The Future King: Logres (39 page)

‘Sunday?’ she suggested.

‘Sunday’s no good for me—I have to take my gran to visit my
grandfather’s grave and finish my homework for the week. Sorry.’

‘Some other time then,’ she agreed.

For a while they worked in a silence that was surprisingly
comfortable. Towards the end of the lesson Gwenhwyfar felt Arthur’s hand coil
around hers beneath the table. She looked up and smiled. He returned her warmth
in kind.

‘So what are you doing at break?’ she asked. The room was growing
restless.

‘I’m going to see Marvin. He says he has another book for me to
read.’

‘What is it?’

‘Something called
The Lord of
the Flies
. They don’t teach it anymore: it’s too shocking.’

She combed her right hand idly through her hair. It snagged, the ends
still damp. ‘You can always spend break with us, you know.’

As he shrugged, Gwenhwyfar repressed a surge of annoyance. ‘I don’t
know,’ he murmured. ‘You know I can’t stand Lance.’

‘He’s not that bad. You just have to ignore the irritating things he
says, and then he stops. Surely you can put up with him for a little while?’

He scowled and dropped her hand. He always grew irritable whenever
she said something that could, in a twisted way, be considered praise of
Lancelot.

‘You don’t have to,’ she huffed. ‘I just thought it would be nice. He
probably won’t even be there—he’ll be playing football.’

‘Why don’t you come and sit with me?’ he challenged.

‘Because! I don’t feel like spending all my lunches with Marvin
Caledonensis. We spend enough time with him as it is.’

Arthur dumped his chin in his upturned hand. Mrs Paxton looked up
from her desk.

‘Why do you dislike Lance so much, anyway?’ Her arms folded across
the table. ‘What Emily and Charlotte said about him and Ellie is obviously
not
true.’ Mrs Paxton made a harsh
hushing sound. Gwenhwyfar lowered her voice. ‘Gavin said that you were best
friends, once.’

‘So—? It doesn’t matter if what they said is true or not.
That’s not the point.’

‘Then what
is
the point?’ she
asked, incensed.

‘Quiet!’ They jerked upright at the snap of the ruler. Mrs Paxton was
glaring at them dangerously, daring them to continue. Gwenhwyfar had intended
not to let this setback stop her, but Arthur quickly bent over his book and
resumed their classwork. Realising that he was ignoring her again, Gwenhwyfar
decided to return the favour. The lesson ended with the setting of homework and
the shrill call of the bell.

Arthur walked with Gwenhwyfar to their History room, where they
parted in the corridor with a lingering kiss. Once she was gone, he irritably pushed
his way into the room to find Marvin reading a tattered book with a sickly chocolate
bar in his hand.

‘Arthur!’ he exclaimed, mouth full, ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be
spending break with Gwenhwyfar or not. I trust it’s going well?’

He dumped his bag on a desk and found a chair. ‘You wanted to give me
a book?’

‘Yes:
The Lord of the Flies
.
Quite disturbing. One of the many reasons why I decided never to have children.’
Marvin pulled a copy from his satchel. The cover was old and plain; green, discoloured
fabric with the title and author embossed in black. Arthur flicked through to
find the synopsis. In places the language was hard to decipher.

‘It’s not quite banned,’ Marvin remarked, swallowing down the last
bite of chocolate, ‘but it’s controversial enough for a restriction to be in
place for classrooms.’

Arthur looked back to the front page. Again, in the corner it read
Merlin Ambrosius Caledonensis
. He
smiled. ‘Thanks. I’ll start reading it tonight.’

‘I think I’ll dig out some more copies and give it to the others as
homework tomorrow,’ Marvin mused.

‘Good idea,’ Arthur agreed. He put the book down on the table and
scowled. ‘Do you think, Merlin, that it’s unreasonable for me to not want to
sit with Lance at break times? It’s just that Gwen keeps asking me to spend
lunch with her friends, with
him
,
even though she knows I don’t want to.’

‘Why don’t you want to sit with Lance?’

‘Because he’s an idiot?’ Arthur suggested.

Marvin set a packet of crisps on his desk and smacked his hands
together, drying the grease and chocolate into his skin. ‘You’re not still stuck
on that Ellie circus, are you? The whole thing was a classic example of gossip
gone wrong.’

‘It’s not just that,’ Arthur muttered.

‘You still think he did it? Isn’t that a bit unfair on Ellie?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, if she never actually gave you reason to doubt her, you
shouldn’t have doubted her. You and Lancelot were good friends, too. Why would
he betray you like that?’

‘I know he probably didn’t do it: that’s not the point. It was the
principle of things,’ Arthur bristled.

