Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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Christmas sped towards us like…

A cat on speed?

How poetic.

Well, I was going to say a runaway train.

That’ll do.

Christmas sped towards us like a runaway train, and with it the approach of, not only Olly’s visit, but the annual Christmas ball. Mother insisted on taking up one of my free periods with a dress-tailoring session, which was nice and tedious in a mixed way. The portrait Pierre had painted of me was unveiled in the family gallery, to much enthusiasm and clapping.

Plus, Grandmother saw fit to begin introducing me to one eligible bachelor each fortnight; apparently I wasn’t to be small-town about who I chose.

James!!!

I’d prefer William Beckett.

Nice call! Ooo… James Beckett.

Throughout all Grandmother’s pointers to persuade me I should be getting engaged, I couldn’t help wondering if James would ever want to marry me. The question lay heavy on my lips, but I never dared to voice it.

The extra bustle of the preparations saw me and James retiring to the rose garden more often than not for a bit of peace. And inevitably, kissing; practise makes perfect, as they say. We had progressed to the stage where we dared to hold hands walking to his car outside of the college when he came to pick me up. Paparazzi still played a large part in how much attention could be publicly shown.

But paparazzi are not famous for what they catch you doing in public.

It was the first day of December, and James and I were sitting in the rose garden, enjoying a ‘private’ moment. Only this morning he’d produced an advent calendar, containing each day a never-done-before-task, which would draw the majority of my list to a close. This morning’s pocket had held a kazoo, which I had attempted to play, with little success.

The gardener was ploughing around as avidly as ever, the same cross expression on his face when he came across us on our usual bench. He gave us a bitter look and proceeded to sweep dead leaves from around us. We moved out of the way in an attempt to be polite.

He seems to think it’s his rose garden…

Well, it kind of is.

Who is the princess?

Who is the spoilt brat?

Oi!

Love is not observant.

This has been proved many a time in the past; Romeo didn’t notice that Juliet was still alive before killing himself. Actually, that’s a fictional example but still… James and I were completely oblivious of the first, second, and third flash. We were completely oblivious to the crunch of leaves under someone else’s footsteps, and to the squeak of the outside garden gate. Oblivious until the next day when those flashes were plastered all over the tabloids.

“Oh god, no,” I moaned, as Iona apologetically showed me the paper.

Kissing, rather a lot, and plainly myself and James, was spread in A4 size across the front page in top quality colour. A second picture of us entering church the other day was further proof of our ‘entanglement’. The paper claimed the usual inside scoop of affairs, with James and I right in there amongst them. Apparently, we were planning to elope over the Christmas holiday.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed.

“It’s not your fault,” I mumbled.

“Still…” Iona replied.

Henry smirked his way up to our table, followed by Jacques who had a similar expression, and David who simply smiled at Jenn and sat down next to her.

“Been having fun there, Phil?” Henry asked.

“Oh, just super,” I replied, “It’s not as if the smirking looks are annoying.”

“How is lover-boy, anyway?” Henry asked.

“He’s fine,” I replied, warily.

“Isn’t it about time we meet him?” he continued.

“What, why? You’re sounding like my mother!”

“Ah, but your mother has already met him,” Henry said, “Friends normally meet the boyfriend before the mother, so naturally, I’m a little insulted.”

“Aw, poor you,” Iona interceded.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Miss Sarcastic,” Henry shot back.

Aw, they have the whole love-hate thing down, don’t they?

Is that what it is? I only picked up on the hate.

Jacques spotted Katriona from across the room and went to talk to her - after splitting up with Shona mutually, he'd starting dating Katriona the next week, and they’d split up rather explosively a week ago. Soon raised voices were heard from the corridor.

“Well, they’re certainly having fun,” Henry said, interrupting the awkward pause.

“Back to that original topic,” Iona said, “I still haven’t met Mr Jacinthe either.”

“Do you want to?” I asked.

“Yes!” came the resounding chorus.

“Well, what am I supposed to tell him?” I asked, “Hey James, a group of my friends want to scrutinise you, would you mind popping round sometime?”

“That would be one way of putting it,” Jenn commented.

“Invite him to the carol service,” David suggested.

“Yeah!” Henry agreed.

“We could go out for a meal afterwards,” Jenn added.

I thought it over for a moment.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” I nodded.

“It’s settled!” Henry cried then quipped, “Iona, will you be my date?”

“Er, no,” Iona said, giving him an are-you-insane? look.

“Fair enough,” he replied.

Grandmother’s face was not pretty when I got home.

My mother and father were standing behind her, and Jade was leaning against the wall to one side.

“Meredith,” Grandmother began, as I flinched, “We need to talk.”

The scariest four-word phrase in the English language.

How about ‘Frogs will trample you’?

I hadn’t thought of that…

The talk went a little better than expected.

There were still raised voices at the articles. And frustration at gardeners; apparently it had been the gardener who let the photographers sneak in. Note to self; never annoy a member of staff ever again. The maids could have my underwear on YouTube in a matter of minutes.

Forget underwear, they could have us showering on YouTube in seconds.

Uh-oh.

With my newly publicised relationship, Mum and Dad were able to acknowledge the serious fact that I was growing up. Dad had a bit of an argument with Grandmother about marriage; he was adamant I should wait for as long as possible before deciding anything. Mum gently sided with Dad, but stressed to me that I should be ‘careful’ with James, even if just for appearance’ sake.

After having a good laugh at the absurd suggestions of the tabloids, I explained to James the my-friends-wish-to-scrutinise-you situation. He smiled at the suggestion of a meal, and agreed, but only on the account that I agree to meet some of his friends in return.

“You have friends?” I laughed.

“Er yes,” James replied.

“Sorry, I just… I’ve never really thought of you outside a you-and-me or Olly’s-older-brother context.”

James smiled.

“You know,” I said after a moment, “We’re getting way out of balance.”

“What do you mean?” James asked.

“Well, you keep doing all these lovely things for me, and I’ve done nothing,” I replied.

“You’ve given me the pleasure of your company and lips, my rose,” James replied.

“Cheesy!” I laughed.

“But true,” he winked.