by Sue Townsend
When he’d finished the demolition, he’d said, looking through the thick dust at the large space he’d created, ‘Now the dog can see the bleedin’ rabbit.’ He’d had to prop the ceiling up with the odd bit of scaffolding, it was still there three years later, but Anne didn’t seem to mind.
When Spiggy let the Queen into the living room, he issued the usual warning, ‘Watch the poles, Liz.’
The room was haphazardly furnished with a mixture of garish antiques and the junk that Spiggy seemed to accumulate every time he left the house. The Queen chose to sit in a high-backed armchair, rejecting Spiggy’s offer of a footstool. She was always a little nervous with Spiggy, so she bent her head and talked to Harris and Susan, telling them to stop running in and out of the poles.
Spiggy muttered, ‘Anne’ll be down in a minute, she’s trimming her nose hairs.’
A commotion at the front door told them that Charles and Camilla had arrived and had brought their three dogs to the meeting. When Spike, Princess Anne’s Staffordshire bull terrier, thundered down the stairs to join them, there were six dogs in the room.
Leo let the smaller dogs do all the barking and was rewarded when Charles said to him, ‘Leo, you are a very good boy.’ Charles stood in front of the log-effect gas fire with its regulated blue flames and said to his mother, ‘How are you, Mummy?’
The Queen said, ‘I’m extremely tired, it’s been a horrid day.’
Charles searched his mother’s face for clues as to how she truly felt about her imminent death. He had not expected her to go to pieces, but surely she would at last, under such circumstances, show some human frailty. He longed to give her some comfort, to put his arms around her, to reassure her that he would be there at her side when the end finally came. He tried to think of some way to broach the subject, but before he could formulate the perfect sentence, Camilla had taken his mother’s hand and said, ‘Your Majesty, Charles and I are both devastated to hear about your illness. How long have the doctors given you?’
The Queen said, ‘I haven’t seen a doctor for three years. I’m perfectly well.’
Charles thought, poor Mummy, she’s in denial.
The Queen laughed. ‘Violet came to see me in floods of tears. Mr Anwar told her that I’d got only days to live!’
‘Maddo Clarke told me,’ said Charles.
Camilla said, ‘So we’re not gathering to hear bad news?’
The Queen said, guardedly, ‘Shall we wait for the others?’
While they waited, Spiggy tried to entertain them. ‘I ’ad a right shock this mornin’,’ he laughed. ‘I woke up. About seven, it were. An’ I were feeling a bit randy, like, so I stretched me hand out and stroked Annie’s belly. I still had me eyes closed, an’ I said, “Are you up for it, Annie? I’m up for it.” She didn’t say owt but I could hear her breathing heavy, so I took me boxers off and I were just getting ready for a nice bit of lovey-dovey when I ’eard Annie downstairs talking to the milkman. I opened me eyes an’ saw Spike lying next to me. I shot outa bed as if I’d got a firework up me arse. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind a dog on the bed, but I draw the line at ’aving it in the bed, with its ’ead on the bleedin’ pillow. I ain’t been able to look the bloody dog in the eye since.’
The Queen gave a tight smile.
Later that night, Camilla said to Charles, ‘Your sister must have an extremely hairy belly.’
The next to arrive was Prince Andrew, who said he hoped the meeting wouldn’t last long because he’d left Marcia Boycott at home ‘cooking up a storm’.
‘She’s enormous fun, Mummy,’ said Andrew. ‘You’d like her. She’s a bit of an intellectual, very deep, like Charlie here. I don’t know what she sees in me, as you know I’m a… oh, what is it? A something, an animal of some kind, of very little brain.’
‘A bear,’ supplied Charles. ‘You’re a bear of very little brain, from Winnie-the-Pooh.’
‘Never liked Winnie-the-Pooh,’ said Andrew. ‘Thought he was a bit of a wimp, to tell you the truth. And as for that Christopher Robin, he was definitely a poofter in the making.’
Charles said earnestly, ‘But don’t you see, Andrew? All the animals in the wood represent human archetypes.’ Seeing the bafflement on Andrew’s face, he continued, ‘They, er… represent us humans.’
