Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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It was March.

Looking at the calendar now made my stomach go into miniature acrobatics. I think it had decided to take up the trapeze. James teased me unrelentingly about my new habit of crossing out each day as it went but this didn’t stop me - I had a little countdown going on inside my head as well. Then, precisely a month before the wedding, Oran organised for James and the guys to go for a weekend of paint-balling and dirt-biking, plus general outdoor activities, out in the country. I’d said goodbye that evening to a van full of young men who looked to my eyes like hyperactive eight-year-old boys.

Sleep had not been easy in coming, but at least I could tell myself that they wouldn’t be doing anything involving an ecdysiast, because the place they were going was three hours out into the middle of nowhere.

Aw, I want an ecdysiast…

Seriously?

Yeah… er, what is it?

It’s, um, a stripper.

Oh! NO! No, no, no!! No, please and thank you, no!

For once I was up before Olly, so I crept into her room and watched her sleeping for a minute before waking her up. Her resemblance to James was more obvious when she was asleep.

“Morning,” she mumbled within a moment of waking up, pulling on a hoodie and disappearing into the bathroom, calling back, “What’s happening?”

“I thought we’d do something,” I replied, sitting further on the bed and pulling my feet up to sit cross-legged, “In place of a bachelourette party, which I don’t think I could stand.”

“To celebrate your oncoming lack of freedom?” Olly asked, sticking her head round the door.

Too true.

“No, to celebrate my oncoming marital felicity,” I shot back.

Olly waltzed back in, baring tanned brown legs to the world in shorts and a t-shirt.

How can James like me when his own sister is that gorgeous?

Er, incest much?

No, but think about it… Olly is like James’ prototype for girls.

Er, no. Scientific theories would suggest his mum, Lily was the prototype.

But Lily’s gorgeous too!

Can we stop having this conversation right now? James is not about to marry his mother or his sister, no matter how beautiful they may be.

“Hey, what about a spa day?” Olly asked, miraculously transforming her morning-pale face with the aid of her seemingly-magical array of make-up.

“A spa day?” I repeated, dubious.

“Yeah, or a spa weekend!” Olly replied, a beaming smile striking its colours across her now radiant face, “Just relaxing, all weekend – doing anything we want. That’s what you said, right? Nice and relaxing.”

“Um…” I considered it for a moment.

My personal experiences of spas were of places were people were plastered in cold mud and made to sit with burning hot stones in uncomfortable places… but then that had been in a third-world country and the proprietor had apparently been a little masochistic. Sometimes painful things must be done for the sake of allies.

“What time is it?” Olly asked, picking up the clock from across the bed before I could answer, “Nine, ok. That means we have an hour to book and ring round all your bridesmaids. Is Jade doing anything?”

“No, she’s free except for guarding me. But when I said ‘we’d’ do something, I kinda meant just you and me…”

“Then that’s sorted!” Olly grinned cutting over me, “We’ll take the royal coach.”

Yes, we have a royal coach.

It’s a motor coach though, not a wooden-type.

Although we have one of those too, though only for ceremonial purposes.

It doesn’t go too fast.

Later I was wondering why I hadn’t put up more of a fight instead of accepting Olly’s declaration that a spa day would be enjoyable. I had a crazy woman attempting to advocate the plastering something pale and lumpy onto my arms, whilst another lady listed what seemed like a category of torture methods rather than holistic spa treatments. All I wanted to do was curl up on a sofa with James and do something mundane, like watching a film or sleeping.

“Why did I let you rope me into this?” I hissed through gritted teeth as the attendants left for a moment.

“Because you love me,” Olly replied, winking back, “Come on, it’s going to be fun.”

Iona, Jenn, Cecilia and Georgiana were all here too, having already descended into various hot and cold pools, neck and back massages, and steam rooms. Jade had given up the concept of bathing when she’d considered the complications of getting her gun wet. I was feeling a little nervous, and Olly was still attempting to get me to dip a toe into the non-metaphorical welcoming pool.

