A Royal Mess (36 page)

I executed a flawless lunge and hit Bell End slap bang in the middle of his chest. Hah!

I paused, the way you do awaiting for the victorious buzz of the recorder, but no pleasing sound came. Nothing. In my pause, Bell End cut his sabre down on mine, releasing a deafening buzz that declared the victory his.

I tore off my mask. My eyes were flashing with fury. ‘But I hit
you!’
I insisted. ‘Portia saw it. You must have felt it, sir!’ I was furious now. There was no way I was conceding that point. No buggery way. ‘There must be something wrong with your lame!’ I insisted, chucking my sabre down the piste.

‘Well spotted, naive little American girl. You will do
well next time to be sure all electrics are working
before
the game has started instead of waiting until after your opponent’s victory. If you call foul after the match like that in Italy, it will look tacky and mean-spirited, Kelly.’

I couldn’t believe it. This was wrong for soooo many reasons. ‘But I tested my sabre on your lame before play and it was working!’ I told him.

‘Ah yes, so you did, Miss Kelly. So tell me, how did the naughty Italian girl cheat you of your victory?’

I wasn’t going to be drawn. ‘Fine,’ I said churlishly. ‘The naughty Italian won,’ I agreed, turning to leave. I didn’t think fainting would be an effective weapon in my fight against Bell End. He’d probably run me through with his sabre while I was lying in a helpless heap.

‘Don’t give in to defeat so easily, Kelly. Look here.’

‘What?’ I said, turning back to face him.

‘This little switch here,’ he said, removing his sabre from the electrical wire and pointing inside the guard. ‘It allows me to switch my electrics on or off as suits me.’ He passed his sabre over to me to examine.

‘Oh, my giddy aunt!’ I gasped as I saw the small switch concealed inside the guard. ‘Check this out, Portia.’

Bell End looked delighted as we examined his tricked-out sabre. ‘Didn’t you watch the Olympic DVDs?’ he asked.

I vaguely remembered an incident where a fencer was disqualified for having just such a switch inside his guard. ‘But that guy was disqualified,’ I said now.

‘Only because they found him out, Kelly. The fool triggered the switch when his opponent was nowhere near the combat area. Your opponents in Italy may not be so stupid. The lesson for today, girls, is don’t trust anyone.’

Bell End then went on to fence Portia in a completely clean and reasonable way. She totally rinsed him.

Life is soooo unfair. I probably would have gone into a deep sulk if Bell End hadn’t handed us our tickets to Florence. ‘Your first international tournament is in two weeks’ time. Tickets and accommodations all courtesy of your sponsors. Make sure you distinguish yourselves, and maybe next time they’ll send you business class. More to the point, I don’t want my name dragged through the dirt by a couple of big girls’ blouses.’

‘No, Mr Wellend,’ we replied, clutching our tickets to our chests and bouncing up and down.

I’d never been to Italy. ‘I wonder how Italians kiss,’ I mused as Portia and I were changing. ‘Not that I intend on trying them out or anything, but one does wonder.’

‘Does
one?’
Portia asked, raising one eyebrow in that special aristocratic way she has.

‘I was born with a naturally inquisitive nature, Portia, that’s all. Of course I’m completely happy with Freds, who happens to be the best kisser in the world. No Italian Lothario holds the slightest attraction for moi, darling.’

She slapped me across the legs with her smelly vest, and I slapped her with mine. Italy was going to be très, très cool with bells on!

TWELVE
Buddhist Security Alert

That night we had an illegal post-lights-out party in our room. After four years we were accomplished at post-lights-out parties, which Star thinks should be encouraged rather than banned.

I agree. I mean, they force us to do all sorts of other mad things, like three-legged-racing and javelin throwing. But if we were to go about chucking javelins and tearing through Windsor with our legs tied together, the school would have a lot to answer for. And anyway, what reasonable adult actually expects girls our age to go to bed before midnight? None, that’s how many.

Indie pulled the bin away from the door so Miss Bibsmore couldn’t hear our whispers. Then Honey lit up a fag and suggested we play one of her psycho-toff games called ‘If you were a piece of fruit, what would you be?’ ‘For example, people would think of me as a star fruit because I’m exotic, expensive and sweet,’ she explained, her implausibly long lashes flapping about her face like blinds.

‘Shall we not play that game?’ Portia sighed. She was knitting – or trying to knit – a scarf for her father. It was looking more like a swizzle stick, but I could tell she had big hopes for it, so I didn’t say anything.

But Honey pressed on. ‘And Calypso would probably be, say, an apple. Cheap and common. Now what would Star be?’ she asked, struggling to wrinkle her Botox-bulging brow in thought.

‘A fruit fly,’ Star snapped, squirting Honey with Febreze. ‘Blow your smoke out the window and let the rest of us talk about something
real
now, please?’

Honey waved the smoke away from her own face. Because she knows smoking causes wrinkles, she has developed this mad way of smoking where she holds her cigarette at arm’s length, brings it in for a quick puff and extends her arm again. Then she blows the smoke in another direction, usually at my face. ‘Fine, we can talk about what I got up to on my hols, darlings,’ she conceded. ‘I was soooo wildly popular in Val d’Isere this year. It must be my new breast implants. I had
every
designer begging me to wear their clothes at this season’s shows. Every club owner was grovelling for me to make an
entrance
at their club. I had to keep telling them, “darlings, I’m just one gorgeous It Girl, and as generous as I am, I can’t be everywhere at once, can I?” ’ Then she did her little honky toff laugh and went on with other tales of how she’d impressed, adored and papped.

It was like a psychotic bedtime story.

