducklings, but none came my way.

I had dressed carefully in jeans and a hoodie so Freds didn’t think I was making an effort. I’d also taken special care to only wear lots of lip-gloss and mascara, for that no-makeup look that boys love. Careless and carefree was the note I was hoping to strike.

Freds was already there, by the tree, as arranged. Punctual as ever. His hair wasn’t doing that sticky-outy thing I loved so much, although now that I knew about his covert gel usage, I was not as enamoured of his hair as I
used to be. He’d had it cut, and he looked vulnerable rather than cool, but, oh my God, he was still heartbreakingly fit. It must be the prince thing.

‘H-Hi,’ I stuttered awkwardly. ‘Erm, this is Rex. I thought you might want to meet him because, well, he’s the star of the film Malcolm shot in Florence, and well, you’ll be seeing it next Sunday. He’s very excited. Rex, I mean. Although Malcolm’s obviously feverishly excited too. I mean, it’s his film,’ I blurted.

Freds laughed. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing because I was mad as a drawer of old ladies’ knickers or because he thought I was funny.

Freds stroked Rex on the beak and Rex nipped Fred’s finger. It was all very touching. Then Freds took him out of his swaddling blanket and placed him on the snow and Rex went bonkeresque. He started nipping the snow and dashing about trying to catch flakes as they fell. His little webbed prints looked soooo adorable in the snow.

Freds and I watched him running about like a mad thing for a bit and then we looked at one another. And then Freds kissed me. First on the forehead and then on the nose.

Then just as I feared (or was it a longing?), he was about to kiss my lips, but he said, ‘I’m going to the States in the Easter holidays.’

‘Cool. Me too,’ I said. I mean, I live in America, and Bob and Sarah were going back with me then. And of course, Freds knew all that. Freds knew everything.

‘I’m doing this tour thing with Gran and the ’rents.’

‘Fancy that,’ I replied. I know, I know! I can’t believe I said that. The spirit of my own gran must have inhabited my brain.

Freds didn’t seem a bit fazed by my insanity, though. ‘Yaah, so, the thing is, I know I said it was pathetic to want to be friends, but well … I wondered if I might see you there?’