Norfolk, England
August 2014

May your heart always be joyful

Sandringham House is seriously odd looking. It's a hodgepodge of a place that refuses to stick to any architectural style (it must give Teddy constant headaches) and truly defies description. My best attempt would be to say it looks like several vaguely Victorian-looking terraced houses knocked together by a not very talented builder – and even that's putting it kindly.

On the inside, the aim is cosiness and it does better in succeeding on that front. Where Osborne House is all exotic elegance, liberally borrowing from Indian designs (or what people in the mid-1800s thought was Indian), Sandringham has dark woods and thick carpets, squishy chairs and cosy fireplaces, random knickknacks and framed family photos. It's more of a country manor than a palace and I must admit it derives its own kind of charm from that.

The overall effect doesn't feel very summer-y and normally, the royal family doesn't decamp to Sandringham until autumn when it's hunting season in Norfolk, before they move further north to Balmoral for Christmas and New Year. This summer, however, Sandringham House is the setting for a very joyful event, which is why the entire royal family and a good chunk of the country's aristocracy descended on this rather sleepy corner of the country.

Thankfully, the weather has decided to be a game player and to not rain on everyone's parade. This, I was told, is not guaranteed in Norfolk, not even in August, so everyone greeted the sun with much relief this morning.

I, of course, agree with that assessment whole-heartedly. I've always been a summer creature and the English weather can be rather depressing. Plus, while I have a light coat to go with my patterned summer dress, I'd much rather not wear it and show off my Osborne tan. (I'm quite proud of it!)

My suede shoes also wouldn't have liked rain much, so in the interest of not getting them stained, I'm all for sun. With the weather being as agreeable as it is, the only other enemy we're fighting, the shoes and I, are the gravel paths laid out all around the house. (And this time, house is quite an accurate description. Big house, maybe, but certainly house. Sandringham doesn't look like a palace and certainly not like a castle.)

Carefully, I balance over the gravel in my thin, high heels, trying not to lose my balance. The last thing I need today is a twisted ankle (or a broken neck).

As I approach Sandringham's main portico, I become aware of an aqua-clad woman arguing with one of the guards there. Another ten steps closer and I realise the woman is Tatty, in full bridesmaids garb. The guard looks vaguely familiar as well, but I can't quite place him…

"You have to let me in!" Tatty insists.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but you're not on the list," the guard replies staunchly. And when I hear his voice, I'm thrown right back to an awful March day in New York, more than three years ago.

It's Sexy Eeyore as he lives and breathes! (Well, Pilkington, to be accurate, but where's the fun in that?)

"I was already in there today! I just left to catch some air and now I need to go back inside! I don't care about your stupid list!" Tatty protests and I have a distinct feeling she's only just keeping herself from stomping her foot.

"I apologise for any inconvenience, Miss, but I cannot allow anyone inside who's not on the list," Sexy Eeyore persists.

"I'm the Maid of Honour!" snaps Tatty. "I need to be with the bride!"

"That may well be, Miss," acknowledges Sexy Eeyore, "but if Her Royal Highness wanted you with her, she ought to have put you on the list."

Tatty looks like she's ready to bash his head in with her clutch. (And boy, do I know the feeling!) Sexy Eeyore juts his chin forward, clearly not ready to budge.

"Is there a problem?" I ask, approaching the two.

"Rilla!" cries Tatty in relief.

Sexy Eeyore turns and nods his head at me in greeting, but his eyes narrow when he recognises me. "Miss Blythe." (Looks like the dislike is mutual.)

"He won't let me inside!" Tatty complains, pointing her thumb at the guard in a very un-ladylike way. "Apparently, I was left off some effing list!"

"Which I'm sure was just a simple oversight," I remark calmly. To the Sexy Eeyore, I say, "She's with me."

He steps aside, clearing the way to the front door, but his eyes are shooting daggers. "Very well, Miss." The way he says them, it seems like he's almost chocking on the words.

