Future Queens of England

by Ryan Matthews

  “Shy are we Tony?” chirped Keenan.

  “I’m trying not to give you bastards any credit in your wank bank, that’s all,” countered Tony defensively. “And turn the main bloody lights out in here will you. It’s like Blackpool illuminations.” He leant over and switched his bed side light on.

  Giles walked over to the main light switch and turned it off, the room was now lit by a few bed side lamps. Tony picked up his car magazine and opened it, he raised it slightly trying to use it as a protective shield. He found that he couldn’t read the magazine in his current position so he placed it back on the bed side table. Holding the duvet with one hand to keep his chest covered he fished clumsily with his other hand for the pillow. He found it and hoisted it up behind him, then raising himself slightly in the bed he leant his back against the pillow and headboard. Still holding the duvet up near his chin he took his magazine and continued to read it.

  One by one the others all completed their nightly routines, got undressed and into bed and switched off their bed side lamps. Tony, however, stayed ever vigilant with one eye on his magazine and the other eye on the rest of the room, his was the last light to remain on.

  After a minute or two of not being fully able to concentrate on his magazine he found himself starting to relax a little. He found an interesting article and gave it his full attention, he turned the page and the edge scraped across the duvet making a brief faint scuffing sound. From across the room Uwe huffed and turned over. Tony’s eyes left the page for a moment and watched the movement from Uwe’s bed. Uwe huffed audibly again and shuffled in his bed. Tony turned to the next page and Uwe opened his eyes wide in an exaggerated manner.

  “Tony!” shouted Uwe in an exasperated tone, “will you please stop reading and turn that light out!”

  Tony smirked to himself pleased that he had finally found a chink in Uwe’s armour, “give it a rest Herman the German, I’ll be finished in an hour or so.”

  Uwe tutted loudly.

  “Oh come on Tony,” squealed Hugh joining in, “we’ve all got to get up in a few hours. It’s a big day tomorrow.”

  “Yeah and some of us need our beauty sleep,” muttered Gareth.

  Tony tried to ignore them and attempted to read his magazine again.

  “Hey, enough’s enough Tony,” said Keenan after a few more minutes, “lights out eh?”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake,” Tony shouted angrily, ”if it’s too light for you I’ll dim it so as not to hurt your sensitive little eyes.” He fidgeted and fumbled about under the bed covers for a moment, sticking his tongue out in concentration, and then pulled out the underpants that he had been wearing that day. Carefully, keeping the duvet close to his chest so he didn’t reveal any flesh, he hung his tired red pants over the top of his bed side lampshade. The light in the room was reduced to a dim glow. “How’s that for a compromise?” he said triumphantly.

  Uwe stared at the ceiling but spoke to Tony, “it’s still not good enough for me,” he explained. “I am like a delicate flower and like all plants I need complete darkness to photosynthesise.”

  “You thick shit Uwe,” Tony patronised, “photosynthesis happens during the day. If you want to photosynthesise then you actually need me to leave the light on dickhead! No wonder you lost the bloody war,” he added with more than a hint of jingoism.

  “I wondered how long it would be before one of you inselaffen would start talking about the war,” Uwe bawled.

  “What’s an inselaffen Uwe?” enquired Hugh.

  “Oh yes, I forgot none of you island monkeys can speak a second language, you just expect the rest of the world to learn English,” Uwe spat venomously. “If you really want to know Hugh buy yourself a German dictionary.”

  “Everyone just shut up will you! Look, Tony, just turn the bloody light off so we can all get some sleep,” Keenan appealed.

  “Oh Jesus wept! Sleep is for losers and narcoleptics,” cried Tony as he shook his magazine with agitation and attempted to read on ignoring their protests.

  After a few minutes the heat released from the light bulb gradually started to warm Tony’s pants up. A small brown singe mark started to appear and a very faint crackling could be heard as the pants started to burn. As the temperature of Tony’s pants continued to rise they started to release a musky odour of the day’s sweat combined with the smell of burning polyester.

  In the semi-darkness Bruce propped himself up onto one elbow and said with a grin, “What’s that delicious smell?” He chuckled to himself.

  Uwe chimed in, “Mein Gott! It smells just like hot weisswurst like I used to have back home in Westphalia.”

  Panic started to take hold of Tony, his breathing quickened and his synapses fired uncontrollably.

  Gareth too started to get in on the act, “Wow, that smell is driving me wild,” he sat up in bed, “I can hardly control myself!”

  “Me neither,” echoed Hugh lustily, “I can’t be held accountable for what I might do next.”

  Tony dropped the magazine without thinking and it slid off the bed and onto the floor. He clutched fistfuls of the white duvet and pulled it ever closer to his chin for security.

  Lustful moans reverberated around the room as they egged each other on. Their brains were working overtime trying to find the next level.

  “Oh, I’ve come over all queer,” quivered Hugh.

