Queen Camilla (21 page)

Immediately before the filming began, the director instructed Sophie to close her eyes and not to open them again until she was told to do so. The bear was placed on the bed sitting between the apparently unconscious child and the Prime Minister. But the camera operative said, ‘That bloody bear is filling the shot.’

The bear was repositioned to everyone’s satisfaction, but as Jack was making his announcement, saying, ‘I am sitting at the bedside of a very poorly little girl called Sophie. She was savaged by a dog yesterday on
Hampstead Heath,’ the bear lurched to the left, falling across the intravenous line and toppling on to the terrified child. When the bear had been lifted off her and her sobs had abated it was repositioned yet again, this time by standing it upright, on the floor, between Jack’s chair and the hospital bed.

Jack stared down at Sophie, lying with her eyes tightly shut. His voice trembled as he looked back into the camera and continued. ‘The dog that savaged this little girl was a Rottweiler, a foreign dog that should never have been allowed into this country in the first place. To stop such incidents recurring I am proposing to bring in legislation that will severely curtail the freedom of dogs to threaten and maim our children. For such a revolutionary piece of legislation the Government requires a mandate, from you, the people. To this end I am calling a general election. Polling will take place six weeks from this Thursday, that’s Thursday November the eleventh.

‘English men and English women must decide. Are you on the side of kiddies like Sophie who ought to be able to play safely in our public parks? Or will you choose to support mad dogs who pollute our public areas and savage our precious children?’

Jack had moved himself to tears and the camera focused on his eyes as he turned to look down at Sophie. The little girl opened her eyes because the man had stopped speaking. She looked up and saw the glassy eyes of the giant bear staring down at her, and she started to cry for her mother.

As Jack and his media advisers were going down
from the ward in the lift, Jack said, ‘I hope they got the tears.’

After two days of getting in everybody’s way the giant bear was taken by two porters down to the hospital basement where it was stuffed into a room with many other giant bears donated to the hospital by generous, but unthinking, well-wishers.

Beverley and Vince Threadgold had watched the lunchtime news with tears in their eyes. When the camera had shown the close-up of Sophie, lying as though unconscious with her blonde curls spread over her pillow, Beverley had said, ‘Oh, Vince, you’ll have to turn it off, I’m far too sensitive to watch owt upsetting about kiddies.’

Vince looked angrily at King, who was sleeping innocently in a corner of the sofa, and said, ‘If our King ever attacked a kiddie, I’d tear his fucking ’ead from his shoulders.’

King woke up when he heard his name and wondered why Vince was glaring at him with such hatred.

Beverley said, ‘When I ’ad my tonsils out, our dad bought me a big bear like that, but it gorrin’ the nurses’ way an’ me dad ’ad to take it ’ome, on the bus. ’E got in a fight with some lads who were takin’ the piss.’

Vince said, looking at the Prime Minster, ‘’E looks fuckin’ old lately, don’t ’e?’

Beverley said, ‘’As the digital gone funny, or ’as ’e gotta twitch?’

A picture of the Rottweiler that had bitten Sophie was shown with its owner, a tall man in a pinstriped suit and flamboyant tie.

An announcer said, ‘The Rottweiler at the centre of the Sophie Littlejohn tragedy has been identified as belonging to a leading politician, the Party Chairman of the New Conservatives, Tarquin Forbes-Hamilton. In a statement released today, he said, “My dog, Lucy, adores children. Perhaps the little girl was teasing her. Lucy has been under the weather lately after giving birth to eight puppies. I see no reason why such an affectionate and loyal dog should be put down.”’

When the picture went back to the studio, a woman in a pink suit with carefully coiffed hair and immaculate make-up said, ‘What do you, the viewer, think? Should Lucy be destroyed? For “Yes”, press the red button on your remote, for “No”, press green.’

Vince picked up the remote control, and said to Beverley, ‘It’s worth spendin’ a quid to put that kiddie killer down,’ and pressed the red button.

That evening, the first anti-dog advertisements were shown on all the major television channels. Old films of rabid dogs were shown to a soundtrack that had been strongly influenced by horror films. All over England, dog owners looked at their pets with unease for the future. After a phone call from Boy English, it was announced on the six o’clock news that Lucy was dead and that Tarquin Forbes-Hamilton had resigned his chairmanship of the New Con Party. At nine o’clock, in time for the news, Boy was filmed sitting by Sophie Littlejohn’s bed, silently holding her hand.