After a few more minutes of hesitation, the main attendant came back with a middle-aged, stocky, female masseuse who cracked her knuckles in a meditative fashion which scared me into the freezing cold water.

We pool hopped seven times, from hot to cold, to luke-warm, to ice (which was a short trip), to warm again, back to hot and now back in luke-warm, this time with bubbles. I was beginning to wind down physically, but mentally there was still a slight niggle at the back of my mind. At lunch we all gathered back altogether, the girls laughing and talking, myself rather quieter. My mind was focused on the distant horizon, were maybe James, Oran and the guys were laughing in a similar manner.

“So I told him to go stick his head down a hole,” Iona concluded, snapping my thoughts back to the present.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Henry’s being an idiot again,” Jenn explained, as Iona launched on another tirade.

“I mean, it’s not as if we’ve been dating or anything, but going to three gigs together, plus a trip to the beach should classify as something, shouldn’t it?...”

I shrugged and attempted to set my vision back on the horizon.

“You alright Phil?” Olly asked, concerned.

I stopped staring and thought for a moment.

“Olly, I have twenty-nine days until I marry James. Once I’ve married him, the countdown will begin for my taking the throne. Once I’ve taken the throne the countdown will begin for me to have children. Once I’ve had children… then maybe I could relax, if I didn’t have an entire country to run. I feel like there’s no end,” I sighed.

“Darling, I’d say you need to get some perspective, but what you really need is less perspective. Forget about the rest of the world! You’re just one girl, about to get married to the sweetest guy, taking some time out. Ok?”

I smiled but her advice didn’t seem to pass any further than my hearing. I sat still and on-edge for the rest of lunch.

“Now, what do you say to a back massage?” Olly asked when we’d finished, taking the final sip of her drink with a mischievous smile.

“As long as it’s not from the scary looking woman,” I whispered.

“Oh, I was thinking a little closer to home,” she winked, nodding to a handsome male masseuse setting out an array of scented oils on a nearby trestle table.

“Olly!” I hissed, uneasy.

“Well, if you won’t, I will,” she grinned.

“What about Theo?”

“Oh, live a little Phil,” she replied acerbically, “It’s just a back massage!”

My stomach crawled uncertainly. I did not feel comfortable. All I really wanted was to take Freya and ride as fast as possible in a single direction – towards James. Let him tell me that everything was ok, that there was no great weight of a single country pressing down on my shoulders. I was not a girly girl, and I’d established that a long time ago. This was not my idea of fun. And seeing Olly blatantly flirting with another man was not making me feel any better.

When the others split up back into various parts of the spa, I stayed where I was, nuzzling into my dressing gown with very little going through my head apart from James.

“Can I get you anything mademoiselle?” asked a passing woman.

“No thank you,” I replied.

By the time the day was over I had decided that I didn’t want to make a weekend of this. I was homesick, for home and for James. Jade had been surreptitiously watching me the whole day, and that evening I took advantage of it by asking her to take me home. She didn’t ask me any questions, just gave me a one-armed hug and took me back once she’d gone and talked to Olly.

Once home, I stole one of James’ jumpers from the armchair in his room, curled up on my bed and held the phone in silent contemplation of whether I should call him or not whilst the sun set outside my window. After a little while I gave in, picked his number out of my contacts list and listened to the rings with a hesitant stomach.

Just to hear him speak, I told myself.

“Hello?” answered an unfamiliar male voice, “Who is this?”

“Meredith, who is this?” I asked, sitting up.

“Dr Benjamin Ryans,” he replied, “Can I ask what relation you are to James?”

“I’m his fiancée,” I answered, my pulse beating uncomfortably in my throat.

“I’m afraid there’s no easy way to tell you this, Miss,” the detached voice on the other end of the phone said, “James has just gone into surgery-”

My heart stopped beating.