  “I know what you mean Hugh, I’ve make a tent out of my duvet,” announced Bruce.

  “Careful lover, you’ll have someone’s eye out with that,” Gareth warned saucily.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” whispered Tony quickly to himself, “what in hell have I unleashed?”

  “Hey, don’t get out of bed with that Bruce,” advised Keenan, “if you trip you’ll pole vault out of the window.”

  Tony’s eyes darted over to where Bruce lay to reassure himself that no one was actually getting out of their bed. He brought his knees up closer to his chest, making sure the duvet covered him at all times.

  “This mattress is so uncomfortable,” declared Giles, “it’s making me really stiff.”

  As if that was the straw that broke the camel’s back Tony’s arm shot out from under the duvet and grabbed his smouldering briefs. Fast as lightning he threw them through the small gap in his curtains and out of the open window into the night with the same urgency as a soldier throwing a hand grenade with the pin removed. The room erupted with the sound of hysterical laughter as Tony fumbled frantically trying to flick the switch to turn his light off. He found the button, flicked it to the off position and the room instantly fell into darkness. Tony pulled the duvet up over his chin and nose leaving only a pair of wide, nervous eyes peeking out at the room. The walls appeared to be closing in on him, he shook himself to break this illusion. The adrenaline coursed through his veins and sweat gathered and glistened on his brow. The clouds outside moved aside to allow the moonlight to permeate the dormitory and Tony’s eyes reflected brightly in the darkness.

  After the sniggers had died down the only sound Tony could hear was the sound of his heart thumping wildly against his chest as if trying to escape, “bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum.” But as much as it wanted to, it knew that it simply could not leave its personal prison

  Chapter Seven

  The room was abuzz as the students prepared for their first lesson. Tony awoke groggily, propped himself up onto one elbow and through half closed eyes tried to make out the time on his wristwatch.

  “Come on lazy bones,” chirruped Hugh. “Get up, it’s your big day!”

  Tony grunted in acknowledgement and slumped back onto the bed.

  “You too Marc, up and at ‘em,” Hugh said as he made his bed.

  Something stirred under Marc’s duvet and emitted a groan.

  Tony shuffled down in his bed and keeping himself covered with his duvet he reached under the bed with one arm searching for his bag. He felt the fabric of the handle with the tips of his fingers, but couldn’t quite grasp it. He scooched ove
r to the side of the bed and teetering on the precipice he hooked his fingers under the handle and pulled. As he wrenched the bag closer Tony lost his balance and rolled off the bed landing face down on his duvet on the floor.

  “Ach mein Gott! Das ist schrecklich,” exclaimed Uwe as Tony hastily attempted to cover his bare buttocks.

  “Jesus Christ Tony,” shouted Keenan, “that’s like the black hole of Calcutta. Have you ever thought about waxing?”

  “Never mind waxing Tony, have you ever thought about washing?” cried Gareth in disgust. “It looks like a tramp’s beard.”

  Bruce stood motionless with a horrified look on his face staring at the bed sheet, “It looks like someone’s tried to colour the Phantom in with a brown crayon during the night.”

  “Oh Lord, that’s absolutely vile,” groaned Hugh staring at the shit stained bed sheet.

  Hearing all the commotion Marc peered out bleary eyed and severely worse for wear from behind his duvet. He took one look at the offending article from across the room and promptly vomited onto the carpet.

  “Oh fabulous,” squealed Giles looking at Marc, “what a wonderful start to the day.”

  Hugh looked at Tony, then at the stained Phantom and then at the sick next to Marc’s bed and wondered for a moment if this all meant something. Was this an omen? he thought.

  Tony had managed to manoeuvre himself away from his previously prostrated position and now sat with his back against his bedside table and his duvet across him. He fished in his bag for some underwear. He pulled out a worn pair of black pants and proceeded to put them on under the protection of his duvet.

  Once Tony had composed himself he spoke, “Haven’t you bastards got anything better to do that to sit around gawping?”

  “Okay Tony, you’re right,” Gareth said, “come on we’d better get a move on. Our first class starts soon and I don’t want to be late.”

  “You had better clean that up before you go to class Marc,” Uwe ordered throwing a roll of toilet paper at him. “I do not want the room stinking of vomit when I get back tonight.”

  Marc grumbled but acquiesced and started to wipe up the mess with the tissue.

  Uwe peered at Tony disdainfully, “and I suggest you have that sheet incinerated.”

  They all busied themselves and Tony got dressed underneath his duvet and made his morning visit to the bathroom.

  After they’d all washed and dressed they left their dormitory. The group made their way down the busy corridor, pushing through the hustle and bustle, looking for their classroom. The tide of students made it impossible to see the signs on the doors.

  “Does anyone know which room we’re in?” Hugh shouted over the noise.

  “Yes of course I do, just follow me,” replied Uwe.

  Uwe pushed his way through the throng and made his way to a large mahogany door, he pushed it open forcefully and they entered the classroom. The room didn’t have chairs, instead there were a series of large cushions scattered on the floor.

