Holly twirled the ends of her plaits and wished she’d brought a notebook so she wouldn’t forget a thing.
‘When you greet the Queen, the correct formal address is “Your Majesty”. After that you can simply say “Ma’am”, as in “jam”. Men are to bow their heads while women do a small curtsy. You must never, under any circumstances, touch the Queen unless she offers you her hand, in which case you may shake it – but do not grip tightly or pump it. Do not hug or kiss her, and whatever you do, do not ask about her famous grandchildren. She is very sensitive about that.’
‘I’m sure she’s not that uptight,’ Mrs Trifle declared.
Holly felt her chest tighten. ‘I think it’s very important that we follow Mr O’Malley’s rules.’
‘After all,’ her mother said, as if Holly hadn’t spoken, ‘deep down she’s just like us, except for the castles and palaces and crowns.’
‘The Queen will be here in mere moments.’ Mr O’Malley was doing his best to keep his emotions in check, even though it was obvious that he was jittery with anticipation. ‘Are there any final questions before she arrives?’
‘Can we take selfies?’ Mr Trifle was already thinking of how he could use a photo of the Queen to promote the business.
‘I’m afraid not. Her Majesty isn’t one for selfies.’
‘It’s just an innocent photo,’ Mrs Trifle argued. ‘I’m sure she’d love to.’
‘Her Majesty would rather you didn’t,’ Mr O’Malley insisted with a nervous smile.
‘Oh, come on, O’Malley.’ Mr Trifle put his hefty arm around Mr O’Malley’s shoulders and held them tighter than seemed comfortable. ‘What harm can it do?’
Mr O’Malley stiffened, as if a python had slithered around him, threatening to squeeze him to death. ‘It’s not a matter of harm but of –’
The wall behind Mr O’Malley slowly opened, and out sprang two small yapping dogs followed by a grey-haired lady wearing glasses, a pale yellow twin-set and pearls.
‘She’s here.’ There was a gleam in Holly’s eyes.
‘It’s her.’ Mr Kapoor reached for his wife and son. ‘It’s really her.’
‘Sorry I’m late,’ the Queen said. ‘I was hoping to be here when you arrived but the corgis were having their baths and it was a tad hard to convince them to get out.’
Mr O’Malley held out his hand. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to Elizabeth the Second, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith and official patron of the Most Marvellous International Spelling Bee, Her Majesty the Queen.’
There was a rather awkward collection of bowing and curtseying, and a quiet murmuring of, ‘Your Majesty’.
‘Thank you, Mr O’Malley. That is very kind.’
Mr O’Malley blushed from ear to ear.
‘Welcome, everyone, to Buckingham Palace. I would like to congratulate you all on being part of this most marvellous competition. It takes hard work and intelligence to get here but also great gumption. We wish you the very best of luck, and look forward to settling back in our pyjamas and watching you all. For now, please mingle and enjoy the delicious cakes. They are scrumptious.’
Holly silently went through all the rules Mr O’Malley had told them.
The Trifles, on the other hand, seemed determined to break every one.
‘Your Majesty.’ Mr Trifle grabbed the Queen’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. Her glasses slipped a little to the side. Palace security staff moved in to help, but she gave them a discreet nod that she was fine.
‘My, what a strong grip you have!’ She straightened her glasses.
‘It’s the muscles. Me and my wife, Mrs Trifle, own our own fitness and beauty emporium.’
Holly silently pleaded. Please, please don’t give her your –
‘Card?’ Mr Trifle whipped a card from his pocket. ‘It’s called Beaut Butts and Guts. Guaranteed to get anyone’s butt and gut in shape in no time.’
He did it, Holly despaired. My dad actually said the word ‘butt’ to the Queen of England. Twice!
The entire room fell silent – except for the corgis, who growled.
Holly was sure they’d be kicked out or thrown in prison for their offences.
The Queen, however, continued on with perfect grace and politely accepted the card. ‘You do look exceedingly fit.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am.’ The Trifles smiled as if they had just won the lottery, while Holly stood in a mire of mortification, wishing she knew the address of her real parents – the ones who would never embarrass her like these ones. ‘We can show you some of our moves if you like.’
