The soldiers saluted as we drove past. The tourists turned and peered at the blacked-out windows of the limousine to see which member of the royal family had just driven by. I waved at them.
Eric smiled. “They can’t see you,” he said.
I was disappointed when the car did not stop at the impressive entrance but drove instead into a side street and through another guarded gate towards a courtyard. While Eric and Button-eyes jumped out of the car and rushed towards the building, I remained by the car, looking around me. The palace was much bigger than it first appeared. Through the back gate, I saw a second courtyard, and behind that was a walled garden filled with cottages and outbuildings. I was about to head towards that second courtyard to get a better look when Eric called me.
“Are you coming?” He stood at one of the back entrances, holding open the door. He was pale and stiff with nerves. I even saw his arms trembling.
“Coming, coming,” I said and skipped towards him.
As we entered the building, I was disappointed to find that this wing had been converted into a series of offices and apartments.
“This is where the staff lives,” Button-eyes explained. “Eric and Petra have their flats here, although of course, they also maintain their suites in the palace.”
Suddenly one of the apartment doors opened and a woman stuck out her head. She had a small, round face with rosy cheeks, framed by thick locks of grey hair.
“Hello,” she said, looking curiously at me. “And who are you?”
She wore a bright orange caftan. It looked like a tent on her. I looked at Eric. He frowned and rolled his eyes.
“This is a friend of mine, Aunt Trine,” he said. “He’s come to visit for a few days.” He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me into his own flat, but the woman grabbed my other arm and detained me.
“What is your name?” she asked. She took my face in her hands and peered into my eyes.
“I… um… I’m Joel.”
I glanced at Eric and Button-eyes. Both were looking away and shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“You have a beautiful aura,” the woman said. “So bright. I could see its light from inside my apartment. So strong. So powerful.”
Finally, Eric intervened. “Joel is meeting the king and queen tonight.” He pulled me away from her. “We must prepare for the meeting.” He pushed me and Button-eyes into his flat.
“He’s a very special person,” the woman called after us. “I have never seen such a bright, white aura before.”
Eric smiled politely. “He is,”he agreed, and he shut the door.
“Who was that?” I asked.
Button-eyes frowned. “That is the king’s sister. She lives here too.”
“She’s mad,” Eric added.
“Not mad. Just eccentric.”
Eric plunged himself down on the sofa while I took in my surroundings.
It was a nice flat, but it didn’t feel palatial. It was like one of those millionaire bachelor pads you find in Soho or Canary Wharf. What Eric had referred to as a kitchenette wasn’t really a kitchenette – it was a huge open-plan kitchen, and it looked empty and unused. The furniture was new and stylish. There was a large beige corner sofa with two matching armchairs; thick orange velvet curtains framed the windows, out of which could be seen the luscious green park; and an expensive-looking Persian rug lay over the oak floor and tied the room together.
“What time are my parents getting here?” Eric asked Button-eyes.
“They’ll be landing at nine o’clock.”
“So, we’ll have dinner at ten?”
Button-eyes shook his head. “Their royal highnesses will be tired when they get here. They will meet you and Mr Bottomley tomorrow at breakfast. I have asked the kitchen to bring up a cold meal for us.”
Eric thought about this. “What did my parents say when you told them I wanted to meet them?”
“They asked me what it was about.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said what you wanted me to say. That you wanted them to meet a special friend of yours.”
“Did you speak to my father or to my mother?”
“I spoke to your father, but your mother was listening in on the extension.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said that if it was important, he’d come over.”
“Did my mother say anything?”
Button-eyes paused before replying. “The queen was tired. You know how much she hates it when I change her schedule.”
“So, what did she say?”
“Well, she just expressed her displeasure at having her plans interrupted.”
Eric frowned. “For God’s sake, Christian! What did she say? What were her precise words?”
Button-eyes hesitated. “She said something along the lines of what does that potternik want now!”
This, apparently, was not a good thing. Eric hung his head.
Button-eyes stepped towards him as if to give him a hug, but he stopped himself. “You must understand that the queen is German,” he said. “She hasn’t quite mastered our language yet. I don’t think she really knows what potternik means.”
“She knows exactly what that means.” Eric lifted his head and looked at me. “Potternik means faggot.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just stared silently back. I suppose that was the time when I first started feeling overwhelmed. It was then that the enormity of what we were contemplating began dawning on me. I sat beside him on the sofa and placed my hand on his. I wasn’t sure whether this was the right thing to do. I thought Eric wouldn’t want me to show affection in front of Button-eyes. But I was wrong. Eric dropped his head onto my shoulder and squeezed my hand.
I caught Button-eyes staring at us. There was something strange about that look. Was it disapproval? Discomfort? Curiosity? … Jealousy?
There was a knock on the door, and a butler carried in a tray of raw fish and a basket of bread.
“Ah, the herrings!” Button-eyes eagerly rubbed his hands together. “Have you ever had raw herring before?” he asked me.
I looked at him. Was he pulling my leg?
“They’re a delicacy in Doggerland. You must try one.”
