A Royal Match

by Connell O'Tyne

  Sarah and Bob had finally upped my allowance to a reasonable level – not to the heady heights of Georgina, Star and the others, but at least I could afford to chip in for a pizza now. Sarah and Bob said it was because next school year I was going to be turning fifteen, but I suspect they also felt that after the Rough-and-Tumble episode, my character had been built up as much as it was ever going to be.

  The best part, though, was in the evenings, when we dressed up in all our finery (even Tobias put on his best suit) and set off for the Kings Road to pull boys.

  The Kings Road Promenade. It was a tradition. A tradition that up until now I had never properly felt a part of. Girls and boys from boarding schools from all over England came in droves, like homing pigeons, to march up and down the Kings Road in Chelsea. American teenagers went to malls; we strolled up and down the road every evening, checking one another out and trying to pull.

  The boys tried to look all cool and wasted, like they didn’t give a toss, and the girls, having spent hours trying to make themselves look effortlessly stunning, pretended not to look at the boys while arguing the fitness and pullability rating of each.

  Clemmie and Kevin were an official item now. Star and Georgina both found her fascination with him immature and teased her mercilessly about stuff like when were they going to set the date for their marriage, etc.

  My pulling rate that half-term was pretty low, mainly because I had Freddie on my mind. Although I did kiss Hugo, this totally fit boy from Downside (a posh Catholic boarding school), who was writing a novel.

  A novel! Imagine that. An actual book. And it sounded really cool and witty too. I could have listened to him talk about it all night, but I had kissing on my mind and we had an eleven o’clock curfew, so I just flung myself at him.

  Shame he was such a crap kisser – well, compared to Freddie anyway.

  I’d heard/read that Freddie was away with his family in Scotland so I didn’t expect to hear from him … well, I tried not to expect to hear from him – although I did see him on television one evening, looking all gorgeous and charming. He was standing outside one of the royal retreats with the Queen and King and his mother and father, but just the same, I was disappointed he hadn’t called.

  I bumped into Kevin on the Kings Road a few times and he said that I wasn’t to worry, as it was game on with Freddie and me, as far as he knew. I didn’t dare mention his brother – although Kevin did say Billy was studying. I know that as he was in Year Eleven he probably was – but I still couldn’t help imagining him with Poppy.

  On the last day of half-term, while we were sipping lattés on the Kings Road, Georgina brought up Bob’s mad invitation to visit LA in the summer.

  I stared into my milky drink.

  ‘The thing is, darling, Star and I have asked our parents and we’re coming.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, trying not to make it sound like a groan of pain. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have loved spending the summer with them; it was just that I knew Sarah and Bob could never afford the first-class travel and entertainment they’d expect. ‘That is, are you sure? I mean LA’s pretty dull in the summertime.’

  Star pitched in. ‘Well, my dad spoke to your dad last night and it’s all arranged. My whole family’s going and I’ve invited Georgina because she was only going to spend the summer with her family in the south of France –’

  ‘Which would be boring beyond belief,’ Georgina added. ‘All we do is go out on the bâteau and lie in the sun and eat loads and loads of really fattening food. I’d much rather be on the Atkins diet with you in Malibu.’

  ‘I don’t live in Malibu!’ I insisted, looking up from my drink for the first time to see Georgina and Star grinning at each other.

  ‘Darling, don’t be so mad. You really are the most awful snob,’ Georgina declared. ‘As if we mind where you live. Besides, Sarah told us she had a new PA, and he’s not gay!’

  Clemmie and Arabella admitted that they were madly jealous and wished they come to LA too, but that they were already booked to go on a safari in Kenya with Arabella’s family.

  So that was that. Georgina’s parents sent us all back to school in the family Rolls Royce and then Georgina gave Miles, the chauffeur, a fifty-pound note to carry all our bags up to Cleathorpes and unpack for us so that we could race off and settle Dorothy Parker back in the pet shed.

  It was a far cry from my inauspicious arrival at the start of term.

