by Ray Timms
‘I hate to rush you folks but I need an answer tonight. As you can imagine there will be much to organise. If you agree, I shall get on and arrange your travel up to Edinburgh. I will then sort out your accommodation in Holyrood Palace. I would like the Coronation to take place in four weeks. With a fair wind I should be able to do that. I am expected to report this news back to the Scottish Parliament before the close of sessions tomorrow. What do you say Gavin? If you are happy to proceed I have the necessary contract with me.’ Cruid pulled from his coat pocket a vellum document with a wax seal. ‘Sign this and you will become the King of Scotland, and I shall go back to Edinburgh a happy man.’ Cruid spread the document out on the coffee table and offered Gavin a fountain pen. ‘I just need you to sign it–here and here–where I have marked the X’s ‘
Gavin finally found his voice. Fiona had yet to find hers, and Iris had to sit on the arm of the sofa.
‘You are being serious aren’t you?’ Gavin said his head waggling from side to side. ‘If I sign it, I will become King Gavin?’
Cruid frowned. He wasn’t thinking, King Gavin, he was thinking more along the lines of: King Robert IV. Cruid skirted the topic when he said, ‘your title and other constitutional considerations will be addressed in due course.’
‘And we… I mean Gav, and me…’ Fiona said her voice a little fractured, ‘will we still live in this house as King and Queen of Scotland?’
Cruid choked off a laugh at the back of his throat. ‘Goodness me I should think not. The three of you will live in the traditional seat of the Scottish monarchy in Holyrood Palace.
‘We get to live in a palace!’ Iris said. ‘You hear that Gavin? Didn’t I always tell you your Dad was something special?’
It crossed Gavin’s mind, more like he drank something special… Special Brew! Until this moment his mother had never had a good word to say about his father. King of Scotland! Wow! That was when the doubts surfaced. Was this one of them TV comedy sketches where some idiot is made to look a right lemon in front of millions of TV viewers? With Cruid offering him the pen, waiting for him to sign, Gavin studied the buttons on Cruid’s coat. He was no expert on these things but he couldn’t see how any of them could be the lens of a hidden camera. Maybe this was the real deal? Besides, what’s he got to lose?
‘Mr Brewson!’ Waving his pen under his nose Cruid got Gavin’s attention.
Gavin cast his eyes over the contract spread out on the coffee table.
‘Sign it.’ Fiona told him. ‘Sign it Gavin.’ Iris said, leaning over his shoulder.
He signed it and then handed back Cruid’s fountain pen.
‘There. I signed it. What happens now?’
‘Now,’ said Cruid. ‘I need to wake my driver who is snoring in your dining room and then he and I shall go and find a hotel for the night. Tomorrow, I shall arrange first class rail travel for all three of you. At Waverly station a driver will meet you and drive you to Holyrood. I will catch up with you some time later in the day. You needn’t pack or take anything other than a weekend bag. I shall arrange for a removal firm to call round here first thing in the morning to pack up your belongings and have these transported to Holyrood Palace.’
‘This is for real then?’ Gavin said and watched Cruid place the contract back in his pocket. Cruid nodded.
‘Yes your Majesty, it is, as you say, for real.’
Fiona’s face had gone ashen.
‘I can hardly believe it Gav,’ Fiona said. ‘You and me, the King and Queen of Scotland!’ Fiona’s expression was that of a child in wonderland. ‘King Gavin, and Queen Fiona, Wow!’
‘In case this doesn’t work out Fi, we won’t sell the house,’ Gavin sensibly said. ‘We can rent it out on a six-month lease.’ Turning to Cruid he said, ‘If we are leaving tomorrow morning I won’t have time to get a letting agent round. Can I leave you to deal with that?’ Turning to Fiona Gavin had a worrying thought. ‘Fi, what am I going to tell Mr Jones?’
Ewan Jones, Gavin’s boss at Marbury County Council, wasn’t going to be very happy when Gavin called him up to tell him over the phone that he was quitting his job and he wouldn’t be working out his notice.
‘You can tell him the truth, ‘Fiona shrugged. ‘Tell him you can’t come into work anymore because you are now the King of Scotland.’
‘And you think he’ll believe that?’