Button-eyes and Eric each proceeded to pick a fish up from the tray. They held them over their faces by the tail then lowered them gently into their mouths, like seals. They gobbled up the herrings, then licked their lips and each picked up another one. It was disgusting!
“Don’t you want one?” Eric asked me. “Try it. It’s good.”
“I… um… I’m not hungry,” I lied. (I was starving.)
They devoured the whole tray in less than ten minutes.
“I had better take Mr Bottomley to his room,” Button-eyes said.
“My room? Will I not sleep here?”
Eric and Button-eyes shook their heads.
“Living in this palace is like living in a fishbowl,” Eric said. “There are paparazzi hiding in the park with zoom lenses aimed at my window, and there are gossiping servants behind every door. We can do whatever we want once our engagement is made public, but until then, you have to be treated like any other guest, and guests always stay in the palace.” They referred to the front part of the building as thepalace, as it was the oldest and most beautiful part of the building. “Prince Charles stayed in your room once when he visited Doggerland a long time ago,” he added. “You’ll be sleeping in the same bed as Prince Charles.”
It wasn’t much of an enticement. If he’d said Karl Marx, I’d have been impressed, but Prince Charles… Anyway, I had no choice. I left Eric in his flat and followed Button-eyes reluctantly down the long corridor to the palace.
The Calvinistic ethos of the Doggerlanders apparently didn’t apply to a building’s interior, because as we stepped out of the corridor into the main hall, I was almost blinded by its splendour: shiny marble floors, oak-panelled walls, gilded ceilings, pretty crafted antique furniture, and po
rtraits of former monarchs on the wall. No holds were barred this time to display the king’s wealth and power. It was little wonder that Eric preferred to sleep in one of the apartments. Sleeping here was like sleeping in a museum. It was exactly what I expected from a palace, although by that time I was no longer in the right frame of mind to enjoy it. I was worried about meeting the king and queen. Very worried. My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands were shaking. What on earth had I got myself into?
CHAPTER SEVEN
The King And I
Breakfast was at ten. I’d agreed with Button-eyes that he’d pick me up at half past nine and brief me on regal rules before escorting me to the breakfast room.
At eight o’clock, I was sitting, fully dressed, on the edge of my bed, nervously twiddling my thumbs. I hadn’t slept at all. The butterflies in my stomach had multiplied overnight. Not only was I going to meet my potential in-laws – that would’ve been nerve-racking enough –but I was also going to meet the king and queen of Doggerland. It was still beyond me how I had ended up in this situation!
Tired of not being able to sleep, I got up at seven, showered, shaved, and spent a further hour agonizing about what to wear. I went for the outfit that Eric had bought me in Brighton. The shirt and trousers were a little wrinkled, but I thought I looked presentable enough.
Button-eyes, however, disagreed. As soon as he opened the door and saw me, he frowned and shook his head.
“No, no, no, this won’t do at all,” he said, without even a good morning or did you sleep well?“You should’ve told me you needed your clothes pressed and ironed. Have you anything else?”
“These are the smartest clothes I’ve got.”
“Well, it won’t do. The queen is very judgmental, and if she sees you like this, she’ll think you’re a slob.”
He walked over to the telephone table, picked up the horn, and barked out an order in his own language. Then he replaced the horn in its cradle and took a watch out of his jacket pocket. “I’ll take you to the laundry room. We’ll find you some decent clothes there.” He looked at his watch and frowned. “But we must be quick about it. Follow me; I’ll explain about royal etiquette on the way.” Putting his watch back in his pocket, he marched out of the room.
“First of all, the king of Doggerland never shakes hands.” Button-eyes strode down the long corridor. I tagged along behind him, struggling to keep up. “When you greet the king and queen, you stand before them with your arms by your sides, you look at their foreheads – not their eyes, but their foreheads – and you nod. You nod until your chin touches your chest. Do you understand? You greet the king first. Then you greet the queen. You do not sit down until the king asks you to. You will call the king and queen your majesty, but do so only once. After that, you can call them sir and ma’am. Don’t leave the room before they do, and never show them your back.”
I followed him into the laundry room, where a woman in a black uniform was waiting for us beside the washing machines.
“This is Ingrid,” Button-eyes said. “She will give you something suitable to wear.”
I stepped towards the woman and smiled. “Hi, Ingrid. I’m Joel. I don’t actually need different clothes. I just need my shirt to be ironed and my trousers to be pressed. I can do it myself if you show me where things are.”
“You need a different outfit, Mr Bottomley.” Button-eyes checked his watch and frowned. “You’re wearing dining clothes. Breakfast is a casual affair. The queen cares about these things. Now, hurry up and take off your clothes. We haven’t much time.”
Ingrid gave me a dark blue turtleneck jumper and a pair of brown corduroy trousers, both a few sizes too big for me.
“Whose clothes are these?” I asked.
“They’re Eric’s,” Button-eyes said.
“Won’t the queen recognise them?”
“He’s never worn them.”
“They’re too big.”
“They’ll do. Just roll up your sleeves. Ingrid will adjust your trousers.” As he said this, the woman knelt down before me and began rolling in my trouser legs.