Grabbing Tatty's arm, I drag her with me, lest she decide to use her clutch on Sexy Eeyore's head anyway. "Come on, Tat," I murmur.

Tatty looks over her shoulder to glare at him, but allows me to lead her inside the house. "I can't believe my name needs to be on a list for me to be allowed inside," she grumbles. "I went in and out Sandringham as I pleased when I was a child. No-one ever had to consult a list!"

"I'm sure it's just because they upped security measure for today," I soothe her. "And because you've been here so often, no-one thought to put your name on the list."

"Yours is on it," Tatty points out, but there's no resentment to her words.

I shrug, feeling a little uncomfortable. "I think my name is on some kind of permanent list allowing me entry to all royal residence. I know I can take guests inside, at least."

Tatty whistles softly. "Is there any royal door that doesn't open for you, what do you think?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

Her expression is pleased, even a bit proud, and I'm grateful for it. She could easily have gotten annoyed that despite her long history with the royal family, it's suddenly me having to vouch for her. Instead, she looks like someone whose protégé has done a good job, thus repaying the trust put in them, and honestly? I'll take it.

"We-ell," I draw out the word, grinning, "I've yet to try the Jewel House in The Tower…"

Tatty laughs. "Drat! That's my cunning heist plans scuppered then."

"We'll think of something else," I joke, lightly elbowing her in a companionable way.

"We will," agrees Tatty brightly, linking her arm through mine and pulling me up the staircase.

She might have needed me to get past Sexy Eeyore, but inside the house, Tatty knows her way much better than I do, as I can admit without envy. I only arrived here three days ago and despite its comparably homey feel, Sandringham is still big enough to get lost in. I'm only starting to find my way around it, so I'm perfectly content to let Tatty take the lead.

She finally stops at a door and gives it a short knock. Without waiting for an answer, she wrenches it open and barges inside. "Sorry for taking so long! There was some idiot guard that wouldn't let me in. Rilla had to rescue me," she explains to the room's occupants.

I follow a little slower, only really daring to enter when Aunt Caroline waves me inside.

Aunt Caroline (Ken's Aunt Caroline, that is) was the first wife of Uncle Al and is mother to Chris and Katie. She's a warm, capable, humorous, down-to-earth woman and how she could ever get married to Uncle Al is a mystery I've yet to solve. (And not just me. Persis even drew charts to visualise possible theories, but without much success.)

Closing the door behind me, I quickly look around the room. It's guest a bedroom, facing east to overlook the lake, and today, it doubles as Katie's bridal suite.

The bride herself stands in the middle of the room, arms outstretched, her mother and now Tatty bustling around her and fussing with the dress. It's a simple design, sleek and modern, without frills or ruffles, and with just minimal touches of lace.

Remaining otherwise still, she cranes her neck to look at me. "Is everything alright at the church?" she asks.

"Everything looks lovely," I confirm, moving into her line of sight and smiling reassuringly.

I've just been down to St Mary Magdalene Church, which is something like Sandringham's almost-private church (the royals like to have one at all their residences) and will play host to Katie and Adam's wedding in less than an hour.

"They said there were some issues with the flower delivery. Did those get resolved?" Katie wants to know, her eyes flickering nervously.

Behind her daughter's back, Aunt Caroline gives me a look that clearly requests me not to upset her.

Waiving a hand airily, I hurry to downplay any problems. "Some minor issues, yes, but nothing we couldn't deal with."

"Did the flowers get delivered or not?" Tatty asks, in her usual direct way. Aunt Caroline frowns at her.

"Strictly speaking…" I pause briefly. "Strictly speaking, they didn't get delivered as such, but… we put up an alternative flower display and I promise it looks beautiful."

"An alternative flower display?" repeats Katie, her voice strangely high-pitched.

I nod, feeling a little uncomfortable. "Um, yes. We sent the gardeners to the walled garden and had them bring all the flowers in bloom down to the church," I quickly explain. "It's not what you had planned, but I think you'll like it. It looks like a summer meadow, all colourful and bright. It looks happy."