  The second half of the term was crammed with study. Our teachers must have held a heinous meeting over the half-term break about not being cruel enough to us because they were really putting the pressure on us now. They said we needed to start adopting a more serious attitude to our work and went on and on about how important the next school year was going to be because we’d be starting our GCSEs and ‘defining our futures.’

  Yawn.

  ‘Your lives depend on the grit and determination with which you apply yourself to your studies, girls!’ they trilled every moment of the day.

  But finally the day came when our last piece of work for the term was handed in and we were able to put into action the dream of every self-respecting Saint Augustine girl. The legendary midnight dash to London to Fabric, where Georgina’s brother knew someone who knew someone who could get us all in.

  We went to bed in our trackie bums and hoodies, our party dresses and shoes and make-up in our gym bags by our beds. Miss Cribbe turned our lights off at ten and we even let her give us big beardy kisses on our cheeks. In fact, we even let Misty lick us to keep Miss Cribbe sweet.

  ‘Aren’t you lovely little girlsies? Misty loves her wittle girlsie-whirlsies, doesn’t she, Misty?’

  Misty showed her love with a big smelly fart and Miss Cribbe bustled her out of the room as if nothing had happened.

  Actually, none of us hated Misty nearly as much now since she’d weed on Honey’s duvet.

  As soon as the clock hit half-past ten, we all snuck downstairs and climbed out of the bursar’s window. Honey (we had to include her or she would have told on us), Clemmie and Arabella were already outside waiting for us.

  We dashed into Puller’s Woods and changed into our party gear, hiding our gym bags under leaves and fallen branches.

  The plan – perfect in all its details – was to dash to the train station and catch the 23:23 to London (having successfully dodged guard dogs, security men and the electric barbed-wire fencing that surrounded the school grounds).

  Once in London we would dance ourselves stupid at Fabric and pull older fit boys before catching the 6:03 back to the station.

  It was the perfect plan. Next year we would regale the Year Ten girls with tales of our Midnight Raving.

  When we got back from London, we’d dig our bags back out from their hiding places and change back into our trackie bums and hoodies and stick our clubbing gear back in our bags, hide them back under the leaves and jog off to breakfast. If anyone saw us dashing back to our rooms, we’d simply say we’d been for a run. How athletic and disciplined were we?

  We’d then collect our gym bags from the woods at lunch, giving the smokers a chance for a quick fag.

  Like I said, the perfect plan …

  Unfortunately, the guard dogs discovered us just as we finished changing – which meant I only got as far as up an oak tree while a vicious, bloodthirsty Alsatian barked and bared its fearsome teeth at me from below.

  The other girls, who didn’t share my fear of dogs, tried to persuade me to leg it with them, but my dog didn’t look like the type to let me escape with my legs.

  Honey didn’t even bother with me or anyone else. She just ran off back to the dorm and eventually the other girls followed, although they at least promised that they would come back and save me later.

  I watched them disappear through the woods, hotly pursued by the dogs (not mine). I guess all our crosscountry running hadn’t been for nothing, as none of them was dragged down and mauled.

  Half an hour later my dog was still growl
ing and salivating at the thought of tearing me limb from limb. I started to cry, imagining myself being discovered by a security guy and reported to Sister Constance and being excluded from the trip to the village school in Gambia.

  ‘Talk about random,’ I whimpered to myself and then it happened.

  A torch illuminated my face. The security guys had finally found me. I began to cry harder, not that I thought tears would in any way get me out of this …

  ‘Calypso?’

  I looked down. Instead of the burly, mean security guy I was expecting, there was Billy, standing at the foot of my tree and grinning from ear to ear. He had the dog by the collar.

  ‘I’ve often dreamed of what you girls get up to at Saint Augustine’s after lights out, but I have to admit this particular fantasy hasn’t featured.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ I said. I couldn’t help smiling, even though I tried my best to look cool, collected and unamused.

  ‘Nice dress.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The dog was whimpering and licking Billy’s hand now.

  ‘Do you usually dress up for midnight tree-climbing?’ he asked.

  ‘Always. A girl can never be too stylish.’