I wasn’t at all comfortable with these clothes. The jumper was too baggy. And corduroy? Who still wears corduroy? But I had no say in the matter. As soon as Ingrid finished with my trousers, I followed Button-eyes back down the long corridor towards the breakfast room.
Eric was waiting for me outside, his face pale and tense. He smiled as we approached.
“You look good,” he said, patting me on my shoulder. “Have you been briefed?” He looked at Button-eyes for an answer.
“He has,” was the reply.
“Good. We will go in together, and I will introduce you. The queen is in a bad mood, but don’t let that put you off. She can huff and puff all she wants, but my father is the one in charge, and he is usually quite reasonable. Are you ready?”
I nodded, and we both stepped into the room. It was a large, bright room. The breakfast was laid out on a buffet table, but no one was eating. The king sat in an armchair, a newspaper on his lap. He was in his fifties; a handsome man with a full head of hair, brown and slightly curled, with a dignified sprinkling of grey on his temples. He wore corduroy trousers – like me – a green cardigan, and a gold-and-black-chequered cravat.
The queen and Petra sat next to each other on a sofa. The queen had a stern face. I could tell that she had been a great beauty in her youth, but time had been unkind to her. The wrinkles around her mouth gave her a permanently sour expression, and her blonde hair, tied tightly into a bun, did nothing to soften her image.
Petra smiled at me. Radiantly. Encouragingly. Both ladies held a steaming mug of tea in their hands while they stared at us.
“Mother… Father…” Eric’s voice cracked, and he stopped to clear his throat. “This is my friend… my dear friend from Oxford. Joel Bottomley.”
I turned towards the king, placed my arms by my sides as instructed, and nodded slowly. Then I turned towards the queen and did the same.
“Joel is a first year PPE student,” Eric continued. “He has been a great companion to me at Oxford and has helped me out on numerous occasions.”
“Pleased to meet you, Joel,” the king said. “Do sit down.” He pointed at a chair opposite the sofa. I took my seat. Eric sat down next to me.
“Now, Bottomley…” the queen said, looking me up and down. She spoke with a thick German accent. “Are you the grandson of Lady Bottomley?”
I was confused. “Beg your pardon, your majesty?”
“Of Kelston in Somerset?” the queen clarified.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know who that is.”
Petra frowned and rolled her eyes. “He’s not related to Lady Bottomley, Mother. You know he’s not. Lady Bottomley doesn’t have any grandchildren.”
“Well, whose child are you, then?”
“You don’t know his family, Mother,” Eric said. “He comes from Wales.”
“Wales? Where in Wales?”
“A village called Tonypandy, ma’am.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Not many people have.” I smiled. I hoped that remark would break the ice, but it didn’t. The queen seemed offended that I had the gall to come from a village she’d never heard of.
“You’re very skinny,” she said, looking me up and down again. “That jumper looks like a potato sack on you.”
Eric’s jaw dropped, and Petra almost choked on her tea. Even the king was forced to raise his eyebrows.
“I had to borrow this jumper, ma’am. My shirt got wrinkled in the suitcase.”
“Who gave you that jumper?”
“It was… um…” I had to be careful. I’d been calling him Button-eyes for so long, I’d almost forgotten his real name. “Mr Boersma. Mr Boersma gave it to me.”
“How long have you known each other?” the king asked.
Eric answered. “Since September.”
“That’s only four months.”
“Yes, but we’ve bec
ome good friends during that time.”
There was a pause in the conversation. A long, awkward pause. Eric nervously bounced his knee up and down. The king gently tapped his fingers against his newspaper, and the queen kept playing with the pearls around her neck.
“So…” the queen said, finally. “What is this thing you want to tell us? Why have we been summoned back from Denmark so suddenly?”
“Well…” Eric sat up nervously. “I wanted you to meet Joel.”
“Why?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“Is he ill?”
“Ill?”
“Well, he looks so skinny in that jumper.”
Petra rolled her eyes. “Mother, he already told you that he had to borrow that jumper.”
“Well, what is it then?” The queen frowned with impatience. “Why have we been forced to interrupt our tour?”
Eric took a deep breath and blurted it out. “Joel and I are in love. We want to get married.”
A quiet fell over the room. Eric, Petra, and I kept staring at the king and queen, wondering who would answer first. The king cast his eyes to the ceiling while he thought of a reply, but it was the queen who finally spoke.
“Marry? You want to marry?” She laughed. A fake, bitter laugh. “I thought at first that you were ill. That this friend of yours had given you AIDS or something. That we’d been summoned back from Denmark to help you with that. But it turns out you want to marry.”
“Surely that’s better than getting AIDS,” Petra chipped in, looking as astonished by her mother’s inappropriate remark as I was. But the queen was not amused.
“You can’t marry a man, Eric. It’s ridiculous!” she said.
“Why can’t I?” Eric protested. “It’s legal, isn’t it?”
“Not for us, Eric! Not for people like us! I’ve had enough of this!” She slammed her tea mug onto the glass coffee table and stood up. “How dare you interrupt our tour for something like this! How dare you!” She stormed out of the room.
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