Marvin’s expression was not one of comprehension. ‘The principle of
what?’

‘Of the way everyone always liked him more!’ he exploded, kicking the
chair on which his feet rested. ‘Ellie was the first girl who didn’t, and in
the end even she ended up siding with him. Now Gwen is hanging around with him,
too. I hate it, and I hate
him
.’

He got nowhere with his outburst, and as Marvin wiped the dust away
from a disused textbook, his bitter words left him empty.

‘It’s not as if you actually have to
sit
with him,’ Marvin pointed out mildly. ‘You’ll be sitting with
Gwen, and if she keeps asking you to spend time with her so that you can get to
know her friends, that implies that she likes you more than Lance, wouldn’t you
say?’

Arthur knew he couldn’t argue, despite his urge to.

‘How about a compromise?’ Marvin suggested. ‘You say you’ll sit at her
table one day, if she spends lunch away with you the other. I can’t see the
issue here, really.’

‘But it’s not that easy. Lance hates me.’ His brown eyes followed
Marvin back to his desk. The older man collapsed into his chair.

‘If Lance doesn’t like it, I rather think that Lance can move. It’s
been what, three years? And you’re still letting him affect your life? Do what
you want, Arthur; don’t blame others for the way you act. Life is too short for
such trivialities.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Have you thought about
joining that political party? With the elections coming up in May, now would be
a particularly interesting time to jump in.’ Marvin stuffed his mouth with a
handful of crisps and crunched noisily as he ate. ‘I’m sure the Eco Party would
benefit from your involvement.’

‘I’m sure they’d benefit from anyone’s involvement,’ Arthur remarked.

‘Quite,’ Marvin agreed. He opened his book, turning to the right
page. There was a long silence. Arthur opened up
The Lord of the Flies
again and flicked through it for a bit, but
then he abandoned it, rubbing his eyes.

‘You seem distracted,’ Marvin observed.

‘I’m fine,’ he insisted.

‘You’re not still thinking about Lancelot?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ Marvin sounded sceptical.

‘No.’ Arthur turned his gaze out of the window.

‘You know, I read your latest paper yesterday. It’s not quite what I
would expect.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, it wasn’t exactly your best. It’s completely fine for the
syllabus, of course, but I rather felt you were
somewhere else
whilst writing it. I would just hate for you to
suddenly lose your balance, especially when you’ve been doing so well.’

He’d had enough. ‘I’m going to get some air,’ Arthur declared darkly,
swiping up his book and bag. He strode out into the corridor, hating that
Marvin just nodded unperturbed and resumed his reading; hating that all would
be forgotten later, that he would return to him, and they would talk as if they
had never disagreed over anything. He ended up in the library, not out on the
grounds, and as he settled down in an empty chair and opened up his new read the
name Merlin gazed out at him forebodingly.

Emily Mary Rose

Had she not needed
to pop into the girls’ toilets, Gwenhwyfar would have been walking to lunch
with Lancelot. Cold water spewed over her wrists as she washed her hands and
massaged them with soap. The mirrors of old Wormelow were flaking with the
graffiti of lipstick and gloss, written opaque with love hearts, initials and
profanities. Scowling, Gwenhwyfar snatched a towel from the dispenser and
smeared the professions into the glass to clear her own reflection. The letters
lingered. Behind her a flush sounded from the only closed cubicle. Quickly she
threw the stained towel into the bin.

Footsteps shuffled towards her. Checking herself in the mirror, Gwenhwyfar
glanced sideways as she was joined at the sinks. It was Emily. Her eyes were
swollen and her mascara was bleeding. As the flow from the tap dried out, she let
out a loud sob. She was crying. Gwenhwyfar felt a spiteful satisfaction.
Finally, the first of the Furies was getting what she deserved, and whatever it
was, it was making her miserable.

Quickly she turned for the door. Emily swallowed down another sob and
sniffed pathetically. Unexpected pity pried its way into Gwenhwyfar’s heart.
Emily didn’t even seem to care that she was there.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, hovering awkwardly with her arms
crossed.

Emily nodded, wiping her face with a fistful of tissue. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You don’t look fine,’ Gwenhwyfar disputed.

‘Well, I
am
fine. So why
don’t you just leave me alone?’ Emily bit, rubbing the mascara staining her
cheeks. Tempted, Gwenhwyfar looked to the door.

‘Let me guess—Charlotte?’ Emily looked up, surprised.
Gwenhwyfar expelled a sigh. ‘What did she do?’

‘It doesn’t matter what she did, all that matters is she’s
vile
. Hattie too. And Rhea and Rebecca.’
She wiped her eyes again, twisting the tissue into a small brush. ‘They’re all
vile
.’