  I couldn’t believe I was being so fabulously collected. I mean, the quality of my repartee was phenomenal. Dorothy Parker – the writer, not the rabbit – would be proud.

  ‘The grey knickers being the pièce de résistance, of course,’ he added.

  I was wearing my big grey knickers – well, they’d started off white, but Matron had managed to turn them grey in the wash along with all my bras and gym skirts. Unlike the other girls’ parents, Sarah and Bob wouldn’t allow me to wear sexy Calvin Klein knickers. ‘Not at your age, sweetheart!’ Bob had ruled, and at thirty pounds a pair I simply didn’t have the resources – not even with my increased allowance.

  ‘So, are you coming down, then?’ he asked. ‘Or do you usually wait for dawn to break?’

  Ha, ha, very amusing. But see, here was the thing. Climbing up the tree had been a breeze; I’d been driven by pure adrenaline. But clambering down without looking graceless, destroying my dress and scratching myself to pieces was another matter.

  ‘Shall I catch you?’ he asked, sensing my hesitation.

  I know it sounds like a nice offer, but if you’d seen the smirk on his face you would have wanted to slap it.

  ‘Well …?’

  God, I so wanted to say no.

  ‘It’s fine – just sort of throw yourself backwards and fall and I’ll be here to catch you. That way you won’t scratch yourself.’

  Yaah, right.

  But I did it anyway. OK, so it wasn’t my most graceful moment – plopping backwards out of a tree into the arms of a gorgeous boy who made me feel all wobbly inside. But it was nice. Especially the part where he held me in his arms for a bit, before placing me on the ground. (Note: He smelled delish.) The Alsatian even gave me a little lick.

  For a minute I thought Billy was going to kiss me – or rather, that I was going to kiss him – but then I remembered Poppy and started brushing the bark off my dress dementedly.

  ‘You’re seeing Freddie, aren’t you?’ he went.

  ‘Erm, well, I’m not actually sure.’

  Billy laughed.

  ‘You’re seeing Poppy, though,’ I reminded him.

  ‘I so am not. That’s what I’ve just been doing at Saint Augustine’s. I told her in the break we weren’t an item, but she kept texting me and pretending we were. I figured I’d better have a face-to-face with her.’

  ‘Just now?’

  He nodded. ‘Yaah, just now. What, do you think I just escaped from Eades and struggled with the electric barbed-wire fencing for a stroll in the woods?’

  ‘So it’s all over with Poppy?’ I pretended to be all casual and cool about it – and not turning bright red.

  ‘Yes, but that’s enough about me. Tell me about you and Freddie. What’s the deal?’

  I wished I had a simple answer. Even more important, I wished I knew what I wanted the simple answer to be.

  Then suddenly Billy whispered, ‘Shit, I’ve got to leg it – so do you. Here comes a security man. I’ll text you.’

  I didn’t have time to ruminate on our encounter as I sprinted back to the dorm.

  I told Georgina and Star about Billy in a whispered voice. It all sounded very nice and romantic, but how was he going to get my mobile number?

  ‘Is it possible to fancy two boys at the same time?’ I asked Star as we were lying in bed, too exhilarated by the evening’s events to sleep.

  ‘Absolutely, darling,’ Georgina pitched in. ‘In fact, it’s normal.’

  I wasn’t so sure, though. The thing with Freddie was very troubling, what with all his security men and the paparazzi, but then, he is a prince, so maybe that’s all part of the royal package?

  On the other hand, Billy was sooo fit and hadn’t given me the least bit of trouble. In fact, he’d saved me from a ferocious dog and a tree.

  Then again, I couldn’t stop thinking of the night I’d pulled Freddie and how lovely kissing him had been.

  I could see I was going to have a lot on my mind over the summer holidays.

  STEALING PRINCES

  • • •

  Having pulled your boy and found him to be a prince, you might want to kiss him twice … just to be sure!

