Greatest Love Story of All Time (42 page)

‘So what changed? Why did you start looking for someone now?’

‘Vell, I am a princess, as you know. And princesses must marry eventually. I needed to find a partner.’

‘Stefania, please tell me what really happened. Come on, I’ve met Roland now. No need to be shy!’

She returned to her leggings. ‘Ze love of Stefania and Roland is a result of years of searching in ze soul. But ze searching had to stop. I am a princess. And your interdating website was vhat I needed to start my hunt.’

‘Can you please stop being a weirdo and tell me what actually happened before Roland comes back with the tea?’ I said gently.

‘I am telling you zis twice now. I am a princess. I had to get married.’

Stefania had been telling me she was a Balkan princess/Russian noble/close relative of the Polish royalty for a long time now. I shook my head irritably, demanding some straight talk.

‘No, Frances, I do not sink you understand. I
am
a princess. My name is Princess Stefania Mirova Karađorđević. I am a direct descendant of the House of Karađorđević. We were kicked out in 1945 when ze Communists took Yugoslavia. My family is still recognized by many as a royal family. Zey have zis barmy belief zat zey can be restored viz ze srone, one day.’

There was a pause. I snorted. ‘Um, Stefania. I’m sorry,
what?
’

‘It is true, Frances,’ she said wearily. ‘Zis is vhy I do not talk about myself. People laugh as if I am telling ze lies.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Perfectly,’ she snapped.

‘Shit! You’re a real princess?’

She smiled shyly. ‘Yes.’

‘Then what the flaming JESUS are you doing living in my shed?’

Roland came over with a knobbly wooden tray bearing three clay mugs. He was smiling in the vague way that nutty professors always smile. A sort of distracted one-part-of-my-brain-is-dealing-with-you-and-the-other-part-is-fixing-the-hadron-collider smile. ‘Er, Stefania has just outed herself as
a princess,’ I said uncertainly. If a joke was being made at my expense he’d blow her cover.

Instead, Roland grinned in a more focused way and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. ‘Oh, goody,’ he said enthusiastically. He had just the edges of a Yorkshire accent. ‘I do love this story, although it’s so sad!’ He took her hand and sat down next to her.

I sipped nettle tea and listened in amazement.

Stefania had been engaged, aged nineteen, to some bloke she’d been to school with and had been going out with since she was barely legal. By the sound of things it had been a pretty intense affair, and even though her family wasn’t delighted by her choice, the wedding plans were in full swing on 17 July 1999 when he was killed in a motorbike accident on the outskirts of Belgrade. Stefania had been utterly heartbroken. She had dropped out of university a couple of years later and wandered off into Eastern Europe. She’d hitched her way across Europe over the course of three years and stayed with travelling communities until eventually she’d arrived in London in 2005, only a few months before I moved in. ‘You were ze first person who talked to me,’ she said. ‘You let me live here. I am for ever grateful to you.’

Feeling as if I was watching some sort of historical thriller I just goggled. ‘Carry on!’

‘Vell, zat is it, really. I left my life behind in Serbia because I could not bend it –’

‘Bear it,’ Roland and I said simultaneously. Then we both said, ‘Sorry.’

Stefania waved us away. ‘Does not matter. I could not bear it. So I have spent ze time here listening to ze mad drama of your life, Frances, and hanging around with your cat, and trying to help some people even more sad zan me. But vhen you had ze heartbreak I realized zat I could not carry on being me in my shed. I needed to start my life again. And so I stole your lapside computer every day vhen you vere at vork and found Roland! Ze love of Stefania and Roland has awoken me! I am alive once more!’

Roland sipped his horrid nettle tea enthusiastically. ‘My little roaming gypsy!’ he said, with gusto.

I liked Roland immensely. ‘So does this mean you’re rich?’ I asked incredulously.

‘Vell, since I have been living here I have not been in contact with my family so I had only ze remains of ze money I brought viz me. But vhen ze love of Stefania and Roland began I wrote to zem and all is well. Zey sent me money. I do not know if I am rich, but I sink zere is enough to do somesing good.’

‘WHAT?’ I breathed, enthralled.

‘Vell, I am sinking of moving to India and starting a retreat,’ she said casually, as if this were a pretty common-or-garden thing to be doing. ‘You know,
meditation, cleanses, body purification – vhat is the name of zat process vhere you have ze tube in your bottom?’

