by Sue Townsend
Graham followed Camilla down the stairs; a small part of him was looking forward to the attention he would receive. This was the one occasion when he could be sure that every human eye in the room would be on him. One of the mantras repeated by his adoptive mother came to him: ‘If you’re wearing clean socks and underpants, you’re the equal of any person, in any circumstance.’ Graham had often questioned this advice. After all, there were, presumably, serial killers who had meticulous personal hygiene. But now, about to pass through a doorway from commoner to aristocrat, he was comforted by the words.
When Camilla led Graham into the room, everybody turned to stare. The dogs began to howl; they had been informed about Graham by Freddie, who had warned them that Graham was second in line to the throne, putting their own status in jeopardy. Althorp, Prince William’s dog, was particularly vocal. He howled the loudest and was the last to stop when Charles appealed to the dogs, ‘Please! One can’t hear oneself think!’
Taking advantage of the dogs’ silence, Charles added hurriedly, ‘There is something my wife would like to tell you… It’s, er… frightfully important. This young man is, er… Graham Cracknall.’
Graham fingered his moustache nervously; there was an expectant silence.
When Charles seemed to have difficulty finding words to continue, Camilla said, ‘Graham is my son; he was born when I was eighteen.’
There was another silence.
Andrew said, ‘No worries, Cam. We’ve all got skeletons in the cupboard.’
‘Yes,’ said William, magnanimously. ‘It’s cool, Camilla. This is the twenty-first century.’
Harry agreed, ‘Yeah, it’s fierce.’
The Queen directed a meaningful look at Charles, willing him to explain Graham’s exact status in the family.
Charles cleared his throat, and fiddled with his cufflinks, before saying, ‘Yes, so Camilla is Graham’s mother, and I… well, the simple truth is that, er… um, I am Graham’s father.’
The Queen said, ‘I think it might be pertinent if you gave the assembled company Graham’s date of birth.’
Camilla said, ‘He was born at half past five on the morning of the 21st July 1965. I was just eighteen, Charles was sixteen…’
Andrew shouted, ‘Way to go, bro!’
Camilla continued, ‘It was on the last night of the Horse of the Year Show, we were both very young but terribly in love.’
Charles manoeuvred around the humans and the dogs and went to Camilla’s side. The Queen watched William’s face darken as the realization dawned on him that he was no longer second in line to the throne.
Spiggy said, ‘Well, I’ll be buggered! Welcome to the family, Graham.’ He pushed through the crowded room and shook Graham’s hand.
Harry whispered to William, ‘Dorkface is our half-brother.’
William whispered back, ‘More importantly, he’s our elder brother.’
Princess Michael drawled, ‘So, what is your title, Graham? Do you have one?’
‘Not at present,’ said Graham, ‘but I was thinking along the lines of Prince Graham of Watford. I was brought up in Ruislip, but Watford is a more prestigious town.’
Princess Michael said, ‘Prince Graham of Watford? That makes a mockery of the whole thing.’
Anne snapped, ‘Another bloody nail in our coffin!’ She appealed to the room, ‘Let’s renounce the monarchy tonight and put an end to the whole bloody charade.’
Prince Andrew said, ‘Steady on, old girl. Speak for yourself. I’m rather keen to make Marcia here my wife; and I was kind of hoping that she would become a lady-of-the-bedchamber.’
Edward said, ‘This is all very well for you, Anne. You’ve always been a Bolshie, but Sophie and I are respectful of this country’s institutions.’
Sophie said, ‘We’re bringing Louise up in the hope that she will be a royal princess one day.’
Anne scoffed, ‘I’ve seen your royal princess running wild with Maddo Clarke’s boys. Save your energy.’
William asked the Queen, ‘Granny, do you still intend to abdicate?’
The Queen said, ‘I feel that I have done my duty to my father’s memory and to the country, William. It’s time your father lifted some of the burden from my shoulders.’
Charles felt a rage building inside his head; he thought he might explode unless the words he needed to say were expressed.
