Future Queens of England

by Ryan Matthews

  Brad sighed. He felt like he wasn’t being taken very seriously. “I was just saying, have you considered George’s feelings? I thought that you were in love.”

  “We are. Come on, can’t you just be happy for me?” His frown gave way to a pitiful expression. “Can’t you just support me? I need to come here to hone my skills if I’m going to be famous.”

  Brad lowered the superfluous map, looked over at Ron and raised his eyebrows. Ron gave a resigned shrug and spoke gently. “Of course we’ll support you, son.”

  Brad chimed in, “We’ve always supported you and we always will.” He turned stiffly and strained, trying to face Hugh. “You’re our son and we love you very much.”

  “Stop, you’re going to set me off.” Hugh blinked furiously to fight back the tears. Then he fumbled in his pockets trying to think of something else, and coughed several times.

  The car behind them pamped its horn and Ron looked up to see that there was no longer a conga line of cars in front of them. He duly put the car in gear, released the handbrake and gently moved forward. They drove up the approach in silence. A grand, old building rose up in front of them. As they drew closer Hugh noticed a large fountain in front of the building, which softened the aspect of the imposing stately home. Pristine curved hedges framed the circular area directly in front of the building like parentheses, and neat androgynous topiary figures watched over the arrival of this year’s students. Hugh thought how welcoming the topiary figures seemed in broad daylight, but imagined that by night they would take on a more sinister persona.

  The building’s exterior was grey stone but not at all drab, and the use of Corinthian columns was not lost on Hugh – completely phallic, yet considered the most feminine of all columns. Sunlight reflected off the abundant large rectangular windows like mirrors, and Hugh’s prying eyes could not see any detail behind them. He tried to count how many there were and wondered which one would be his; he’d soon be staring out from the other side, he thought.

  As the car drew closer still Hugh noted that there was a succession of eight wide stone steps leading to the large trapezoidal doorway that was both welcoming and foreboding. As the car slowly passed by the entrance Hugh squinted to read the Latin text inscribed above the doorway: Ad augusta per angusta. He made a mental note to look this up later, but was sure it said something inspiring and he grandly straightened his back and addressed the building silently: ‘I won’t let you down.’

  The car eased into a large space more or less directly in front of the building.

  “Well this is it,” said Hugh, stating the obvious, but his voice was whispered and drowning in emotion. The three of them sat for a moment listening to the sound of suitcases on gravel and more importantly, the sound of car doors slamming shut.

  Chapter Four

  Tony sat behind the wheel of his stationary Ford Escort and stared out in disbelief at the young men making their way towards the entrance. A sick feeling welled in the pit of his stomach. I can’t believe that this is actually happening, he thought, I knew the day was coming but I can’t believe it’s here and this is real.

  He placed the palm of his hand across his mouth and rubbed his cheek bones with his thumb and fingers in agitation. For the first time in Tony’s life he didn’t know how to deal with the situation. He knew he had to get out of the car but didn’t know if he could muster the courage. It felt like he was about to jump out of a plane with no parachute. He needed some sort of displacement activity to delay the inevitable. Tony looked around the car for something to do. He opened up his glove box, removed a handful of CD cases and laid them out on the passenger seat. The first album he picked up was Dave Stewart’s Greetings from the Gutter. He opened the case and found the Moonbabies at the Ballroom CD in it.

  “Aha,” he said aloud. Now he had the perfect activity. He quickly located the Moonbabies’ CD case and flipped it open. This contained Pulp, His ‘n’ Hers.

  After fifteen minutes all of his compact discs were back in the correct cases and he started to put them back into the glove box. As he leant over the gear stick, extending his CD-laden hand he suddenly realised that what his life lacked was alphabetical order to his albums. So he spent another five minutes shuffling them into the correct order.

