He walked out before I could reply. I went to the window and watched him put his suitcase in the boot of the car. I felt a pang in my heart as he stepped into his BMW and drove away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Simple Life
I called Button-eyes a week later. I’d have waited longer if it wasn’t for my mother, who was more worried about Eric than I was. I knew he just needed some time alone. Away from this crazy whirlwind in which we found ourselves. But there were some practical issues that needed his attention.
“Joel, what do you want?”
It began to annoy me how Button-eyes never greeted me when he picked up the phone.
“Hi, Mr Boersma. Have you heard anything from Eric?”
“Eric? What do you mean?”
“He left about a week ago. I haven’t heard from him since. I wondered if he’s contacted you.”
“Lovers’ tiff?”
“He read an article about me in a gossip magazine.”
“I know about that article.”
“And he watched that comedy show on YouTube.”
“I thought I told you boys to stay away from the media.”
“I came upon that magazine by accident. And Petra forwarded him a link to that comedy show.”
Button-eyes mumbled, “I wish she’d stop doing that.”
“The article was all lies and exaggerations. And the comedy show was just crass and unfunny. But he felt humiliated by it, and he left. He said he wanted to cancel everything.”
“What do you mean, cancel everything?”
“Everything. The engagement. The crown. The palace. But I don’t think he meant it. He just needs some space. He’s very sensitive, as you know. And still very insecure about his masculinity. He doesn’t have the same thick skin as…”
“He’s honest, that’s what he is!” Button-eyes sounded angry. “Honest, and noble, and gentle, and forthright! People can’t stand that about him. They’re envious and desperate to soil his reputation and his image. We will be submitting another complaint to that network, don’t you worry about that. They’ll be fined for obscenity. Heads will roll!”
It was an odd and strangely impassioned speech. Another sign, perhaps, of just how utterly Button-eyes had fallen in love with Eric? I didn’t know how to react.
“Anyway… I haven’t heard from him since he left, and I was wondering if he had contacted you.”
“He’s in the Channel Islands.”
“How do you know?”
“I control the finances of the Duchy of Skiepland. I’m online now, checking his bank account. He’s staying in a hotel in Guernsey. I wouldn’t worry. He has a habit of disappearing when things get too much. He’ll come back when he has calmed down.”
“Can you give me the name of the hotel? And a contact telephone number?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He obviously doesn’t want to speak to you. He’d have gotten in touch if he did.”
“The thing is, the rent is due. And there are some bills here that need paying. I don’t have any money.”
“Fax them over. I’ll sort them out. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken to your friend Mr Tudor?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, when you do, tell him that he can expect to hear from us soon. We will sue him for all he’s got!” He slammed down the phone.
Two weeks later, I still hadn’t heard anything from Eric. Button-eyes said that it was unusual for Eric to be gone so long – which did nothing to ease my anxiety – but still he refused to give me his contact details. On top of all this, the new year had started, and I faced the prospect of having to see Trevor again. Just thinking about that snitch made me seethe with anger.
I saw him that morning in the lecture hall. He wandered in late and sat at the back, as far away from me as possible. I knew this tactic. He’d slip out in the middle of the lecture, then do his best to avoid me for the rest of the day. Well, I wasn’t having it. I kept my eye fixed on him throughout the lecture. As soon as he rose from his seat, I jumped up and followed him out of the hall.
“You’re not getting away from me!” I said, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall. I’m not a violent man, but the torment I’d been through these last few weeks made me raise my clenched fist against his head. It took all the self-control I could summon not to punch that Playmobil face into a pulp.
Trevor looked at me, his eyes watery, his skin pale, his arms trembling. “It wasn’t me,” he said. “It was Piers. He wrote it. I just put my name to it. I didn’t know it was going to be that nasty. I only read it after it was published. I’m sorry, Joel. I really am.”
“How could you do it?” I still had him pinned to the wall. The clenched fist against his face trembled with the urge to punch him.
“I was conned. He told me he fancied me. I’ve never been fancied by anyone before. He even kissed me. On the lips. He said he wanted to know everything about me. That’s why I told him about you. Because you’re very important to me. You’re the only friend I’ve ever had.”
“Piers knew about Eric and me when you came to visit us at the cottage, didn’t he?”
“He kept begging me to take him. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“It was him who tipped off the paparazzo, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“And all this time I thought it was my father.”
“I’m sorry, Joel. I really am. I never said anything bad about you or Eric. He’s the one who gave that story a negative slant. He said it would sell better that way.”
“Do you still talk to him?”
“No. I requested a new room as soon as I read the article. I’m never going to speak to him again.”
The fear and regret in Trevor’s eyes was convincing. I let go of him and lowered my fist. He wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Do you forgive me?”
“The palace is going to sue you!” was all I could say.