I burst out laughing. ‘Colonic irrigation?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, zat one. I believe it is a powerful tool for cleaning out ze –’

‘OK, OK, enough. Stefania, that is the best story I’ve ever heard … but how utterly tragic the circumstances,’ I added. ‘I can’t believe you’ve looked after me so much when you’ve been grieving. I feel awful!’

She smiled fiercely. ‘NO! Do not feel bad! It is only by caring for ze community zat ve are able to escape our own heads!’

I chuckled. ‘Yes, that sounds apt. Care in the community. I like it.’

A tendril of her hair had escaped from her customary mad topknot and I smiled as Roland tucked it back in with a face of reverence: it was as if he was restoring a missing jewel to a priceless crown. And then, for the second time that day, I found myself feeling unbearably sad. ‘Everyone’s leaving me, Stefania. You can’t go too!’

‘Who else?’

‘Dave. He’s leaving for bloody Afghanistan on Thursday. Indefinitely.’

Stefania went white. ‘No. Zis cannot be! Dave cannot go!’

I nodded sadly. ‘’Fraid so. He’s off. It’s all sorted. I tried to make him stay but he wasn’t having any of it.’
Stefania looked as if she was going to have a heart attack. ‘We’ll just have to hope he meets some hot journalist out there who drags him back to the UK with her.’

Stefania’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hope for nozzing of ze sort,’ she said.

DRAFTS

To	Subject	Saved	Time
David.Brennan@ ITNNews.com	Don’t go!	19/05/2010	01:39:40

It was Gin Thursday. Probably the most special Gin Thursday in the history of Gin Thursdays. I realized that there wasn’t a person there I didn’t care about. Even Hugh. He was swearing away at the bar with gay abandon, the epitome of news editor with beige cords and glasses hanging round his neck. It was a late-May scorcher and everyone was wearing summer clothes: London was awash with a sea of white arms and legs. I surveyed the blotched fake tan on my right ankle and shrugged.

Stefania and Roland were talking, rather improbably, with Stella Sanderson who, to my surprise, was roaring with laughter and clutching Stefania’s arm, and even the Fit Blokes from the C4 news had somehow got invited and were standing in a group looking Fit while Chatting Manfully. Nellie was honking with posh laughter with Mona Carrington underneath the large TV screen, and Michael Denby, even posher and richer than I’d remembered, stood next to her,
like an advert for Thomas Pink in crisp chinos and a light pink shirt with not so much as one wrinkle on it. His gold cufflinks kept being picked up by the rather inexplicable disco ball, which was revolving above us, in spite of the fact that it was seven fifteen on a Thursday evening in a disco-less London pub.

Mum was sitting at a table near the door with an orange juice and a wide smile. She was talking animatedly with Leonie and Alex, Leonie relaxed and confident as ever and Alex all but hopping up and down in his desperation to please the mother-of-his-girlfriend’s-best-friend. A tiny little bead of perspiration kept forming between his brows, which Leonie would mop off every now and then with her long vintage Hermès scarf.

I felt very fond of Alex, these days. What a turnaround to feel so indifferent to Michael and so maternal and affectionate towards Alex! And, I thought, as my eyes travelled across the table, what an incredible turnaround to see my mother – my
mother
– sitting in a pub looking relaxed, happy and, well, normal. No power shoulders. No bouffant. No pearlescent lipstick or pearls or smudged wine glass. Just Mum in a flowery dress I hadn’t seen since I was about ten. Her arms were freckled and slender. The change in her was incredible. She’d transformed from Drink Voice Woman to the Mum I remembered from my childhood. I loved her. My mum. I watched as her face lit up at the sight of someone arriving, someone I
couldn’t quite see – largely because he was obscured by Mum’s enthusiastic hug. She kissed him on the cheek.

Blimey! Mum wasn’t
dating
, was she? Then, to my astonishment, Leonie got up and hugged him too. What the … ?

Slightly incredulous, I picked up my drink and began to pick my way through the crowd to investigate. Leonie said something to him and they both turned to me.

‘DAD! OH, MY GOD!’ I took out Eddie from Entertainment as I pummelled my way to their table. I threw my arms around him. It had been more than a year since I’d seen Dad. His Costa del Sol pot-belly had become a bit of a beery paunch and his skin was a bit Torremolinos for my liking but those were minor details – it was my DAD!

