by Trevor Veale
“Tradition, tradition! The sooner I leave this world the better!” Letitia said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Godfrey looked totally dumbfounded.
“It means I’m sick to death of this whole charade – I was never brought up to be a queen!”
“What would you have me do – retire?” Godfrey’s face took on the texture of distressed wallpaper.
It was at this point that the servant was compelled to close the doors on the conversation or risk being upbraided for snooping, but the damage was done. The rumor that the king and queen had discussed the subject of retirement ran around the court like an Olympic torch-bearer, and soon blazed brightly on the front page of the Bugle.
Chapter 13
Sharon’s Life
Sharon, the royal maid-of-all-works, picked up a copy of the Bugle in the servants’ quarters and glanced at the front page listlessly. She had just reached the end of a long shift and was in no mood to read the paper. Nevertheless, the startling headline: KING AND QUEEN ABOUT TO RETIRE made her throw back her head and laugh.
“God, I wish I could bloody well retire!” she exclaimed. She sat down on a vacant chair and sighed a huge sigh of relief. It was the day after the royal wedding and her workload had been incredible. All together she and the other servants must have picked up hundreds of plates of half-chewed cacah from the banqueting hall after the royal guests had departed, not to mention stacking and putting away the huge pile of gifts piled up, Mellorian style, around the edges of the ballroom where the guests had been dancing. Before that, there had been all the costume changes of Her Royal Highness that she had to attend to, the preparation of the bridal suite that had to be decorated with fragrant white and red plants – the colors of matrimony in Melloria – all that was her work. In addition, at the princess’s insistence a number of oriental thingummies had to be put up. It was no wonder she felt she had been run ragged, and she yawned until her eyes ached.
Throwing the paper back on the table, she shook herself awake and prepared to go. She had to pick up her son from school and she only had twenty minutes to get there. It was the second day of a week-long public holiday and none of the buses were running, so she would have to fight her way through the mobs cramming Constitution Square. Much as she admired the royals for representing her country, she couldn’t get worked up about the wedding. In her view, the two newly-weds should be allowed to have a quiet wedding – just family and friends- and then slip away for their honeymoon like any normal couple, instead of having to endure the slow drive to the airport through throngs of gawping people, standing cheek-by-jowl in the blazing sun and waving little flags. It was just stupid. Of course she did feel a bit of envy that they were going to Barbados, but who could blame them with all the money they had?
All these thoughts assailed her as she stepped through the side door of the palace which the servants used. Another thing that irked her was that Craig was in his class today, when all the other schools in Melloria were closed. His class was a remedial, for children with behavioral difficulties, but it still didn’t justify keeping him in on a holiday in her view. Thank God her dad had been able to take him there in the morning. She’d have never been given the time off work – not on the day after Royal Wedding Day!
She felt no affinity with the people she pushed aside who were jostling to get a view of the couple in the white Bentley crawling through the palace gates. She was just aware that the walk to the school was going to take twice as long, and the little stalls selling celebratory street food – goatmeat sausage on beds of brown cabbage – that dotted the flag-festooned square held absolutely no appeal to her, although she hadn’t eaten for hours. The crush and noise and smell of overcooked sausage just irritated her, and by the time she reached the school her body was sore and sweaty.
A different smell assailed her as she walked down the long corridor to Craig’s classroom: a mixture of chalk dust, disinfectant and unwashed young bodies, that reminded her of her own schooldays. As an added reminder, a knot of fidgeting, dirty-faced kids loitered outside the classroom door.
“You been sent out of class then?” she asked the least vacant-looking of them.
“Yeah, Mrs Pomfret’s on today,” he said, “and she kicks you out for the leastest thing.”
Sharon smiled and took up her position behind the small group at the door. She wondered what punishment these malefactors would get from the principal when Mrs Pomfret’s class was over. She had been in their place once, trembling with anxiety as she awaited her fate for some minor infraction of the rules. The thought made her chin tremble, then she felt a flush of irritation toward Craig. Why was he so stubbornly refusing to learn at more than a snail’s pace? Was he doing it out of spite because he had no father, or was it because of his genes?
