Queen Camilla

by Sue Townsend

  The Queen said, ‘This is England, Harry, not Guatemala.’

  Andrew speculated that there had been a coup, and that the Government had been overthrown by ardent monarchists.

  Anne said angrily, ‘It’s obviously something to do with Camilla. As if she hasn’t brought enough trouble to this family.’

  Princess Michael said, ‘In my opinion, she’s left Charles for another man. I knew their marriage would never last.’

  Edward and Sophie turned from watching anxiously as Louise ran wild with Maddo Clarke’s boys.

  Sophie said, ‘I can’t stop thinking about the Romanovs. They were rounded up in the middle of the night, weren’t they?’

  Edward took Sophie’s hand and said, ‘Try to stay calm. Take one of your pills, darling.’

  William yawned, ‘It’s all right for the rest of you, but I have to get up for work in the morning.’

  When Charles returned to his family group he said, ‘Nobody knows anything about Camilla’s whereabouts.’

  Beverley Threadgold, in a grubby pink dressing gown and Elvis Presley slippers, sat nearby telling Maddo Clarke that she wouldn’t be surprised if Camilla had been murdered. She looked across the room at Prince Charles and said, ‘’E was diggin’ in ’is garden, after dark last night.’

  Dwayne Lockhart, armed with a taser gun that he had no intention of using, was guarding the exit doors. He wanted to confide in Charles that he had seen Camilla leaving the Exclusion Zone earlier in the day. But how could he, without losing his job and his flat in town? He shifted the taser carefully from one hand to the other, aware that a single pull on the trigger could send a 50,000-volt shock through the human body. He hoped fervently that he wouldn’t be forced to use the thing.

  Violet Toby was reminiscing with the Queen about the last time Hell Close had been evacuated.

  ‘It was before you come here, Liz. A crack ’ead in Number Sixteen held his social worker hostage with a starting pistol. It were lovely. We ’ad cups of tea and sandwiches from the WRVS, and a good singsong.’ She sighed. ‘Happy days.’

  The Queen asked, ‘What was the outcome? Did all end well?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Violet. ‘The crack ’ead shot ’iself an’ the social worker ’ad a breakdown.’

  The Queen yawned and covered her mouth; she was longing to return to her bed. She had been in a deep sleep when an announcement from the police helicopter hovering over Hell Close had startled her awake and ordered her to leave the house immediately. Once outside, a phalanx of security police had corralled the residents and marched them to the One-Stop Centre. There had been no WRVS and, thought the Queen, it was unlikely there would be a singsong.

  At half past three in the morning, when even Maddo Clarke’s boys were flagging, the double doors burst open and Camilla was led in, surrounded by a cordon of security police. She blinked in the harsh fluorescent light and looked around the gaping crowd for Charles. When she saw him pushing through the crowd, she raised her handcuffs above her head, like a triumphant boxer, but there was no joy in the gesture, only recognition that she accepted her capture, punishment and humiliation. Arthur Grice followed with a face like a dark cloud.

  Charles shouted, ‘Camilla, darling,’ and tried to take her hand, but his way was blocked by PC Peter Penny, and he was pushed back into the crowd.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Camilla shouted.

  A policeman in a beribboned uniform addressed the exhausted residents. He said, ‘I am Deputy Chief Constable Manning. Yesterday, this woman…’ he indicated Camilla.

  Charles shouted, ‘How dare you call my wife a woman!’

  Manning continued, ‘Yesterday, this lady removed her tag and left the Exclusion Zone. As a consequence of her actions she will be placed under house arrest for ten days, and you, her friends and neighbours, will be restricted to the environs of Hellebore Close for a seven-day period.’

  ‘Pour encourager les autres,’ murmured the Queen.

  Camilla bowed her head. There was a low rumble of anger from the crowd, like the soundtrack in a cowboy film of buffalo running across distant plains. All eyes turned to her.

  Princess Michael rushed forwards and said, ‘But there is not a food shop in Hell Close. Do you intend to starve us to death? Or perhaps turn us into cannibals!’

  Deputy Chief Constable Manning turned to Arthur Grice, seeking elucidation.

  Princess Michael continued, her voice reaching a hysterical note. ‘Yes! Now I see your plan. You want us to eat each other, to destroy the monarchy ourselves. Very clever, Kommandant.’