  “What the…” exclaimed Tony, “do they expect me to sit on the frigging floor now.”

  “Hush Tony,” Hugh said dreamily, “it’s so bohemian.”

  Tony slapped his forehead forcefully with the palm of his hand, “Give me a break.”

  Hugh lowered himself airily onto one of the cushions then patted the one next to him in a gesture for Tony to join him. As he patted the cushion the metal tassels jingled and begrudgingly Tony sat down beside Hugh.

  Hugh leant over and spoke to Uwe, “Are you confident that you’ll be able to follow this?”

  Uwe sneered and replied scornfully, “Don’t be ridiculous Hugh! I speak better English than you do.” He fixed his gaze on Hugh, “Every man takes the limits of his own vision for the limits of the world.”

  Affronted, Hugh responded softly, “Well, if you have any trouble understanding then don’t be afraid to ask me. It’s hard to remember everything and it must be doubly hard for you when it’s in a foreign language.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, Hugh,” scoffed Uwe, “I have a photogenic brain.”

  Tony snorted, “I bet you have Uwe, I bet you have.”

  The door creaked and a tall, dark figure bowled in. A sudden hush descended on the room as they watched in awe as their lecturer took his place at the front of the room. He hadn’t yet spoken but the students were captivated nonetheless. They studied him in silence as he prepared to take the lesson, deliberately ignoring them but knowing all eyes were on him. He didn’t have a hair out of place, his skin was completely unblemished, and his style was effortless - even the way he moved was perfect. He turned to the wall, reached up and pulled down a projection screen from the ceiling, it rolled down with a satisfying whir. He clipped it carefully onto its hook to secure it and stop it rolling up. Then he took out his laptop from his bag and placed it on his desk and booted it up. Finally he swaggered towards them and spoke.

  “Good morning my nearest, dearest and queerest, my name is Ben.” His voice was silky smooth yet absolutely commanding.

  “It’s him, the announcer from last night, I’d recognise that voice anywhere,” Hugh whispered to Uwe.

  “Shhh, I want to hear him speak,” Uwe responded quickly.

  “I’ll be your lecturer and tutor this year and I can’t wait to get started,” Ben enthused. He walked over to the windows and pulled the curtains shut, then walked to the door, fiddled with the switch and dimmed the lights. Satisfied that the room was dark enough he picked up a small remote control and pointed it at the projector suspended from the ceiling and it whirred into life. A beam of light projected onto the screen and he began.

  “So then, let’s talk about the curriculum this year. We’ll be covering several topics.” He pointed with his laser pen to the projector screen and a red beam of light danced over the words. “Your first lesson will be on style. You’ll learn how to dress to impress, how to accessorise, what to wear and how to wear it, what goes and what’s already gone. You’ll be given practical lessons and you will be graded…or degraded if you get it wrong,” he drawled. He continued, oozing enthusiasm, “It’s really true that first impressions count.” Ben strode confidently back and forth in front of the captivated audience. “People make their mind up about you before you’ve even opened your mouth, so it’s imperative that you get it right or you’ll spend months trying to get them to change their mind about you …” He stopped abruptly and a serious expression fell upon his face, “… that is if you’re lucky enough to get that second chance.” Ben clapped his hands together as if to lift the mood, “Right, the next item on our curriculum is…Speech.”

  Bruce sat upright immediately on hearing this.

  “Speech and speaking is very important, it’s a vital tool and you will need to master this.” Ben let a few moments pass in silence to let this message sink in. “We need to soften those regional accents. Deal with intonation. We need to erase words from your vocabulary.”

  Hugh put his hand up, “Could you give us an example Sir?”

  Ben raised his eyebrows, “Sir?” he chuckled, “please just call me Ben,” he smiled at Hugh warmly. “But good point. If anyone does have any questions then feel free to raise your hands. To answer this fellow’s question we need to help you erase words like ‘bloke’, ‘veg’, and ‘bog’ and other such heterosexually-coined vernacular completely from your vocabulary.”

  Hugh nodded that he understood.

  Satisfied, Ben continued, “As well as erasing words we’ll also be adding new words. You’ll need to learn the latest phrases, the newest lingo and even Polari.” He stopped pacing and raised both hands in the air, “Before anyone says anything I know that Polari is so old school…but it’s still a necessary part of the curriculum and will come in very handy. You’ll be learning a little of Polari’s successor, ‘Ringlish’, too.”

  Uwe raised his hand and asked, “What’s Ringlish Ben?”

  “Ringlish,” Ben answered, “is a little bit of elitism, if I may
be so bold as to call it that.” He placed the tips of his fingers and thumbs together at chest height in an academic manner. “It’s a cant slang devised here at this very school. It allows current students and alumni to identify themselves to one another when they are out in the big bad world.”

  Bruce interrupted: “Can you give us an example?”