In Another Life

“Liv darling, I’ve not seen you in ages!”

I look up in time to see a tall woman draped from head to toe in bright green descend upon our seats. She has an overpowering hat on that looks like it’s swallowing her head whole. I grimace and duck my head so she won’t catch my amused smile.

Olivia jumps up, nearly spilling her champagne in her haste to stand. “Rose, how are you? How’s the baby?”

I find it a bit hard to believe that this woman in front of me had a baby recently. She’s rail thin—I can see her shoulder blades sticking out of the back of her dress, stark and boney. How can anyone think that that’s beautiful? Mum would have a heart attack if this woman walked into her kitchen looking like that.

I stifle a snigger into my flute of champagne just as Olivia reaches around and clamps down on my wrist. I choke, nearly swallowing my drink down the wrong way as she yanks me to my feet unceremoniously.

“This is Bryn Mathews, my cousin. She’s accompanying me tonight as Philip is working,” Olivia gestures at me effortlessly.

Rose, who I’ve affectionately renamed The Walking Celery Stick in my mind, turns her doe eyes to me and slowly goes over my outfit. I’m suddenly aware of just how pale I am and how my throat and wrists are bare of any type of jewelry. “Bryn? That is an interesting name.”

“It’s Welsh,” I answer politely, smiling a bit. “My mother is a bit attached to her roots.”

Rose nods, looking completely uninterested. “I see. I’m Rose Nichols, my husband owns this field,” She waves her free hand about demurely and I’m fascinated by the sizes of the diamonds on her fingers. “We’re hosting this gala.”

“Pleased to meet you, you have a lovely—uh, place,” I finish up, wincing as Olivia giggles into her alcohol. “Thank you for throwing this event for all of us. I understand that all of the proceeds are to be donated to a children’s orphanage in Africa?”

“I assume so,” Rose blinks at me before she turns back to my cousin. “You must meet Catherine! She should be arriving shortly and I must introduce you to Gwyneth.”

Olivia turns and throws me an apologetic look as Rose drags her away. I’m left standing awkwardly by our seats on my own. Slowly I fold my legs up beneath me and sit back down in my seat, focusing my gaze out onto the playing field.

We’re at a halftime now—the players had just gone off the field. There are a few workers out there picking up after the horses and resetting the goal posts. I watch one worker in particular. She looks to be about my age and she dutifully makes her way up and down the field with her pan and scoop. She pauses just in front of my section and our eyes meet.

I start to smile at her but as soon as her staring registers in her head, she lowers her gaze and continues working. A frown settles lightly on my lips at this. I’m not like any of the other rich, snotty people here. She shouldn’t have to feel as though we’re not equal.

I’m suddenly gripped with the mental image of Rose out on the playing field in her filmy dress and impractical hat with the little metal scoop and pan, tottering over the divots and through the puddles from yesterday’s rain.

A wave of laughter sweeps over me and I have to take a hasty sip of my champagne so that I don’t laugh out loud and attract the stares from the people around me. I raise my eyes once I’ve calmed myself and immediately I’m drawn towards the man standing on the other side of the fence.

He’s wearing white pants—though they’ve been streaked with mud and grass by now—and a bright red jersey, along with the standard knee pads that all polo players wear. His hair is messy and sweaty because of the helmet he’s had on for the past 45 minutes and his cheeks are stained a bright pink.

“Having fun over there by yourself?” He calls out with a smile.

I flush the tiniest bit and then shrug. “Of course. Are you having fun over there by yourself?”

He pauses and then shrugs his shoulders. “As much fun as can be expected. Except, to be honest, I’d much rather be on that side of the fence,” He pats the white railing for emphasis. “It’s dreadfully hot.”

“I suppose it is, though I think I’m better off because of all of this,” I look up at the canopy pitched over the stands so that the guests remain cool and out of the sun. “It’s to get up to 31° today, is it not?” I ask, scooting towards the edge of my chair so that I can hear him better. The people behind me are getting increasingly louder. “I’d rather be on this side of the fence too.”

“I think it’s getting that warm later. I don’t know, it’s not all that bad,” He replies matter-of-factly, squinting up at me. He has the most piercing set of blue eyes I have seen in a long time. They open up his whole face and make him seem more inviting. “I mean, when you’re on the horse, you’re more focused on the game rather than the sweltering sun.”

“You’re doing well,” I announce, suddenly changing the subject. He gives me a puzzled look and I hasten to explain myself. “Out on the field, I mean. You’re winning, aren’t you?”

Understanding dawns across his face and he smiles widely at me, revealing white straight teeth. “Yes, my team is winning. I take it you’re not a huge polo fan?”

I pause, unsure of whether or not it’d be terribly uncouth of me to readily admit to a player that I detest sports in general. “I’m not the biggest fan out there, but I can sit through a match,” I sidestep his question neatly, rather proud of myself for avoiding a conflict of any sorts.

