A Royal Match

by Connell O'Tyne

  Honey turned to him, her eyes flashing like machine gun fire. ‘And I’m meant to take precisely what comfort from the news that I now have a disfigured pet? Are you suggesting that I throw good money after bad to keep a hideous half-eared rabbit alive? I could be spending your vet bill on a pair of rabbit-trimmed Gucci stilettos! You monstrous, money-grabbing pleb. Now get off my bed, you pervert.’

  At the accusation of being a pervert, the vet dived off the bed and looked around at all of us. His plan of breaking the good news to a sweet teenage girl that her pet was going to be okay had crashed against the barriers of Honey’s unspeakable nastiness.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but Honey cut over the top of him. ‘Well, hop to it!’ She clapped her hands. ‘Down to the pet shed, and put the wretched thing out of my misery.’

  But the vet didn’t look like he was going to ‘hop’ anywhere. His whole demeanour changed before our eyes from fit, kindly, older man to a dangerous force of authority. I swear a cool, chilling breeze was blowing around him as he said: ‘Miss O’Hare, the only misery I know of is the lamentable attitude you and your friends have towards your pets. People like you,’ he began, but I think he was too angry to go on because he started spluttering.

  I felt sorry for him. Apart from Honey, I think we all were, so as he turned to leave, I began to blurt, ‘Can I just say, that, erm, well, it was super of you to come and help Absinthe and, erm … well, seriously, actually I think. Yes, that’s it, personally, and I think an enormous amount of people would agree, you’ve got a really cool and original dress sense for an old, I mean a grown-up. Yes, those retro corduroys are, well, well, they’re on trend this season, aren’t they? So that’s really cool, isn’t it?’

  I wasn’t exactly waiting for applause, but when my blurt stopped, the entire room was silent. Everyone was looking at me blankly as if I was mental. I mean, his dress sense was seriously horrendous but it was original in a retro sad sort of way.

  He had already put his hand on the door handle at that point, but he turned back to face not Honey but me.

  I knew my speech wasn’t as polished as it could have been, but I was shocked by the venomous look on his face. ‘That’s all you spoilt girls care about, isn’t it?’ he asked me directly. ‘Cool clothes and accessories, Daddy’s plastic and Mummy’s contacts. Well, none of that will help you once I’ve filed my report.’

  My face stung with the unfairness of his attack. I was only trying to cheer him up. ‘I don’t like your clothes, really,’ I assured him.

  Dig, dig, dig, Calypso, a voice in my head was heckling. So I grabbed the shovel. ‘I was just, well, I was just trying to be nice to you, to cheer you up. Not that your green flares aren’t cool in a retro (I think I actually said ‘sad,’ but I hope I didn’t) sort of way. It’s just that they’re not my sort of thing. See, I wanted to say something kind after what Honey said to you. Besides, my mummy, that’s Sarah, doesn’t have any contacts, and my daddy, that’s Bob, doesn’t even believe in plastic!’

  The vet clicked his tongue at me in disgust. That was so going to be the last time I ever complimented an older man, however fit and kind he might seem. Because that’s the thing – you never know when grown-ups are going to turn on you. One minute they’re all, ‘Let’s be pals and I really, really, really care’ and the next it’s all, ‘Time for bed, lights out, blues all round, and I’m filing a report.’ Star’s right: grown-ups exist only to subjugate us.

  ‘I shan’t be sending a bill,’ he told Honey in a grand voice he hadn’t shared with us earlier. ‘I can assure you, however, that I will be making a full and detailed report about this school and your treatment of animals.’ He made the word ‘report’ sound like a weapon of mass destruction.

  We were all cowering as he glared around the room at Portia, Honey, Indie, Star and myself as if we were Honey clones, when really we were as appalled by Honey as he was. The difference was, we’d suffered Honey for so many years we were virtually immune to her toxic psycho toff take on life.

  ‘I can’t believe he went off at you like that,’ Indie said after he’d gone. ‘I thought you were really nice to him,’ she told me gently, rubbing my back.

  ‘I even complimented him on his flares,’ I added, shaking my head at the injustice of life.

  Star said, ‘It just proves what I’ve always suspected. Grown-ups are not to be trusted.’

