Honestly, I don’t know why he thrust me into this elitist world if he didn’t want me to pick up elitist slang!
Less than three miles apart from each other, Eades and Saint Augustine’s tend to share fencing and drama activities, so while not many of the pupils take the activities themselves seriously, they take the inter-gender aspect very seriously indeed.
The Eades fencing team is known to be totally rubbish, even though they have a huge pool of boys to pick talent from. Most of the team were chatting to girls, but a few of them (mostly the Europeans, and Billy, their sabre captain) were valiantly warming up on the piste beside Star and me.
I was surprised to notice that one of them was Prince Freddie. I mean, everyone knew he fenced, but he’d never struck me as being particularly keen on the sport. I’d figured he, like his mates, was only on the team to meet girls.
Freddie was second in line to the British throne, after his dad, Prince George, so naturally there were girls clustered about watching him. He was clearly loving the attention, even though he pretended not to notice them.
His security men were loitering with intent. They were dressed in polo shirts and chinos, as if they were just out for a stroll, but they so looked like bodyguards with their squaddie haircuts, massive muscles and little earpieces.
The security guys in the fencing salle weren’t all for Prince Freddie, though. There are more international royals at Eades than there are tiaras at a debutante ball. And then there are the regular famous people – a lot of them have scores of bodyguards. Prince Freddie seemed to be able to manage with just two. I quite respected him for that, especially given that he was always being hounded by the media.
Some of the security guys were hired by the kevs just so they could show off how wealthy they were – a bit like sporting a gold bracelet or a sovereign ring, according to Honey. Boys can be just as status-tragic as girls, I suppose.
You get used to seeing bodyguards hanging around Eades boys. A few girls had them at Saint Augustine’s, but they were made to keep a much lower profile. I don’t think the nuns are that keen on having them around.
So anyway, once the warm-ups were finished, the president started calling the bouts. I’d seen Prince Freddie fencing épée before and he hadn’t been very good, so I was surprised when our names were called together.
FIVE:
Flirting with Princes
The president called Freddie’s name first, and as I watched him lope down the piste to the en garde line in this really sexy way, I couldn’t help but think he was fit. Not just fit, actually, but sooo fit. He’d grown a lot since last term and was now a good few inches taller than me. He was also much cooler-looking, as this time he wasn’t sporting a gross pimple on his forehead.
Even though I knew I was going to slaughter him on the piste, I started to feel a bit nervous. I was even blushing because he was so utterly … well, there’s no other word for it … fit. Thank God for the fencing mask covering my burning cheeks.
To fence sabre, you needed a metallic jacket worn over your plastic plastron, to register hits and to avoid serious injury to vital organs, sabre being the only cutting weapon used in fencing. Officially, you are not supposed to hurt your opponent too badly, but in practice sabre is a dirty weapon. Sabre is the most aggressive and impressive type of bout to watch. Most sabreurs like to make the most of their weapon, and as a result we were usually all pretty bruised and sore by the end of a few bouts.
Our teammates had helped us hook up the backs of our jackets to the electrical apparatus that was linked to a box on the ceiling and registered our hits with coloured lights and a buzzer.
Freddie and I saluted the president first and then each other, casually lifting our blades to our lips and back down to the fencing position. Whenever I salute my opponent before a bout, I think how strange it is that there is this much etiquette involved before two people try to kill each other. But there we are, or as Sister Regina would say, ‘Diddley-dee.’
Then we put our masks on and waited for play to be called. ‘Prêts, allez!’
I advanced down the fourteen-metre piste first, figuring the Prince, being a bit of a wimp, would either retire or parry. But instead he riposted, attacking into my offensive, which took me a bit by surprise. I made my attack swiftly, though, scoring a hit. The buzzer rang and the president called my hit.
There’s this thing called a captor inside the sabre guard, which allows hits to be recorded on the electrical apparatus, but only if the blade arrives on the lamé by way of a cut or a point – any other hit is invalid in sabre. Sometimes, with everything happening so fast, you don’t really know if your hit is valid or not until the buzzer sounds and the president calls ‘Halte’ or ‘Stop,’ at which point the clock is stopped until play is called again. A bout lasts for around five minutes of actual combat time, but it seems a lot longer.
