A Royal Match

by Connell O'Tyne

  My mom says you shouldn’t take more than six pills in a twenty-four-hour period and that actually it’s not even an over-the-counter medication in the States. But Sister Regina says ‘pish’ to that and plies you with them until you feel better again.

  Sister Dumpster says ‘pish’ to the six-a-day rule as well. In fact, she says ‘pish’ to Co-codamol altogether. She did her nursing training in an era when child cruelty and sadism were in their heyday: ‘A temperature of one hundred and fifty degrees? Why, that’s nothing. In my day we said “tish-tosh” to a temperature like that. These days, you girls want it all your own way,’ etc, etc, ad nauseum.

  For some reason Sister Dumpster is always on duty when I am sent to the infirmary.

  But miracles do happen (as Sister Constance is always reminding us) and it wasn’t Sister Dumpster that morning, it was sweet little Sister Regina.

  ‘Poor Miss Kelly, now you just lie down here, and I’ll get you a sanitary napkin and some Co-codamol.’

  She tucked me up in one of the horrendously uncomfortable infirmary beds, which I’m convinced are all from World War II and still smell of sick soldiers. The springs in them are so ancient, and make so much noise that you can’t relax, let alone sleep.

  Whenever you go to the infirmary for period pain, the sisters insist on handing out these pads that look like skis. The story is that the nuns were given shed-loads of them in the last century, and they are still trying to get through them all. Seriously though, you could go white-water rafting on them they are so enormous.

  In the Easter break I’d finally got the hang of tampons, but I wasn’t going to discuss such modern advances in personal hygiene with Sister Regina, who probably wasn’t even aware that they’d had been invented.

  I said thank you and gave her a hug, because she was just trying to be sweet, and nun hugs are so lovely, smelling as nuns do of incense and flowers that they pick to decorate the chapel and the gazillion statues of Mary and Jesus that are dotted about the school.

  After I’d knocked back my pills and my headache had subsided, Sister Regina gave me another one of her little hugs and said I may as well miss the morning classes and rest until lunch break. I think she was feeling a bit bored so together we read the copy of Teen Vogue that I’d brought back from LA, and she said how none of the models could touch me for looks and poise.

  The nuns all love the word ‘poise.’ Maybe because it is one of the few things they were able to hang on to when they gave up everything – like make-up and cool shoes – when they took their vows. Still, it was very sweet of her to say (even if it wasn’t true).

  She said she found it perplexing that any girl would want a job like that – standing about all day having her picture taken.

  Actually, she’s probably right. I don’t suppose it would be nice being a model, apart from the money side of it, of course, although apparently lots of models make virtually nothing – just like actresses in LA. Also, I bet you’d always be worried about people saying mean things about your weight, or saying your nose was too big. Though according to Star they airbrush out all your nasty bits – and Kate Moss might be the size of a house, for all we knew.

  I eventually left Sister Regina just before the bell rang for lunch, and took a detour via the pet shed so I could have a quick cuddle with Arabesque. I always felt a bit disloyal going to visit Arabesque, because I knew Star would rather my affections lay with Hilda and Brian. But the truth is, I much prefer cuddly rabbits to rats and snakes.

  I did check on Hilda, though, who was running along on her little rat wheel in her usual demented fashion. But, honestly, how excited can you get about a rat? Star goes on and on about how intelligent rats are, and I’m sure she’s right, but I wasn’t really looking for witty repartee from a pet, so I moved swiftly on to the rabbit area where Arabesque was softly sleeping. See, that’s what so sweet about rabbits – they do everything so softly.

  At least I thought he was asleep, until I took him out and held him to me. Instead of his lovely, warm, little body wriggling against me, he was all cold and stiff.

  I gasped and put him straight back in the cage, and ran to the canteen, bumping into everyone and knocking over trays in my search for Georgina.

  ‘Georgina,’ I panted when I finally found her. ‘You have to come. It’s Arabesque!’

  Honey glared at me. ‘You are so dead, Calypso. I’ve told Poppy what you did. She’s going kill you.’