Holly literally stopped breathing.
Mr O’Malley tried to intervene. ‘Oh, that won’t be –’
Before he could finish, Mr and Mrs Trifle tore off their outer clothes in one velcro-ripping move, revealing shiny lycra suits underneath. Mr Trifle began a series of squats, while Mrs Trifle lunged to each side. ‘These are two of our most effective moves to tone flab.’
Mr O’Malley turned white and looked as if he was about to pass out.
The royal guards exchanged puzzled looks, unsure if this was bizarre but harmless or a serious breach of security. No-one had ever exercised at the Queen before.
‘Do these every day, Ma’am,’ Mr Trifle said, ‘and you, too, can have butts like ours.’
There was a very long pause. No-one dared move – especially Holly, who wondered if having your father say ‘butt’ THREE times to the Queen meant she’d go to jail too.
Finally, Her Majesty said, ‘Congratulations to you …’ She raised an eyebrow and gave a cheeky smile. ‘And your well-toned butts and guts.’
The Queen and her corgis moved to the table of cakes.
‘How about that?’ Mr Trifle whispered. ‘She greatly admires our butts.’
‘They are very fine,’ Mrs Trifle agreed.
The Queen surveyed the selection of tasty treats, deciding which one to pick, while the corgis sniffed at the cuffs of Boo’s jeans. ‘Oh, they like you.’ She leaned in closer. ‘And, trust me, they don’t like everyone.’
Mum tried to discreetly move between Boo and the dogs.
‘What’s your name, young man?’
‘Boo Wimple, and this is Mum, Dad, Nanna Flo and my champion spelling sister, India.’
‘It is a pleasure to meet you all.’
‘Is it okay to ask the Queen a question?’ Boo wondered.
‘Since I am she, I would say yes.’
‘Do you like being Queen?’
‘There is no greater pleasure or privilege. Even though I must admit that when it gets a bit chaotic, I sneak through the secret door to my private chambers and read.’
‘Is it hard being surrounded by people watching everything you do?’
The Queen had a wistful look. ‘Not everything. They let me sleep in peace, but it would be nice to walk down the street or through a park completely unrecognised. I do love being Queen, but if I could have one afternoon of just being Elizabeth, I think that would be rather nice.’
‘You could come to Yungabilla and be incognito,’ Boo suggested.
She chuckled. ‘And where’s that?’
‘It’s in Australia. It’s super quiet and everyone’s really nice. Except Bessie, but that’s only when there are lamingtons around.’
‘Bessie?’
‘Farmer Austin’s cow.’
‘I see. I may have to visit one day.’ She turned to India. ‘And how about you? Are you ready for your big day?’
‘I think so, Ma’am. I am a bit nervous.’
‘It’s only natural,’ the Queen said. ‘There have been times when I’ve been terribly nervous, especially when I first became Queen. I used to have this voice in my head that was very negative.’
‘Me too!’ India remembered the voice in her head during the first Spelling Bee. ‘But it went away.’
‘I suspect it’s because you held up your chin and got on with it. As my good friend Winston Churchill used to say, “Att
itude is a little thing that makes a big difference.”’
‘Were you always a good speller?’ India was curious.
‘My sister and I would lie in bed at night and have competitions. Papa would often come into our rooms and sternly tell us to turn out the lights. He could be very stern, you know, being King and all. We would dutifully say goodnight, but when he was gone we’d take out our torches and keep playing, and we wouldn’t go to sleep until one of us was the champion.’
‘Who usually won?’
‘I don’t like to boast, but I was quite good.’ The Queen chuckled and chose a bite-sized chocolate mousse cake. ‘I had better mingle. I wish all of the spellers well, of course, but I will especially look forward to watching you.’
‘Ingenious India had never been in a situation that was so perilous.’
That afternoon, in preparation for round one of the Most Marvellous International Spelling Bee, Mum told another story of Brave Boo and Ingenious India for some last-minute practice. This time, she’d written it down so Boo could double-check the spelling.
‘Perilous,’ India said. ‘P-e-r-i-l-o-u-s.’