‘I could have told you that.’

‘As if
you
can say
anything, after what you said about me.’

‘What did I say?’ she demanded.

‘You said I was
ugly
.’

‘No I didn’t,’ she objected, but Emily was insistent.

‘Yes you did. How can you not remember?’

‘I never said anything of the sort!’

‘You’re such a liar!
Charlotte
told
me. You even called me
fat
. So don’t
you talk to me about bitching, because you
are
one.’

Resisting the pull of a fresh argument, Gwenhwyfar uncrossed her
arms. ‘I never said you were fat. I never said you were ugly either,’ she replied,
shortly. ‘Charlotte was obviously lying. Don’t
you
remember? She hates me. That’s why she was always avoiding us
when we were friends, and that’s why she told you I said those things. So you’d
hate me, too.’ She shook her head. ‘What does it matter? It doesn’t change
anything. Even if you did go to that protest, you still—’

‘That was
Charlotte’s
idea,’
Emily said quickly, her eyes drying. ‘I only went along with it because of what
you said about me—’

‘—What
Charlotte
told
you I said about you,’ Gwenhwyfar corrected.

‘Whatever.’ Emily shrugged, and stared down at the dirty basins. ‘Look,
I know it was out of order. I had no idea it would go so far.’ She glanced at
her momentarily through reddened eyes. ‘It just
happened
. I’m sorry about that, really.’

‘You already apologised,’ Gwenhwyfar said curtly. She ought to leave,
to let Emily wallow in the consequences of her ill-directed actions, but she
didn’t. ‘And what about Arthur?’

Emily sniffed again, pinching wet mascara off of her lashes with her
fingers. ‘What about him?’

‘You told him that Ellie kissed Lancelot. Why would you do such a thing?’

‘But she
did
kiss Lancelot,’
Emily contended. ‘Hattie saw them together. And I didn’t tell Arthur,
Charlotte
did. So I don’t see what the
problem is.’

‘The problem is that
Charlotte
told him,’ she huffed. ‘Haven’t you figured it out yet? Ellie never did
anything with Lance. He says so, she said so, and so do his friends. It’s only Arthur
who still thinks she did.’

‘So it’s not true, then?’

‘Its about as true as anything Charlotte’s ever said about you,’
Gwenhwyfar quipped.

‘It’s
horrible
,’ Emily begun.
‘She’s been spreading all kinds of nasty rumours. She practically had an orgasm
when she found out Bedivere said I was a crap kisser.’

‘He never said that,’ Gwenhwyfar lied, hoping to spare Bedivere some
grief. ‘I made it up. Sorry.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ Emily admitted, and Gwenhwyfar thought she heard relief
in her words. ‘I should never have listened to Charlotte.’

‘It’s not your fault she’s a liar.’ Swinging her bag around her
shoulder, Gwenhwyfar fished out her make-up wipes. ‘Here, use these.’ Emily took
one and handed the packet back. ‘Keep them,’ Gwenhwyfar insisted. ‘There’s only
three left.’

‘Are you sure?’ She nodded. Emily clutched them gratefully. ‘Thanks.’

‘Will you be all right?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ She scraped the wipes over her face, dirtying them
with orange and black before tossing them into the bin.

‘I’m going to the canteen. You can come and sit with us, if you like.
With me and Vi?’

She couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed when Emily
shook her head. She wouldn’t have to explain the situation to her friends, yes;
but at the same time she realised that Emily was still loyal to Charlotte, and that
she would quickly return to her.

‘I’m OK,’ Emily said, fishing through her make-up bag. ‘I’m going to stay
here for a bit. But I’ll… I’ll see you around?’

Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘You know where to find me.’

Emily turned back to the mirror, pulled out her foundation, and began
to reapply the mask that would hide all evidence of her tears.

That evening Gwenhwyfar was looking for something to wear.

‘Gwen? What about this?’

Her mother came into her bedroom holding up a dated dress. Eve
pressed the gold fabric to herself, looking down at the loud garment before
holding it out for her daughter. ‘What do you think? Something like this would
look wonderful on you.’

Gwenhwyfar looked at the offending item. ‘Mam, it’s got feathers.’

‘So?’ Eve surveyed the dress again. ‘What’s wrong with feathers?’ Gwenhwyfar
dove back into her closet, hunting around the bottom for shoes. ‘You’ll stand
out in it. Besides, this was all the rage when I was younger. It’s
alternative.’

‘It’s ancient,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked.

‘No, it’s vintage,’ disputed Eve. ‘Come on, just look at it for a
moment. This dress, those shoes, with your hair up in a bun? To accentuate your
cheekbones?’

‘Isn’t it a bit long?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Eve replied, stretching the hem out.