  Poppy is Honey’s older sister and, if anything, even meaner than Honey. She’s stunning-looking and always appears in the social pages under the name of The Honourable Poppy O’Hare – although she always makes a massive fuss over how she told the journalists she didn’t want them to use her title. Yeah right, whatever. The boys at Eades went potty for her, but as Star reminded me, it’s probably not her personality that they were going potty over.

  But I didn’t care. I had to tell Georgina about Arabesque; that was all that mattered.

  Georgina said, ‘Just chill out, will you, Honey?’ but she didn’t look up at me; she just moved some peas around her plate dismally. I could tell that a decision had been made regarding my standing in the group. I was definitely out. Honey had won. Last night when she’d told me that she thought Honey was overreacting, I’d more or less taken a kind of cold comfort from her words. I’d told myself that although she’d have to stand by Honey because, after all, they’d been friends forever, at least she’d criticised Honey and acknowledged that her behaviour was out of order.

  But now as I looked around the group I’d naïvely imagined I’d become part of, I saw how stupid I’d been. Maybe Georgina did sort of like me. Maybe she’d decided I wasn’t really that bad, but at the end of the day Honey was of her world and scored ten out of ten when it came to cool. But however nice my American sweets tasted, I was still considered a freak. And besides, I was almost out of Hershey’s Kisses.

  Then Poppy came over to the table. ‘Hey, American Freak,’ she said, slapping a Post-it note on my back. I knew it was a Post-it note, because I was always getting them slapped on me. Usually they said random stuff like AMERICAN FREAK or just plain FREAK. But when I reached my arm around and pulled this particular one off, it said, DEAD.

  The word ‘dead,’ combined with the experience of finding poor little Arabesque, made my eyes fill up with tears. I wiped them away with my sleeve. Georgina and Arabella turned away, as if embarrassed.

  ‘Georgina,’ I said again, a wobble in my voice now.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, really, Calypso,’ she snapped, not even looking up as she twirled her peas.

  ‘Oh, is poor little American Freak girl crying?’ Honey asked in a baby voice.

  Georgina looked up at Honey and shook her head as if to say, That’s enough. I could tell she was in conflict over Honey’s behaviour, so I took my chance and asked if maybe I could have a word with her alone, but she said that she was too busy.

  Peas can be very demanding.

  I couldn’t just leave it, though. I couldn’t go through the day knowing Arabesque was lying there dead in his cage and not tell Georgina. Whether we were friends or not I had to tell her, and I had to tell her now.

  It was awful. I shuffled about for a bit and said ‘erm’ a few times but in the end, as another Post-it note was slapped on my back, I just blurted it out: ‘Arabesque is dead.’ Then I started crying, and then, after looking at me for what seemed like forever, Georgina started crying too and Arabella put her arms around her and gave her a cuddle.

  Clemmie arrived with her tray laden down with the usual slops and asked what the matter was.

  Honey rolled her eyes and said, ‘Georgina’s rabbit’s dead,’ like it was no big deal.

  By now our little group had become the lunchtime spectacle. Star arrived and she must have been to the pet shed already because all she said was, ‘Oh, I guess you all know, then.’

  ‘Oh, Georgie,’ Clemmie said and gave her a cuddle.

  Georgina was really sobbi
ng now and I think I might have been too, but I was too shocked by what Honey said next to really remember.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I mean, he was quite old, darling. Actually, I always thought he was a bit manky. Besides, Daddy can buy you a new one. A better one.’

  I couldn’t believe it – Honey was supposed to be Georgina’s best friend!

  Georgina looked up and for a second I thought she was going to throw herself on Honey and rip her hair out. But Honey had started to file her talons with an emery board. When she eventually looked up and saw the look of thunder on Georgina’s face, she seemed genuinely perplexed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are such a bitch.’ Georgina spat the words out at her best friend.

  Everyone looked at Honey, who blinked innocently and said, ‘What?,’ as if she had no idea that she was the spawn of Satan. Eventually everyone just shook their heads, like people do over lost causes, and silently filed out of the canteen, leaving their trays on the table.

  Even Star went with them.

  I was left alone with the bitch from hell.

