Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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“You might want to take a siesta,” James warned me on Friday.

“What for?” I asked, kissing his temple.

He didn’t react, preoccupied with his sheet music.

“We’re going to try item 20.”

“Which is?”

“Staying up all night.”

I hummed thoughtfully for a moment.

“I have to visit the hospital tomorrow afternoon,” I frowned.

“Well, staying up all night means you can go to sleep once the sun comes up – you’d have all morning to sleep.”

“Grandmother might wonder why I’m not at breakfast,” I pointed out.

“Okay, so you turn up at breakfast and then go to sleep?”

I nodded.

You spend a third of your life in sleep.

But, that’s like… a lot!

No duh, pie-face.

Pie-face?! Does my face look like a pie?

I had two frees on a Friday afternoon, so I got home early and slept, avoiding Grandmother who had been lurking in the foyer about to snatch me for extra etiquette on hospital visits. I woke up with half an hour before six, so I managed to disguise the fact that I’d been sleeping before going down to dinner. Now familiar with James’s winking habits, I winked at him first when we left the room.

“Ten minutes?” he asked.

“Yup. Whereabouts?” I asked.

“Meet me in the library,” he replied, and disappeared.

I pondered my wardrobe, finally deciding to casual; we probably wouldn’t go anywhere. I took my overly-large hoodie for extra cold protection. James was frowning out of the window in the library.

“I don’t know what to suggest,” he said, when he saw me.

“Rous?” I asked, “What’s left on the list?”

“Whistling, a concert, driving, thunderstorm, camping, abroad alone, dying hair, tattoo, keys, and a nice journalist,” he reeled off.

Memorise much?

“Right,” I blinked, surprised he remembered, “Let’s go find a concert that’s not classical music then.”

James seemed already tired in the car, so I skipped conversation and clutched my hoodie to my chest instead, pondering its dark blue colour. Once in Rous James drove past the Academy to check for a queue, but there was nothing there. Better luck was found outside one club, which boasted Calling Callie for the evening.

Up until that moment, I hadn’t understood what claustrophobic meant.

The club was hot and stifling, bodies cramped together from the very entrance, hardly thinning even to the sides of the room. I felt a slight exhilarating panic rising in my throat, and clutched James’s hand as he threatened to disappear in the crush. He slipped quickly into a seat someone was just vacating, pulling me into the next.

“Want a drink?” he asked, slipping off his jacket to claim the chair.

“Um, age?” I whispered, wondering about ID.

The noise level in the place drowned my quiet remark.

“Come on Phil, as if half the people in this room are over 18?” James laughed as he caught the meaning from my expression.

“Erm, I wouldn’t know where to start,” I confessed, “I’ll just have whatever you do.”

James smirked at my naïve answer, and disappeared to the bar.

I gulped, moving my seat to the side as a couple pushed past. The band was already on, pounding away at bass, lead and drums as if their life depended on it. I tried to pick out a rhythm, but the acoustics were dreadful, making the heavy metal fade into a confused mess of chords, weaving through the thriving bodies.

“There you go,” James said, placing a pint glass in front of me.

“What is it?” I asked tentatively.

“House ale,” James replied.

“Right…” I mumbled.

James smiled, “It won’t bite you.”

I took a short sip. As per usual the alcohol hit the back of my throat near-painfully. But then a warm, glowing feeling settled into my stomach, and the taste of malt swept my tongue. I took another sip and began to like the kick.

James was looking at something behind my shoulder, so I turned around to see a pretty brunette working her way towards us. Her blue-eyed, hour-glass figure was everything I’d always been jealous of.

“Hi James!” she shouted over the music.

“Hey Vi,” James shouted back, “Phil this is Violet, Violet – Phil.”

“Great to meet you!” Violet said, slipping into the seat between me and James, “I didn’t pin you for the clubbing type, James?”

She leaned in a little close for my liking.

“Phil wanted to see a concert,” James explained.

“Oh yeah, part of your list, right?” Violet nodded, “James was telling me about it.”

*jealous* Er, when?

“We sit next to each other in lectures,” James explained, taking a gulp of beer.

I did the same, noting that my glass was half empty. I’d easily get tipsy if I wasn’t careful.

“How’s your Schubert imitation going?” Violet asked, settling back into her seat with a familiarity that was disconcerting.

“Not good,” James replied, slipping into discussion on music.

My eyes wandered over to the stage again. If Olly was here she’d be sighing fits over the lead guitar – he was stick-thin, red-headed and lean muscled.

“Hey, I didn’t ask if you wanted a drink,” James said after a while, “On me.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Violet replied, “I wouldn’t mind a glass of white.”

James slipped off to the bar again, leaving me alone with a 2-3-years-my-senior, obviously-more-confident, and possibly-flirting-with-MY-boyfriend Violet. I sighed consciously, sipping my ale – it didn’t seem very ladylike now. Violet made no attempt to talk. I examined her clothes wistfully; she was dressed up to the nines; corset over a dark-blue shirt, cropped trousers and fishnet tights. I glanced down at my own t-shirt and jeans, then my overlarge hoodie over the back of the chair, and felt my stomach turn from warm to slightly nauseous.

“There we go,” James said, back with a glass of white wine, “Phil did you want another?”

I looked down at my now empty glass. On a whim I nodded.

“Could-a told me before,” he rolled his eyes, picked up my glass and left again.

Talk much Vi?

Obviously not.

James returned with my beer and re-launched into conversation with Violet. Looking down at the full glass made my stomach somersault, and I glanced up for the toilet.

“Just going to the loo,” I excused myself.

James looked up briefly, smiled and kept talking.

The toilets were small, already filled with girls reapplying make-up. One was vomiting at the end of the row. I swallowed and picked a cubicle free of a puddle or loo roll coating the floor.

Princesses should not have to deal with this sort of thing.

Agreed.

I wondered vaguely about being insecure. James wouldn’t cheat on me, he wasn’t that kind of guy. And yet watching Violet lean in like that, and him not exactly struggling to get out of the way… I pushed it out of my head, slapping myself across the wrist.
Feeling sick, I sat down for a moment on the toilet lid.

“Violet’s going in for the kill,” I heard someone remark outside.

My ears burned at the newly-familiar name.

“Is she?” another gossipy tone answered.

“She said she was.”

“But I thought James was taken?”

“Yup, by her Highness no less,” the first voice laughed, “But Vi says there’s no point in letting her feelings get smothered. It’s not as if they’re married or anything.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“Guess it’s for him to judge.”

“Well, she’s certainly not known for staying quiet. Remember that time she-”

Annoyed, I stopped listening and strode out of the loo. Back in the club my suspicions were confirmed by Violet leaning in to James, whispering something into his ear. I hadn’t pinned myself as the jealous type, but the alcohol in my system was doing funny things. Someone danced into me, and the world spun haphazardly.

So this is what it feels like to be drunk, I mused.

“Hey, sorry,” cried the guy, who was tall and not-a-little handsome.

He stared at me impersonally for a moment, and then grinned.

“Hey gorgeous. Have I seen you somewhere before?” he asked.

“Probably,” I mumbled.

“Wanna dance?” he suggested.

“No thanks,” I replied.

“Hey, come on! Give a guy a chance,” he drawled, holding out a hand.

I glanced back at the table to see James and Violet still close together. Angry, and not a little drunk, I smiled and took the invitation.