A Royal Mess

by Tyne O'Connell

‘And Malcolm,’ I added, recognising that red thatch of hair even though it was plastered to his head.

  ‘And Freds!’ Indie yelped as the shamefaced grin of my one and only true love lit up our dark little room. I didn’t care how wet he was as he pulled me into his arms and snog-aged me into a state of bliss. When we drew breath he asked if I could ever forgive him for being such a paranoid idiot.

  Malcolm tussled Fred’s hair and grinned at me. ‘The appropriate answer would be no, Calypso,’ he advised. ‘Oh, by the way, I brought you this,’ he added passing me a miniature bottle of Veuve. ‘And don’t worry, I took the precaution of removing the straw for you already,’ he teased.

  I know I should have just been happy that Freds had forgiven me, but I couldn’t help wondering what had changed his mind. I hoped it was sleepless night upon sleepless night remembering our kisses that had made him realise he couldn’t live without me. But I suspected Malcolm might have had something to do with it.

  Speaking of Malcolm, I couldn’t help notice the way Indie was staring at him, like a huntress eyeing up her prey. Freddie had his arms around me still, and I nuzzled his neck the way Kev was nuzzling Star’s.

  Star pulled away, though. ‘I’m a huge fan of your work, Malcolm,’ she gushed.

  ‘Cheers, and you are?’

  ‘Sorry, I said. This is Star and this is Indie and –’ but Indie took it from there.

  ‘Star’s told me all about your films, especially Trousers in Cannes. I can’t wait to see it,’ she practically gushed. ‘I love experimental silent film. Voices are soooo overrated.’

  ‘You haven’t been advertising again, have you McHamish?’ Freddie teased, giving Malcolm a friendly shove (right in the direction of Indie, I noted).

  ‘How did you know we’d be here?’ I asked Freds. ‘I was meant to be in Brighton today.’

  ‘Yaah, but you’re not. Thanks to me,’ Freddie explained, looking shamefaced. ‘Kev told me. I’m really sorry about how I reacted last week. I guess I was just so shocked, seeing you there on McHamish’s bed.’

  ‘He was particularly pissed off about your rather fetching Snoopy bra and knickers on my radiator,’ Malcolm ribbed.

  Freddie went red.

  ‘Oh, I know. It must of looked terrible, what with my trackie bums and –’

  Star slashed her hand across her neck, indicating now would be a perfect opportunity for me to shut up.

  ‘I wasn’t aware they did matching Snoopy lingerie,’ Malcolm added unhelpfully. ‘Cute little ensemble, Pyke,’ he explained to Kev. ‘You see, they had little Woodstocks on them and everything. Very arty. I’m not normally a lingerie man myself, but personally I’ve always felt that Woodstock was way underrated. He carried that cartoon strip as far as I can tell.’

  I glared at him.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Calypso,’ he continued unabashed. ‘Could I grab my robe back?’

  ‘Sure, it’s hanging on the back of the en suite door there,’ I told him before turning back to Freds. ‘But I only came to Eades to see you Freds. I didn’t even know Malcolm then and I was just soooo wet and lost and well –’

  Freddie put his hands up in resignation. ‘I know, mea culpa, mea culpa, McHamish told all. The vine, the rain, the cold, but Calypso we need to get something straight.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I get pissed off when you do these totally random unexpected inexplicable, illogical things. It’s just confusing and makes me feel, well, insecure, I suppose.’

  ‘How can you be insecure, Freds, when you’ve got a girl who’s prepared to brave that wisteria bush in the rain. Tomkins broke his collarbone trying that stunt, remember,’ Malcolm pointed out.

  I was almost swooning, though, at the idea that I had the capacity to make an HRH insecure. Sorry, but how hot is that?

  Star, who’d been towelling off Kev’s hair, waded in to my defence. She’s never had much time for Freds and wasn’t going to let him off his sulk that easily. ‘She was only looking for you! It’s a wonder she didn’t catch pneumonia and die. If it weren’t for Malcolm helping her out, we might all be at her funeral now, not listening to you whine about how insecure you are.’ She may as well have added You stuck up royal high horse,’ given the tone she used.