He declaimed, ‘I have always done my duty. For over fifty years I have worked unceasingly for this family. I have toured light-engineering factories on industrial estates, and forced myself to show some interest in their bloody machines. I have visited schools, and looked over the shoulders of the children as they demonstrated their wretched computer skills. I have comforted the victims of train crashes and similar horrors, and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound glib or insincere.
‘I do not look forward to the prospect of becoming king, even though I am assured by an impeccable authority that Camilla could be my queen—’
The Queen said, ‘I am prepared to accept Camilla as your queen.’
Camilla gave a wan smile.
Anne snapped, ‘Good! So that’s sorted. Can we all bugger off home now? It’s past Spike’s bedtime.’
Spike barked, ‘Don’t use me as an excuse.’
Charles raised his voice above Spike’s, and said, ‘The simple truth is, I don’t want to be king, and I do not want to subject Camilla to the strains and cruelty of public scrutiny. I simply want a… well… a simple life.’
The Queen said, ‘You say that is what you want, but what do you intend to do?’
Charles tried to imagine Graham on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, acknowledging a vast crowd of gawping subjects below. Nuremberg came to mind. ‘I simply don’t know,’ he said.
William got up and left the room, quickly followed by Harry, Althorp and Carling. The front door banged and William and Harry ran down the path and out into the street with the dogs following. The Queen buried her head into Harris’s neck and everybody, apart from Graham, busied themselves in patting and talking to a dog.
Graham had hoped that his introduction to the family would have been greeted with more signs of pleasure. He stood with his back to the wall, waiting for the party to begin. Camilla asked him to help her with the refreshments, and gave him a plate of canapés to pass around. However, the gathering did not turn into a celebration: too many ends remained untied, and important issues were still undecided.
Anne tried to engage Graham in conversation, saying, ‘I once drove through Ruislip on my way to Slough.’
Graham said, ‘Where from?’
‘From Harrow,’ she replied.
‘Then whoever advised you was a fool,’ said Graham. ‘It would have been quicker to have gone via Wembley and the A40, cutting out Ruislip altogether.’
Recognizing that their brief conversation had been unsatisfactory and was not likely to improve, they drifted away from each other.
When Graham offered Sophie the sardine and tomato crostini, she held her hand up in horror, as though Graham was offering her a morsel freshly cut from a flyblown corpse. ‘They’re groaning with potassium.’ She shuddered. ‘Why will nobody take my diet seriously?’
Graham talked about his own diet at great length, telling her that he had suffered agonies of constipation as a child and now lived almost entirely on porridge, prunes and pears. When he was demonstrating to Sophie how the large intestine actually worked, he did not notice that her eyes had glazed over, and that she was taking tiny backward steps.
Seeing Graham alone again, Camilla took pity on him and manoeuvred him towards Marcia, saying, ‘Marcia used to be a teacher, Graham.’
Graham said, ‘So! If the Royal Family are reinstated, and you marry Prince Andrew, you could end up as Minister for Education.’
Camilla and Marcia exchanged a puzzled look.
Marcia said, ‘But I’m not a politician.’
Graham said, ‘But if my father, Prince Charles, bec
omes the King, he could appoint you as a Minister of the Crown.’
Camilla’s knowledge of constitutional matters was slight, but she said, ‘A king or queen has no such powers, Graham.’
Graham said, ‘But ministers have to receive the monarch’s consent. They have to swear allegiance to their king or queen. I think, Mummy, you will find that I’m right.’
It was the first time that Graham had called Camilla ‘Mummy’. The word was a dagger in her heart.
Graham continued, ‘When I become king, I won’t be afraid to exercise my power.’
Overhearing this, the Queen said, ‘We no longer have absolute power, Mr Cracknall. We rule by consent.’
Charles agreed with his mother, ‘This is the twenty-first century, Graham. Parliament has the power. It is no longer in our gift to appoint ministers; to attempt to rule by force would simply invite riots.’
The Queen said, with a little smile, ‘It is some years since a monarch was able to order the beheading of an enemy, though one can sometimes see the attraction.’