‘Why should you care? He’ll see it on the telly soon enough.’
After leaving the Brewson household in a state of shock and confusion Cruid asked his driver to find them a hotel on the outskirts of Marbury.
The two Scotsmen took adjoining ground floor rooms. Cruid thanked his driver and suggested he should get some sleep.
‘We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow John. I shall be up at five; I will meet you in the breakfast room at six.’
Cruid’s mind wasn’t ready to give in to sleep. He rang down to reception and asked for a chicken sandwich and a pot of tea to be brought up to his room. Meanwhile, he got to work on the arrangements to have the Brewson’s relocated to Scotland. A little after two, having asked for a five o’clock alarm call Cruid finally got to fall into a restless sleep.
Cruid woke at five, his mind sharp… alert. After he made a series of phone calls he joined Brooks in the breakfast room. By seven they were on the road again, heading north.
On the M1, using his mobile phone, Cruid called up Holyrood Palace and instructed the staff to prepare the second floor apartment on the rear of the west wing. They were to expect a party of three dignitaries late afternoon.
As a rule, the entire third floor of Holyrood Palace would be kept aside for the exclusive use of the Royal Family and their guests. The Queen’s visits to Edinburgh were always part pleasure and part business. There was never a visit where Her Majesty didn’t have to attend to some matters of State. During her visits to Holyrood Palace, a tourist magnet, it would be closed to the public. Just the thought of what they were planning felt traitorous. Cruid hated being part of this conspiracy to install a new monarch in the Queen’s beloved Scotland. He rather suspected this act of betrayal would end any hope he had once of becoming a CBE. The Queen, he imagined must be offended, well, mad as hell even, and then who could blame her? Shoving aside this reverie into guilt, Cruid’s mind began to think about the king’s coronation. He suspected this was going to be a major headache. How was he supposed to put on a spectacle that would catch the attention of the world and harness the passion and jubilation sweeping the nation when Mary Dewar and the Chancellor of the Exchequer were continually objecting to the money it was costing?
Equally worrying was the business of the Kings official title. There was no way he was going to sanction, “King Gavin.” He decided Mary Dewar could sort that out.
Chapter Nine
Marbury.
It was after nine when Gavin got to shut the door behind the Scottish Minister For Internal Affairs. Leaning back against the front door he blew out his cheeks. Fiona came into his embrace.
‘Am I dreaming this Gav or did we just become King and Queen of Scotland?’
Fiona said.
‘No, it’s for real Fi.’ Gavin said. ‘You saw me sign that document with red wax seal on it. And that made it official. We are now, officially, the King and Queen of Scotland.’
Wrapping his arms around his wife he kissed the top of her head. ‘Exciting isn’t it.’ Looking up the stairs to the unlit landing he was now worried about leaving all their stuff behind for other people to pack up. He had never lived anywhere else so it’ll feel strange, the three of them living in Scotland… not just living in Scotland, they will be living in a palace. Gavin had heard the name Holyrood Palace, he had seen it on the telly a couple of times, when the Queen was up there, but other than that, he knew nothing about the place. Taking hold of Fiona’s hand he said.
‘Come on Fi, we had better get some bags packed and get an early night, there’s a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’
It was ten pa
st eleven when Gavin, not all sleepy, climbed into bed. After ten minutes he gave up trying to read his detective novel and instead sat up in bed to watch Fiona busy doing whatever it is she does before getting into bed. As a man, he could never be bothered with the fussy rituals that women go through morning and night with all those creams and lotions.
The thoughts racing around inside his head were like excited kids with buckets and spades about to set off to the seaside.
Her eyes stretched wide and her mouth oval, patting night cream into her face, Fiona said to her husband via his reflection in her triple dressing table mirror, ‘I can hardly believe it Gav, you and I and Ma, are really going to do this Gavin… I mean you and me… King and Queen of Scotland?’
‘I know,’ Gavin said wryly. ‘Like you, I am struggling to take it all in.’
Gavin sitting upright in bed, his back propped up by pillows and his hands clasped behind his head, was looking up at the ceiling and thinking about the curious sequence of events earlier. He said to Fiona. ‘Whatever we find up there we have to see it through. What I can’t quite get my head around is the fact that I am actually a descendent of Robert the Bruce.’