‘Hey, little Franny!’ He kissed and hugged me. ‘Couldn’t miss this! Eve called me on Tuesday, I’m bloody proud of you, my girl!’

It was too much. ‘RARRR!’ I yelled like a Hampstead Heath dad, completely beside myself. Everyone laughed. ‘This is the BEST!’
Well, nearly the best
, I thought, as I checked the door again quickly.

My heart sank a tiny bit. No Dave.

I knew he wasn’t coming. It was completely impossible. But if he’d walked in it would have officially become the best night in my life, so much the best, in fact, that I would have submitted an announcement to
that effect to
The Times
. I realized Leonie was watching me and turned my attention back to the group. ‘Let me go and get some drinks,’ I said. ‘Dad?’

‘Tia Maria, please, darling.’

I giggled. ‘Dad, what’s happening to you?’

He winked. ‘Gloria got me on the Tia Maria,’ he said easily. Nothing embarrassed him. ‘The drink of kings!’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Whatever. Mum?’

‘Just a soda water, thanks, Franny.’

Dad looked at her and winked. I felt a warm swell in my stomach. Dad and Mum were over and had been for a very long time, but to see them talking as friends again – well, it felt good. Something I’d been hoping for since I was an angry teenager with a rolled-up school skirt and a biro-crunching habit. I took everyone else’s orders and picked my way to the bar, with Leonie bringing up the rear. ‘I’ll get these,’ she said.

‘No! Everyone’s come to watch my film. It’s the least I can do to thank them.’

‘Shut it,’ she replied briefly, and assumed position at the bar.

I let her. For Leonie to be able to buy a round after all these years of poverty must have been quite something. And, of course, within seconds a slavering young man stood waiting eagerly for her order. Catching me looking wistfully at the door, Leonie touched my arm. ‘I know. It’s shit. Is there no chance of him coming?’

‘No. His flight’s at ten thirty. He’ll be checking in any minute now.’

‘You’re going to miss him, aren’t you?’ she said.

I nodded glumly. ‘Yeah. A shit load. How many men do you meet who you can discuss things like nose-picking with? ITN’s going to be rubbish without him. Gin Thursday’s going to be rubbish without him. In fact, life is going to be rubbish without him.’

Frustration glimmered on Leonie’s face but disappeared as soon as it had arrived.

‘Anyway, sorry, I’m sure I’ll get over it. We need to have some serious fun tonight, Leonie. This is your night too! Long live
Baking and Blowjobs
!’ She handed me a glass of champagne, then snatched it away. ‘Oh, bollocks, sorry, Fran. What do you want instead?’

‘Well, if I can’t drink champagne tonight, when can I?’ She looked suspicious and I smiled. ‘Seriously, I haven’t missed it. I was just going through a mentalist phase. I feel as indifferent towards a glass of champagne as I do your chapter seven on bum sex.’

She smiled and handed me the champagne. ‘Cheers,’ she said, and chinked hers against mine. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

I reached round and pinched her bottom. ‘And I’m so proud of you. This is a good night!’ I took a sip. It tasted nice. Nothing more.

‘Stay here,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to give these to your parents and Alex. I’ll be back. I need to talk to you, Frances O’Callaghan.’

I nodded obediently and leaned against the bar, surveying the scene. How very lucky I was! My Tourette’s boss, all of my friends, all of my family, all of my colleagues: all here to watch my humble little documentary! All of my friends, that was, except Dave. There was no denying it. I wanted desperately for Dave to be there. I wanted the warmth of his crinkly eyes smiling as I said the wrong thing to someone or fell over a bar stool. I wanted the safety of his rangy frame standing near me. I’d even have tolerated him smoking.

Dave not being here was all wrong.

‘You OK?’ Leonie said, as she arrived back.

I nodded. ‘Yep. So, what’s up?’

‘Oh, not much. I just wondered if you were thinking of starting Internet dating again.’

‘Oh, Leonie, fuck OFF! I went on eight dates! They were terrible! I am
never
doing that shit again!’

She looked sulky.

‘Stop it! No way! I’d rather have sexual relations with a stuffed animal.’

She sipped her champagne and thought about it. ‘As it happens, Fran, you only went on seven dates in the end.’

‘Well, yes, but I cancelled the seventh because I thought I was about to get back into a long-term relationship with the eighth. It would hardly have been fair.’

She stuck her lip out a bit. ‘I think it’s a shame. That Freddy guy seemed like he was really wicked.’