  TWENTY-SIX:

  The Feverish Age of Reports

  Supper was fish fingers, my favourite, but not that night – I had no appetite. None of my friends with pets did. A rumour had swept through the school that the pet shed was to be closed, pending an investigation, and that the vet had spoken sternly to Sister Constance about the animal rights issues of allowing girls to pierce rabbits’ ears and place large, heavy hoops in them.

  We were in a complete state and none of us could eat our food. It wasn’t just the pet shed we were upset about, either; we were more worried about Georgina’s fate. Sharon, the lady on tray duty that evening, took our names and said we were all going on report for not eating.

  ‘Fine, report yourself, stupid,’ Star told her as she slammed her full tray into the slot with a crash.

  ‘Don’t you take your food issues out on me, dearie, or I’ll report you for disrespecting a dinner lady innit!’

  But Star had already stormed off.

  ‘What is it with everyone and their reports today?’ Honey asked gaily, skipping along beside us happily – just to wind us up, I suspect. ‘Report, report, report. Is it the word du jour or something?’

  Now was not a time for skipping and I told her so. ‘You can imagine howpanicked Star and I are about the fate of our own pets,’ I told her as we headed off to Sister Constance’s office after supper. ‘And we’re also worried about Georgina.’

  As we waited on the bench outside Sister’s office for our summons, Honey taunted us for our ‘sickly sentimentality,’ which, in case we hadn’t heard, was soooo last millennium. Then she blabbered on about not being in the least bit fazed about the possible closure of the pet shed, as she was soooo over pets.

  ‘Oh, shut up, will you, Honey!’ Star snapped – only Honey looked shocked, and she’s never shocked by Star telling her to shut up. Also, she was looking at me. That was when I realised that I, Calypso Kelly, unshielded by Daddy’s plastic and Mummy’s contacts, had just told The Ultimate Psycho Toff to shut up.

  ‘Sorry, Honey,’ I muttered.

  Honey merely ignored me and began studying her manicure.

  Star was abnormally silent. She was glaring at Honey, and Honey was glaring back at her as Sister Constance finally cried out, ‘Enter!’

  When we wandered in, we weren’t invited to sit down. Sister Constance didn’t even look us in the eye. She looked stricken. The serene calm that characterised our Mother Superior seemed to have been drained from the inside of her soul, and her face seemed to have shrunk into her nun habit.

  Star and I stood there with Honey between us. I felt Star nudge her, because Honey fell into me theatrically, as if Star had used superhuman force. Actually, knowing Star, she might have. Normally I would have done nothing, but hating Honey as I did at that moment, I nudged her myself – really, really hard – and she fell right back into Star’s elbow.

  ‘Ow!’ she complained. ‘Sister! Did you see what they just did to me?’

  Sister Constance didn’t look up, let alone reply.

  ‘I have a preternatural tendency to bruise,’ Honey whined, rubbing her arm. ‘I wouldn’t want to have the nurse look at me and jump to conclusions regarding abuse,’ she muttered, knowing that no one gave a damn what she did at that particular point in time.

  Again, Sister refused to comment.

  Eventually Star asked about Georgina.

  ‘Georgina has left the school,’ Sister Constance replied. We waited for a bit for her to go on, but all she did was take a butterscotch from the box on her desk and begin to suck on it really loudly.

  ‘Wha
t? For good?’ Star asked.

  Sister Constance nodded. ‘Miss Castle Orpington has left the school grounds of her own accord,’ she explained, the butterscotch rolling around in her mouth. ‘She, along with Tobias, fully accept responsibility for the flask of vodka, but other than that, her father has refused to discuss her future at Saint Augustine’s. He’s in Morocco at the moment and cannot be disturbed.’

  ‘But you will let her back?’ Star demanded to know.

  Sister sucked hard on the sweet, which made the most revolting noise. ‘That is a matter for the school board, Star. More to the point is the spiritual bankruptcy that led her to seek refuge in alcohol.’

  Honey rolled her eyes. ‘I think she probably just wanted to get drunk, Sister.’

  Star and I both had to suppress a giggle.

  ‘Girls!’ Sister warned.