I began to nod off at the start of a story of how some alcohol brand had asked her to be their new face. ‘They said they wanted something young, fresh and exotic.’

‘So basically they could simply use a star fruit and save on costs?’ Star asked faux-innocently.

I swear, if there had been a bomb in the room you could have heard it tick. The silence was broken by Georgina, who asked about my weekend with the royal family.

‘Oh, my giddy aunt! I forgot to tell you, they don’t even have cable.’

The whole room gasped.

‘Tell her about the disappointed looks Freds kept giving you,’ Star urged.

‘Disappointed looks?’ Georgina repeated, looking confused.

Star shook her head in disgust.

I glared at her, furious at her betrayal. ‘Erm, well, Star’s exaggerating really.’

Then Star started up about how Freds was a boring idiot unworthy of her best friend, so I interrupted with the story of how I’d faked a cold to avoid going on the shoot.

‘Did you use the chili oil on—,’ Georgina asked.

‘It was a clay pigeon shoot,’ Star explained, delving into the marshmallow bag on the floor.

‘Well, I didn’t know it was a clay pigeon shoot at the time, did I? I thought they were off to murder lovely living birds, like grouse or pheasants or something.’

Honey looked so shocked, I thought her face had
moved. ‘Only chavs, foreigners and peasants of the lowest order shoot birds in January,’ she spat at me. ‘They’re too fat and slow at this time of year. It’s bad sportsmanship. Besides, it’s not even grouse season.’

‘Whatever! How was I meant to know when you shoot grouse? I’m not sure I’ve
seen
a grouse, and even if I have, I definitely wouldn’t shoot it. And it’s not because I’m a foreigner. I’m just quite firm on not shooting things,’ I explained. ‘Not even clay pigeons. So there.’

Tobias diffused the situation, announcing – through Georgina – that he couldn’t bear lies.

‘One wonders if boys are worth the trouble, darlings,’ added Indie as she stretched out like a black cat on her bed and put her feet on the wall.

‘This one doesn’t wonder. I
know
they’re not worth the trouble,’ Star said as she braided her hair in front of the mirror.

‘Oh, shut up, Star, you boring little child of a drugged-out has-been. You’re just jealous of Calypso because she’s got Freddie and you’re too much of a freak to have a decent boyfriend.’ Honey sneered from the windowsill where she was blowing out smoke.

What new hyper-reality was this? I couldn’t believe that Honey of all people had come to
my
defence. Especially when I didn’t even need rescuing. Besides, Star could have any boy she wanted.

Not that Star was bothered by Honey’s slur on her pulling prowess. She merely picked up the Febreze and
sprayed Honey’s bum. ‘Unlike you, when it comes to boys, I
choose
to refuse à la mo. Remind me, have you ever even had a proper boyfriend?’

Honey turned around to face us. I could physically feel her face throbbing with the indignity of the slight.

‘Of course I have,’ Honey insisted. ‘Boys go mad for me.’

‘Yes, yes, yes, darling, we know you’re a slapper. You pull anyone in the least bit titled, regardless of whether they’re even fit. But have you ever had an
actual
boyfriend?’

I could be wrong, but I was almost certain Honey hesitated before she said, ‘Loads.’

‘Oh really? Name them,’ Indie said, a wide grin on her face.

‘More like shame them,’ Star added, laughing. ‘Who’d go out with
you?’

Suddenly the fluorescent lights went on. ‘What’s this?’ Miss Bibsmore hissed from the doorway. ‘You move that bin, Miss O’Hare, and git back to yer own room.’

‘That is soooo unfair,’ Honey fumed. I spotted Siddhartha peeking in the room and waved at him to bugger off.

‘Unfair was made to fare,’ replied Miss Bibsmore with a cackle. Then she turned to see what I was waving at and came face-to-face with Honey’s Buddhist.

‘What’s this, then?’ she asked, poking her stick at Siddhartha.

‘My security guard,’ Honey responded irritably.

Miss Bibsmore looked well cross. ‘Your flaming what?’ she railed. Even her fluffy dog slippers looked cross.

‘Daddy thinks someone might be trying to kidnap me,’ Honey replied casually.

‘And what’s that got to do with this fellow in a sari, then?’ Miss Bibsmore wanted to know.

‘He’s a Buddhist monk, you ignoramus!’ Honey said through clenched teeth.

‘Ignorant, am I? Well leastways, no one’s trying to kidnap me.’

‘As if,’ Honey muttered. Then she turned to us. ‘Laters, peasants, I’m off to bed!’ But as she went to squeeze past Miss Bibsmore, she was blocked by our house spinster’s stick.

‘Not so fast, Miss O’Hare. Rules is rules. No gentleman callers in the dorm.’

‘Move aside, you mad old loon, or I’ll have Siddhartha meditate you out of existence.’

Miss Bibsmore’s stick continued to block Honey’s exit. I know it’s hard to imagine that a woman in a flannelette nightie and fluffy dog slippers can look fearsome, but Miss Bibsmore pulled it off. I was genuinely scared.

Honey sighed heavily. ‘Listen, you bog ignorant chav, he’s
not
a gentleman caller, he’s a nonviolent licensed Buddhist security person.’

‘I don’t care if he’s a reincarnated canary, Madam High and Mighty. He’s got no business in a girls’ dormitory innit. It’s not proper, specially with a princess present an’ all. I’m going to have to report this to Sister Constance, I am!’

Honey looked down on our dumpy little hunched house spinster in her grubby robe and dog slippers. ‘Sister Constance has been fully informed about the threats made against my person. Now stand aside or I shall have Siddhartha deal with you.’