  Freds responded by going red and wiping his hand through his own dripping wet hair. ‘I’ve been a bit of a shit, haven’t I?’

  I can’t tell you how adorable he looked. I wanted to give him a towel and dry him off like Star had Kev, but I got the feeling Star would flip out if I did.

  ‘Yes, you are a shit,’ Star told him crossly. ‘A royal bloody shit, now get down on your knees and apologise to all of us. To Calypso, for believing the worst of her. Then you can apologise to Malcolm for not being more grateful to him for helping your girlfriend out. And last but not least you can say sorry to Indie and me for having to put up with Calypso being so bloody miserable all week when she’s got enough on her plate with her parents splitting up. Oh, and to Kev for being your mate and having to put up with your misplaced sense of grandeur twenty-four-seven. Insecure my arse.’

  Indie giggled, and I noticed Malcolm looking at her like a lovesick puppy.

  Freddie wiped some raindrops off his face. God, he was fit. I really wished Star could see how lovely he was, which I bet she would if she got to know him properly. ‘Erm, can we go somewhere on our own for a chat?’ he asked me quietly.

  After checking whether Star had heard, I nodded, too happy to trust myself to speak. Star was busily dabbing KeVs nose with the towel.

  ‘Calypso and I are just going to nip into the bathroom for a chat,’ he said looking straight at Star. ‘Before I go I’d just like to say, to all of you, especially Calypso, obviously, who’s the best girlfriend a boy could wish for.’ Then, and this is true, I swear, he got down on his knees and arms outstretched said, ‘Forgive me, ladies and McHamish and Kev, for I have done yea wrong.’

  Malcolm gave him a gentle kick. ‘Piss off, you idiot, you were always crap at drama.’ And then everyone laughed – even Star (well, she rolled her eyes and smiled) – and Freds and I went into the en suite for a quiet chat.

  So there we were, his insecure Royal Highness and me. He sat on the loo and I sat on his lap, and after a nice bit of pulling, he took my chin in his hands and turned my head to his own. I was forced to look into his eyes, which always gives me this melted-chocolate feeling. ‘I am sorry, Calypso.’

  I nodded mutely, staring into the gorgeousity of his face.

  ‘Oh shit, what kind of king will I make? I always seem to get the wrong end of the stick. And I didn’t even think about what you must be going through with your parents separating. God, are you okay?’

  I nodded. ‘You know ’rents.’

  ‘Yes, my parents are the ones responsible for the security dopes I’m always trying to shake.

  I giggled. ‘I think you should count yourself lucky. Mine are just plain nuts.’

  ‘Well so are mine, but at least I let you meet mine. You, on the other hand, didn’t want to subject your mother to the horror of me! How do you think I felt when you legged it down the lane? I presume you’ve told her all sorts of horrible lies about me.’

  I went so red I thought my eyes would start bleeding. ‘No, it wasn’t you, it was her. Sarah’s gone completely mad since she left Bob. She’s started reverting. I couldn’t subject you to that.’

  ‘Reverting?’

  ‘Regressing, you know, talking to me like I’m three, and, well, you don’t want to hear about my problems.’

  ‘See. This is what I’m talking about. You are maddening, Calypso. Of course I want to talk about your reverting mother. I want to talk about everything with you. But you’re always sending me these mixed signals.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. You’re never doing what you’re meant to be doing, never where you’re meant to be, and you never even say what I think you’re going to say. And after all that phone confusion rubbish before half term, it’s like
mixed signal after mixed signal. I feel like I can never relax. I know loads of our problems were down to Honey, and we’re over that, but despite Star’s opinion of me I actually do get insecure where you’re concerned because you won’t let me get to know you properly. You really are like Cinderella, disappearing every time I feel like we’re getting close, and all I’m left with is a glass slipper that doesn’t fit anyone else.’

  Then he kissed me for a very, very, very long lime. When we stopped I wiped a wet tentacle of hair from his forehead.

