“How many of those have you had?”
“Do as you’re told.”
I went to the kitchen and ran a glass under the tap. “Who did it?” I asked.
“Who do you think? Your father, of course!”
“Dad? Why?”
“Because I finally went to the CMS, that’s why. They chased your father for the money he owed me, and now he’s pissed off at me.”
“I thought we decided we didn’t want anything to do with him?”
“He’s your father, Joel. He hasn’t paid me anything all these years. I want what I’m owed. And anyway, I needed the money to buy you something special.”
“Something special?” I walked back and handed her the glass of water. “What have you bought?”
“It’s over there.”
She pointed at the dining table. On it was spread a brand-new suit. A dinner jacket, a pair of trousers, a white silk shirt, and a white bow tie.
“It’s for the commemoration ball at the end of the academic year,” she explained. “I read about it in the prospectus.”
“Oh,Mum!”
“I want you to go to it. It’s important. It’s how you make contacts.”
“But you needn’t have bought a whole new suit.”
“They have a strict dress code. I read about it. They won’t let you in without a white tie.”
“I know. But I could’ve rented a suit. They rent suits out there. That’s what most students do. Nobody buys a suit.”
She frowned. “Well, I didn’t know that, did I?” She grabbed the glass of water out of my hands, swallowed her pill, pulled the mask over her eyes, and lay back down on the sofa.
“How much did you spend on it?” I asked.
“It wasn’t cheap, Joel. I wouldn’t have needed your father’s money if it was.”
“Can you take it back?”
“I won’t take it back.”
“You can’t afford it.”
“It’s been paid for already.”
“I’ll only wear it once.”
“You can wear it at your wedding.”
“What wedding?”
“It’s legal now. You can get married. All you need is to find yourself a nice boyfriend.”
An image popped into my head of me and Eric in matching tuxedos walking down the aisle. It was nice knowing you. What a wanker!
“I won’t be getting married any time soon, Mum. Not till I’ve paid off my student loan.”
“You could be facing retirement by then.”
“Well, that’s the lot of the poor. Why do you think I want to go into politics?”
She pushed herself back up again and lifted the mask to her forehead. “I’m going to report him to the police.” She got off the sofa and walked towards the phone.
“Oh, Mum, don’t. That’s just asking for trouble.”
“But he’s got to pay for this, Joel. I can’t allow him to threaten me!”
“He’s only angry because you forced him to give up his drinking money. Now that he has vented his frustrations on the door, I’m sure he’ll leave you alone.”
“That’s not the point, Joel! That man has ruined my life. It’s because of him that I’m like this.” She showed me her trembling hand. “He made me like this and then he abandoned me. I want him to pay for it!”
I felt sorry for her. “Lie down, Mum. I’ll make you some tea.” I took the horn from her hands and put it back in its cradle. I helped her back onto the sofa and slid the mask over her eyes.
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“What good will that do?”
“I’ll get him to apologise.”
“He’ll never apologise.“
“Well, then I’ll shame him. That’ll be his punishment. To be shamed by his own son.”
Mandy looked me up and down for nearly half a minute before finally realising who I was.
“Oh, it’s you, Joel,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognise you.“
She was wearing pink pyjamas and fluffy slippers. Had I got her out of bed, I wondered.
“I suppose you want to see your father,” she said.
“Yes, please.”
“Wait here. I’ll get him for you.”
She walked into the house and hollered up the stairs. “Owen! Come down! There’s someone here to see you.”
My father responded with sleepy grunts.
Mandy turned back towards me and smiled. “Do you want to come in and have a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“He’ll be down shortly. He’s still in bed.”
I looked at my watch. It was ten past twelve.
“Back on the bottle, is he?”
Mandy didn’t answer. She cast her eyes towards the floor. I felt sorry for her. She was still young. She didn’t know what she was getting into when she hooked up with my father.
The sound of banging upstairs suggested that my father was getting out of bed. Mandy used this as an excuse to make a quick exit.
“I’ll go put on the kettle,” she said, and rushed off.
My father came shuffling down the stairs wearing boxer shorts and nothing else. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes puffy. He was halfway down when he saw me in the doorway. He stopped and squinted.
“What the…”
“Hello, Dad.”
“I thought you were in Cambridge.”
“Oxford, Dad. And it’s the end of term.”
“What do you want?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“I see you’ve taken up art.”
He looked at me, confused. “Eh?”
“The graffiti on Mum’s door.”
He frowned. “Don’t you get smart with me, boy!”
“It’s still there. She can’t scrub it off.”
“So, tell her to paint over it.”
“She can’t afford the paint.”
“Well, she’s not getting any more money from me. That bitch pulled the CMS on me!”
“She only wants what she’s owed.”
“She’s not owed anything! What does she need more money for? She’s already claiming benefits from the government, and you’ve fucked off to Cambridge.”
“Oxford.”