Fiona climbed into bed and warmed her feet on his legs. ‘You and I won’t change, will we Gav?’
‘You and me are rock solid Fi,’ Gavin said. When he put an arm around his wife and pulled her into a hug a tear sprang into his eye.
Fiona felt Gavin’s chest heave. ‘What’s up hun?’
It was as if someone had just knocked the wind out of him. Gavin said, ‘my dad is dead Fi.’
‘Yes hun,’ Fiona said giving his shoulder a rub. ‘It’s a pity that you and your Dad never got the chance to meet up. You should be proud though Gav, what with him being descended from a famous Scottish king.’
Gavin wiped the sleeve of his pyjamas across his eyes. ‘I suppose.’ Gavin sighed.
‘Fi, I need you to be honest with me. Do you think that I have what it takes to be a king, only I am really worried? Being a King isn’t like heading up a department.’
‘You listen to me Gavin Brewson… your highness, ‘Fiona said firmly, sitting up and turning to face him. ‘You are a special human being Gavin with incredible organisational skills. Why, in just three years you trebled the income from parking meters and parking fines, you took over a department that was in a shambles and you turned it into an efficient machine. With modern technology you created a virtually paperless office.’
Gavin had needed to hear that. Mostly, his soft underbelly of self-doubt was kept hidden beneath a façade of arrogance.
‘Your Majesty,’ Gavin said.
‘Huh?’
‘My title’ Gavin corrected her. ‘Your Highness is reserved for lesser royals. The reigning monarch should always be addressed as, Your Majesty.
‘I am not going to call you Your Majesty,’ Fiona laughed. She wasn’t joking. ‘You’re my Gav, and to me you always will be: my Gav. Your Majesty… pff, I don’t think so Gav.’
Fiona lay down on her side keeping her back to her husband who slid down behind her and wrapped one arm round her waist. Lying like spoons, Gavin said in the dark. ‘Fi, we mustn’t let this change us.’
Fi wondered about that. People do change when they come into money, or become famous. Lottery winners, they often change, celebrities too, childhood sweethearts… people change.’
They lay like that for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Normally, within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, Fiona would hear Gavin snoring, not loudly, not like Ma’s snorting that could travel through the brick walls. ‘You still awake?’ Fiona said.
‘Yeah. I can’t sleep… you?
‘Me too,’ Fiona said. ‘Are you worried?’
‘Yeah, I was just thinking that if this whole business was to go horribly wrong what do we do?’
‘Then Gav, we make a new plan. And as long as we keep hold of this house so we have it to come back to, we’ll be ok.’
‘What If I make a mess of being a king?’
‘You wont Gav,’ Fiona insisted. ‘You did a bloody good job running the parking enforcement department. Just imagine, with your talent, and you’re A level in Business Management, what you could do for Scotland?’
In the dark he nodded. ‘True,’ he said, ‘you always said that one of my strengths was being able to motivate people. The town councillors will miss me.’
(Which was probably true, but the motorists wouldn’t.)
‘Can you imagine it Gav, you being the leader of millions of people? I can see you as an inspirational figure. Do you remember that film Brave heart? That’s you that is.’
Gavin Brewson’s ego had gone into overdrive. His mind now wandered off into the realms of fantasy. He saw himself standing on some balcony or other and addressing His subjects. He’ll pass new laws, popular ones… the kind of laws that politicians are too weak to pass. He will create a Scotland that is fair, strong and proud. He will be a peoples king.
‘Do we still have that DVD,’ Gavin said, to Fi, who was almost asleep, ‘the one with Mel Gibson in it… Brave Heart?’
Sleep was a restless stranger that night. When the doorbell rang at nine the next morning they were packed and ready to leave. Their taxi driver, Ali, arranged by Cruid, was to drive them to the nearest rail station. In the car Ali handed them first class rail tickets to Waverley Station Edinburgh. Fi had packed too much, Iris had forgotten to pack a thing, and Gavin, had a backpack, his laptop, and the Scotland Tourist guide that he bought on that fateful trip to Aberdeen.
Iris, insisting that she needed to stretch out her legs climbed into the front passenger seat.