Freddie scored the next hit with an obvious attack, provoking me into a parry of quinte (neck) by threatening me with a cut to the head and then disengaging the parry and rotating his blade to cut at my flank. ‘An old one but a gold one’ as Professor Sullivan likes to say (in French, of course, even though it doesn’t rhyme).
Freddie’s balance was excellent and his coordination reasonable, but he was no match for my compound attacks or disengagements, moves that require skilful wrist action (which you’d think he’d be brilliant at … being a boy). Actually, Professor Sullivan wasn’t wrong – fencing is like chess. But it is so fast that your brain must be completely focused. That can be difficult when your opponent is a totally fit member of the opposite sex. There was a moment when an image of me wilfully committing a corps-à-corps (literally body-to-body, a totally illegal move) flashed through my mind, and Freddie scored another hit.
The rest of the hits were all mine – although to be fair, Freddie was pretty cunning and his parries and ripostes were totally respectable. But as Star always said, in sabre you can parry and riposte all you like, but you’re only putting off the ultimate moment of your slaughter.
Fencing might be chess of the body, but the sword is a weapon and in sabre it is often a case of the most aggressive, fearless player winning – especially at our level. I was totally wired. Hit after hit went to me.
‘Cheers,’ Freddie said as we shook hands after the bout. He’d taken off his mask to reveal dazzling cornflower-blue eyes and ink-black hair.
I took off my mask, revealing the fluffy bits at the front of my hairline, which I didn’t need a mirror to know were sticking up like horns. ‘Yeah, erm … thanks, well played.’
‘My name’s Freddie, by the way.’
Like I wouldn’t have known that? Hello, second in line to the throne and the constant topic of media speculation. Where does he think I’m from – the Moon?
‘Erm, m-mine’s Calypso,’ I stuttered.
Please don’t mention my name. Please God, don’t let him mention my name, I thought. Why do I have to have such a stupid name?
We grinned stupidly at each other as they detached us from the electrical recorder.
God must have been listening because Freddie just said, ‘You were terrifying out there! You really rinsed me.’
‘Gee, erm … thanks.’
‘Quite cutting, aren’t you,’ he drawled.
Was that a flirty look in his eyes?
‘Thanks,’ I said stupidly. ‘I didn’t know you fenced sabre.’
‘I’ve only taken it up recently. Which probably explains why I’m such bollocks, right?’
‘Well, you were pretty fit, actually – I mean … erm, competent. Like, your flunges weren’t horrendous or anything. And your renewal was sort of, erm, impressive.’
My father reckons when I’m in a hole I like to keep digging.
I was saved from further bad dialogue by Honey and Arabella and a few of the fencing girls who’d already fought their bouts and been seeded out from the pools (which meant more time to chat with boys).
‘Wow, Calypso, that was so
amazing, darling. Well done,’ Arabella squealed as they all clustered around the Prince like atoms.
Yeah right, like they were actually even watching me.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered as I was squeezed out of the circle.
They were fluttering their eyelashes at the Prince so hard I thought they were going to knock themselves out. I watched him closely as he chatted amicably in that charmingly deferential Eades-ish way and I couldn’t help but feel a tiny frisson of something. Probably dehydration, I thought. I decided to leave the It Girls to it and went over to the refreshment stand for a drink.
Star was there, getting into her plastron. ‘Cool bout, Calypso. Freddie wasn’t bad either. I mean, seriously, at the tournament last year I thought he was totally tragic. I didn’t even know he did sabre.’
‘Yaah, it was OK. I thought he was pretty good, actually.’
‘Even though you rinsed him, right?’ she laughed. ‘Listen, after we’ve finished our bouts do you want to come to the pet shed with me to check on Hilda? I’m really worried, her eyes looked all sad and bleary this morning.’
‘Sure,’ I agreed, even though I would have preferred to chat a bit more with Freddie.