"Happy is good," chimes in Aunt Caroline cheerfully and pats her daughter's arm.

Tatty, meanwhile, considers me with interest. "So you're telling me you don't just have a virtual access all areas-pass to this place, you can also have the gardeners cut off all the flowers?"

"I didn't do it myself!" I protest. "I might have suggested it, but Leslie agreed, so technically, she made the gardeners cut off all the flowers."

"On your advice," insists Tatty cheekily. I give her a dirty look.

"Whoever ordered anything, what matters is that the church is beautifully decorated with flowers," Aunt Caroline points out sensibly. "You have nothing to worry about, darling."

"Nothing at all!" I back her up, nodding my head decidedly and crossing my fingers behind my back.

What I choose not to relay is that we had to put up folding chairs to replace the church pew that spontaneously collapsed, had to draft in the organ player from the neighbouring church to replace the regular player who fell ill with food poisoning and had to pry the hipflask from the hands of an already tipsy Duke of St Andrews (who is, if I'm not mistaken, the grandson of King Victor's younger son Francis and his wife, the erstwhile Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons).

There'd be no use in telling all of that to Katie though. For one, we have all those issues under control, so there's no need to upset the bride. For another, if I've learned one thing in my year of working in party planning, it's that no event (and certainly no wedding!) ever completely goes to plan. It's what you make of it and without wanting to brag, I've gotten pretty good at improvising.

Of course, I'm not here in a work capacity, but when Katie asked me to go down to the church and check whether things were going alright, I wasn't going to say no. When, once arrived, I found that things weren't alright, I quickly found myself a clipboard and sketched alternative plans, which I then proceeded to put into action. I wasn't sure whether people would listen to my suggestions, but apparently, my virtual access all areas-pass, as Tatty calls it, also means there are not many people in the royal employ who are ready to deny me. It's odd, but today, it definitely came in handy.

I feel Katie scrutinise my face, but manage to keep my expression as sincere and innocent as possible. It seems to reassure her, because she slowly nods, takes a deep breath and looks away again.

Aunt Caroline looks at me gratefully. I smile back. Tatty, passing by me, claps my back.

"You'll have a beautiful wedding, Kate," she tells Katie confidently. "I'm sure the church is beautiful and you look beautiful, too. Adam won't know what hit him."

Katie smiles nervously. Her mother laughs. "Chris checked in on him earlier," she tells us. "He's a nervous wreck, poor guy. His best man isn't feeling much better. I think the TV cameras are getting to him."

Katie is just a minor royal and the setting of St Mary Magdalene Church far less grand than previous royal wedding venues, but she's still a princess of the blood (as they say) and the press is most definitely covering her nuptials. The ceremony won't be televised at Katie's request, but there's a press pen set up outside the church and all major outlets have sent representatives. I had to duck past them several times already and they never grew tired of snapping and filming me. (I mean, when do they ever?)

"Both groom and best man are a bit nervous, but Chris, Ken and Teddy are doing their best keep to them calm," I remark. "I don't think there will be any issues."

Tatty laughs. "You've got it all under control, don't you?"

"I'm just keeping an eye on things for Katie," I reply modestly. "We all want her to have the most beautiful wedding possible, don't we?"

"We do," agrees Aunt Caroline kindly and squeezes her daughter's arm.

It's not just lip service either. Katie is such a nice person that she deserves the best wedding and if I can help her, I'll gladly do it. Me having some experience in event planning definitely comes in handy and since I'm not in the wedding party, I don't have any formal role to prepare for. (Kate offered me bridesmaid-ship, which made me feel really honoured, but I knew immediately that if I accepted, there would be far too much focus on me, despite it being her big day. When I explained, she was very understanding, so I'm just a simple guest, which is exactly how I want it.)

"Thank you! All of you, just… thank you" Katie looks truly touched. There might even be tears brimming in her eyes, which is very unusual for otherwise calm and practical Katie. But I guess on their wedding day, everyone is more emotional than usual.