‘So which are you?’ asked Andrew.
While Charles was thinking, Anne came into the room and said, ‘I think Eeyore, the neurotic donkey, don’t you, Charles?’
Charles forced himself to laugh with the others.
Prince Edward and Sophie, the Countess of Wessex, arrived next. They had the misfortune to live next door to Maddo Clarke and his seven rampaging sons.
Sophie said, ‘We are totally exhausted. The Clarke rabble were up all night doing kung fu on the stairs.’
Edward said, ‘A spell in the army would do them all good.’
Anne said, ‘It didn’t do you any good, Eddy. You had a bloody nervous breakdown.’
Sophie said, ‘Edward doesn’t like to talk about his time in the Marines.’
Anne said, ‘His brief time.’
Edward said, ‘All your military titles were honorary, Anne. You were not woken up at midnight by a screaming sergeant major, made to run thirty miles in the rain wearing heavy boots, in full kit, with a seventy-pound pack on your back, having to wade through ice-cold water holding your rifle above your head. Then, on your return to camp, being ordered to pick up two handfuls of mud, which you had to throw at the walls, the floor, your bed and your dress uniform. Then, weeping with exhaustion, being told that everything in the room must be cleaned, washed and pressed before inspection later in the morning. Add to that the merciless bullying I received from all and sundry.’
Andrew said, ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, get over it, Eddy.’
But Edward continued, ‘If I’d been allowed to go into the theatre after leaving school…’ His voice trailed away.
Charles said, ‘I was horribly bullied at prep school. It didn’t help that the headmaster addressed me – a little boy, eight years old – as “sir”.’
In an attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere (even Camilla was biting her nails), Spiggy started to tell the company about a fight he’d witnessed outside Grice-A-Go-Go between a pole dancer and Mrs Anwar. Thankfully his vivid narration was interrupted by the arrival of Prince William and Prince Harry and their respective dogs, Althorp, a lurcher, and Carling. Spike growled a warning, saying, ‘This is my territory.’
Charles said to William, ‘A good day at work, darling?’
William sighed and said, ‘If you count climbing a rickety ladder while carrying freezing-cold scaffolding poles in an east wind at a height of forty feet as being a good day, then yes, I suppose I did have a good day at work, Dad.’
Harry said, ‘I had a good day. I stayed in bed and watched my Puff Daddy videos.’
Spiggy was acutely aware that he was the only commoner in the room. Even the dogs had a superior air about them, he thought. He sat slightly on the edge of the family group, jiggling one crossed leg over the other. Being in the presence of the Queen always made him nervous.
Anne had, somewhat ungraciously, made them all tea, and had opened a tin of assorted biscuits. Spiggy was pleased that she was using the hostess trolley he’d given her for Christmas.
He’d had thirteen years to get used to the fact that he was related by marriage to the Royal Family, but sometimes, when they were all together, like this, he felt that he was in a dream and that one day he’d wake up relieved that it was over. He’d given up a lot to marry Anne. He was used to roaming the country doing a bit of this and a bit of that, bit of asphalting, buying and selling a few horses, arranging the odd dogfight, trading cars for vans, and vans for lorries. He never used to leave the house without at least a thousand quid in a roll in his back pocket. He’d given it all up for love. Me and Annie are soulmates, he mused, as he watched his wife steer the hostess trolley around the feet of his in-laws, avoiding the dog
s and the scaffolding poles.
What a woman Anne was, he thought. There was nothing that woman couldn’t do. She was the perfect wife: she could weld with an oxyacetylene torch, pull a horse out of a ditch, intervene in a dogfight and mend a burst pipe, and she never minded if his boots were filthy. And look at her, look at those thighs and that hair – hair she would let down and allow him to bury his face in. You could have a laugh with Anne, and she always called a spade a spade.