On the back seat, next to her husband Fiona held out her hand and said. ‘I’ll look after the tickets Gav.’
‘What! You don’t trust me with them?’
‘Well, if you recall,’ Fiona said giving him a motherly look, ‘there was that time that you lost the car park ticket, and we then had to pay for a whole twenty-four hours.’
‘I don’t recall that!’
‘It was two years ago… in Margate.’ Fiona reminded him.
Not for the first time Gavin marvelled at Fi’s capacity to recall at an instant, the date–the time of day– and word–for–word what he had said all the way back to the dawn of time! If he had ever said, or done something wrong, at any time in the past, however trivial, he could rely on Fi to remind him of it. Apparently all women could do this. It was as if women had a filing cabinet in their brain. Gavin handed her the tickets.
When the Scottish MSP’s voted to become a monarchy and then elected to find a king to be their head of state the people of Scotland initially thought this had to be a joke… right? Wrong.
In Scotland, voting to become independent was the main thing, no one actually cared that they were to have a king. The media in Scotland loved the idea of Scotland having a king. Even the Scots that voted No to independence thought it might be fun.
Scotland’s First Minister Mary Dewar wasn’t happy about it from the start. Her priority was to get Scotland into the EU and with her cloak-and-dagger negotiations with the Commissioners in Brussels at a delicate stage the last thing the First Minister needed was this king to go around shouting his mouth off. As long as Cruid kept this Essex yob out of her hair and made sure that he signed off their bills she would have to go along with it… for now.
Chapter Ten
After checking out of the hotel on the outskirts of Marbury, in the back of the Bentley 53, with John Brooks driving, Cruid punched in the number for Mary Dewar’s office. She picked up on the third ring.
‘Hello Mary, how are you?’
‘What is it Cruid?’ Mary said. ‘Are you ringing to tell me that this king, the one that you found in Essex, is on his way?’
‘Yes, that’s all fine…’ Cruid hesitated. He then thought it was better that he just came out with what he had in mind. The words tumbled out in a rush.
‘Mary, the Brewson’s train is due in at Waverl
ey Station at 4.15 – we ought to put on a bit of a reception for them – nothing too grand, we don’t have a lot of time for that – perhaps the two of us could be there to meet them and maybe get the Chief of Police–oh, and perhaps a newspaper reporter and a photographer – and could we use your Rolls to pick them up?’
Cruid held his phone away from his ear.
‘No way,’ Cruid,’ Mary blazed at him. ‘I do not want this to become a media circus. Let me remind you Cruid, I am the First Minister and that makes me the Head of State. I am not going to be brushed aside by this Essex pleb who isn’t even crowned yet. Besides, you and I agreed, the guy was to be nothing more than a puppet king. Let me remind you that this monarch crap, was only a temporary solution to the Royal Assent issue and once we find a way to get around that, he’s history yeah?’
When Cruid was slow answering, Mary yelled down the phone.
‘We clear on that?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Cruid replied. ‘I’m with you on this, all the way.’
Having slept most of the train journey, when he stepped off the train at Waverley station Gavin Brewson encountered the first of several disappointments.
As if they were displaced children, the Brewson’s stood around on the platform waiting for someone, anyone, to come up and greet them. When the platform had emptied of people, Gavin shrugged.
‘I thought Cruid would be here to greet us.’ Gavin said.
‘Disgusting, is what it is,’ Iris said grumpily.’ You wouldn’t expect the King to be treated like this.’
‘Maybe they forgot?’ Gavin said grabbing hold of his Mother’s wheelie suitcase and setting off.
On the crowded concourse, an Asian man holding up a placard that said: “Brewson” stepped forward.
‘Mr Brewson?’ Mo Abdulla said approaching the three people that fitted the description that Cruid had given him.
‘Yes.’ Gavin said, looking around for the gathering of dignitaries, a band of bagpipes, a barrage of reporters and a Rolls Royce.
Instead. Mo took charge of Iris’s suitcase and led then to his cab… a green Ford Mondeo.
‘Where is Cruid?’ Gavin said to the Asian showing little concern how he went about throwing their luggage in the boot of the car. ‘I should have thought that he’d be here?’