When almost all the bouts were over and tea was served, Freddie came over and stood near me – only he was still enveloped in a bubble of Honey’s friends so I couldn’t get to talk to him. We were watching Star trounce a member of his team. I thought for one second Freddie was looking at me, but then it turned out he had something in his eye.
Honey helped him to get it out.
Star dragged me away before I even had a chance to say goodbye, which was completely irritating because when we got to the pet shed Hilda was running around on her rat wheel like there was no tomorrow.
We still had to give her a cuddle, though.
SIX:
Dorm Party Heaven, Duvet Hell
That evening during study period all I could think of was Freddie. I had to stop myself writing his name on my folder. Everyone was weirdly nice to me that night and Clementine, Arabella and Honey invited our room to their room for a makeover party.
It was normal for one room to be invited to another room, but in other years Star and I hadn’t been included in these invitations and would only go to each other’s rooms and hang out, ignoring whoever else was in the room. When Arabella and Honey burst in with their invitation, which clearly included all three of us, Star and I caught each other’s eyes. I bit my lower lip, terrified that Star would tell them to piss off, but instead she shrugged her shoulders in a ‘why not?’ sort of way and off we went.
Georgina called up for a pizza from the Pizza Express in Windsor, which you’re really not allowed to do, but everyone does, because you can’t survive on the inedible grey slops they feed us. Smuggling the Pizza Express guy in isn’t that hard, and as long as you tear the box into a thousand pieces and distribute them in lots of different bins around the school, you never get caught.
Later we pooled our tuck in the middle of the floor. Everyone was really impressed by all the American sweets that I’d brought back this time. Jay had taken me to this really cool candy shop in the Beverly Hills mall and I’d just bought everything that looked different.
Georgina said, ‘Wow, Calypso, darling, these Hershey’s Kisses are so delicious.’
‘I like the Pixie Stix,’ Star added as she tipped one up and sucked the sugar out of the tube.
I was thinking about saying that Jay had bought them for me, which was kind of true, but for some reason I didn’t want to talk about Jay anymore. Maybe I was afraid of jinxing the mileage I’d already got out of him or maybe it was because I couldn’t stop thinking about Freddie and how fit he looked in his fencing gear. I especially liked the way he had his hair – all sort of longish on top but not floppy like some of the Eades nerds. It was all bunched up like it was gelled – only it wasn’t, because gel is so tragic. His hair was just thick and cut in a really cool way.
We gave one another homemade facials, using porridge and bananas and honey and other goopy stuff we nicked from the kitchen. Georgina even offered to wax my legs! Star rolled her eyes, but I couldn’t have been more thrilled. Even though the pain was almost too horrendous to describe I kept my grin fixed on my face.
Star let Clemmie rag her hair so she could have ringlets and then Star braided Clemmie’s hair, which looked really cool.
‘You look stunning,’ Arabella told Clemmie – and she did. Her long, dark hair braided down her back seemed to bring out her gypsy looks. I felt proud of Star because it was her idea.
Star and Clemmie’s family estates were near to each other, so despite their differences, Clemmie often blagged a lift home with Star on exeats.
Looking around the room now, I realised why Star had never really felt like an outsider in the same way I did. She’d grown up in this world, she’d gone to prep school with these girls, they spoke the same language. For her there was no inside or outside – for her it was a case of ‘choose to refuse.’ But for me, that night was like being in an entirely new country – the cool country.
Later we snuck down to the science lab to steal some of the condoms they used for sex education lessons so we could practise putting them on over bananas, the way they always taught us.
Ms Argos had come in from a local comprehensive school, as a concession to the curriculum, especially to give the Sex Ed talks, because … well, it wouldn’t really do to have a nun rolling a condom over a banana, would it? Although it would be quite funny! I suppose a non-nun teacher could have done it, but then the really, really Catholic parents would have thrown hissy fits.
I’d hardly ever been invited to someone else’s dorm party and definitely never had someone as cool as Georgina offer to wax my legs. This was the longest anyone apart from Star had gone without mocking me and the way I spoke.