  Many eyes examined Princess Michael with close attention, noting where the fleshy bits were.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a slice of her arse,’ shouted Maddo Clarke. He looked around, grinning. But people were in no mood to laugh.

  Spiggy leapt from his chair and barged through the crowd, grabbing Maddo by the front of his shirt. He roared, ‘You insult a member of my family, and you insult me!’

  Anne shouted, ‘Leave it, Spiggy, leave it! He’s not worth it!’

  Spiggy pushed Maddo like he thought they did in the films, and walked back with as much dignity as a little fat man, dressed in paisley pyjama trousers and a Meat Loaf tee shirt, could muster.

  Charles said, ‘I presume, Deputy Chief Constable, that you will be providing us with the necessities of life.’

  Arthur Grice said savagely, ‘If it was up to me, you’d be on bread and water, but Deputy Chief Constable Manning ’ere is a ’umanitarian, so you’ll be provided with a Grice grocery box.’

  Sophie said, ‘I’m on a low-potassium diet, Mr Grice, I can’t eat tomatoes, mushrooms or bananas.’

  ‘You’ll eat what you bleedin’ well get,’ shouted Grice. I ain’t a fookin’ diet gnu.’

  ‘Guru,’ corrected the Deputy Chief Constable irritably. He was furious with Grice and his privatized security police. He had warned HQ that minimum wage policing was a non-starter.

  Vince Threadgold said, ‘You said we’d ’ave the necessities of life. Does that include fags an’ booze?’

  ‘No,’ said Grice, tapping the ash from his cigar on to the floor. ‘Now would be a good time to give ’em up.’

  The Queen said, ‘Deputy Chief Constable, my husband is a resident of Frank Bruno House. He depends on my visits…’

  Manning waved the Queen’s implied request away with a black-gloved hand. He was anxious to get away from the fusty smell of unhealthy bodies packed into an unventilated room.

  When William asked Grice if he was expected to turn up for work in the morning, and other people made enquiries about doctor’s appointments and school attendance, Grice lost his patience. He roared, ‘You ’eard what Mr Manning said, you’re not allowed to leave ’Ell Close for seven days and seven nights. Don’t blame me, blame ’er.’ He glared at Camilla, remembering the angry confrontation he’d had the previous evening when Manning had warned him that future contracts to police the Flowers Exclusion Zone would have to be reviewed. He then ordered Dwayne Lockhart to escort Charles and Camilla to their house, and told him that if they gave him any trouble to ‘let ’em ’ave it with the taser’.

  When Charles and Camilla were allowed out into the cold early-morning air they found their dogs waiting for them. Freddie and Tosca jumped up to Camilla with such wild enthusiasm that they almost knocked her off her feet. ‘Are you pleased to see me, darlings?’ she said.

  Leo pressed his head against Charles’s thigh and rasped, ‘I’m glad she’s back.’

  Charles said, ‘You’re glad to see her back, aren’t you, Leo? You’re glad to see her back, aren’t you, boy?’

  Leo growled, ‘I’ve already said I’m glad to see her back. Do you have to repeat everything?’

  Charles said to Dwayne, ‘Would it be possible to remove my wife’s handcuffs?’

  Dwayne said, ‘Sorry, Mr Windsor, but she’ll have to keep ’em on until she’s inside the house.’

  Camilla said, ‘I quite understand why I’m being pu
nished, but why does everyone else in Hell Close have to suffer?’

  Charles said, ‘It’s collective punishment, darling. Didn’t you come across it at school?’

  Camilla thought back to her schooldays. What a laugh they had been: the teachers had been absolute sweethearts, so understanding if one forgot the wretched capitals of South America.

  As they passed Mr Anwar’s shop, Camilla pointed out that the ‘Everything A Pound’ shop sign had been replaced with one that said ‘Grice’s Everything A Fiver Shop’.

  Charles grumbled, ‘Somebody should report ghastly Grice to the Monopolies Commission.’

  ‘Funny thing about the Monopolies Commission,’ said Dwayne. ‘It’s got a monopoly on monopolies commissions, hasn’t it?’

  ‘He’ll be erecting a statue of himself next,’ said Charles.

  ‘In gold, on the recreation ground,’ laughed Camilla.

