Future Queens of England

by Ryan Matthews

  “Not needed, Ben,” Tony replied with a straight face.

  “Really?” Ben responded with a little disappointment, “but I’ve already spent time compiling a list of compelling arguments as to why it’s a good idea.”

  Tony smirked. “If it makes you feel better you can still read a couple of items on your list.”

  Ben took the list from his bag and screwed it up, “No need to humour me Tony,” he said trying not to sound hurt. “It seems that after you walked over those hot coals last month at the strip club you seem a little more open.”

  “Does the whole bloody school know about that night then?” Tony chuntered, rolling his eyes.

  Ben laughed. “I think the whole bloody town knows about it I’m afraid.” He walked over and patted Tony on the shoulder.

  “Anyway,” Tony started, “I don’t know if I am more open to anything that is taught here, but let’s just say after that baptism of fire I reckon I can deal with anything that you throw at me.”

  Ben clapped his hands together. “Well, I consider that progress!” he said with obvious delight. “So to continue, I have put you into groups to work together on this. Gareth, Uwe,” Ben said, “you two will both be in the same group. I know this seems a little like overkill but the reason for this is that I’ve put Tony into your group too. So your team will have the biggest challenge.”

  Uwe put his face into his hands. “The best we can hope for is making him look like a chimpanzee from a tea advertisement.”

  Ben shook his head. “Now Uwe, is that what you are going to settle for? I really must say that I expected more from you,” he scolded.

  “What you ask is impossible,” Uwe replied firmly.

  “Well, if you don’t think that you can handle the challenge then let Gareth take the lead and then act as your mentor,” Ben said, losing his patience. “You could learn a thing or two from him,” he added.

  Uwe’s cheeks coloured. “Mentor!” he fumed, “mentor!” He thumped a clenched fist onto the floor, “I am the überschwule, never forget this! If anyone will be the mentor then it will be me.” He stood up quickly from his cushion so he was not looking up at Ben and spoke forcefully and with determination. “I will turn Tony into the most magnificent monkey that has ever dragged his knuckles across this island. You mark my words.”

  Ben smiled at the class. “I’m too good!” he said smugly. “In fact, I’m so good I should write a book on how to motivate the intolerably vain.”

  Uwe scowled as the class guffawed.

  “Hey, you do realise that I am actually here in the room, don’t you?” Tony muttered angrily.

  Ben looked guiltily at Tony, “Sorry, Tony, nothing personal.”

  Tony grunted in his normal manner.

  “Last but not least,” Ben said. “Hugh!”

  Hugh sat bolt upright at the mention of his name. “You’re also in the group with Tony.”

  “Yes!” Hugh cried out in relief at not being the least stylish in his group and punched the air.

  “Settle down,” Uwe sneered, “you were a close second.”

  Hugh’s smile quickly vanished. Ben then spoke to the other pupils and informed them of their groups.

  Once Ben had finished, he wandered back to the front of the room. “I’ve taken the liberty of already performing an assessment of the least stylish person within each group,” he informed them, “and I will use this as a benchmark to measure the final result. Quite simply, the greater the improvement, the higher the grade.”

  Uwe looked over at Tony and whispered, “Forcing you just to take a shower would give our group an ‘A’,” he said.

  “Being attacked by you is like being attacked by a tissue, Uwe,” Tony said laughing it off. Uwe bit his lip and looked back at Ben.

  “So, Tony, let’s use you as an example. We all know that you’re a real man and that you won’t be offended by a public critique,” Ben said, cornering him.

  Tony puffed up his chest. “Give it your best shot, Ben, I can take it.”

  “If you can take it, I can give it,” squealed Bruce.

  “Err, yes, well, thanks for your contribution Bruce,” Ben said, blushing slightly. He regained his composure and addressed the class, “Where were we? Ah yes, Tony’s critique. On the upside, Tony has toned up a lot since he first arrived here. His beer belly is diminishing day by day.”

  All eyes focused on Tony as Ben spoke. Tony started to play up to it by flexing his biceps and patting his stomach.