  ‘You’re not like any other girl I’ve ever met, Calypso. Apart from being madly stunning and adorable, you are the singularly most infuriatingly difficult girlfriend a boy ever had.’

  I was about to kiss him again, but he pushed me away.

  ‘No, I will not be distracted from my prepared speech,’ he teased, laughingly. ‘I’ve thought about this a lot while I’ve been sulking, and the truth is (he did a nervous throat-clearing thing) I love you, Calypso, and everything you do drives me crazy.’

  Shocked didn’t even come close to how I was feeling at that moment, but before I could form an articulate sentence, we all heard the tap, tap, tap of Miss Bibsmore’s stick coming down the corridor towards us. The duct tape must have fallen off her carpet-square silencer.

  I grabbed Freds and dived out of the en suite. Star looked at me. Kev looked at Freds. Indie looked at Malcolm.

  ‘She’s going to come in here,’ Star hissed, looking around at all of us, her eyes large saucers of terror.

  I looked outside, where it had started to hail.

  ‘They haven’t got time to make it out,’ I said, as Miss Bibsmore’s stick could be heard outside our door.

  ‘Here,’ Star told the boys, chucking clothes from Honey’s drawer at them in bundles and shoving them into the en suite.

  She had no sooner slammed the door on them when Miss Bibsmore entered our room in her awkward little shuffle. ‘I’ve brought you some sweets, Miss Kelly,’ she said as she passed a bag of jelly beans over to me. ‘I know this gating is difficult for you an’ all, what with the fencing competition, but discipline is discipline.’

  I heard noises coming from the en suite, and so I shook the packet of jelly beans loudly in the pathetic hope of drowning out the boy’s racket and cried, Thank you, Miss Bibsmore, you’re soooo sweet.’

  Why were boys so loud, even when they are supposed to quiet? I had to keep rattling on. ‘Yes, Miss Bibsmore. Thank you, Miss Bibsmore. That is sooo, kind, Miss Bibsmore,’ I said, as loudly as I could without shouting.

  Star and Indie joined in with ‘Aren’t you a duck, Miss Bibsmore! You are the best house mother ever! So kind. Poor Calypso. She just loves jelly beans.’

  ‘All right, all right! I might be crippled, but I is not deaf! Leastways not last time I heard,’ Miss Bibsmore cried, holding her hands over her ears.

  The boys in the en suite began to giggle.

  ‘What was that?’ asked our house spinster. ‘Have you got company?’

  Indie dived to the rescue. ‘Just a few chums from an upper year. They came down to, erm, help us with erm –’

  ‘Some hard sums,’ added Star. Talk about a lame excuse, normally Star is razor sharp when it comes to quick-thinking excuses.

  ‘Their bathroom was blocked, so I said they could use mine,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh yes, well, very generous of you, Miss Kelly, I’m sure.’ But she didn’t look totally convinced.

  Then the boys giggled even louder. Thanks, guys.

  Placing one of her arthritic hands on the doorknob of the en suite, Miss Bibsmore demanded that the ‘girls’ show themselves. Please, please, please I thought, you have locked the door!

  But they hadn’t locked the door. Of course they hadn’t done anything as sensible as that. What was I thinking? They were boys.

  ‘Out you git,’ Miss Bibsmore clucked, poking her stick into the en suite to hustle the boys out.

  Malcolm, Freds, and Kevin wriggled out, deftly dodging the blows of Miss Bibsmore’s stick. Each had a towel wrapped around his head as a turban, each with a face smeared with makeup a three-year-old child would be proud of. Malcolm was wearing his robe, while Freds and Kevin were each dressed in Honey’s trackie bums and hoodies. They looked like transvestites who hadn’t quite found their way around the makeup counter yet. Malcolm had daubed body glitter all over his face.

  ‘What are your names, girls?’ Miss Bibsmore asked suspiciously, eyeing up my boyfriend and his friends.

  ‘My name’s Octavia,’ Freds replied in a falsetto voice that could break glass.