  ‘Parties of schoolchildren will be brought to his effigy to sing his praises and wave their little Grice flags. Sometimes… I think… well… we are, er… sleepwalking into a dictatorship,’ said Charles.

  ‘Be careful what you say,’ whispered Dwayne. He caught Charles’s eye and gestured with a slight indication of his head and the lift of an eyebrow towards the trees they were passing.

  Tosca yelped to Leo, ‘I wondered why a BT engineer was pruning trees. Now I know.’

  Leo sniffed Tosca’s bum and said, ‘I love you, Tosca. You’re so clever.’

  Tosca ran around the back of Leo and stood up on her back paws and sniffed Leo’s bum. Freddie pretended not to notice the other two dogs’ public display of affection, but he burned with jealousy inside. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he thought, he would have torn Leo’s throat out. He’d thought he could cope with having three dogs in the marriage, but he was wrong. He vowed to get rid of Leo, who, after all, was only a mongrel, whereas he, Freddie, could trace his bloodline back through the centuries.

  As soon as Dwayne had left them alone, Charles and Camilla threw themselves into each other’s arms. Then, to Freddie’s disgust, they went upstairs to the bedroom and made love.

  Freddie lay outside the bedroom door, listening to the cries of passion and the shouted endearments. When he judged that the couple were reaching their climax, he threw himself against the door in a frenzy of barking and didn’t stop until the door was flung open and Camilla, naked and flushed, gave him a swift kick that sent him flying across the landing. When he was on his feet again, he bared his teeth at her.

  Camilla shouted, ‘What is wrong with you, Freddie?’

  Freddie gave a deep growl from the back of his throat and said, ‘You’ll be sorry for that one day, woman.’

  24

  The anti-dog campaign had started slowly with bus shelter posters depicting a blown-up photograph of a slathering Rottweiler with froth hanging from its jaws. A government public service film showed a pack of feral dogs running amok on a deserted suburban estate. Menacing music played and a spectral voice said: ‘They kill. They maim. They spread disease. The dogs are taking over.’

  The Prime Minister chose to announce the date of the general election at Great Ormond Street Hospital, from the bedside of a seven-year-old called Sophie Littlejohn. A Rottweiler had bitten the little girl on her forearm two days before on Hampstead Heath. Sophie was in a hospital bed because she had developed an allergic reaction to the tetanus injection she had been given in Outpatients. The iciest of hearts would have melted at the pathetic sight of the little girl: the golden curls, the bandages and the intravenous drip.

  When Jack first saw Sophie, he was concerned that there didn’t appear to be ‘enough bandages on the kid’. He said so to his media advisers, who in turn suggested to the ward manager that Sophie might be more ‘comfortable with a bit more padding’. More bandages and a sling had been applied. A media adviser removed the pillows so that Sophie was forced to lie flat on her back, but the camera operative had complained that he wasn’t bloody Houdini; he needed her sitting up. Once the lights and microphones had been arranged, a make-up girl had applied a little pale foundation to Sophie’s pink cheeks. When Sophie’s mother objected, she was asked to leave the ward by one of Jack’s entourage. When she refused, security officers were sent for and she was led away for an ID check.

  Jack and his media advisers waited impatiently for Sophie to stop crying for her mother. It was not that they were unsympathetic, but the kid didn’t realize that the Prime Minister was working to a tight schedule and they were anxious for the election announcement to make the lunchtime news. A giant teddy bear had been ordered from Hamleys. Its arrival caused a heated discussion among the advisers. Should the giant bear be present throughout the announcement, or should the Prime Minister be filmed presenting it to Sophie? Eventually, it was decided that the bear would be in shot throughout the announcement, wearing a Cromwell Party rosette.

  Immediately before the filming began, the director instructed Sophie to close her eyes and not to open them again until she was told to do so. The bear was placed on the bed sitting between the apparently unconscious child and the Prime Minister. But the camera operative said, ‘That bloody bear is filling the shot.’

  The bear was repositioned to everyone’s satisfaction, but as Jack was making his announcement, saying, ‘I am sitting at the bedside of a very poorly little girl called Sophie. She was savaged by a dog yesterday on Hampstead Heath,’ the bear lurched to the left, falling across the intravenous line and toppling on to the terrified child. When the bear had been lifted off her and her sobs had abated it was repositioned yet again, this time by standing it upright, on the floor, between Jack’s chair and the hospital bed.