Camilla stood on the front doorstep, looking towards the entrance to Hell Close where a temporary barrier had been constructed from portable crowd-control fences. Grice’s security police were on duty, turning away cars and inquisitive pedestrians, assisted by police dogs, Emperor and Judge. A gang of dogs were running excitedly through the spindly trees on the little patch of ground in the middle of Hell Close. Micky, Tosca, King, Althorp and Carling were trying to catch Leo, but by weaving from side to side with constant changes of direction, Leo was evading capture.

Freddie pushed past Camilla and, after watching the chasing dogs for a few moments, growled, ‘Look at the fools, have they nothing better to do?’

Camilla patted the top of his head and said, ‘Go on, boy. Go and play.’

Charles was in their front garden digging a hole in the lawn for his bird table. When he finished he said, ‘Darling, could you help me put it in place?’

Camilla said, ‘No, darling. I can’t leave the house, can I?’ She thought, there are
some
advantages to being under house arrest.

Charles said, ‘Sorry, darling. It’s absolutely absurd, banning you from your own garden.’

He hefted the bird table into the hole and replaced
the turf around the base, then stepped back to look at the effect it made. He said, with a frown, ‘You don’t think it’s too… er…
dominant
, do you? It does
loom
somewhat.’

‘It’s certainly imposing,’ said Camilla, looking at the seven-foot-high construction with its multi-ledges, tables and roosting boxes. ‘But I’m sure the birds will be terribly appreciative.’ She watched him fondly as he attached a piece of coconut on a string and hung it from a nail, then placed nuts and seeds on to the various surfaces. She said, ‘Look at our lovely bird table, Freddie. Isn’t Charles clever?’

Freddie waddled over to the bird table, cocked his leg and urinated over the base.

Charles shouted, ‘You horrid little beast!’

Freddie scrambled through a hole in the low privet hedge and ran out into the close and down to the barrier, where he barked, ‘Let me through, I’ve got an appointment in Slapper Alley.’

Judge barked back, ‘Try to leave this close, you short-arsed fleabag, and I’ll rip your bleedin’ throat out.’

The gang of dogs stopped their chasing game and lay flat on the ground, panting and watching the altercation at the barrier.

Emperor barked, ‘And that goes for all you Hell Close low-life scum. You’re all forbidden to leave the close.’

Princess Anne was looking out of her front-room window. She said, ‘Spig, what’s that tower thing Charles has just put up in his front garden?’

Spiggy looked out of the window and said glumly, ‘Christ knows. Give me a clue.’ Spiggy was in a bad mood, he had people to see and things to do on the estate today, and now, because of his sister-in-law, he couldn’t do anything. He said, ‘I’ll go stir-crazy stuck in the bleedin’ ’ouse.’

Anne said, ‘You can do something about those bloody scaffolding poles. I’ve been living with them for ten years and I’m sick of manoeuvring round them, it’s like the bloody slalom course at Klosters.’

It didn’t suit Spiggy to be confined; it was like living in an open prison, and he knew what that was like. He’d spent seven months at North Sea Camp for a tarmacking scam. He had, for three of those months, worked in the prison kitchens with Jeffrey Archer, who had encouraged Spiggy to tell him his life story. The great man had subsequently published his prison diaries and Spiggy had featured in them, under the alias of a Russian mafia hit man.

Spiggy said, ‘There ain’t no point in doing the house up, is there? We could be out of ’ere in six weeks if the New Cons win the election.’ He threw himself down on the mock-leather sofa and propped his head in his hands.

Anne said, ‘You don’t sound delighted at the prospect. What’s wrong, Spig?’ She cuffed him round the head playfully.

Spiggy said, gloomily, ‘You’re not goin’ to want me if you go back into the outside world, are you?’

Anne said, ‘So, who will I want?’

‘Some bloody posho with no chin,’ said Spiggy.

Anne said, ‘I’ve had two of those, and neither of them was half the man you are, Spig.’

But Spiggy was wallowing in his misery. ‘I’ll ’ave to wear a suit,’ he said, ‘an’ eat artichokes.’

Anne laughed and said, ‘Come on, Spig. What’s really up with you?’

Spiggy said, ‘I’ve run out of fags and I can’t go to the bleedin’ shops to buy some because your brother’s wife fancied a stroll outside.’

Anne said, ‘If you help me with the housework, I’ll ask Camilla if she’s got a few fags to spare.’