Boo held Mum’s story in his hands, nodding at every correctly spelled word, while Nanna Flo crossed her fingers and Dad paced nervously in the background.
‘She was dangling from a helicopter high above Buckingham Palace, which was ablaze.’
‘A-b-l-a-z-e.’
‘Fire consumed the building, and the only way out was up. The pilot, Brave Boo, held the chopper steady against the waves of rising heat, while India descended …’
‘D-e-s-c-e-n-d-e-d.’
‘Into a moment that was truly valiant.’
‘V-a-l-i-a-n-t.’
‘And rescued the Queen from certain catastrophe.’
‘C-a-t-a-s-t-r-o-p-h-e.’
‘A perfect score!’ Boo cried.
‘Just as I expected.’ Dad sat on the lounge as if he knew all along how well it would go.
‘Someone tell the other spellers not to bother turning up,’ Nanna Flo decided. ‘India Wimple is here.’
Normally Mum frowned on this kind of talk – she didn’t want to build India’s hopes up only to have them dashed. She also wanted to remind everyone that winning wasn’t what competing was all about.
But today even she joined in.
‘You’re going to be magnificent!’ She kissed her daughter on the forehead.
The India of Mum’s stories was brave and adventurous, and Boo was daring and invincible. India always knew how to get out of scrapes, and Boo could scale tall buildings and face down the meanest of bad guys.
India always thought Mum told these stories to make them feel like heroes, but she wondered now if that’s how Mum saw her kids – stronger and more courageous than they actually were.
‘Wimple family,’ Mum announced. ‘It’s time to get dressed so we can deliver this champion to her destiny!’
Not far away in another suite at the Royal Windsor Hotel, Grandpop Eriksson poked his head into his grandson’s bedroom. ‘Can I come in?’
Grandpop wore a jumper that was made for a much bigger man and had combed what little hair he had into a neat white wave.
‘Sure.’ Peter was sitting in bed with his dictionary nestled on his lap.
‘How do you feel?’
‘I’m nervous.’
‘It’s to be expected. It’s a nervous kind of day.’
Grandpop Eriksson sat on the edge of the bed and handed him a small locket. ‘Do you recognise this?’
‘That’s Grandma’s.’
‘Open it.’
Inside was a tiny photo of Peter as a baby surrounded by his mum, Grandpop and Grandma.
‘We were so happy when you came along. It was one of the best days of my life. Your grandma would be so proud of you. I am, too, even though I haven’t been very good at showing it. Since she died, I haven’t quite been myself and have disappeared a bit.’
‘You’ve been sad.’
‘We all were. I never knew you could miss someone so much, but that’s no excuse. I should have been there for you with school, especially with your dad not being here.’
Peter felt a jab in his chest. He’d never spoken about his dad with Grandpop. After he had left, Grandma would take him for walks, cuddle him at night, and tell him to let it out if he was angry or upset, but with Mum and Grandpop it never seemed right.
‘Your grandma would be really cross with me for not stepping up. From now on, I promise, you can count on me.’
‘Thanks, Grandpop.’ Peter held out the locket.
‘You keep it, to remind you that we’re on your side. Now, let’s go show those others how to spell.’
Down the hall, the Trifles were making their own preparations for the Bee.
‘Sit still.’ Mrs Trifle twirled another lock of hair around the curling iron while Mr Trifle lifted weights in the background. Holly felt as if her head were on fire.
‘I’d prefer to read, if that’s okay.’
‘How is reading going to help you get ready for your big night?’ Mrs Trifle tugged at another lock. ‘When you walk into a room, people won’t be judging you on how many books you’ve read but by how pretty I’ve made you look.’
Holly stared at the tight curls that stuck out from her head like pompoms. ‘I’d rather read than look pretty.’
Her mother scowled. ‘There’s a good chance of that happening, but we can at least try. Now sit still and let me work my magic.’
Mrs Trifle continued to pull and yank at Holly’s hair.
‘I know you think your father and I focus too much on the business, but it’s for the family, which is, after all, the most important thing in life.’
‘It’s what happens when you have kids.’ Mr Trifle huffed as he curled the dumbbells smoothly. ‘You want to do everything for them. It’s only natural.’
