by Carol Taylor
***
Prang at the Roundabout
It was the prang at the roundabout that started it all. Yeah, it was my fault. I was earwigging on the two blokes in the back and ploughed into the boot of the mini ahead of me. This was going to cost me a few quid and I was annoyed. But it wasn’t having to get out and listen to the wingeing of the bird in the mini; it wasn’t even the fact that I couldn’t open the bonnet now and would have to get it back in good nick before I could go anywhere again. What I was most annoyed at was that I was missing the rest of the story from the blokes in the back.
When they got in the cab at Marylebone Station, I just didn’t twig at first to who they were. Black brollies hid their faces and I didn’t pay any attention until I heard them mention Parliament. Then I took a better look at them in the mirror and my kegs of beer really pricked up when I heard them say “…caught him pulling a bird.” I knew then that they were Lord ___ and Sir____ and I suspected this had something to do with old big-ears. That’s when I hit the mini. I was bloody annoyed I can tell you. I had to exchange info with an admittedly darn cute little chit of a girl and when I got back in the cab my passengers were obviously discussing their bird. ‘Bloody hell,’ I thought, ‘I wonder what I missed?’ I apologized, told them the cab was drivable and we continued.
I was heading down a snicket now and had to pay attention to my driving. There’d been a diversion and this was the quickest way around the backed up traffic through London. Not that I was in a hurry. I wanted every naughty titbit they’d divulge. Course I shouldn’t have been earwigging but what else does a cabbie have to do for fun?
One of them blokes apparently knew this little bird they were discussing and had since she was a wee bairn in nappies. This was stuff even the newspapers hadn’t caught up to yet. That’s why I was so intent on the info coming from the back. The whole thing was being kept a secret. I felt like I was getting inside dirt.
“…look, there’s no mistake. They got a picture of him with her in that same purple anorak going into the creche.”
“Really?!” Sir____ exclaimed, “the same one she was wearing when they were spotted on that boat on the Thames?”
“The very one!”
“Well, he’s dumber than I thought. Even a teenage hoodlum would think about changing the clobber!”
“Well, he’s no teenager, that’s for sure.”
“Closer to being an old age pensioner and this proves he doesn’t have the smarts to run this country!”
“Yeah, its no wonder no one in his family pays him much attention is it?”
“No, nor the Tories either,” he replied, “and it isn’t going to improve his ratings when they find out who the bird is!”
“Why, what’s the matter with her? You mean cause she’s just a nanny?”
“No, I don’t think that’s anything to be concerned about. I mean her connections.”
“You mean, the lack of?”
“Precisely. Her parents are Lord and Lady Nobody. And they’re divorced! I doubt there’s a decent connection in their family tree from here to China,” he snorted disdainfully.
I couldn’t see what connections had to do with it. Guess I’m just a romantic at heart. But what they said next I was in complete agreement with.
“And to boot, he’s old enough to be her father!” the other one added.
That’s what got me. I have a daughter. I wouldn’t like to see her involved with some hoity-toity middle-aged snob! I was definitely on their side.
“I can’t see him pushing a pram around—more like a zimmerframe!” one of them said with a sneer.
I laughed quietly to myself, glad I wasn’t in the public eye always having the mickey taken. We were nearing their destination and I still hadn’t heard a single name mentioned. I had my biro ready too. I’d had to find it to take down the particulars of the bird I’d pranged. Diana somebody-or-other. Cute kid. She was a little shaken up but when I told her my insurance would cover it, she relaxed. Nice girl. Ugly frock. I notice things like that. With some fixing up she’d look like a million quid.
“I wonder who vets these birds for him?” one was saying.
“I’ll bet his family just turns a blind eye. He’s getting too old for arranged marriages.”
“That’s true enough,” the other agreed. “Will, she’s a real little sweetheart, I hope she knows what she’s doing!”
And that’s all I got to hear. No names, no dates, no real information. It was most disappointing. I mean, if I’d had some kind of inside dope I might have got a few extra quid from a newspaper or even got my name in print. But without names or anything…
The next day I picked up the daily rag like I always did. I had to wait while they put my cab back into good nick anyway. As it turned out it was a good thing I was supping coffee and not driving or I’d have driven clean off the road. As it was I nearly choked to death. There on the front page was a picture of that mini I hit yesterday. I’d been so anxious to get back to my cab and hear the latest ondits from my own passengers that I hadn’t paid any attention to the little lady in front of me or her passenger. I was bloody annoyed when I learned that the article was the big break in the very love affair I was earwigging on in the back seat of my cab. The caption said it all: “PRINCE CHARLES AND LADY DI INVOLVED IN MINOR PRANG AT ROUNDABOUT”