  Jack stared down at Sophie, lying with her eyes tightly shut. His voice trembled as he looked back into the camera and continued. ‘The dog that savaged this little girl was a Rottweiler, a foreign dog that should never have been allowed into this country in the first place. To stop such incidents recurring I am proposing to bring in legislation that will severely curtail the freedom of dogs to threaten and maim our children. For such a revolutionary piece of legislation the Government requires a mandate, from you, the people. To this end I am calling a general election. Polling will take place six weeks from this Thursday, that’s Thursday November the eleventh.

  ‘English men and English women must decide. Are you on the side of kiddies like Sophie who ought to be able to play safely in our public parks? Or will you choose to support mad dogs who pollute our public areas and savage our precious children?’

  Jack had moved himself to tears and the camera focused on his eyes as he turned to look down at Sophie. The little girl opened her eyes because the man had stopped speaking. She looked up and saw the glassy eyes of the giant bear staring down at her, and she started to cry for her mother.

  As Jack and his media advisers were going down from the ward in the lift, Jack said, ‘I hope they got the tears.’

  After two days of getting in everybody’s way the giant bear was taken by two porters down to the hospital basement where it was stuffed into a room with many other giant bears donated to the hospital by generous, but unthinking, well-wishers.

  Beverley and Vince Threadgold had watched the lunchtime news with tears in their eyes. When the camera had shown the close-up of Sophie, lying as though unconscious with her blonde curls spread over her pillow, Beverley had said, ‘Oh, Vince, you’ll have to turn it off, I’m far too sensitive to watch owt upsetting about kiddies.’

  Vince looked angrily at King, who was sleeping innocently in a corner of the sofa, and said, ‘If our King ever attacked a kiddie, I’d tear his fucking ’ead from his shoulders.’

  King woke up when he heard his name and wondered why Vince was glaring at him with such hatred.

  Beverley said, ‘When I ’ad my tonsils out, our dad bought me a big bear like that, but it gorrin’ the nurses’ way an’ me dad ’ad to take it ’ome, on the bus. ’E got in a fight with some lads who were takin’ the piss.’


  Vince said, looking at the Prime Minster, ‘’E looks fuckin’ old lately, don’t ’e?’

  Beverley said, ‘’As the digital gone funny, or ’as ’e gotta twitch?’

  A picture of the Rottweiler that had bitten Sophie was shown with its owner, a tall man in a pinstriped suit and flamboyant tie.

  An announcer said, ‘The Rottweiler at the centre of the Sophie Littlejohn tragedy has been identified as belonging to a leading politician, the Party Chairman of the New Conservatives, Tarquin Forbes-Hamilton. In a statement released today, he said, “My dog, Lucy, adores children. Perhaps the little girl was teasing her. Lucy has been under the weather lately after giving birth to eight puppies. I see no reason why such an affectionate and loyal dog should be put down.”’

  When the picture went back to the studio, a woman in a pink suit with carefully coiffed hair and immaculate make-up said, ‘What do you, the viewer, think? Should Lucy be destroyed? For “Yes”, press the red button on your remote, for “No”, press green.’

  Vince picked up the remote control, and said to Beverley, ‘It’s worth spendin’ a quid to put that kiddie killer down,’ and pressed the red button.

  That evening, the first anti-dog advertisements were shown on all the major television channels. Old films of rabid dogs were shown to a soundtrack that had been strongly influenced by horror films. All over England, dog owners looked at their pets with unease for the future. After a phone call from Boy English, it was announced on the six o’clock news that Lucy was dead and that Tarquin Forbes-Hamilton had resigned his chairmanship of the New Con Party. At nine o’clock, in time for the news, Boy was filmed sitting by Sophie Littlejohn’s bed, silently holding her hand.

  25

  Camilla stood on the front doorstep, looking towards the entrance to Hell Close where a temporary barrier had been constructed from portable crowd-control fences. Grice’s security police were on duty, turning away cars and inquisitive pedestrians, assisted by police dogs, Emperor and Judge. A gang of dogs were running excitedly through the spindly trees on the little patch of ground in the middle of Hell Close. Micky, Tosca, King, Althorp and Carling were trying to catch Leo, but by weaving from side to side with constant changes of direction, Leo was evading capture.