  Ben ignored Tony’s tomfoolery and continued unabated. “So what I am saying is that now Tony has at least given you a reasonable canvas to work on, so perhaps I could suggest improving his dress sense for a start. He’s bought some new clothes since he’s been here, but it would appear he bought them from a jumble sale.” Ben pointed his finger at Tony for a moment before carrying on with his report. “Tony only really has one look and I would describe that as …” he paused while he decided on a fitting description, “well, dishevelled football hooligan is the only label that springs to my mind.”

  The class tittered at this.

  “So, if you can get him out of his polyester football shirts and get some jeans that actually fit him then you’ll be making a good start.”

  “Have you finished?” Tony said with mild irritation.

  Ben smiled back at Tony. “Almost. I would also recommend doing something with Tony’s hair; actually, doing anything with his hair would be a drastic improvement.” He stared over at Tony, “And what a lot of hair there is. You’ll need to sort out the body hair, facial hair, the hair on his head and that awful mono-brow.” He looked at Tony and winced, “Let’s just say that your stylists have got one hell of a struggle ahead of them.”

  Tony hunched himself over and had a private grumble.

  “So these are just some ideas to work on. For the other groups I’ll spare you the public dissection,” Ben said airily. “If you want to speak to me in private then stop by my desk after class.”

  The class nodded duly. A few faces looked incredibly relieved and sat back on their cushions once more.

  Ben took a sip of water from the bottle on his desk at the front of the room. Once he swallowed, he clapped his hands together and proclaimed, “Onwards and upwards!” He faced the class again and continued. “There are no limits to what you can do,” Ben announced, “well, except for surgery. I can’t condone that.”

  Bruce raised his hand and spoke up. “What about botox?” he asked.

  Ben frowned, “I still count that as surgery, so no.” Bruce looked a little disappointed.

  “You can wax them, pluck them, shave them, tone them up and, of course, dress them,” Ben explained, “just don’t inject any chemicals or involve a surgeon’s knife. Understood?”

  “Understood,” they all replied.

  Ben continued to deliver his homily on style as the class hung on every word. “Style becomes harder and more and more important as you get older.” He paced up and down in front of the students speaking carefully and thoughtfully as he explained his philosophy. “At twenty-five you can’t wear the clothes that you wore when you were eighteen. At thirty you can’t wear the clothes that you wore at twenty-five.” The expression on his face grew more pained, “And at forty, you can’t wear the clothes that you wore at thirty.”

  Uwe interrupted him, “I would think that anyone over forty should just give it up anyway, Ben, they’ve had their life,” he said scornfully.

  “Hah! Spoken like a man in his twenties,” Ben replied with a sneer. “Forty is the new thirty, Uwe. It might seem like a lifetime away for you now, but in a blink of an eye you’ll be there yourself and you’ll soon feel differently.”

  Uwe snorted with contempt, “The first forty years of life give us the text; the next thirty supply the commentary on it,” he declared. “Quite simply, everything that was worth doing, you do before you’re forty, and then you spend the rest of your life boring people with the details.”

  Ben stopp
ed pacing and stared at the ranting German and furrowed his brow briefly before realising that that might encourage the onset of wrinkles. “Have you just about finished with your verbal diarrhoea Uwe?”

  “Not quite! Just remember, once you're over the hill you begin to pick up speed,” Uwe said. “One day you’re celebrating your fortieth birthday, and within the blink of an eye you feel yourself sliding towards fifty, and then what?” Uwe said with passion. “Suddenly you find yourself on the wrong side of fifty, a sad old queen looking for the lost!”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that, Uwe,” Ben said. “I’ll be forty in a few years, although you wouldn’t know it to look at me,” he added vainly. He deliberately left a pause, desperately hoping that someone would fill it with an affirmation or even a compliment. When none came he gave a verbal nudge, “Would you?”

  “No, Ben,” came the unified response.

  “No, exactly,” Ben said, “and I certainly plan on looking as wonderful at forty, fifty and sixty as I do now. I’d like to think that when I reach my twilight years I’ll be like a wonderful old leather-bound book, distinguished, ever so slightly wrinkled, but majestic and something quite beautiful in its own special way.”

  “Or more likely you’ll be left on the shelf, covered in dust, with a musty smell, yellowing and forgotten about,” Uwe said with absolute derision.