“If she wants money, she can get a job like everyone else.”
Like everyone else, eh? Right. Okay.
“How’s your job going?” I asked.
That did the trick.
“Fuck you, you faggoty mother’s boy! Don’t you come to my house and get uppity with me!”
“She tried calling the police on you, but I stopped her. I told her you’d apologise.”
“I ain’t going to apologise! And you can leave my house now if you think I will!“ He rushed down the stairs, grabbed my arms, and pushed me out of the door.
“It’s not your house. It’s Mandy’s,” I called, stumbling over the threshold. But he had already slammed the door in my face.
CHAPTER FOUR
Oh My God!
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!”
Trevor barged into the room. No ‘hello’. No ‘how was your holiday’. He just kept repeating ‘Oh my God’ like a verbally challenged Essex girl.
“You have to sit down!” he said. “I have to tell you something.”
I didn’t want to sit down. I’d just brought back some clean laundry, and I was re-organising my closet. So I ignored him.
“I found out where Eric is from!”
“I know where he’s from,” I said. “He’s from Sweden.”
“No! He’s not! He’s not from Sweden!” Trevor grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around to face him. “He’s from Doggerland!”
I stared back at him. “Doggerland?”
“What do you know about Doggerland?”
I thought about this. “Herrings,” I said. “They have herrings. My mother buys smoked herrings sometimes from Tesco. They come from Doggerland.”
“That’s all I knew about it too. But I’ve
been reading up on it. And guess what I found out?”
“What?”
“Doggerland has a monarchy!”
I raised my eyebrows in mock amazement.
“A monarchy?”
“And do you know who the king of Doggerland is?”
“Please enlighten me.”
“It’s King Harald VII!”
“King Harald VII? My, my. How about that?” I turned my back on Trevor and resumed tidying my closet.
“But that’s not the big news. The big news is about his son. Guess who his son is?”
“I don’t care who his son is.”
“It’s Eric! His son is Eric. Eric is the crown prince of Doggerland!”
Okay. That floored me. I turned back to face him. “You’re kidding me!”
“Google it!” He held up his phone. “Look up Prince Eric of Doggerland.”
I typed the name into his phone, and sure enough, the screen filled up with thumbnail images of Eric. My Eric. Looking as posh and glamorous as ever. I had to sit down. My heart was pounding in my chest. I know, this sort of thing should not have made an impression on me – I was a socialist, after all – but inside every Welsh gay boy, there is a seven-year-old girl longing to be a princess. And how many people can claim to have had sex with a crown prince?
“I was at the registrar’s office before we left for London,” Trevor explained. “I had to sort something out with my loan, and I saw Julie, the admin girl, put a pile of letters on her desk. I glanced at the pile and saw that the top letter was addressed to a place in Doggerland. I didn’t know we had students from Doggerland. And that got me thinking. Isn’t it amazing how little we know about that country, considering it is one of Britain’s closest neighbours? So, when I got home, I did some research. And that’s when I found out about Eric.”
I wasn’t paying attention. My heart was still pounding in my chest, and all I could think was: I slept with the crown prince of Doggerland! I still had Trevor’s phone in my hand, and I read Wikipedia’s entry on that nation.
Doggerland is an archipelago of seven islands, connected by causeways and bridges. They were created after a land bridge connecting Britain to the continent got flooded at the end of the last ice age. The islands were first inhabited by Frisian fishermen. The Danes invaded in the ninth century. Self-rule was proclaimed in 909, and King Harald became the first king of Doggerland in 936 (Eric is a direct descendant of his). They have their own language, a mixture of Danish and Frisian that bears a lot of similarities to English. Traditionally, their economy depended on fishing (herrings, in particular), but oil was discovered in the 1960s, making Doggerland nearly as wealthy as Norway.
I was in a daze all day. All I could think about was Eric. I now understood his caginess about his family and where he was from. He wanted to keep his title secret.
I saw him that evening when I came out of the library. He was heading for the pub with his mates from the rowing club. Our eyes met briefly, but then he turned his face away and dropped his gaze.
He was avoiding me. He was wary of being exposed. And I understood that. But I have a wicked little girl living inside me, and like all wicked little girls, I like to tease the boys I have a crush on. So, I headed straight for him, staring at my phone, and deliberately bumped into him.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, your majesty,” I whispered, quietly enough for his mates not to hear. Then I walked on without looking back. I didn’t see the expression on his face, but I so wish I had. It was nice knowing you. That’ll teach him!
The following morning, we found a letter from Mrs Slocombe, the registrar, slipped under our bedroom door. It summoned us to the office at ten o’clock precisely. It didn’t say what it was about, only that it was important and that we had to drop whatever plans we had for that morning.
When we arrived at the office, there was a man sitting at Mrs Slocombe’s desk. He had on a sharp suit and wore thick, round glasses, which made his eyes look like buttons.