  Tony sat back into his seat and contemplated reality. He placed a tentative hand on the driver’s door handle, pulling it gently towards him. It reminded him of when he used to go swimming as a child. He’d stand by the steps with the water over his ankles, then once he’d accustomed himself to the cold water he’d move to the next step down. He’d repeat this process, submerging himself bit by bit, letting the water climb higher up his legs until it reached his stomach. This was always the hardest bit for him; for some reason his stomach always found the water colder than his legs and chest but he knew that he couldn’t resist any longer. Of course he’d toughened up since then and knew the best way to deal with cold swimming pools was to jump straight in, that’s what a real man would do; and with that he sucked up a lungful of air, yanked the handle, pushed the driver’s door open with his elbow and swung his legs out onto the gravel.

  Hugh stood in awe at the rear of his parents’ car; he craned his neck as he looked to the top of the building. A rainbow flag flew proudly from its mast. He strained to hear it flapping in the breeze but couldn’t make it out above the noise from the people talking excitedly. Brad unlocked the boot and pulled out a pink suitcase.

  “Just a little bit predictable Hugh?”

  “Nonsense Dad, I’ve got to fit in haven’t I?”

  “Come here Hugh and give your old Dad a hug if you’re not too old,” said Brad, reaching out.

  Hugh scanned the vicinity self-consciously as he met his father’s embrace.

  “Room for me too?” enquired Hugh’s other dad as he folded his arms around the two of them.

  Hugh felt the warmth from the hug and rested his chin on Brad’s shoulder. He opened one eye and noticed a rough looking man of about the same age standing next to a souped-up Ford and sneering at him. Hugh immediately pushed his way out of the three-way hug and coughed nervously.

  “Right, I’d better get going then.”

  “Oh, okay then,” Ron replied, taken aback by the abruptness, “I suppose you had.”

  “Have you got everything?” enquired Brad. “Toothpaste, hair gel, contact lens solution …?”

  “Yes, yes,” Hugh responded rather impatiently. He took hold of his suitcase and pulled out the extendable handle. He looked at his dads and said, “I’ll call you at the weekend to let you know how I am settling in.”

  “Okay, well make sure you do,” said Brad, “and if you need anything, for God’s sake just ask.”

  “Sure.” Hugh pulled his suitcase towards the main doors, it bounced from side to side on the gravel before the wheels locked. “Oh Christ Almighty, this is my big entrance. Why do these things never go as planned?” To save himself the embarrassment of crouching down to pick the gravel out of the wheels Hugh decided the best course of action was to ignore it. He quickened his pace and dragged the suitcase behind him. It ploughed the gravel, leaving a small suitcase-shaped valley behind.

  “They’re going to have their hands full with him,” commented Brad.

  Ron breathed in an unnatural amount of air and unable to find any words, simply nodded in agreement.

  As Hugh approached the steps he noticed a tall, relatively older figure smiling and greeting the new arrivals. He was an amenable looking man with a slightly weathered but clean shaven face. He was immaculately dressed; it was the kind of suit that Hugh had seen in films but never in any shop. An Italian suit, perhaps? Hugh shook himself from his contemplation and realised he was being offered a warm smile and an extended arm. Oh, he thought, I hate the business of shaking hands. He returned the smile and surreptitiously wiped his clammy hand on the back of his trousers before extending it.

  “Hello, hello and welcome,” the man said, taking Hugh’s hand and shaking it.
“I’m the Headmaster here, and who might you be?”

  “Hugh, Sir. Pleased to meet you,” he said genuinely.

  The Head continued to shake hands for a moment and then commented, “Hmmm, that handshake is much too firm, but worry not, that’s what you are here for.” He leant closer, “We’ll soon iron out these flaws.”

  Hugh loosened his grip and let his wrist go limp.

  The Head burst out laughing. “Only joking my boy, just a little stereotyping.” Hugh didn’t know what to think, and stared silently at the Head, still shaking hands. “Righty-ho, Hugh,” said the Head, pulling out of the handshake, “you’d better be running along now.”

  “Uh, okay, Sir.” And with that Hugh started to drag his suitcase up the stairs and into the large entrance.

  Continuing his welcome of the new arrivals, the Head noticed a scruffy character, who looked somewhat out of place, heading towards the entrance. “Excuse me!” he called out, “we ask the builders to use the side entrance.”

