Queen Camilla (13 page)

Anne had, somewhat ungraciously, made them all tea, and had opened a tin of assorted biscuits. Spiggy was pleased that she was using the hostess trolley he’d given her for Christmas.

He’d had thirteen years to get used to the fact that he was related by marriage to the Royal Family, but sometimes, when they were all together, like this, he felt that he was in a dream and that one day he’d wake up relieved that it was over. He’d given up a lot to marry Anne. He was used to roaming the country doing a bit of this and a bit of that, bit of asphalting, buying and selling a few horses, arranging the odd dogfight, trading cars for vans, and vans for lorries. He never used to leave the house without at least a thousand quid in a roll in his back pocket. He’d given it all up for love. Me and Annie are soulmates, he mused, as he watched his wife steer the hostess trolley around the feet of his in-laws, avoiding the dogs and the scaffolding poles.

What a woman Anne was, he thought. There was nothing that woman couldn’t do. She was the perfect wife: she could weld with an oxyacetylene torch, pull a horse out of a ditch, intervene in a dogfight and mend a burst pipe, and she never minded if his boots were filthy. And look at her, look at those thighs and that hair – hair she would let down and allow him to bury
his face in. You could have a laugh with Anne, and she always called a spade a spade.

She was good at reading and writing, and best of all she loved
him
, little fat Spiggy who didn’t go to school and, until he met Anne, thought horses and dogs were better than people. So what if she hated cooking? Grice’s Chinese Chip Shop was only round the corner. He could eat chips and battered sausage every day of his life, and almost did. It was rubbish about needing to eat fruit and veg. His grandma had lived solely on mashed spuds and treacle pudding. She could only manage soft stuff due to all her teeth being knocked out when a lorry jack slipped while she was changing a wheel. Spiggy cleared his throat; it always choked him up when he thought about his grandma in her coffin wearing a cloth cap and big boots.

He looked at his in-laws. His mother-in-law, the Queen, was all right, she didn’t bother them much, she kept herself to herself. He struggled with his brother-in-law Charles a bit. Charlie sometimes talked like a bender, hark at him now. He watched as Charles tried to decide which biscuit to select from the compartmentalized tin.

‘
So
hard to choose,
impossible
to decide between a custard cream and a bourbon. A custard cream is so fondanty, a little like having sunshine in one’s mouth, whereas a bourbon has a certain French earthiness about it.’

Spiggy thought, if he talked like that in my grandma’s house she’d have smacked his head. He watched and listened approvingly as Anne said, ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Charles, choose a bloody biscuit.’

Andrew grabbed a chocolate digestive and crammed it into his big-jawed mouth.

Edward looked at his wife, Sophie. She said, ‘Have the wafer.’ He obediently took a pink wafer and nibbled at its edge. Sophie held the flat of her hand up and turned her head as Anne proffered her the tin.

Anne said, ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

Sophie replied, ‘It means that I do not want one of your biscuits, Anne. The last time I had one of your biscuits, it was covered in dog hair and I was ill for a week.’

When the tin was held out to Harry, he said, ‘I’m cool.’

Anne said, ‘We all know you’re cool, Harry, but do you want a bloody biscuit?’

Harry gave a contemptuous laugh, as though the eating of biscuits was only undertaken by geeks and dorks.

William said, ‘Would anybody mind if I took the last chocolate one?’ Only when everyone had reassured him did he take it.

There was a commotion at the front door, a high-pitched yapping and a woman’s voice shouting, ‘I’m here, I’m here. Masses of apologies.’

Spike, asleep on the hearthrug, opened one eye, twitched an ear and went back to sleep. Princess Michael of Kent, wearing a fur jacket against the autumn night, strode into the living room with Zsa-Zsa, a beribboned Russian toy terrier in a matching fur jacket, under her arm. Spike smelled Zsa-Zsa’s intoxicating perfume and stirred on the rug.

‘Am I the last?’ trumpeted Princess Michael. ‘Oh, I
can’t bear it, do forgive me, but Prince Michael rang to say that he had heard on the World Service about our imminent return. He said to tell you all that he’s thrilled, absolutely thrilled.’

Anne said, ‘I’d like to know why you are allowed to speak to people outside the bloody Exclusion Zone, and we’re not?’