“But I haven’t got any money.”
“Then you’ll go to prison.”
“But I only said good things about you.”
“You told him I came in Eric’s mouth! You told him I boasted about sleeping with him!”
“I never said boasted.”
“You told him Eric was dim!”
“No, I didn’t. I just told him that you caught him cheating. It was Piers who concluded that he was dim. Please, Joel. You’ve got to convince Eric not to sue me. It’s bad enough having to pay back my student loan. I can’t have this hanging over my head as well.”
“I can’t ask Eric. He’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“He left me.”
“You’re kidding!”
“He disappeared after he read your article. I haven’t seen him for three weeks.”
“Well, you must go after him.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Then you must find out. Pull out all the stops to locate him and beg him to come back. You can’t lose him, Joel. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you lost him.”
On week four, I received the following fax, which had been sent to me and to Button-eyes.
To whom it may concern.
I herewith renounce my claim to the throne of Doggerland and the Duchy of Skiepland. My sister Petra has my full support as the new crown princess and future queen.
I understand that I will no longer be entitled to my income, and, as a consequence, I request for the lease of the cottage in Cumnor to be ended as per the first possible date.
As Joel Bottomley will no longer have the expectation of becoming prince consort, I release him from his engagement.
I would like to give my thanks to Christian Boersma, who has done so much for me. As a trusted friend and faithful servant, I hope he will respect my wishes and execute my last request.
Yours sincerely,
&
nbsp; Eric HaraldsenRobbehart De Vries.
My hand trembled as I read the fax. It was cold and impersonal (and written in a ridiculous Victorian tone), but what hurt me the most was the suggestion that being prince consort was all I was interested in.
I picked up the phone and called Button-eyes.
“Joel. You received the fax, I take it.”
“You have to tell me where he is.”
“I can’t.”
“I hope you’re not taking it seriously.”
There was a pause before he replied, “He’s had plenty of time to think about it. I think he’s being genuine.”
I was gobsmacked. “How can you accept that? You of all people. You, who always encouraged him to believe in himself.”
“Eric has to desire the crown, Joel. You can’t be lacklustre about being head of state. How many times has he threatened to renounce the crown? He’s got to want to be king, and he clearly doesn’t. We can’t force him. Perhaps this is for the best.”
“It is not for the best!”
“I’m sorry you will not get to be prince consort, Joel, but I have to respect Eric’s wishes.”
“I don’t give a fuck about being prince consort! It’s Eric I care about. He’s depressed. He needs my support. You’ve got to tell me where he is.”
“Eric has expressly asked me not to tell you.”
“You spoke to him?”
“He sent me an email to let me know he was all right.”
“You have to tell me where he is. He’s not in his right mind. He needs our help.”
There was another pause, longer this time. For a moment, I thought he’d hung up. “Are you still there?”
“He’s staying at the Hillview Hotel in Guernsey.”
“I’m going there this very afternoon. Don’t show that fax to anyone. In fact, rip it up and bin it. I’ll get him to come home.”
“Do you need any money?”
“I’ll get some from Trevor. He owes me!”
Hillview Hotel was not what I expected. It wasn’t posh or glamorous. In fact, it was a rather dull, square building on top of a hill, with no swimming pool or sauna, or even a good view of the sea. I wondered, as I climbed the steep hill towards it, whether Button-eyes had deliberately tried to deceive me.
My suspicion was confirmed when the woman at the reception desk couldn’t locate him.
“I’m sorry, sir. There’s no one here by the name of Eric Haraldsen.”
“Perhaps he checked in under a different name. Could you try De Vries? Eric De Vries?”
“I’m sorry, sir. There is no one here by that name, either.”
“How about Robbehart. Try Eric Robbehart.”
The woman frowned. “Just how many names does your friend have?”
“Can you try it, please.”
She typed the name in reluctantly. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no one here by that name, either.”
“Is this the only Hillview Hotel in Guernsey?”
“Yes.”
“And in the Channel Islands?”
“Yes.”
“Could he have checked in under a fake name?”
“We always ask for identification.”
I thought about what it said on Eric’s passport. Prince Eric HaraldsenRobbehart De Vries. That was one of the reasons why he always stayed in high-class hotels. They were used to dealing with people of his ilk. In many ways, being a prince was more of a drawback than an advantage. People tended to be impressed by royal titles (I was no exception). The staff at this hotel would have gushed and wowed and treated him like a celebrity. Eric would’ve hated that.
It was clear that he couldn’t possibly be staying in a place like this. Button-eyes must have been lying. But why would he lie?
I thanked the woman and went to the hotel cafeteria to think about my next move. I was staring at my phone, wondering whether or not to call Button-eyes, when I heard a voice behind me.
“What are you doing here?”