‘I don’t think it’s going to fit me.’

‘We could have it taken up.’

‘By Saturday?’

Eve shrugged. ‘There’s bound to be someone in town who can sort this
out. Why don’t you try it on and see how much needs doing to it?’

Gwenhwyfar deliberated for a moment, kneeling in a pile of her own
clothes. ‘Put it on the bed with the others. I’ll try it in a bit,’ she
relented. ‘But I
was
looking for
something a little… smarter. You know, cleaner. More sophisticated?’ She pulled
three shoeboxes out and threw them across the floor.

Eve tossed the garment onto the bed. There were already three other
options strewn across it.

‘How about these?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, pulling out a pair of glittery
five-inch heels.

‘I thought you wanted something sophisticated?’ Eve said, joining her
on the floor.

‘They’d work with jeans and a black top,’ Gwenhwyfar debated.

‘Oh no, you don’t want to be in jeans. You want the people there to
notice
you. You shouldn’t wear black,
either. Isn’t it in a club? You’ll just blend in, in black. You need something
brighter.’

‘Brighter than these?’

‘Do you want those bookers looking at your feet? Forget about the
shoes for a moment.’ Eve pulled the platforms off her and put them to one side.
‘How about green? You always look fabulous in green. What happened to that
dress I bought you for Christmas? You could wear that.’

‘It’s practically a gown. I don’t want to overdo it.’

Eve stood up and started to hunt through the wardrobe. She found it
quickly. Gwenhwyfar went to sit on her bed.

‘But it’s gorgeous,’ Eve enthused. ‘It goes so well with your eyes.
Why not try it?’

Gwenhwyfar caught the hanger as it was thrown to her. She put it with
the others and began to undress. ‘Won’t I get cold?’

‘You’ll be inside. You’ll be too warm if you wear much else.’ She
pulled another dress out. ‘How about we go for red? People always get noticed
in red. But then, that’s too obvious.’

‘It’s not like anything’s going to come of this. It’s just a party.’

‘A models’ party,’ Eve corrected, her eyes gleaming. ‘Besides, what
harm is there in looking good? You’re much prettier than that Viola girl. Those
photos you had taken for your fourteenth birthday, for example. Any one of
those is ten times better than anything on that website you showed me.’ She
pulled out another dress and put the other one back. ‘What’s the agency called
again?’

‘Quantum Models.’ Gwenhwyfar slipped into the flowing silk and turned
to face the mirror, observing herself in the green.

‘If Viola can be a model, then you can too.’ Eve threw her another
dress. Gwenhwyfar missed it.

‘I’m too short to be a model,’ she disputed.

‘That Gisela Wolf girl is only five foot seven, and she’s the face of
Excellence
.’

‘Mam!’

‘What? You can wear heels.’ She smiled at her. ‘See? You look lovely
in green. We should try something purple, too.’

‘No, not purple,’ she objected. ‘Viola always wears purple.’

Gwenhwyfar took off the green dress and changed into the next outfit
waiting for her. She gazed at her reflection, wondering. She knew she was too
short, but the idea of joining Viola on Quantum’s books was a seductive one.

‘Oh darling, you look lovely!’ Eve gushed, smiling at her proudly. ‘I
think that’s definitely a strong option—we should make another pile.’ She
threw the new dress in her hands onto the ones on the bed, and then pushed them
all to one side. Gwenhwyfar played with her hair, searching for the best way to
wear it. Her mother appeared behind her and batted her hands away. She started
to fashion her hair into a high bun.

‘You know, if your father had his way you wouldn’t be going to this
party. He’s a bit nervous after that whole Hector thing.’

‘Still?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.

‘You will be careful, won’t you? You must ring us if anything
happens.’

Gwenhwyfar winced as her mother twisted and pulled at what was now a
ponytail. ‘It’ll be fine, we won’t be there long. We’re getting the last train
back. I’ll text you.’ She hesitated a moment, and drew in a calming breath. ‘Have
you spoken to Dad yet?’

Her mother fell silent, and concentrated on her hair.

‘Mam?’

‘I spoke to him,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘We talked about it
all, everything. You were right: it was just something for work. The florists
was for his boss’ wife, and the jewellers… well, he said I’d find out about
that at Christmas.’

‘That’s good.’ Gwenhwyfar didn’t know that there had been a weight
pressing upon her until it lifted. ‘Didn’t I say it was nothing?’

‘You were right; of course you were right. Your father still doesn’t
know that you know. I think it’s best if you just forget about it, if you can.’
She stepped back from her handiwork. Gwenhwyfar admired the makeshift up-do in
the mirror. ‘Something like that, but bigger,’ Eve advised.