Spiggy could turn his hand to anything, but the mysterious arts of cooking, laundering and cleaning continued to keep their secrets from him. He had never used a lavatory brush in his life, and he felt nothing but contempt for any man that would.

Spiggy said, ‘No, don’t bother, Maddo Clarke owes me a few favours.’

Harris and Susan were lying on the end of the Queen’s bed, watching her sleep. Harris said, ‘She’s never slept this late before. It’s nearly midday.’

Susan whimpered, ‘I’m dying for a pee. We’ll have to wake her soon.’

Harris tramped along the silk coverlet and began to lick the Queen’s face. The Queen woke and said, ‘Hello, boy.’ She glanced at the little carriage clock on the bedside table; it was 11.54 a.m.

Susan ran to the bedroom door and barked, ‘I’m hungry and thirsty and I want a pee.’

The Queen said, sleepily, ‘Yes, I hear you.’

Violet Toby shouted from downstairs, ‘Where are you, Liz?’

The Queen shouted back, ‘I’m upstairs. Come up.’

She heard Violet wheezing on the stairs, then the bedroom door opened, and Violet said, ‘Are you poorly?’

Violet had been in the Queen’s bedroom on only a few occasions. Each time she had been almost overwhelmed by the loveliness of the furniture and accoutrements. The room was like the inside of the Fabergé egg that the Queen kept on her dressing table. It was lustrous and mirrored; objects seemed to shimmer above the surfaces on which they were placed. The room reminded Violet that her friend and neighbour had once been the Queen of England and the Commonwealth, and had been fabulously wealthy.

The Queen sat up and put her glasses on. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m perfectly well. I’ve been lying in bed listening to the radio. Did you hear the Prime Minister’s announcement?’

Violet said, ‘I seen it on the telly. That poor little kiddie.’

‘Yes, dreadful,’ said the Queen.

‘If the Government don’t get back in,’ said Violet, ‘you’ll be leaving ’ere.’

‘If the New Cons keep their promise,’ said the Queen.

Violet said, straightening the silken coverlet, ‘I won’t know what to do with myself if you leave here and go back to your palace.’

The Queen picked at a loose thread on the monogrammed sheet and said, ‘I’ll miss you, Violet. Would you consider coming with me?’

Violet said, ‘I’d love to, but I couldn’t leave our Barry.’

The Queen was tempted to say that Barry would be welcome to live in one of the royal palaces, but instead she said, ‘Yes, family comes first.’

Violet said, ‘I’ve come round to borrow a tin of dog food. My poor Micky will be chewing his own leg off if he don’t get fed soon.’

Harris and Susan barked in protest. Harris growled, ‘Away with you, woman. Let the mangy moron eat his own leg. He’s nae having my food.’

The Queen started to get out of bed.

Violet said, ‘Stay there, I’ll make you a cup of tea, and let the dogs out, shall I?’

When Violet and the dogs had gone downstairs, the Queen lay back on her pillows, remembering how agreeable it had been in the old days to have people helping her with the bothersome necessities of everyday life. There was the sound of a dogfight in the back garden. She heard Freddie, Susan and Micky snarling and snapping, then Violet’s voice screaming, ‘Leave our Micky alone, you nasty little bleeders.’

The Queen got out of bed and looked out of the window and saw Violet laying into the dogs with a sweeping brush. When the dogs had gone their separate ways and run out of the garden, the Queen got back into bed. She felt a little guilty, but she thought, I am eighty years old, and I have been up most of the night.

Violet stomped up the stairs again; this time she carried a tray of tea and hot buttered toast.

Violet said, ‘You must be right pissed off with Camilla.’

The Queen sipped at her tea and said, ‘Yes, I am rather. I’m absolutely furious with her, putting us all to a great deal of trouble. I won’t be able to visit Philip.’

Violet said, ‘And I’m running out of my blood pressure pills. If I have a stroke, it’ll be Camilla what killed me.’

The Queen said, ‘She really should have thought about the consequences before she went AWOL.’

‘She’s a bit of a loose cannon, though, ain’t she?’ said Violet. ‘I mean, tell me if I’m speaking out of order, but I’m not sure she’s queen material.’

The Queen said, ‘My own sentiments entirely, Violet. She’s been well enough brought up, but she hasn’t had the training. I had the spontaneity knocked out of me at an early age. The only impulsive thing I ever did in my whole life was to fall in love with Philip at first sight. He’ll be pining for me.’