  The figure stopped and scowled. “What?”

  “We prefer the builders to use the side entrance,” the Head repeated irritably, “the main entrance is just for teachers and students. I’m sure you understand, old boy.”

  “But I am a student.”

  “Are you really?” “Then would you mind introducing yourself?”

  “Tony Horwood.”

  The Head gazed skywards for a moment. “Tony Horwood,” he mumbled. He ran his fingers through his hair and repeated the name.

  Tony fidgeted impatiently.

  “Ah yes!” exclaimed the Head abruptly, making Tony jump, “Our special case!”

  “Well I supposed that is one way of looking at it.”

  “Yes, yes Mr Horwood.” He surveyed Tony silently for a moment and grinned. “A few weeks here and you’ll feel like a different man.” Tony flinched again at the sudden outburst. “You’ll soon be seeing our lot in a completely different light.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Tony protested.

  “No, no, mark my words. Anyway, you’re either one of us or you’re one of them.” He began to chuckle heartily. Tony found something disingenuous about the man. He decided this conversation had gone on long enough and walked through the door to the sound of the Head laughing at his own joke.

  As Tony crossed the threshold he allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness of the foyer. He was starting to get pins and needles in his hand from the weight of his bag, so he lowered it to the ground. An attractive woman walked in front of him. She was of medium height, maybe five and a half feet tall when not in heels. Her dark hair draped effortlessly across her shoulders and her lustrous, deep brown eyes made her seem Mediterranean but her pale skin contradicted that.

  He eyed her up and thought to himself, maybe it’s not so bad; I can think of a couple of things I’d like to study here. He smiled lasciviously at her. She slowed her pace. She looked as though she knew she was being watched, and out of the corner of her eye caught Tony staring at her.

  She stopped and walked over to him, speaking sternly: “I’ve told the builders that they are to use the side entrance, not the main door.”

  He frowned. Nice packaging, he thought, but what a bitch.

  “This door is only …”

  Tony cut her off. “Yes, I know, I know. This entrance is only for teachers and students. Well I’m a bloody student here, believe it or not.”

  “No way,” she exclaimed, making no attempt to hide her disapproval. “They are really scraping the bottom of the barrel this year.”

  Tony spluttered.

  “How the hell are they going to sort you out?” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t know where to even start!”

  “Oi, first I ain’t a frigging poof. Secondly, no one here will be sorting me out. But actually, love, I’d be more than happy to let you sort me out, if you know what I mean.” There was a pause and Tony waited expectantly.

  “Do NOT call me ‘love’. I have a name. It’s Louise.” She stepped back and eyed Tony from top to bottom. “I’m the Facilities Manager here and I do not fraternise with students … and certainly not with ruffians like you.”

  Tony smirked. “Ah well, you can’t knock down a coconut every time,” he said with resignation. He watched Louise continue on her way. She looks great from the back, he thought, studying her arse intently as she departed. She turned her head back towards Tony and caught him staring at her backside. Tony gulped, realising he’d been caught out, and whistled cheekily as the blood rushed into his cheeks.

  A small group had gathered at the corner of the foyer and were pointing excitedly at a notice board. Tony walked over and tried to see what they were all looking at.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Oh these are the dorm arrangements,” replied one of crowd.

  “Dorm arrangements?” he said, genuinely confused. “What do you mean, dorm arrangements?”

  “You know, dorm – as in dormitory,” said the man next to him.

  “You mean dormitory, as in sharing?”

  He nodded. “Eight to a room.”

  “As in, we don’t get our own rooms?” Tony shook his head in despair.

  “It’s not a hotel, of course we have to share,” commented someone else.

  “Oh bollocks,” Tony cursed. “As if this isn’t bad enough already.”

  “What’s wrong with that? It’ll be absolutely super, all boys together.”

  “Chin up,” another cheery voice piped. “What’s your name? I’ll see what room you’re in.”

  “Tony. Tony Horwood.”

  “Hiya Tony, I’m Hugh. Pleased to meet you.”