Graham insisted, ‘A strong police force and military would soon show them who was boss. And we have technology on our side now. He who controls Vulcan, controls England.’
Charles said, ‘Well, all I can say is, thank goodness Vulcan is totally inept.’
Marcia complained, ‘Vulcan paid a monthly salary cheque of two million pounds into my bank account last year.’
The Queen said, ‘Vulcan keeps writing to me as Mrs T. Heoccupier.’
Camilla laughed, ‘Vulcan wrote to me recently to inform me that my artificial leg was now ready for fitting and collection. It worries me rather that there is another Camilla Windsor hopping about waiting for her prosthesis.’
Graham said, ‘I acknowledge that Vulcan has its problems at the moment, but by the time of my accession it should be up and running at one hundred per cent accuracy.’
Charles and Camilla exchanged a glance; King Graham was a chilling prospect.
As the half past nine curfew drew near and Charles was helping the Queen on with her coat, she said quietly, ‘I rely on you for the safe stewardship of this country, Charles. You must be king. Graham will need years of grooming before he’s ready to succeed. Though if he does, God help us all.’
Charles whispered, ‘Mummy, I simply can’t discuss such important matters now. I need to think.’
The Queen said, ‘We cannot prevaricate. I was willing to leap a generation and hand over to William, but now…’ She looked across the sitting room at Graham, who was talking to Prince Andrew about how he would run the country. Andrew was nodding enthusiastically.
Camilla came across to say goodbye to the Queen and heard Charles saying, ‘I admit that Graham is a little, er… rough around the edges, but I think he’s a decent chap at heart.’
The Queen sighed, ‘So why are there alarm bells ringing inside my head?’
Camilla said, ‘Perhaps, Your Majesty, when you get to know him a little better…’
The Queen snapped, ‘I have no wish to know him a little better, Camilla. All I ask you both is this: Is Graham a suitable figurehead and representative of this country? Can you imagine him meeting the President of the United States at Heathrow Airport, or giving the King’s Speech on Christmas Day? Because I can’t.’
She called Harris and Susan, gave a general goodbye and left the house, saying that she wanted to telephone Frank Bruno House to check that Philip and Harold Bunion were comfortable. After the Queen had departed, the remaining guests waited for a short while, then moved as one towards the door.
When everybody had gone, taking their dogs with them, Graham turned to his parents and said, ‘I think that went quite well, don’t you? Although, it’s a pity that William and Harry left early; I would have liked to have got to know my half-brothers better. Perhaps we could ring them up and invite them round for a game of tiddlywinks.’
Charles said, ‘Not tonight. It’s curfew, and anyway, I’m totally exhausted, I haven’t the energy to throw a dice.’
‘Die!’ said Graham.
Such was Charles’s mental agitation that he responded disproportionately to Graham’s exhortation. Did Graham have a form of Tourette’s syndrome that had forced the word ‘Die’ out of him, signifying that he wished his father dead?
‘Die?’ checked Charles.
‘The singular of dice,’ said Graham.
Camilla thought, he’s so like Charles in his nit-picking about language. Only yesterday, Charles had lectured her because she had asked, ‘Is Pedigree Chum different to ordinary dog food?’
Charles had closed his eyes and shuddered.
‘Darling,’ he’d said, ‘do please pay more attention to your grammar. It is identical to and different from!’
Graham asked, ‘By the way, why does Harry wear his hood up in the house?’
Camilla said, ‘He suffers from earache.’ She could not face explaining to Graham about Harry’s alienation.
William and Harry sat in their cluttered living room on a battered sofa; Chanel and Chantelle Toby sat opposite on an equally shabby sofa. A gangster was shouting on the sound system in time to a drum and bass that he wanted to cover his bitch in gold before smacking her up and giving her to his homeboys. The young people shouted to each other over the music. It did not occur to any of them to turn the volume down.
The situation, discovering that Charles and Camilla had a bastard son, caused no particular surprise to the Toby girls; such revelations were almost daily occurrences among the Toby clan and their circle of friends and acquaintances.