  ‘God, you’re a freak,’ she said with a sneer, and picked a chip off her plate and nibbled at it in her special way so that her lips didn’t touch it.

  I didn’t really feel hungry now and I didn’t want to spend another second around Honey, so I left the canteen without eating and chased after the others.

  When I got to the pet shed, Star was stroking Arabesque’s still little body.

  ‘Oh, no, Arabie!’ Georgina was screaming while the others held her back. Georgina’s cry was so sad that I wanted to give her a hug, like Arabella and Clemmie were doing, but I wasn’t sure if she’d want to be touched by an American Freak, so I just said, ‘Oh, Georgina, I’m so sorry.’ It sounded a bit lame, I know, but Georgina pulled herself away from the others and threw her arms around my neck. She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until I thought she would die of dehydration.

  ‘I really loved Arabesque,’ I said. ‘He was by far the sweetest rabbit in the whole shed and I used to come and see him and cuddle him. I knew you would hate me if I told you, but …’

  ‘I don’t hate you,’ Georgina said. ‘Oh, Arabie.’

  It was only when Sisters Hillary and Veronica passed by and asked us what had happened that I realised I was sobbing just as hard as Georgina.

  Star told them how she had come to the pet shed to see Hilda and noticed that Arabesque wasn’t moving. Sisters Hillary and Veronica gave us all comforting little nun hugs.

  ‘You poor dear girls,’ they clucked, as if we were only five years old. ‘Oh poor, poor, poor little things.’ Then they said we should all say a special prayer for Arabesque, ‘… even though we know that bunnies don’t actually have souls.’

  So we all said a Hail Mary and a Glory Be to the Father and somehow that seemed to calm us down a bit.

  The rest of the day was pure hell.

  The death of Arabesque did nothing to dilute Poppy and Honey’s Post-it note campaign. Between every class my back was plastered with variations of the YOU ARE SO DEAD, CALYPSO theme. But all I could really think about was poor Georgina, and how horrible it had been holding Arabesque’s still, cold body in my arms.

  Georgina didn’t eat anything for dinner that night and, because she hadn’t been ticked off for leaving her tray at lunchtime, she was sent to the infirmary for a lecture from Sister Dumpster about the dangers of anorexia.

  That evening, during study period, Star wrote me a note and slipped it in my English book.

  I hope Georgina’s eating disorder doesn’t come back!

  I hadn’t thought of that, but it made me a bit worried. I gave her a nod and tore the note into a million pieces and threw it in the bin, so no one would see it.

  TEN:

  The Fall-Out

  ‘I think we should bury him as soon as possible,’ I suggested, while we sat in our room waiting for Georgina to return from the infirmary. ‘I just can’t bear to think of him lying dead in his cage.’

  ‘Yaah. It must be really upsetting for the other pets too,’ Star added. ‘I mean, I got a feeling from Hilda that she was devastated, you know?’

  As far as I had noticed Hilda had been frantically racing along on her little wheel, looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world, but I said, ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Should we go and speak to Sister Constance about having a funeral for him, do you think?’ Star suggested. ‘I could make a little cross for his grave.’

  There was a pet cemetery in Phipp’s Forest but none of us ever went there because it was just too sad.

  ‘That’s really kind. I mean, I know Georgina is a bit of a …’

  ‘I don’t know, she’s not that bad, I suppose,’ Star said. ‘She’s growing on me. I get the feeling that Honey wields a lot of influence over her…. Should we ask Sister if we can hold a funeral?’

  ‘Animals don’t have souls, remember, girls,’ I replied, mimicking the nuns.

  Star riposted, ‘Oh, bollocks to that,’ just as Sister Constance walked in the room with Georgina.

  ‘Thank you, Star. You’re right, Calypso, animals don’t have souls, so there will be no funeral. But nonetheless, we will be holding the usual burial-blessing ceremony tomorrow at break for Arabesque. We think it would be a nice way for Georgina and her friends to say a final goodbye to her pet. Father Conran will preside over the blessing.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister,’ Star and I said.

  Georgina didn’t say anything. She didn’t look very well. Her eyes were puffy and her face was all red. Sister Constance put her arm around her in the stiff, awkward sort of way that she has.