  ‘Oh, my darling girl,’ Miss Bibsmore cried out, almost weeping with joy as she tossed her stick to the floor and threw her arms around my boyfriend (who loved me) with an abandon I’d never seen. ‘You’ve come back, Octavia. I knew you would. The others said you’d gone and got yourself preggers. Oh, you dear, dear, dear girl.’

  After that she began to cry. ‘This little poppet here was like a daughter to me an’ all.’ She gave Fred’s cheek a big pinch. Then one day some horrible boy from Eades pitched up here on a motorbike, mind, and took ‘er off. Never saw her again.’

  ‘Heavens,’ said Indie, still transfixed by Malcolm, avec makeup and all. It was obvious she fancied him like mad.

  ‘But I’m back now, Miss,’ Freds squeaked. Tve only dropped in for the day, though – the little tot needs me now.’

  ‘Oh, so the rumours were true,’ Miss Bibsmore grumbled. ‘But maybe that’s for the best. A baby has clearly helped you to grow into a fine young woman, dear,’ Miss Bibsmore said. ‘Mind you, a girl with your looks and figure doesn’t need all that muck on her face, in my opinion.’ She patted Freds on the cheek.

  ‘Seems like just yesterday, Miss,’ Freds agreed, grinning stupidly.

  ‘I could sit here and chat all day,’ Miss Bibsmore said wistfully.

  ‘Oh, please stay,’ Malcolm begged in the most ridiculous attempt at sounding like a girl I’d ever heard. It took a lot of discipline not to grab Miss Bibsmore’s stick and whack him with it, I can tell you. I don’t know what he could have been thinking. Indie on the other hand seemed deeply impressed, as if Malcolm was some sort of really talented god-like boy and not the fool he clearly was.

  ‘No, girls, I just dropped in to see how poor Calypso was getting on, but I can see she’s not short of a friend or two, and for that I’m pleased.’ She beamed at the boys as well as at Star and Indie as she said this. ‘No, unfortunately, I’ve promised the nuns a game of poker and I can’t let them down now, can I?’

  ‘Octavia’ and friends shook their heads as if saddened to miss out on the company of our house mistress.

  Miss Bibsmore opened her arms expansively. ‘Well, then, give your Bibby a big hug, eh Octavia? And next time I see you, I don’t want to see all that muck on your face, innit.’

  With that, our house mistress wrapped ‘Octavia’ in a big cuddle, said a tearful farewell and waved as she waddled off.

  As the sound of her stick disappeared down the corridor, we all used pillows to smother our giggles.

  ‘He’s always popular with the old girls, is our Freds,’ Malcolm teased.

  Freds hit him with the pillow he’d been suffocating his laughter with and after that a pillow-and-duvet-and-anything-soft-we-could-lay-our-hands-on fight ensued.

  Afterwards we kissed some more, but eventually the boys had to leave. Indie gave Malcolm a kiss, on the lips, when they were leaving, which of course meant a massive grilling from Star and me afterwards.

  When Honey returned from Windsor later, she asked, ‘Why is there makeup all over my pillow and duvet?’

  But all we could do was laugh.

  Nothing could spoil my high. Freds loved me!

  NINETEEN

  It’s Your Love Life or Your Life!

  It’s funny, but these last couple of terms – since meeting Freds – I never imagined it could be possible to survive life without a mobile phone. Who would have thought that t
here were ways of struggling through? Fred’s visit helped because now I was no longer plagued by guilt that I was an inconsiderate, mean and selfish girlfriend. Also, Portia was letting me use her phone, so that was a lot easier than trekking to the public phone box, but it still wasn’t the same without txt messages to read and reread under the covers after lights out.

  The real reason for my joie de vivre, though, was that Freds loved me.

  Just to remind myself of this sublime fact I wrote it on my pencil case during double maths. When Star saw it, she thumped me with it over the head.

  ‘Don’t be such a lovesick puppy. You should be focusing on the essay competition,’ she scolded.

  ‘Ow,’ I said, rubbing my head. ‘I’m not going to have the brains left to focus on anything at this rate if you keep thumping me.’