Through the frosted glass door pane she heard the teacher’s voice haranguing her charges.
“Who can give me the most shameful date in our history?” her sharp voice intoned. “Yes, Heidi!”
A girl’s slow voice said: “The Day of Shame, Thursday, August the First last year.”
“Indeed, and who can tell me why we remember it?”
A silence descended. The sharp voice acquired an edge.
“I hope I’m not the only one willing to stay here an extra hour.”
At this, Craig’s voice piped up, and Sharon listened intently.
“Please Miss, it was because King Slob gave our boys a beating and we couldn’t have Shekels back no more.”
Sharon frowned at his clumsy diction.
“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” the sharp-edged voice replied. “Can anyone put it more intelligently?”
Above the ripple of giggles, a girl’s impatient voice cut in.
“We remember it as a day when our glorious armed forces were crushed by the Slobodians’ overwhelming numbers, the day we lost our coast and the jewel of Shekels…” Other voices tittered. “Well, I know about Shekels because my dad used to own some shops there,” the girl’s voice said to the titterers, then continued “… and we were forced into humiliating defeat.”
“Well said, Angela – maybe you’d like to tell us why we were attacked.” The edge in Mrs Pomfret’s voice had acquired a creaminess.
“Certainly, Miss,” the clear, confident voice continued. “I don’t want to be kept in another hour! For centuries Shekels, the jewel in our crown, was envied by the Slobodians for its prosperity. Their own resort of Slit is like a shithole in comparison – ” A wave of childish giggles broke out, and Mrs Pomfret spoke out sternly.
“Children, please, mind your language!”
The confident voice carried on: “ – and so the Slobodian king demanded that we give Shekels to him, and when our king went to his country to sort it out with him, the two kings got into an argument and King Slob got his tunic torn after pulling off some of King God’s medals. So we had to go to war. Unfortunately, we lost…”
“And,” Mrs Pomfret’s voice rose dramatically, “in spite of our army and navy’s heroic resistance, our beloved soil was wrested from us by the cruel Slobodians and the jewel was torn from our crown!” Her voice swooped to a conclusion. “Ever since that shameful day just one year ago, our king – who, incidentally should not be referred to as ‘King God” – our beloved king, King Godfrey, has worn the proud uniform of Admiral of the Mellorian navy every First Thursday, and will continue to do so until our treasured Shekels is ours once more!”
The emotionally-affected voice could barely croak: “Class dismissed!” In an instant, the door was flung open and Sharon could barely catch Craig’s arm as he and thirty others hurtled out.
“I heard you in there,” she said. “You sounded right bleeding ignorant!”
Craig twisted free and faced her angrily.
“So what if I did! You know bleeding well who I got it from!” he yelled.
Chapter 14
An Inauspicious Honeymoon
Three days after her son’s wedding,
propped up on three pillows, Queen Letitia stared at the front page of the Bugle with delighted horror. Her secret was out at last, and in spite of many misgivings she hoped it would influence Godfrey to rethink his insistence on remaining a monarch for life. Retirement from all the stresses and strains of her role as queen seemed to beckon like a golden dream now that the subject was open for discussion. Following the front-page story to its conclusion, she let her eye wander to the other items of news. She got a shock beyond measure when she realized that the only other story the paper seemed interested in was a lurid confession by the stable girl that Catheter had been dallying with.
The whole paper was awash with it, relegating the wedding ceremony to a single column next to a dull photo of the couple exchanging rings. What the -! the queen thought, being unable to even think the word that was on her mind. How on earth could even such a guttersnipe paper like the Bugle print such drivel! It was beyond her comprehension how the editor could have allowed these besotted ravings of a schoolgirl in heat to be published. He even had the nerve to present them as an indictment of royal hypocrisy! The man should be arrested for sedition, she thought. It’s high time these closet republicans were flushed out once and for all. Her blood pressure rose the longer she pored over the sprawling fantasy, boggling at the sheer outrageousness of it, although she couldn’t drag her eyes away or stop herself reading the rot.