  But Honey continued, ‘I think you’re blowing this out of proportion. Why, Eades boys wander about their school sucking on flasks all the time and no one bats an eye. A boy from Marlborough I know said they can even buy it at the school tuck shop. And by the way, now that we are on the topic of tuck shops, all the boy’s schools seem to have the most enormous shops. That is soooo unfair, Sister. They can even buy clothes and order Saville Row suits at their schools, whereas our tuck shop is just a windowsill that’s only open once a week, and even then we can only buy sweets. We can’t even buy phone credit! It is soooo babyish.’

  Sister Constance, daintily taking her butterscotch out of her mouth between thumb and forefinger, replied, ‘Miss O’Hare, you do say the most ridiculous things. And the older you get, the less tolerance I have for your ridiculousness. So, for the love of Mary, will you just shut up!’

  All our jaws collectively dropped to the floor as Sister popped the sweet back in her mouth and sucked on it loudly.

  After a few minutes of rude sweet-sucking noises, Sister spoke again. ‘Georgina isn’t my only concern, though. I had the vet in here earlier, and he has grave, grave concerns about the attitude some girls have towards their pets, which I must admit I fully share. He furthermore expressed doubts about the viability of the pet shed after the unfortunate fate of your rabbit, Miss O’Hare.’

  ‘Fine, shut the pet shed,’ Honey said. ‘I’m so over animals anyway. Unless we’re talking those little furtrimmed Gucci shoes. I think I’ll have them in mauve. I know, maybe if I give them Absinthe, they’ll give me a discount,’ she added, giggling at her awful joke.

  That was when Star thumped her across the back and Honey fell theatrically across Sister’s desk and got a bit of a nosebleed – not because of how hard Star had hit her, but because of her theatrical fall. Plus, after you’ve had as much cartilage removed from your nose as Honey has, your nose tends to bleed quite easily.

  Sister ignored Honey and the spot of blood on the end of her nose as she sucked serenely on her sweet for a moment. I thought she wasn’t going to say anything about it at all, but then she did. Not to Honey, just to Star and me. ‘Take Honey down to the infirmary,’ she instructed me. ‘Star, I have called your father.’

  Star remained strangely silent, but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘Sister, that’s soooo unfair! You saw what happened. Honey launched herself, and besides there is barely a drop of blood. If we take her to the infirmary, there might be a, well, a report or something!’

  Sister gave me a look that spoke volumes – volumes as in, ‘Don’t push it or you’ll be the next one launched.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN:

  Friends Don’t Steal Other Friends’ Boyfriends

  On the way down to the infirmary, Honey, in keeping with her Honey-ness, immediately dialed the police. ‘Hello, officer? I have just been attacked by a ferocious girl. A famous rock star’s daughter, and I’ve been badly injured….’

  I snatched the phone off her and pressed the END button.

  ‘What?’ she asked, blinking with innocence. ‘This’ – she pointed to her completely bloodless nose – ‘is GBH; that’s Grievous Bodily Harm. Star will have to be charged and I hope incarcerated.’

  The only grievous thing about it all was Honey, and I told her, ‘You’ve hardly even been hurt. The bleeding was totally negligible and you used Star’s mild whack to launch yourself onto the desk intentionally. Besides, it didn’t even bleed properly, it was just a spot, and there’s no sign of blood now.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Honey snapped, pinching her nostrils together as if stopping a torrent of blood. She called the police again.

  It wasn’t the first time the police had been called by Honey to have a fellow student arrested. Once she’d tried to have Star done for having red hair – in Honey’s eyes a crime against aesthetics! And anyway, Star’s hair isn’t even red, it’s strawberry blonde – after several sprayings with Sun-In, anyway. The point is, Honey’s frantic call about GBH didn’t have the police hopping around the way she’d hoped. They arrived but wandered into the infirmary in a bored sort of way, accompanied by Sister Constance. They didn’t seem even mildly keen on the idea of charging Star or anyone else. Honey had to implore them even to open their pads and write something down, and even then they only wrote down her name. By this stage, there was no evidence that Honey had even had a nosebleed, and Sister Constance, whom they justifiably considered a reliable witness, said it was all just a storm in a teacup and offered them butterscotches. They were more than happy to accept both Sister’s version of events and her butterscotch and wander off back to their police car.