“Ah, Messrs Bottomley and Tudor,” Mrs Slocombe said. “Come in and sit down.”
She pointed towards the sofa opposite her desk. We took our seats.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you to come over. Well, there has been an incident with one of our students which we want to discuss with you. This is Mr Boersma, by the way.”
She pointed at Button-eyes. He nodded. We nodded back.
“Mr Boersma works at Dunefort, which is the royal residence of the king of Doggerland. Mr Boersma is the king’s personal secretary.”
Aha, I thought. So that’s what this is about.
“Mr Boersma would like a word with you.” Mrs Slocombe turned towards Button-eyes and smiled.
Button-eyes sat up in his chair and cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you. Well, as well as being the king’s personal secretary, I look after the affairs of the king’s son.” He paused and looked at us with a stern and rather intimidating expression. “I take it you know to whom I refer?”
“Eric?” I said.
“That’s right. Eric Haraldsen, your fellow student, is the crown prince of Doggerland. You know him, then?”
“Yes.”
Boersma leaned forward in his chair. “How do you know him?”
There was something unnerving about this man. I felt like I was being interrogated. Why was he asking me this? And how much did he know about what had gone on between me and Eric?
“We met him in London,” I said.
Button-eyes raised his eyebrows. “In London? Where in London?”
“At the bus station,” I lied. “We saw him at the bus station when we stepped off the bus in London.”
“I see. The reason I ask is because I got a phone call from Eric last night. He was very upset. He said that you had called him your majesty. Is that true?”
“Yes.” I don’t know why, but my voice was trembling. This man really creeped me out.
“How did you know who he was?”
I felt sweat beads form on my forehead. “Trevor told me,” I said.
Trevor looked at me with horror. Button-eyes quickly turned his death stare on him.
“Well?” he asked.
“I…um…” Trevor’s voice trembled more than mine as he explained how he had come about the information.
“I see.” Mrs Slocombe nodded her head. “It seems our Julie has been a little careless. I shall have a word with her.”
“It is very unfortunate that this has come out,” Button-eyes said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. “The king particularly wanted this to remain a secret. Eric is a very sensitive boy, you see. And it is not easy being a crown prince. Have you ever heard the expression a gilded cage?”
Trevor and I nodded.
“Well, that’s what life will be like for Eric when he takes up his royal duties. He will be living in a gilded cage. All his days will be planned months in advance. He’ll live under constant scrutiny by the media. Eric is having a difficult enough time of it as it is. He is struggling with his studies and with his confidence. The pressures of his future responsibilities weigh heavily on his shoulders. He can do without the additional stress of his identity becoming known. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” We both nodded.
“Is there anybody else I should be having this conversation with? Have you told anyone else about what you know?”
We shook our heads.
This put Button-eyes’ mind at ease. “Good,” he said. “Good.” He put his briefcase on his lap and opened the lid. “What I told you about Eric is, of course, in the strictest confidence.” He rummaged through his briefcase. “I felt it was important for you to understand his current state of mind, in order to fully comprehend how crucial it is to keep his identity secret. I think I can trust you two not to repeat any of this to anyone.”
We nodded.
“I have some documents here that I’d like you to sign.” He took two sheets of paper out of his briefcase. “It’s a confid
entiality agreement. A sort of insurance policy. If we should ever read in the papers what happened between you and Eric in London, we’ll know where the leak came from, and we’ll be able to sue you for breach of contract.”
Aha! I thought. So he did know how things stood. Had Eric told him? Or had he just guessed?
“I can’t force you to sign the documents, of course, but hopefully I’ll be able to entice you.” He took a cheque book and pen out of his briefcase. “I’ll give you two thousand pounds each if you agree to sign.” He handed the documents to us.
I signed the bottom of the page without reading it. “I don’t want any payment,” I said, handing the document back to him.
Button-eyes smiled. “That’s very gallant of you.” He took the document and placed it in his briefcase.
We turned towards Trevor. He was still reading through the document.
“Trevor doesn’t want any payment for it either,” I said.
Trevor looked at me, surprised. He was clearly prepared to take the money, but to me it felt sleazy. Who did Button-eyes think we were? Stormy Daniels?
“Go on, Trev. Sign it.”
Trevor never was able to stand up to me. He signed the document reluctantly and handed it back.
CHAPTER FIVE
My Rebecca Moment
“I could’ve done with a new pair of shoes.” Trevor was such a sulker. He didn’t stop whining all the way back to the dorm. “These ones are falling to pieces.” He shook his foot. The sole of his shoe flopped up and down. “Or we could’ve got ourselves a fancy new laptop. You and I are the only ones who still carry pen and paper to the lecture room.”
Trevor did have a point there. But Button-eyes had changed my opinion of Eric. I thought about how horrible it must be for him to be constantly worrying about living up to the expectations of his family and his countrymen. He told me in the hotel how much he hated being at Oxford. He must’ve been very lonely.
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