‘But this reading business is going to get you nowhere.’ Mrs Trifle took a brush and began fluffing out the curls. ‘Your father and I never bothered with books, and look at us! We’re the epiphany of success!’
Holly knew her mother meant the epitome of success, as in the perfect example of success, but she didn’t want to upset her, so she said nothing.
‘There.’ Mrs Trifle stood back and admired Holly’s hair, which ballooned around her head like she’d stuck a finger in an electrical socket. ‘It’s not perfect, but it’s a big improvement on what we had before.’ She flopped onto the lounge with a weary sigh. ‘I could sleep for a week.’
‘Aren’t you coming?’ Holly asked.
‘Good heavens no.’ Her mother placed two thin slices of cucumber over her eyes. ‘I need to rest. It’s been a very big day.’
Mr Trifle saw Holly’s shoulders slump, and something in that small gesture made his heart jolt. At first he worried it might be a heart attack, but that was all it was: a small, melancholy jolt.
‘I’ll go with you,’ he found himself saying. ‘You will?’ Holly had to make sure she hadn’t misheard or that her father wasn’t talking to someone else.
Mr Trifle thought about it. ‘Sure. That way your mother can have some peace and quiet.’
Mr Trifle put on a fresh shirt and Holly raced to her room for her cardigan. She was about to say goodbye to her mum when she heard the faint ripples of snoring and realised she’d already fallen asleep.
‘Come on,’ Mr Trifle said. ‘We’d better not be late.’
‘The day we’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived.’
Mr O’Malley beamed from the stage of the Heritage Ballroom in the Royal Windsor Hotel. He was immaculately dressed in a royal blue pinstripe suit with a bright red cravat and flower in his lapel that were almost the same colour as his cheeks.
‘Round one of the Most Marvellous International Spelling Bee will begin shortly, so please take your seats.’
The ballroom buzzed with contestants, parents and television crew setting up cameras and lights.
India looked up at
the stage. Rows of seats were arranged for the spellers on one side, a lectern for the pronouncer on the other, and in the centre was a single microphone where millions of people would soon watch her spell. Her stomach twisted into an entire basket of knots. The Wimples huddled together with their red scarves tucked around their necks.
India stood in her purple dress with yellow sunflowers – a hand-me-down from Mrs Rahim’s eldest daughter. ‘Do you think I’ll be okay?’
‘Of course you will,’ Dad said. ‘You’re a Wimple; you’ll be amazing.’
‘It’s true!’ Nanna Flo said. ‘Or you can dunk me in barbecue sauce and serve me for dinner.’
‘But what if I freeze on stage?’ India fiddled with the contestant number dangling from her neck. ‘Like I did before? You know, when …’
She couldn’t bring herself to say it, but what she meant was this: what if she froze like she had during her school play, Matilda, when she saw Mum and Dad in the back of the auditorium, carrying Boo outside while he was having a serious asthma flare-up? She was left on stage, stumbling through her lines, which she mostly forgot, wondering the whole time if her brother was going to be okay.
‘That was a long time ago,’ Dad said. ‘And since then, you’ve become Australia’s spelling champion.’ He put his hand on his heart and stuck his nose into the air. ‘And my personal hero.’
Boo copied his dad. ‘And mine.’
Nanna Flo and Mum followed. ‘Us too.’
India laughed. ‘Okay, you can stop now, people are starting to stare.’ But she did feel better.
‘Have you got your lucky hanky?’ Nanna Flo checked.
‘Yes.’ India tapped her pocket where she kept the hanky Nanna had given her for the first Spelling Bee.
‘Good luck hug?’ Boo held out his arms.
‘Yes, please.’
‘You’ll be great, Sis,’ he whispered. ‘I know it.’
Mum kissed her on each cheek. ‘Take a long, steadying breath before each word and try to have fun.’
Dad gave her one of his special hugs, which felt like being wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket. ‘We’ll be cheering for you.’
India noticed Nanna searching the room. ‘Looking for anyone?’
The Most Marvellous Spelling Bee Mystery Page 9