  Suddenly and from out of nowhere, a hairy knuckled hand slapped Uwe across the face knocking him from his cushion onto the floor.

  “Tony!” cried Ben in disbelief.

  “What?” Tony said. “He really needed a slap and I was closer to him than you, so I made the decision to save your shoe leather and do it for you.”

  Keenan shuffled over to Uwe and whispered in his ear. “You deserved that Uwe, now I suggest you take it on the chin on this occasion and act like a man.” He helped a rather startled Uwe back onto his cushion, gently lifting him by his elbow.

  The room was completely silent as they waited for the fireworks.

  Tony looked at Uwe. “Sorry Uwe,” he said apologetically, “I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

  Uwe looked back at Tony, deciding on his response, and Keenan gripped Uwe’s arm as a reminder.

  Finally, Uwe spoke. “Being attacked by you is also like being attacked by a tissue.” He looked at Ben. “I apologise. It appears that I got a little carried away.”

  Ben spoke up, not quite knowing what had just happened, “Well, quite. Apology accepted Uwe.” He fumbled for words, “Well … err … I suppose this is as good a point as any to finish the class. So off you go guys and work your magic.”

  The class silently stood and exited the room, Uwe and Keenan turned left and Hugh and Tony turned right whilst the rest of the class hovered outside the room. As soon as they were out of sight the gossip factory started production. By the time the story reached Louise via the grapevine she was shocked to hear about Uwe losing a tooth and Tony’s forehead needing stitches.

  Later that evening in their dormitory everyone was busying themselves pottering about after the day’s excitement. Tony sat on the edge of his bed and tapped out a rhythm on his thighs. Hugh was trying to read his book. His eyes went over the same line time and time again and he grew more irritated by Tony’s tapping. Tony’s drumming grew faster and louder the longer he played.

  “Tony!” Hugh blurted out, unable to contain his irritation any longer. “Stop that bloody tapping.” Hugh’s breathing quickened, he was shocked at his outburst.

  Tony hastily beat about a final drum roll in an attempt not to lose face before stopping. “Well excuse me.” He stood up and walked over to him, “I’m just so bored.” He started to flip through Hugh’s CD collection. “Mind if I put some music on?” Tony said after he had picked out a couple of CDs.

  Hugh gave Tony a guilty look and surveyed the room. “I’d rather you didn’t. I’m trying to read.”

  Tony ignored this, “Right then, what have we got here?” he said with a smirk as he waved the Village People CD in front of Hugh’s face. Hugh reached out to snatch it from Tony, but Tony was too quick and pulled it out of Hugh’s reach. “The Village People. This will be good for laugh.” He opened the CD case and removed the CD.

  “I’m not in the mood tonight,” Hugh protested, trying to take the CD from him.

  “Quiet, Bruce!” Tony said immediately without even looking around.

  Bruce looked disappointed at another missed opportunity for an innuendo and shook his head before going back to sorting out his dirty washing.

  Tony turned his back on Hugh to stop him from taking the CD away. “Oh, come on, Hugh, I thought you benders loved this sort of thing.” He stepped back and formed a ‘Y’, then an ‘M’, and backward ‘C’, followed by an ‘A’ with his arms whilst he hummed the tune. He switched Hugh’s stereo on and opened the CD drawer. But as he placed the disc in the drawer he frowned, “Hugh, this isn’t the Village People, you’ve left the wrong CD in the case. This is Iron bloody Maiden.”

  “Is it really?” Hugh said, his voice slightly higher than normal. “That is strange; I don’t even own an Iron Maiden CD.”

  At this point Keenan leant over. “They’re all in the wrong bloody boxes, Tony. I tried to put on a CD the other day, but I gave up. There was an Aerosmith CD in the Pet Shop Boys case, a Megadeath CD in the Erasure case and Bad Company in the Communards case.” Keenan sat up. “What you need is a system, Hugh,” he said sagely.

  A knock at the door interrupted their discussion. “Can I come in?” a soft voice spoke, “Are you decent?”

  “Ah, Louise, come in, come in,” Hugh said with a certain amount of relief.

  Louise walked in sheepishly, “Hi all,” she said as she glanced over at Tony.