‘I awoke marveling at his sheer bulk,’ she read. ‘I couldn’t breathe, my arms and legs were numb, but I didn’t move a millimeter. I didn’t want to be released. How long I was able to stay like that, with him coiled around me, I’ll never know, but eventually I fell asleep. I don’t regret offering my discomfort, even though he never knew it. For all I knew, that night would be the last I’d spend in his arms.’
Good God, that must have been the night before the wedding! She shuddered at the trollop’s brazen effrontery. Were there no depths to which she wouldn’t sink? My only consolation, she thought, is that there are no pictures of Catheter to substantiate these juvenile ramblings. She turned the page gratefully, only to freeze at a photo of Catheter bathing naked in a stream above a quote from Lucinda: “Without his clothes he was so terribly sexy.”
The selfsame prince, now clad in swimming trunks, was at that precise moment jumping off a rock somewhere in Barbados. He had been on honeymoon two days and was taking solace in a solitary swim. Dawna, who confessed she didn’t swim very well, stayed at their villa in a nice part of Sandy Lane, reading trashy novels on her Kindle or basking in the infinity pool. Sometimes she wandered out to their private stretch of beach and padded about it like a panther in a cage, a beautiful blonde panther who looked longingly at the ocean and the sophisticated world beyond it.
During the remainder of the honeymoon a great deal of sulking went on, mainly on Catheter’s part. He found the company of his new wife unendurable, and although he tried to escape by exploring the parts of Barbados he didn’t find insufferably vulgar, with his beloved sound equipment, he ached with acute frustration and thwarted desire for the entire time they were away. He had seen online excerpts from Lucinda’s big splashy revelation of their relationship and felt tormented, but he forgave her for selling their story and blamed himself for not upping her allowance. He desperately missed her and their wonderfully exciting sex life. For her part, Dawna consoled herself by visiting a spa where she was given the VIP treatment of chakra therapy, underwater massage baths and warm herbal infusions. It was here she submitted to a young limber Bajan therapist who gave her a full aromatherapy body treatment designed to regulate her energy patterns. While Catheter recorded the commotion of fishermen heaving in their bulging nets at a nearby cove, Dawna settled down to her Bajan boy’s massage, followed by the cooling application of essential oils and leaves while listening to whale sounds and Tibetan cymbals.
Two weeks later the couple flew back to Melloria, Catheter complaining that the days had been too hot and Dawna that the nights had been too cold. They were painfully aware of their incompatibility, and the princess was also aware that her life was about to change again – drastically. After eight weeks and two missed periods she knew it was true. Although their one awful night of sexual congress was never repeated, it had left its mark.
She began putting on weight, but told herself it was only the pregnancy and would leave after the birth. She was hungrier than she had been since her college days and she began eating between meals and after dinner. She tried to eat only carrots and celery but she grew to hate them, and her desire for sweets was as vicious as it had ever been. She went down to the palace kitchen and ate bread and jam in secret and fled the palace in her BMW coupe for furtive shopping trips, buying candy bars and eating them on the drive back. Her cheeks started to fill out, loose flesh appeared under her chin and her arms and legs became plump. Godfrey and Letitia began to notice her weight gain and became concerned. Catheter paid her scarcely any attention – he was much too occupied in plotting secret dates with Lucinda.
Chapter 15
Sharon’s Shameful Secret
Sharon sat at the kitchen table and stared out the window at her dingy backyard. Rain was splashing down on the dull metal of a beer keg and several sagging boxes of empty bottles that rotted in the rain. She felt tired and crabby waiting for her father, Lusher, to finish reading the Bugle and clear off. Without looking up from the smudgy newsprint close to his nose, he pushed his teacup toward her.