She was good at reading and writing, and best of all she loved him, little fat Spiggy who didn’t go to school and, until he met Anne, thought horses and dogs were better than people. So what if she hated cooking? Grice’s Chinese Chip Shop was only round the corner. He could eat chips and battered sausage every day of his life, and almost did. It was rubbish about needing to eat fruit and veg. His grandma had lived solely on mashed spuds and treacle pudding. She could only manage soft stuff due to all her teeth being knocked out when a lorry jack slipped while she was changing a wheel. Spiggy cleared his throat; it always choked him up when he thought about his grandma in her coffin wearing a cloth cap and big boots.
He looked at his in-laws. His mother-in-law, the Queen, was all right, she didn’t bother them much, she kept herself to herself. He struggled with his brother-in-law Charles a bit. Charlie sometimes talked like a bender, hark at him now. He watched as Charles tried to decide which biscuit to select from the compartmentalized tin.
‘So hard to choose, impossible to decide between a custard cream and a bourbon. A custard cream is so fondanty, a little like having sunshine in one’s mouth, whereas a bourbon has a certain French earthiness about it.’
Spiggy thought, if he talked like that in my grandma’s house she’d have smacked his head. He watched and listened approvingly as Anne said, ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Charles, choose a bloody biscuit.’
Andrew grabbed a chocolate digestive and crammed it into his big-jawed mouth.
Edward looked at his wife, Sophie. She said, ‘Have the wafer.’ He obediently took a pink wafer and nibbled at its edge. Sophie held the flat of her hand up and turned her head as Anne proffered her the tin.
Anne said, ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
Sophie replied, ‘It means that I do not want one of your biscuits, Anne. The last time I had one of your biscuits, it was covered in dog hair and I was ill for a week.’
When the tin was held out to Harry, he said, ‘I’m cool.’
Anne said, ‘We all know you’re cool, Harry, but do you want a bloody biscuit?’
Harry gave a contemptuous laugh, as though the eating of biscuits was only undertaken by geeks and dorks.
William said, ‘Would anybody mind if I took the last chocolate one?’ Only when everyone had reassured him did he take it.
There was a commotion at the front door, a high-pitched yapping and a woman’s voice shouting, ‘I’m here, I’m here. Masses of apologies.’
Spike, asleep on the hearthrug, opened one eye, twitched an ear and went back to sleep. Princess Michael of Kent, wearing a fur jacket against the autumn night, strode into the living room with Zsa-Zsa, a beribboned Russian toy terrier in a matching fur jacket, under her arm. Spike smelled Zsa-Zsa’s intoxicating perfume and stirred on the rug.
‘Am I the last?’ trumpeted Princess Michael. ‘Oh, I can’t bear it, do forgive me, but Prince Michael rang to say that he had heard on the World Service about our imminent return. He said to tell you all that he’s thrilled, absolutely thrilled.’
Anne said, ‘I’d like to know why you are allowed to speak to people outside the bloody Exclusion Zone, and we’re not?’
Princess Michael said, ‘Are you accusing me of collaborating with the enemy in return for favours?’
Anne said, ‘It wouldn’t be the first time your family was on the wrong side in a war.’
Princess Michael said icily, ‘You forget perhaps, Anne, that Prince Philip’s sisters were married to officers in the Luftwaffe.’
The Queen said hurriedly, ‘From where was Prince Michael ringing this time?’
‘A desert somewhere, I forget which one,’ said Princess Michael.
Anne said to her, ‘Has it ever crossed your mind that he’s left you?’
Princess Michael said, ‘He has not left me. He chose to escape rather than be exiled to this place of Hell.’
Anne said, ‘But my point is, he didn’t take you with him, did he?’
When the biscuit tin got to her, Camilla said, ‘No, thanks Annie, darling, I’ll have a fag instead.’ As she passed Zsa-Zsa, she put out her hand to stroke the tiny dog’s head, saying, ‘And how are you, you funny little scrap?’
In return, Zsa-Zsa sank her needle-sharp teeth into Camilla’s index finger.
Princess Michael said angrily to Camilla, ‘Please don’t approach her without warning, she is very easily frightened.’
Charles said, ‘Are you terribly injured, darling?’
Camilla sucked on her bleeding finger and said, ‘No, I hardly felt a thing.’ Then said to her little fat brother-in-law, ‘Can I bum a fag, Spiggy, darling?’