  ‘We’ll have to arrange for a coffin,’ Georgina said, speaking for the first time.

  Honey came in then, and I noticed that Georgina didn’t even look at her, even though Honey reached out and held her hand. ‘Why don’t you bury her in her LVT pet carrier? They’re kind of last term anyway, darling. Then we can buy those cute carriers that Prada is doing. We could even get those really cool pink rabbits that they’ve bred now. Wouldn’t that be fab, darling? I’m quite bored with Claudine anyway, so I’ll give her away to one of the younger girls and get one of the pink ones too – or maybe mauve. Mauve is so now!’ She said all this in the same overexcited, high-pitched voice she had when she discussed handbags and shoes.

  Georgina shook Honey’s hand away like it was diseased. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? Arabesque was my best friend, not a fashion accessory, and now he’s dead and you’re acting like he was just a pair of bloody shoes! You are such a bitch, Honey. I totally hate you.’ Then she started to cry again.

  Sister Constance spoke in her Mother Superior voice, which always makes my knees go a bit trembly. ‘Now, that is quite enough, girls. I appreciate that this is an emotional time for you, Miss Castle Orpington, dealing with the loss of Arabesque, but screaming at your friends is not going to help.

  ‘As for you, Miss O’Hare, I would like you to go straight to the chapel and pray to the Sacred Heart of Jesus for the mercy you clearly require in order to enable you to empathise more appropriately with your friend’s sad loss.’

  Honey rolled her eyes and said, ‘Whatever,’ and then stormed off.

  I didn’t know what to say to Georgina after that, but then I knew saying nothing would be really lame, so I was pleased when Clemmie and Arabella and a whole pile of other girls poured into our room to comfort her.

  Honey slunk in later, and I think she realised that we were all really upset and that she wasn’t going to be very welcome, but I was still surprised when she said, ‘Oh, by the way, Calypso, darling, you can borrow my Juicy Couture dress for the Eades social, if you like. I’m guessing you’ve got nothing cool enough to wear of your own.’

  I did my goldfish impression for a bit before saying, ‘Erm, yaah, that would be great, thanks.’

  But then Star said, ‘Oh, piss off, Honey. As if Calypso would want to borrow one of your slu
tty toff dresses.’

  I could have killed Star just then. I mean, I had no cool dresses – well, nothing cool enough to wear to the Eades social anyway. Also, the fact that Honey was no longer talking about killing me, but actually offering me a cool outfit to wear to an event she had previously banned me from attending, was nothing short of a miracle.

  ‘Fine,’ Honey replied casually. ‘I just thought you’d look really cool in it, darling.’

  Huh? Did Honey just call me darling? Was I in a parallel universe here? I knew she had to be up to something, but I figured it was her way of getting back into Georgina’s good books by not acting like a complete bitch.

  ‘Erm, is it the baby-blue one, with the strappy bits?’ I enquired as nonchalantly as I could.

  ‘That’s it. You’ve got the figure to carry it off, darling.’

  I had the figure to carry off one of Honey O’Hare’s outfits? I was stunned. I simply couldn’t respond.

  ‘Anyway, it’s too last term for me,’ she added. ‘I’m wearing my new Earl jeans with the real diamond-studded Dior top.’

  Of course she was.

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I replied, almost relieved by her bitchy comment. It was just too bizarre having Honey being nice to me. It made my skin crawl.

  I could feel Star’s stare piercing through me, but I ignored it as Honey flicked her hair back over her shoulder and said, ‘Fine, darling, no biggie,’ and flounced out of the room without another word.

  That evening we were all so emotionally drained that we couldn’t even summon the energy to collect our mobiles from Miss Cribbe. I guess she must have felt a bit sorry for us, though, because she bustled in with them in her arms, which was unheard of. Most of the girls had two mobiles; a declared mobile, which they handed in before lights out and picked up after study period, and another one (their really, really cool, madly expensive ones that took photographs and everything) that they kept with them at all times. Sadly, I had only one mobile, more of a brick than a phone but Miss Cribbe returned it to me kindly as if it were a holy relic.