  Tony grunted.

  Hugh ignored this and pushed his way closer to the notice board. He held his finger up to the paper pinned onto the board and ran it down the column. A, B, C … his finger moved down to the surnames beginning with H.

  “Horwood, Tony Horwood. Found you! You’re in the Larry Grayson Boudoir.”

  Tony made a noise like he was choking. “The bleeding Larry Grayson Boudoir! Holy shit!”

  Hugh didn’t hear Tony since he was busy looking up his own name. Suddenly he clapped his hands in excitement. “Tony, Tony!”

  “What?”

  “We’ll be sharing, I’m in Larry Grayson too!”

  “Oh lucky me,” Tony chuntered sardonically. Hugh turned to Tony and squeezed his shoulders. Tony pushed Hugh off him at once. “Get off me you bloody queen!”

  “Oh, listen to the Bear. It’s a good job I like a bit of rough.” He waved his wrist limply in Tony’s direction.

  “Sharing with seven bloody homos.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I won’t be able to sleep at night with you lot in the room probably wanting to bum me.”

  Hugh laughed and addressed the group. “Listen to my room-mate, isn’t he a card.” He looked at Tony. “We’ll be bunking up together, but I think we’ll be able to control ourselves.” He licked his lips and leant closer to Tony. “At least we’ll try and resist.” Tony shuddered visibly. “Come on roomy, let’s go. I wonder what sort of beds we’ll get.” Hugh paused, waiting for Tony to respond, but when no response came he tittered, “Queen-size, I hope.”

  Tony trudged up the staircase towards his dormitory while Hugh almost skipped, which was difficult to do dragging a suitcase. The suitcase banged on each step, hindering his ascension. At the top of the stairs there were two sets of double doorways, one on the left and another opposite on the right. Above each doorway was fixed a sign stating the dormitory name.

  Hugh directed Tony. “Left here Tony.”

  “I know, I’m not blind.”

  He walked to the left and pushed open one of the large mahogany doors. They walked into the dormitory together and a voice shouted over to them. “Welcome to the Larry Grayson Boudoir. Now shut that door!” The room exploded with laughter.

  “Jesus Christ!” gasped Tony, “I wonder how long it’ll take for that to get old.”

  Hugh he
ld his stomach and shouted, “Good one guys.” There were two free single beds left in the room. Hugh ran to the bed in the corner of the room and leapt onto it. “Bagsy this one!” Tony didn’t respond, but solemnly walked to the remaining bed like a man on his way to the electric chair.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and surveyed the room that he would be spending the next few months in. There were seven other single beds, each with different and elaborately patterned duvet covers. Tony looked at his duvet and noticed that there wasn’t a cover or a pillowcase. It hadn’t even occurred to him to bring his own bedding. He looked at the high ceiling and then to the discerningly chic papered walls. Tony counted four large rectangular windows and each windowsill was adorned with a number of modern ornaments. Either side of each bed was a small area for each student; there was a bedside cabinet with a lamp and reasonably sized wardrobe. Everyone had their cases on top of their beds and some students were busy hanging up their clothes in the wardrobes. Others were busy accessorising their areas with scatter cushions and throws. One took a vase from his suitcase and placed it on his bedside cabinet.

  What is going on? thought Tony, who the hell packs a vase?

  He stood up and unzipped his sports bag. He took out his screwed-up jeans, his football shirts and his dirty trainers. He looked up and saw his room-mate’s immaculate clothes; they looked brand new, without a crease on them. Tony unpacked the contents of his wash bag, which comprised a razor and an old toothbrush. He looked over at Hugh as he took out his own bulging wash bag, unzipped it and extracted a cornucopia of male grooming products. Tony suddenly realised that he hadn’t brought any pyjamas either.

  “Oh shit,” he said barely audibly. “Perhaps I can sleep in one of my football shirts?” He sat back down on the bed and propped up his bare pillow against the headboard and leant back.

  “You look really fed up, Tony. What’s wrong?” Hugh asked with genuine sympathy.

  “Look, I really don’t want to talk about it.”