Princess Michael said, ‘Are you accusing me of collaborating with the enemy in return for favours?’

Anne said, ‘It wouldn’t be the first time your family was on the wrong side in a war.’

Princess Michael said icily, ‘You forget perhaps, Anne, that Prince Philip’s sisters were married to officers in the Luftwaffe.’

The Queen said hurriedly, ‘From where was Prince Michael ringing this time?’

‘A desert somewhere, I forget which one,’ said Princess Michael.

Anne said to her, ‘Has it ever crossed your mind that he’s left you?’

Princess Michael said, ‘He has not left me. He chose to escape rather than be exiled to this place of Hell.’

Anne said, ‘But my point is, he didn’t take you with him, did he?’

When the biscuit tin got to her, Camilla said, ‘No, thanks Annie, darling, I’ll have a fag instead.’ As she passed Zsa-Zsa, she put out her hand to stroke the tiny dog’s head, saying, ‘And how are
you
, you funny little scrap?’

In return, Zsa-Zsa sank her needle-sharp teeth into Camilla’s index finger.

Princess Michael said angrily to Camilla, ‘Please don’t approach her without warning, she is very easily frightened.’

Charles said, ‘Are you terribly injured, darling?’

Camilla sucked on her bleeding finger and said, ‘No, I hardly felt a thing.’ Then said to her little fat brother-in-law, ‘Can I bum a fag, Spiggy, darling?’

Spiggy got up and went to a battered wall unit, opened a cupboard, and took out a carton of two hundred cigarettes. Spiggy said, ‘You can have a packet. I know a bloke what’s just come back from Spain.’

They moved further down the room and leaned against the cooker. Spiggy turned on the extractor fan; they lit their cigarettes and watched the smoke being sucked up inside the greasy hood.

The Queen raised her voice slightly and said, ‘I am conscious that time is passing and that we are under the midweek curfew of nine thirty, so if we could start.’ When she had the full attention of the family she said, ‘I think we are all aware of the strong possibility that the New Conservatives will win the next election. Should they do so, Boy has promised to reinstate the monarchy – us. I would be expected to take my place once again as, and I will give the condensed description of my title, “Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of my other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith”.’

Princess Michael struggled out of the deep leather-look sofa Spiggy had recently swapped for a chainsaw
and said, ‘Thank God! It’s been a hideous ordeal living among the little people in their little houses. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your return, Your Majesty.’ She gave a deep curtsey.

The Queen pursed her lips. She found Princess Michael irritating at the best of times, now she had interrupted the Queen at an important historical moment.

Andrew said, ‘I think it would be superb. Christ, I’ve missed the good life. I can’t wait to get back to civilization. Kensington,’ he added.

Sophie said, ‘Edward and I are desperate to get Louise into a decent girls’ school.’

Edward said, ‘She’ll need intensive elocution lessons before she’s allowed into any decent school, she’s got the most frightful local accent.’

The Queen said, ‘If you will allow me to continue.’ She fiddled with an earring and then touched her brooch. Finally she said, ‘After a great deal of thought, I have decided to abdicate.’

Camilla said to Spiggy, ‘Oh, shit.’

Charles said, ‘But, Mummy, the people would want you to be Queen.’

The Queen continued, ‘Charles, I am eighty years of age and I simply cannot face…’ She hesitated.

Anne said, ‘Another bloody Royal Variety Performance?’

There was laughter. Camilla looked over at Charles and saw that he was not laughing. He had lost his customary ruddy complexion and looked pale and frightened. Camilla threw her cigarette into the sink then crossed the room, stepping over dogs and feet.

‘Oh, darling,’ he murmured when she sat down next to him.

She knew how he felt. They had often talked about the possibility that one day he would be king. They had never been happy conversations.

Spiggy said, ‘How do you abdicate, Liz? Is there, like, a ceremony, or is it paperwork ’n’ stuff?’

The Queen said, ‘Since I am, under the present regime, a private citizen, I can do as I damn well please.’

Andrew said, ‘Whoa, Ma! Less of the damns, you’ll be effing and blinding next.’

Anne said, ‘I’m with you, Ma. I didn’t bloody ask to be born royal and I’m not prepared to go back to opening hospitals and bloody bridges. Let some other poor bugger get the curtsey and the bouquet. Me and Spiggy will be happy with a bit of land and a few horses.’