I turned around. Eric was standing behind me, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers and holding a notepad in his hand, a pen behind his ear. I gaped at him open-mouthed.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, of course.”
“So, now you’ve found me.” He took the pen from behind his ear and pressed it against his notepad. “What can I get you?”
“Why are you dressed as a waiter?”
“Because I am a waiter.”
“The lady at the reception told me you weren’t staying at this hotel.”
“I’m not staying here. I’m working here.”
I looked him up and down. Finally, it dawned on me. “You’re a waiter?”
“Yes. Are you looking for something to eat? Would you like me to bring you the menu?”
“Why are you working as a waiter?”
“Because I need the money. Why else? If you’re looking for something light, then might I recommend the shepherd’s pie. It’s very good.”
“Stop messing about, Eric. Sit down and talk to me.”
“I can’t, Joel. I’m working.”
“I came all this way to talk to you. Trevor paid for it.”
“You have to order something, sir. You can’t sit here without ordering. Shall I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Okay, bring me a fucking coffee, then sit down and talk to me.”
“I can’t. I have to work. My shift ends at seven. I’ll talk to you then. I’ll be right back with your coffee.” And without giving me another glance, he turned away from me and waltzed off.
“It’s not that bad, really. I quite enjoy it.”
We were sitting on a rock by the shore, overlooking a deserted beach. A big bag of crisps and two cans of Fanta lay between us. I watched the sun slowly disappear into the sea as he spoke.
“They gave me a room, which I have to share with another waiter. Oleg. Nice guy. He’s Polish.”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“I had to leave it all behind, Joel. Start again. I headed for Brighton first, but somehow, I ended up going the other way and landed in Poole. Before I knew it, I was standing on the deck of a ferry headed for Guernsey. I looked out at sea and felt the spray of salt water on my skin. It felt so good. A feeling of complete freedom came over me. I’ve always loved the sea, you know. But I’ve never had the time to just stand there, on my own, and enjoy it. Such a thing is impossible in Doggerland.”
“You could’ve called me,” I said. “I was worried about you.”
“I didn’t want anybody to know where I was. I just wanted to be left alone.”
“But you contacted Boersma.”
“Christian needed to know where I was. He’d have called the police otherwise.”
That answer didn’t do it for me. Prioritizing Button-eyes over his own fiancé! But I let it go. “So how did you end up working at the Hillview?”
“I checked into Hotel Le Roc, at first. They’re used to receiving VIPs. But as I watched the bellboy take my bags to my room, that feeling of freedom vanished. I was back in my own life again. Back among the rich, the pretentious, the sycophants, the snobs. My stomach turned. I almost puked. I decided then and there to renounce the crown and start again. The next day, I found the vacancy in a local newspaper. They were desperate. The previous waiter had left them in the lurch, so they took me on, even though I had no experience. It’s only for two months, but it’s a start. I can look for something else after that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. There are plenty of jobs. Why do you think all the Poles keep coming over?”
“Because they’re willing to take on low paid jobs that nobody else wants.”
“I want them.”
“You want to be a cleaner? A fruit picker? A kitchen dogsbody?”
“Yes. I’ve always wanted a simple job. A job where I can use my hands. A job where I can get d
irty. A job where I don’t have to use my brain.”
I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Why is that ridiculous?”
His phone rang. He took it out of his jacket pocket and checked the display. “It’s Christian,” he said. “That’s the third time he’s called me today.” He rejected the call.
“Aren’t you going to answer?”
“I can’t deal with him right now.” He replaced the phone in his pocket.
“What do your colleagues think about you being a prince?” I asked.
“They don’t know I’m a prince.”
“It says so on your passport. Surely you must’ve shown them your passport.”
“They think Prince is my first name.”
“What?”
“I told them it’s a common name in Doggerland.” He smiled. “They make fun of me for having a dog’s name. They call me Rex. And Rover. And Fido.”
We laughed.
“So, what about me?” I asked after the laughter died down.
“What about you?”
“Are you leaving me?”
He thought about this. “I don’t know.”
That caught me off guard. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“You really hurt me.”
“How?”
“By saying those things about me to Trevor.”
“Trevor lied. Nothing about that article was true. And anyway, we weren’t together when I told Trevor about us. “
“I know. But still.”
“But still what?”
He turned his face towards the setting sun and thought about his response. “I suppose you could come and live with me here. I can rent a cottage. You and your mother can both join me.”
“How are you going to pay for it? You won’t have the Duchy of Skiepland anymore.”
“I have savings. That should last until you’ve graduated, and then you can get a job and support us.”
I smiled and shook my head. “You’re daydreaming, Eric. This isn’t going to work.”
“Why not?”
“What about all the things we talked about? About being gay rights ambassadors?”
Eric frowned. “It’s not my job to be a gay rights ambassador.”
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