“So why are you here at a polo match?” He asks, tipping his head to one side as he studies me closely.

I shrug, draining the last of my champagne and then carefully setting the empty glass on the arm of my chair. I place my hands in my lap and smile at him. “Because it’s for a children’s charity and my cousin needed someone to attend with her, as her husband got called in for work at the last moment.”

“You’re interested in charity work?” The man asks and I have to lean forward even further to hear him over the voices behind me. “I mean, if you only came to the game because of the charity aspect of it all.”

I stand up and cross the space between us so that I can hear him better. “Yeah, I am. My mum is always popping into the soup kitchens or helping someone.” I lean against the fence, resting my elbows on the wood and grinning softly as I think about my mother.

“Really? Which organizations is she involved in?” He peers up at me interestedly, an odd light shining in his eyes. “My own mum was… very much involved in a lot charities, too. She loved helping others.”

“Oh,” I flush, suddenly aware of the fact that the man in front of me thinks that I’m a part of this elite social circle, when in fact, I’m far from being involved. “I—she isn’t involved in any specific charities, per say. She just volunteers at the shelter back home in Colchester during her free time. There’re no big productions like this,” I look around me and offer him a rather tight smile.

A shrill whistle marks the end of the half-time break and we both turn at the sound, suddenly realizing that we’d spent the entire break speaking to each other about nothing in particular. The other team is already on top of their horses and the other three players on the red team are waiting on the man in front of me to join them.

He heaves an exaggerated sigh and takes a step away from the fence. “Well duty calls. It was a pleasure meeting you…?”

“Bryn,” I reply in a flustered voice. I can hear Rose’s piercing voice drawing close. “I’m Bryn.”

“Bryn,” He repeats thoughtfully, as if testing to see how my name feels in his mouth. “It was lovely speaking with you. Thank you for spending your half-time with me.” He touches the crown of his head in a salute before he turns on his heel and starts for his horse.

I watch him as he easily swings himself up onto the horse’s broad back and then leans down, rubbing it’s neck gently and speaking to it. He kicks lightly and the horse canters to meet the rest of the team, bobbing it’s head up and down as they move.

“You know the Prince of Wales?” Rose’s voice greets my ears and I turn away from the fence, confusion weighing heavily on my face. “How is that possible?”

I laugh freely as a waiter walks by with a tray of flutes of champagne. I reach out and pick up a glass. “I don’t know the Prince of Wales. I was just speaking to,” But I trail off when I see the astounded look on Olivia’s face. I glance uncertainly back out at the field and struggle to spot the man I’d been talking to earlier. “To a player. He’s just a player on the team.”

“Bryn, you were speaking with Prince Harry!” Olivia whispers in awe, coming up to my side. “What did he say?!”

I finally find the man I want next to the first player, meaning he is playing an offensive role on the team and is, arguably, the most important team member. My stomach tightens uncomfortably and I’m aware of both Olivia and Rose chattering excitedly next to me about the Prince.

But all I can think about is how I just spent nearly fifteen minutes speaking with one of the future leaders of my country and I had no clue.

As if he can sense my thoughts, he turns on his horse and looks at me. He’s too far away to say anything, but he raises his hand in a bit of a wave before he turns his attention back to the game. I watch as he swings his mallet a bit in his right hand before he secures his hand on the reigns of the horse. The umpire rolls the ball to the center of the field with one swift flick of his wrist.

It’s like all of the players watch the ball move with baited breaths and then all eight of them decide to move at once. But it’s Harry that gets to the ball first and it’s his shot that sends the ball flying towards the other team’s goal.



“Can you please,” Olivia erupts into giggles as she crashes down onto my sofa and knocks my art theory textbook off of the table with her heel. “Can you please tell me how you spent fifteen minutes speaking to the Prince Harry, the Prince of Wales, third-in-line to the throne, and had absolutely no idea that it was him?!”

I shoot her an annoyed look as I kick off my heels and drop my bag on the floor. “He was sweaty and dirty and he wasn’t all dressed up like he normally is when I see him. I couldn’t even tell that his hair was red!”

“You had no idea,” She breaks off into peals of laughter, throwing her one arm over her face dramatically. “I can’t believe you had no idea. You should have seen Rose’s face, I thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head.”

“Well it was nice to finally see some emotion on her face,” I mutter as I start to root through the small wooden tray that holds all of my takeout menus. “Okay, I had no idea that it was Prince Harry. We still had a nice conversation, royal status or not.”

“And you call yourself a proper Londoner,” Olivia sniffs, having calmed herself down somewhat.

“I never did claim to be one,” I say slowly, picking up my house phone and dialing the number for the take-away down the street. “Do you have cash or are you paying with credit?”

“I have cash—how much is it going to be?” She sits up and then grabs at her head. “Oh shit, I had way too much of that champagne.”