“Is there any more left in the pot?” he said.
She grabbed the cup and filled it to the brim carelessly, so that tea sloshed over into the saucer. She was irritated – since she had paid for it – at having to wait so long for the paper. It seemed she was always waiting: either for the royals she served to finish doing what they were doing in their bedchambers so that she could come and clean up or for someone to help Craig get through school or to help her dad off the bottle or herself to get some freedom.
Lusher continued reading and she watched him pour milk from a carton into his tea without looking, till the milky slop spilled over the edge of the saucer. Unaware of the mess he’d made, he lifted the cup and sucked noisily. She felt like retching.
“You should read what old Prince Cathy’s been up to,” he called from behind his paper, and went on slurping.
She glanced dully around the room, resting her gaze on the pathetic collection of toys scattered over the floor: an old Pokemon coloring book, some trodden-on magic markers, a GI Joe with one leg pulled off. She felt wretched knowing she didn’t have enough to buy Craig what he really wanted. She wished she could give him the moon!
“By God, I didn’t know he had it in him!” Lusher croaked.
“Had what?” she asked, vaguely curious.
“All that sex he and his bit of stuff Lucinda Wassername got up to – according to what’s in here,” he announced, squinting at the page. “The Bugle must have paid her a packet. Listen to this: ‘I remember once when we went riding in the woods…la-dee-da…the dry twigs scratched our hips and the mosquitos bit our rears as we lay on the forest floor, our horses grazing.’ I reckon they couldn’t have had no clothes on! Then she goes on: ‘We pressed our bodies against each other, my breasts covering his chest, so the bugs couldn’t attack our private parts. What his body was doing to mine was killing the pain of insect bites as well as that of the woman he was fated to marry.’ Talk about Prince bleeding Charming! He’s a regular love pump!”
He refolded the paper and pushed it over to her. “Well, I better be on my way or else the pubs will run dry.”
He stood up heavily, pushing his chair out from the table, lifting his jacket slowly from the back. Sharon registered the tremor in his voice and his watery bloodshot eyes. Craig had probably got some of his alcoholic genes, she thought. God knows what kind of a man he’ll turn out to be. She laid the paper aside and got up to clear dishes from the table. When she heard the front door close, she dumped them in the sink and sat down to read the article her father had been drool
ing over. Her eyes widened at each salacious tidbit. She thought of her father’s remark: “The Bugle must have paid her a packet,” and marveled that such obvious drivel could earn a large amount of money. Still, somebody must want to read it, she thought. A thought that brought her up short. If Lucinda Cowface could be paid a packet for her silly little affair, what could she, Sharon Keeler, expect to earn for all she had to tell? It was mind-boggling! If only she had the guts to call the paper and tell all.
She looked at the rain dribbling down the window and couldn’t understand why she had waited so long. Why shouldn’t she get her share? She didn’t suppose Lucinda Thingamabob ever gave a hoot about loyalty to the crown when she went to cash in her chips. Sharon did possess some residual loyalty to her king and queen, who were also her employers, but it was fast losing out to the temptation of selling her story for a big check.
She went to the cupboard for something to eat and took out a packet of custard creams. Then she poured herself a cup of tea. She needed to steady her nerves. This was big stuff she was thinking about. She wished she had some brandy. She had to keep a clear head though, if she wasn’t going to let the newspaper people put one over on her. She seriously began to consider who she would call and what she would say. Her biggest bombshell was so big it would knock everything else off the front page. A wave of excitement swept over her and she began to tremble.
The voice on her line was faint, and Arabella Scott-Natterson paused to turn up the volume on her headset. Sitting reflectively at her desk, she’d been caught off-guard by the unexpected call. She’d been gazing at the rain falling on the city from her office on the top floor of Melloria’s tallest building and discerning through the mist its thousand glittering rooftops.