  Just the same, a rumour had swiftly spread that Star had been led from the school grounds in handcuffs for assaulting Honey. The truth was, her father, Tiger, had picked her up and taken her home along with Brian and Hilda, because as he told Sister Constance, he didn’t consider Saint Augustine’s a safe environment. He wasn’t so easily bought by the offer of butterscotches, apparently. Either that or Sister had downed them all herself by the time he arrived.

  For me, Georgina and Star leaving was like the theft of my two closest friends, although I felt sorriest for Indie because now she’d have to go to bed and wake up alone in an empty room.

  ‘It’s worse for you,’ I told her. ‘You’ll have no one to chat with at night.’

  ‘You could always come and stay with me,’ she suggested hopefully. That was when I first realised that Indie and I had become proper friends in our own right, as opposed to two girls with shared friends. ‘Otherwise I’ll sneak into your room,’ she promised.

  ‘Why don’t we have a moonwalk?’ I suggested as the idea suddenly occurred to me. ‘We can escape after lights out and take our duvets, vodka and tuck stashes down to Pullers’ Wood. It’s a Saint Augustine’s tradition.’

  Indie clapped her hands. ‘George and Star have told me all about them,’ she replied excitedly. ‘Let’s!’

  The first time Indie came into our room on her own, only Honey and I were there. She hissed at Honey, ‘You are such a bitch!’ exactly like Star would have.

  Honey, who was checking her mobile, looked up nonchalantly and replied sarcastically, ‘Thank you so much for all your tea and sympathy, darling. I’m the one with the broken nose who’ll probably have to spend the rest of my life having corrective surgery.’

  Then I noticed that it wasn’t her mobile she was fiddling with at all. It was mine.

  ‘That’s if you have any cartilage left after all your other nose jobs,’ shot back Indie.

  ‘Honey, what are you doing with my phone?’ I demanded crossly.

  ‘Just reading your messages,’ she responded shamelessly, before turning back to Indie. ‘At least I’ve had a nose job! You should think about surgery yourself, Indie. I mean, most people are probably too polite to say anything, but honestly, darling, take it from someone unafraid of the truth. Surgery is a necessity in your case rather than an option, if you see what I mean.’ Honey held up her Chanel compact to Indie’s spectacularly stunning face.

  As Honey hadn’t responded to my demand that she give me back my mobile, I snatched
it from her and began to check my messages.

  ‘Oh, like the surgery you had to remove your brain, you mean?’ Indie replied, snatching the compact from Honey and tossing it into the bin.

  There were no messages. ‘There are no messages,’ I said to Honey, holding up my phone.

  Portia walked in at that moment, but she only said ‘Hi’ to Indie, ignoring both Honey and me.

  ‘Oh, well there were a few. I read them. Several in fact,’ Honey replied idly, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I must have deleted them accidentally. Soz, darling, but your phone is soooo ancient. They were all from Billy, as usual. Probably best you didn’t see them, actually. Billy’s got a very pervy turn of phrase, and I know how politically correct you Americans are.’

  I stood there opening and closing my mouth both at her audacity and her news that Billy had been txt-ing me. I had been hoping for something from Freddie, but this turn of events had me frantically wondering what was going on.

  ‘I didn’t know things had heated up quite that much between the two of you,’ Honey continued, now smirking. ‘I suppose I always thought of you as a little mouse … but you’re quite the seductress, Calypso.’ She laughed loudly at her own turn of phrase.

  I just stood there, blinking. So did Indie.

  ‘So you’re admitting you just deleted her personal messages?’ Indie clarified.

  ‘Hardly! At least not on purpose, obviously,’ Honey gasped indignantly.

  ‘Rubbish,’ Indie said crossly.

  While this exchange was going on I was wondering whether this was the first time Honey had accidentally erased my messages. It would certainly explain a lot!

  Honey commenced brushing her hair, which involved flipping her head over. ‘Why don’t you scuttle off to your own room, Indie; things are getting a little crowded in here, don’t you think, Portia?’ Honey asked.

  ‘I don’t think you want to hear what I think,’ Portia replied as she focused on sending a txt message from her own mobile. I tried to gauge her expression, but as ever she was as inscrutable as the Sphinx.