“I could have told you that,” I murmur, ignoring her cries of ‘but it was free!’ as the person at the other end picks up. “Hello, I’d like to place an order for delivery.” I pivot about in place, my feet positively thrilled to be out of those stiff boots after nearly four hours in them. “13 Pratt Street—yes, across from the thrift store. The name’s Matthews.” I place the menu back in the tray as the operator on the other end carefully takes down all of my information. “I need a large pepperoni pizza with thick crust, please.”

“Add some garlic knots to that,” Olivia pipes up, materializing in the doorway suddenly. “And a litre of Coke.”

“Also, I’d like an order of the garlic knots and a litre of Coke, please.” I lean back against the counter and hold on to my elbow for something to occupy my free hand. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you so much!” I ring off and place the phone receiver back in the cradle before I turn to my cousin. “It’ll be here in about 30 minutes and you owe the delivery boy 13 quid.”

“13 quid?! That’s bloody outrageous,” Olivia frowns as she stalks back to her purse and pulls out her wallet. “Don’t you remember when pizza was only, like, six pounds?”

“We’re not 60-years-old and reminiscing about the good old days,” I laugh, turning around so she can undo the zipper of my dress. “And our bill would have only been, like, six pounds if your fat ass hadn’t ordered garlic knots and Coke.”

“I am hungry,” Olivia defends herself fiercely. “And I haven’t had pizza in ages. I’ve been on a diet.” She pulls a face at herself in the mirror of my bedroom as I slither out of my dress and slip into a pair of ratty sweats and a thin wifebeater.

I make no comment on my cousin’s revelation. She’s constantly on diets in a vain attempt to get down to the pin thin standards of most of London’s high society. But then her determination wanes the minute someone brings about a piece of cake or a sugary drink. That’s not to say that Olivia is fat—she’s far from it, in fact. But she’s not nearly as slender as some of the other socialites.

“Would you still love me even if I weighed a million pounds?” Olivia asks, pouting deeply as I sweep my hair back into a hair tie.

I nod and turn around to look at her seriously. “Yes, I would. But you won’t, so don’t even think about it. Are you staying the night here or will Matt be back to pick you up?”

She lets a burst of air slip out of her mouth before she replies. “I have no idea when Philip will be home.”

“So spending the night then,” I presume, rooting through my drawers for a pair of yoga pants for her to wear. I pull out a pair of basketball shorts and a soft tshirt and throw them at her before I move for the bathroom and begin to take off my makeup. “Shall we order a film in off of the satellite or something?”

“Do you have The EastEnders taped from the past two weeks? I’ve not seen them yet,” She calls out as I scrub my face clean. “I think Philip deleted them to tape his stupid American football matches.”

I come out of the bathroom just as the front door buzzes. “Yeah, I do. We can watch those. Do you have the money?”

“It’s right by my bag,” She answers, draping her silky dress over the armchair that rests under my window. “I’m borrowing some makeup remover.”

I wave her words away as I grab the notes and open up the front door. Tonight, Geoffrey is delivering. “Hello,” I smile brightly at him, handing over the money. “How did your exam go?”

Geoffrey rolls his eyes and gives me my change, which I promptly hand back to him as a tip. “I’ve no idea—grades aren’t posted for another day. Mum’s been driving me crazy!”

“I’m sure you’ve done fine,” I reply soothingly, taking the boxes from him and grabbing the Coke in my other hand. “Let me know when you get your results, yeah? I want to know how you’ve done.”

“Will do, Bryn. Have a good night,” Geoffrey smiles before walking back to the running delivery car.

I kick the front door shut and use the first two fingers of the hand that’s holding my Coke bottle to do up the two locks before I slide the chain across securely. Then I make my way towards my coffee table, where I drop the pizza box on top of my notes from my painting lecture.

“I find it horrible that you and your delivery boys are on first name basis and know facts about their personal lives,” Olivia sinks down next to me, holding a stack of napkins and some cups. We never bother with plates anymore, we just eat straight out of the box.

“Well it’s only me here,” I reply, grabbing my remote and turning on the television. “And I’m not going to go through the hassle of cooking something extravagant for just myself.”

“Pretty soon you might have a prince coming round,” She nudges me gently with her elbow and I push her back lightly.

“Piss off,” I select the soap opera from my list of recorded shows and hit play. “We had one conversation together that lasted a few minutes. I’ll never even see him in person again and he’s probably forgotten my name already. The Prince of Wales just doesn’t strike up relationships with random girls he bumps into at charity events.”

“Look at Kate Middleton,” Olivia singsongs as she pulls a garlic knot out of the box and takes a big bite. “An insignificant commoner who’s now a duchess and probably struts around her house in a tiara because she can. I mean, bloody hell, Bryn. She’s going to be a princess one day and then a queen!”

“That is a fairytale,” I say firmly, putting my half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box and reaching for the Coke. “And it will never happen again.”