Spiggy shouted across the room, ‘In sickness an’ in ’ealth, for richer or poorer, eh Annie?’

The Queen said to Charles, ‘What do you think, Charles?’

Charles clutched Camilla’s hand and said, ‘Would Camilla be my queen?’

‘No,’ said the Queen. ‘Camilla would be your consort.’

Charles thought about the morning he had discovered that one day he would be king. His nanny had explained to him that he must never, ever, appear outside the nursery without first checking that his shoes were highly polished, his socks pulled up to the knee, his shorts smartly pressed, his face and hands scrubbed clean and his hair carefully parted and brushed. He
must be polite at all times, stand with his hands behind his back, and must not be heard shouting or laughing, because one day he would be the ruler of millions of people. Later that night he had wept silently in his bed in the nursery; he knew that he was not good enough or clever enough to be the King of England and the Commonwealth. He knew that he was an ordinary boy.

Charles said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mummy, but I will not be crowned the King of England unless my wife, the woman I love, is crowned Queen.’

The Queen said, falling back on arcane language, ‘I advise you to seek counsel.’

Camilla said, ‘Charles, darling, I’m not at all bothered about not being a queen.’

‘I am,’ said Charles with a surge of anger. ‘Unless you are Queen, I will not be King!’

Anne said, ‘Don’t lose your bloody rag.’

Charles shouted, ‘If I had been allowed to marry Camilla when we were young and first in love, there would have been no question about her status in this family. But I was not allowed to marry her because, er… well… she was not without carnal knowledge, that is, she had lain with a man. She was not exactly virgo intacta.’

Camilla disengaged her hand from Charles’s and said, ‘It was the sixties.’

The Queen bent down and picked up Harris, and buried her embarrassment in his grizzled neck.

Princess Michael said, ‘If I may defend your mother, it would not have been fitting for the heir to the throne to have married a woman who had been around the
block a bit. Or in Camilla’s case, around several blocks.’

Andrew said, ‘Steady on, Pushy. You’d been round a few blocks yourself before you married Prince Michael.’

Anne muttered, ‘Including the Eastern bloc.’

Charles said, ‘Mummy, we will be King Charles and Queen Camilla, or nothing.’

William said, his voice shaking with emotion, ‘Grand-mama, if my father refuses to carry out his duty then as his eldest son and heir I offer myself.’

William brushed the biscuit crumbs from his trousers and knelt before the Queen. The Queen did not know what to do or say. She thought, he has a taste for melodrama, obviously inherited from his mother. She patted him on the shoulder and said what mothers and grandmothers all over the world say at times of indecision, ‘We’ll see.’

Harris struggled off the Queen’s lap, waddled round the side of William and began to lick the future king’s boots.

Walking home from the family meeting, Harry said, ‘You was well out of order, kneeling an’ sayin’ you was gonna be king.’

William said, ‘It’s what Mum would have wanted, Harry.’

Harry pulled up his sweatshirt hood so that it partly obscured his face. They rarely talked about their mother, both of them were aware of the pain her absence caused the other.

Harry said, ‘Mum would have been a well top Queen.’

The police helicopter suddenly clattered over Hell Close and descended to such a height that William and Harry ducked, fearing decapitation. The powerful beam of the helicopter searchlight rolled over William and Harry many times, then an amplified voice boomed out. ‘This is an official police announcement: three minutes to curfew. Will residents please return to their homes and stay there.’

William and Harry quickened their pace. They were almost home, when a happy slappy gang turned the corner and came towards them. It wasn’t long before the taunting began. One of Maddo’s sons, Lee, shouted, ‘Hey, Ginger, is your knob hair red an’ all?’

William said, ‘Let’s not run this time, Harry.’

William and Harry stood their ground and the happy
slappies passed them with only a few pushes and shoves.

William said, ‘When I’m king, I’ll solve the problem of violent gangs.’

Harry said, ‘Cool. How will you do it?’

William answered, ‘I’ll have them all rounded up and then I’ll have them dispatched.’

‘What, like kill them?’ said Harry.

‘No,’ said William. ‘I shall be a kind and fair king and my subjects will love me and there will be much hysteria when I die. Women will throw themselves on my coffin.’

Harry said, ‘When you die, I’ll be king. Wicked.’