Spiggy got up and went to a battered wall unit, opened a cupboard, and took out a carton of two hundred cigarettes. Spiggy said, ‘You can have a packet. I know a bloke what’s just come back from Spain.’
They moved further down the room and leaned against the cooker. Spiggy turned on the extractor fan; they lit their cigarettes and watched the smoke being sucked up inside the greasy hood.
The Queen raised her voice slightly and said, ‘I am conscious that time is passing and that we are under the midweek curfew of nine thirty, so if we could start.’ When she had the full attention of the family she said, ‘I think we are all aware of the strong possibility that the New Conservatives will win the next election. Should they do so, Boy has promised to reinstate the monarchy – us. I would be expected to take my place once again as, and I will give the condensed description of my title, “Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of my other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith”.’
Princess Michael struggled out of the deep leather-look sofa Spiggy had recently swapped for a chainsaw and said, ‘Thank God! It’s been a hideous ordeal living among the little people in their little houses. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your return, Your Majesty.’ She gave a deep curtsey.
The Queen pursed her lips. She found Princess Michael irritating at the best of times, now she had interrupted the Queen at an important historical moment.
Andrew said, ‘I think it would be superb. Christ, I’ve missed the good life. I can’t wait to get back to civilization. Kensington,’ he added.
Sophie said, ‘Edward and I are desperate to get Louise into a decent girls’ school.’
Edward said, ‘She’ll need intensive elocution lessons before she’s allowed into any decent school, she’s got the most frightful local accent.’
The Queen said, ‘If you will allow me to continue.’ She fiddled with an earring and then touched her brooch. Finally she said, ‘After a great deal of thought, I have decided to abdicate.’
Camilla said to Spiggy, ‘Oh, shit.’
Charles said, ‘But, Mummy, the people would want you to be Queen.’
The Queen continued, ‘Charles, I am eighty years of age and I simply cannot face…’ She hesitated.
Anne said, ‘Another bloody Royal Variety Performance?’
There was laughter. Camilla looked over at Charles and saw that he was not laughing. He had lost his customary ruddy complexion and looked pale and frightened. Camilla threw her cigarette into the sink then crossed the room, stepping over dogs and feet.
‘Oh, darling,’ he murmured when she sat down next to him.
She knew how he felt. They had often talked about the possibility that one day he would be king. They had never been happy conversations.
Spiggy said, ‘How do you abdicate, Liz? Is t
here, like, a ceremony, or is it paperwork ’n’ stuff?’
The Queen said, ‘Since I am, under the present regime, a private citizen, I can do as I damn well please.’
Andrew said, ‘Whoa, Ma! Less of the damns, you’ll be effing and blinding next.’
Anne said, ‘I’m with you, Ma. I didn’t bloody ask to be born royal and I’m not prepared to go back to opening hospitals and bloody bridges. Let some other poor bugger get the curtsey and the bouquet. Me and Spiggy will be happy with a bit of land and a few horses.’
Spiggy shouted across the room, ‘In sickness an’ in ’ealth, for richer or poorer, eh Annie?’
The Queen said to Charles, ‘What do you think, Charles?’
Charles clutched Camilla’s hand and said, ‘Would Camilla be my queen?’
‘No,’ said the Queen. ‘Camilla would be your consort.’
Charles thought about the morning he had discovered that one day he would be king. His nanny had explained to him that he must never, ever, appear outside the nursery without first checking that his shoes were highly polished, his socks pulled up to the knee, his shorts smartly pressed, his face and hands scrubbed clean and his hair carefully parted and brushed. He must be polite at all times, stand with his hands behind his back, and must not be heard shouting or laughing, because one day he would be the ruler of millions of people. Later that night he had wept silently in his bed in the nursery; he knew that he was not good enough or clever enough to be the King of England and the Commonwealth. He knew that he was an ordinary boy.
Charles said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mummy, but I will not be crowned the King of England unless my wife, the woman I love, is crowned Queen.’
The Queen said, falling back on arcane language, ‘I advise you to seek counsel.’