  ONE:

  The Agony and the Txt-acy of Flirt-Txting Two Boys at Once

  I was standing in the en garde line, wired to the electrical recording device which would register hits (should I be lucky enough to get any). I saluted my opponent casually and focused. Well, I focused as best a girl can when she’s about to fence one of the fittest boys in all the world.

  Eades is the grandest of grand boys’ schools in England, and they know it. Royalty, the good, the great and the madly wealthy of the world all send their sons to Eades to be educated in the art of effortless charm and entitlement. I suppose they teach them hard sums, Latin and a bit of Greek too, but then so do other schools. It’s the effortless charm and sense of entitlement bit that sets them apart – and the fact that each and every Eades boy is distressingly fit. I suspect that their entrance exam includes a fitness test.

  Billy Pyke, captain of the Eades sabre team and the boy I was about to fence, isn’t a bit grand, though. Well, his family is ridiculously rich and he speaks in the grand way all Eades boys do, but he’s actually from the East End of London. His father runs the country’s largest limo sale and hire business, but being ridiculously rich doesn’t necessarily make you grand. In fact, it can work against you and earn you the term nouveau, which is worse than being a pleb. Most boys from Eades can point to their name in Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage or, if European, the Amanach De Gotha. At the very least your people’s money has to go back hundreds of generations for it to be respectable in the high-stakes world of English boarding schools. Billy’s family money only goes back one.

  ‘Better to be titled and poor as a church mouse than rich and common,’ as they say here. Which is especially tragic for me because my parents aren’t titled and they aren’t rich, even new-money rich. They struggle to send me to Saint Augustine’s because they are obsessed with giving me the best education money can buy, which according to my mom isn’t available in LA. Also, she’s English and went to Saint Augustine’s, and she thought it was ‘super.’

  Apart from the new-money thing, Billy is distressingly fit and cool, and tall, blond, blue-eyed and dashing. And did I mention older? He’s seventeen. Older is always a plus. So clearly it was pretty tricky to focus my mind on combat, knowing of the gorgeousness that lurked beneath the tight white fencing gear and the electrically conductive metal mesh mask he was encased in.

  The fencing master called ‘Play,’ and I advanced swiftly down the piste, preparing for an attack. Usually boys are a bit hesitant to hit girls on the chest. When I say hesitant, I’m speaking in nano-milliseconds. Obviously they still hit you, and just as
hard! Nevertheless, their hesitation often gives a girl an advantage, because that’s all you need in sabre to grab the point. One second – less, even.

  Billy was renowned for not being the least bit hesitant when it came to hitting girls. Actually, he was the most aggressive fencer I’ve had the privilege to be rinsed by. Sabre is all about speed and concentration, and the attacker always has priority, as long as the opponent’s target (anywhere above the leg) is continually threatened. I won my first point and after that I made sure that Billy’s target area was continually threatened for the rest of the bout.

  If I say so myself, I was unbelievable. My mother, Sarah, often says that false modesty is artless, so all modesty aside, my footwork was faultless. Honestly, I was shocked by my own talent as each lunge sent the electrical recorder lights flashing and buzzing. I was a veritable Olympian. I was indestructible, and what’s more, I didn’t even feel the few hits Billy did manage. And in sabre that is something because it’s not like the graceful fencing you’ve probably seen in James Bond films or on ads for hair products. It’s brutal and you get bruised and sore and seriously sweaty.

  At the end of the bout, I triumphantly tore off my mask; but instead of the usual spray of sweat and mucky hair, my unruly blonde mane came out like … well, like hair-commercial hair. Incroyable, as my French teacher would say.

  The applause was deafening, but all I cared about – as the V was chalked onto the board and I strode towards Billy to shake his hand – was snog-aging him. Not that I would be allowed to, obviously. Single-sex boarding schools like to keep intergender activities strictly lips-off. ‘There must always be a balloon distance between boys and girls,’ Sister Constance likes to chant.

  Time moved in slow motion as I stretched out my hand to shake his. I watched his hand begin to remove his mask, tugging the chin guard upwards, revealing inch by inch not the features of Billy, but Freddie, as in HRH – you know, Prince Freddie, heir to the British throne.