Star kept rolling her eyes at me as if to say, What are we doing with these freaks anyway? But I just pretended not to notice.
‘I can’t wait to do this to Freddie,’ Honey announced as she was rolling a condom over a banana.
‘Are you serious?’ I asked before I could stop myself. Firstly I was horrified at the thought of her with Freddie. And secondly I hadn’t realised that anyone had actually gone that far yet in our year – apart from Lucy, who was one of the druggie girls that Georgia et al. didn’t talk to. There was a rumour going around that Lucy had even slept with one of the plebs from the village, which was considered as tragic as it could get at Saint Augustine’s.
But obviously not as tragic as being unable to pull anyone!
‘Oh yaah,’ Honey went on. ‘Freddie was totally into me, darlings, as I’m sure you all noticed. He asked me all this really personal stuff about our holiday in Kenya last year. Like, we only know about everyone in common. I could tell he wanted to invite me out, but no one would leave him alone. It was like that time we went to that club in the limo and everyone kept asking me if I was a model – remember, Georgina?’
‘Darling, your hair was out-of-this-world amazing that night that we ragged it,’ Georgina said, applying eyelash dye to Clemmie’s eyes.
‘It would be so cool to pull Prince Frederick, darling,’ Clemmie sighed wistfully as a drop of dye rolled down her cheek.
‘But would you … you know, actually do it with him?’ Star asked, speaking directly to Honey for the first time that night – or maybe even ever!
All the girls looked at Star as if she were from Year Seven or something. ‘Hello, we are talking Prince Frederick – second in line to the throne!’ Honey reminded her, rolling her eyes in disbelief.
‘So if he asked, you’d actually, well … ? Darling, that’s quite a big step,’ Arabella added, and then she giggled as the banana burst through the condom.
‘Darling, I heard Lucy’s already given a boy a blow job,’ Clemmie added.
‘She’s such a slut, though – she’d give one to Mr Morton if he asked,’ Georgina remarked. Mr Morton was the octogenarian ground
sman.
‘Are you going to pull him at the social then, Honey?’ Georgina nudged Honey’s leg with her toe.
‘I don’t see that I have much choice,’ she sighed, as if kissing Prince Freddie would be such an effort.
‘I thought he fancied Calypso, actually,’ Star interjected, giving me a supportive smile.
I went bright red. If I was caught fancying a boy that Honey planned to pull, it could destroy me.
‘Pah-lease. As if,’ Honey sneered, flicking her perfect blonde tresses over her shoulder. ‘Can you honestly envision a member of the royal family with an American?’ Then she started laughing in a really nasty way and everyone apart from Star joined her. Star looked over at me and pulled out her lip-gloss. I pulled mine out too and applied liberally.
‘Well, what about Mrs Simpson, that woman King Edward married?’ Star reminded them.
‘My point exactly!’ Honey said.
Wait, were they comparing me to that prune-faced old woman?
‘I’m not being horrible,’ Honey said. ‘Calypso, you know that. It’s just, well, you know how it is.’
Did I? I shrugged. Maybe she was right, though. Princes are probably really restricted in who they are allowed to fancy. I seem to remember that they totally loathe Catholics. I thought of reminding Honey of this, but decided against it.
‘Besides, you’ve got Jay, haven’t you, darling?’ Georgina reminded me, offering Tobias a Hershey’s Kiss.
I’d temporarily forgotten about my tragic fake relationship with gay Jay. ‘Yaah, totally,’ I agreed.
‘Has he called you or anything yet, darling?’ she asked kindly, popping the chocolate into her own mouth.
‘I haven’t actually checked my phone messages, erm, and …’
She smiled at me and passed me some of her coconut and passionfruit cream to put on my legs. ‘This smells just so divine, darling. Try it.’
I looked at my legs. They were still all red and blotchy.
‘I know a girl who spent a night in a sleeping bag with Freddie’s cousin Alfred,’ Arabella remembered.
A Royal Match Page 4