  Tony adopted his most casual pose. “Alright?” he said leaning on Hugh’s CD player.

  “Yes, fine thanks,” she said as she gawped at his hands to see if there were any bruises. When she saw none she studied Tony’s head looking for the fabled stitches. Tony rubbed his forehead self consciously under Louise’s gaze. “I’m surprised to see you here,” Louise said.

  “Really? Why’s that?” he asked.

  “Well, I thought that you’d still be at the hospital,” she explained to a room of confused faces.

  “Hospital?” Tony said incredulously. “Why the hell would I be at the hospital?”

  Louise quickly realised that the story of Uwe and Tony’s altercation may have been subject to a little exaggeration. “No reason, no reason,” she said with embarrassment, annoyed at herself for believing the gossip. Why had she believed this so readily? she wondered. “Anyway, the real reason that I am here is to deliver your post,” Louise said, changing the subject.

  “Really?” Bruce said. “When did that change? Normally we have to fetch it ourselves.”

  Louise blushed. “Oh, is that the time? I can’t stand around here chatting all night, I have to go.” She threw the post onto Tony’s bed. “Night all,” she said as she dashed out of the room.

  “Night Louise,” Tony said calling after her. He craned his neck to stare at her arse as she left the room. “Damn, that girl’s got a beautiful butt,” Tony said to the others.

  “Hmm, the blood must have rushed out of your head to other parts,” Gareth laughed. “Have you forgotten that we don’t share the same passion as you about women’s arses?”

  Tony didn’t even hear Gareth speak as his stare remained focused on the door. Eventually he looked over to his bed and walked across to pick up the letters. He gathered them together and flipped through them. “Hugh, Hugh, Hugh,” Tony said slowly, “surprise, surprise. They’re all for you again.”

  “Are they?” Hugh said with a smile, sitting bolt upright. He trotted over to Tony to collect them, “I love to get a letter, don’t you?” Hugh said to no one in particular.

  “The only letters that I ever get are bills and court summons,” Tony replied assuming that Hugh was talking to him. He handed Hugh the letters and Hugh returned
to his bed with them. “Who are they all from anyway?” Tony enquired. “The handwriting and the postcode are the same on all of them.”

  “They’re from my lover, George,” Hugh said in a soppy voice.

  “Erghh,” Tony spat, “sometimes I forget about you lot being queer.” Tony shook himself at the thought, but before the conversation could continue Uwe burst boldly into the room.

  All eyes turned to Tony, then to Uwe and then back again. Uwe walked silently to his bed and removed his shoes.

  Gareth looked up from his book and gestured at Tony. “Go on,” he urged, “remember what we talked about earlier,” he said with a whisper. Tony frowned back at Gareth and shook his head. “Do it!” Gareth said through pursed lips.

  Tony hesitated slightly before standing and walking across to Uwe. Tony rubbed his hands down the side of his jeans as he walked over. He stopped next to him and searched for the right words. “Erm, Uwe?” he mumbled unsure of how to go on.

  Uwe ignored him.

  Keenan looked up at Uwe and coughed.

  At this prompting Uwe reluctantly turned to face Tony. “Yes, Tony?” he said stoically.

  “It’s been a bad day,” Tony said. “Really bad, actually. Perhaps we should clear the air.”

  Uwe nodded, “Perhaps you are right,” he agreed. “It has been a bad day. I for one am really suffering from weltschmerz.”

  “Velt Smurts?” Tony said slowly, trying to repeat what Uwe had just said. “What’s Velt Smurts?”

  Uwe straightened his back and sighed heavily, “Oh, Tony. As an Englishman you will never truly understand or experience weltschmerz so I guess there is no real point in explaining it to you.”

  Tony began to scowl as Uwe patronised him, but Gareth gestured over to Tony to relax.

  “The feeling of weltschmerz is entirely reserved for the German nation, particularly Prussians.”

  Tony frowned, unsure how the conversation had led to this, “What do you mean Uwe?” he said, trying desperately not to lose his temper.

  Uwe smiled and clicked his heels. “Ah, I am glad that you asked this question. You see, we Germans are great thinkers and within us all is a brooding genius, a Beethoven or a Goethe, if you will. We are tortured souls and with that we carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.”