‘So, what’s your brother like?’ shouted Chantelle.
‘Half-brother,’ shouted the Windsor boys in unison.
‘Is he cool?’ asked Chanel.
‘He is so not cool,’ said Harry. ‘He’s the most uncool person in the country; in Europe; in the western hemisphere; in the World; in the solar system; in the universe!’
Harry looked at William; he was struggling now with his superlatives.
William added, ‘He’s beyond-infinity uncool.’
‘He’s into friggin’ tiddlywinks,’ said Harry scornfully.
‘Ugh, the filthy bastard,’ said Chanel, who wasn’t sure what tiddlywinks were, but they sounded disgusting.
All four young people chanted along with the chorus of the rap they were listening to.
‘So you ain’t gonna be king?’ shouted Chantelle to William.
‘Doesn’t look like it,’ said William, miserably.
‘Still,’ said Chanel, ‘you’ve always got the scaffolding to fall back on.’
Harry yelled, ‘Three ’undred years ago we could ’ave ’ad Graham killed and ’ad ’is ’ead on a pole on Westminster Bridge.’
Chanel said, ‘Yeah, but they’ve got DNA testing an’ stuff now. Vulcan would know who done it within hours.’
Chantelle, who had a softer heart, said, ‘I feel sorry for him, he can’t be as bad as you’re makin’ out.’
‘I think he’s several rungs up the autistic spectrum,’ said William.
‘Ah, bless!’ said Chantelle, who quite liked men to have a weakness of some sort. It made them easier to manage and less scary.
Chanel said, ‘Chantelle likes dorky blokes. ’Er last boyfriend collected carrier bags.’
Chantelle said, ‘I like a bloke what’s got a hobby.’
William laughed, ‘Perhaps you and Graham should get together, Chantelle.’
Later that night, lying in each other’s arms, Camilla said, ‘Have you made your mind up yet, darling?’
Charles said, ‘To be king or not to be king, that really is the question.’
Camilla said, ‘No, there’s a more important decision to be made, isn’t there? If the Dog Control Act becomes law, which dog do we keep and which two do we get rid of? That is the question.’
Freddie, Tosca and Leo, who were lying in a heap at the foot of the bed, waited for Charles to answer. The hands of the pretty French clock on the bedside tabl
e ticked away a full minute before Charles answered.
‘I don’t know.’
41
The following morning William lay in bed, wishing the radiators worked, but luxuriating in the knowledge that he could lie in until midday when Chantelle was going to call for him. He had promised, after a few bottles of Smirnoff Ice, that he would take her to meet Graham. ‘It will be a laugh,’ he’d said.
He now regretted his impulse. He had no desire to see Graham again. Even the thought of Graham made him burn with anger. He was furious with his father and Camilla; and with their irresponsible adolescent sexual behaviour. Why couldn’t they have used a condom, for God’s sake? They had destroyed his own chance of becoming king – something he had looked forward to since he was a little boy. He felt as though a fabulous celebration in his honour had been cancelled at the last minute, leaving him all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Still, at least he had Chantelle, who was as pretty as anybody you saw on film or television. They had not technically become lovers yet; Chantelle had not enjoyed her deflowering in the back of a delivery van, and had vowed to ‘keep her legs together’ until she was married. They had not said ‘I love you’ to each other, but there was an understanding between them that they would not go out with other people.
Chantelle was waiting downstairs for William, trying to teach Althorp to sit up and beg. Harry was sitting cross-legged in front of the television, steering an imaginary car round a virtual ghetto landscape to the sound of gunfire and guttural obscenities. Carling watched the screen with interest, waiting to see if Harry’s car could make it to the safe house without being blown up by the many bad guys who seemed to pop up from every alley and doorway en route.
Chantelle said to Harry, ‘Look, I’ve teached him a new trick. Beg, Althorp, beg.’
Althorp jumped up on his back legs and held up his two front paws. He whimpered to Harry, ‘Tell her to stop, will you? This is utterly humiliating.’
Harry said, ‘Clever dude. That’s fierce clever shit, dude.’