"Aw!" Tatty smiles widely at her. "You're sweet. But Rilla is right. You deserve the very best wedding."

She grabs my hand and pulls me towards Katie, then throws her arms around both of us. It results in a group hug that Aunt Caroline joins laughingly and if she wasn't already ruining her make-up before, Katie is certainly doing so now. I am, therefore, quickly drafted into repairing what I can, which takes a little longer than it should, seeing as there are new tears spilling several times. I do manage to get Katie's face touched up with waterproof make-up, but cut it rather close to the ceremony as a result, arriving just moments before the Rolls-Royce of the actual bridal party rolls up.

Mark, my date for today (given that Teddy and Ken are joining Chris as ushers and Persis is sharing bridesmaid-ing duties with Katie's half-sister Ashley), waits for me outside the church, clearly amused at me rushing towards him at the last minute. (The press people also seem to love it, snapping away wildly.) He offers me his arm and we quickly duck into the church, just making it to our seats before the arrival of the bride is announced and the ceremony begins.

And it's a beautiful ceremony, just as Katie deserves. She's clearly deliriously happy and Adam is slightly dazed just from looking at her, which is as it should be. Everyone is delighted for them and their love, filling the entire church with joy.

(Plus, if I may say so myself, the flower decorations look pretty amazing.)

The day continues as beautifully as the ceremony was, with everyone decamping from the church to the extensive lawns around Sandringham House for a standing reception, which will later be followed by a sit-down dinner and dancing for a selected group of guests. The sun is still shining brightly from the sky, while a breeze coming from the sea keeps it from getting too warm. It is, in short, a perfect day.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" asks Ken as he appears at my side and slips an arm around my waist.

"Very much. It's a lovely wedding," I reply, leaning into him and accepting a brief kiss.

Ken raises a hand to adjust my fascinator slightly. (A fascinator, as I've learned, is a feather-y, swirl-y thing that pretends to be a hat but really isn't. It perches precariously on one's forehead and really serves no purpose at all.)

"Did Mark look after you?" Ken wants to know, glancing around as if in search of his friend.

"He did," I confirm. "It was most agreeable."

"Good." Ken smiles.

"Not," I continue pointedly, "that I need looking after, of course."

I can see Ken hesitate as he tries to gauge my mood. I keep my face neutral, so for a moment, he's clearly unsure whether I'm joking or not. It's only when I break cover and grin up at him that he truly relaxes again.

"It's okay," I assure him, patting his arm. "I appreciate the sentiment of making sure I'm not on my own. And with both our partners in the bridal party, it made sense for Mark and me to stick together."

"Partners?" Ken parrots, looking seriously confused.

"Well, sort of-partners, I guess," I amend my previous statement.

"Sort of-partners?" he repeats, now also mildly indignant.

"Not you!" I placate and rub his arm. "We're more than sort of-partners."

Ken frowns. "I should hope so," he mutters.

After the sort of-promise we made each other earlier this month, I had hoped that went without saying.

"When I said sort of-partners, I meant those two," I clarify, pointing towards the open bar on the side of the lawn.

Ken peers in the direction I indicated, but doesn't look any wiser. "Who?"

"Tatty and Mark?" I reply, phrasing my sentences as a question, to make clear that I consider him to be rather dumb for not getting it.

"Tatty and Mark?" Ken echoes, his tone one of utter incredulity.

I sigh heavily. "Yes," I confirm, "Tatty and Mark."

"But… but…" splutters Ken. "But…"

I reach up to put a hand on his forehead. "Are you stuck?" I ask, feigning concern, but doing little to hide my grin.

"But!" protests Ken, apparently robbed of all other words.

"You really didn't know that?" I want to know, somewhat fascinated by this turn of events.

Tatty and Mark are maybe his two best friends. How could he have not known?

Ken opens his mouth, looks at me with a somewhat miserable expression, then closes it again. I do have a feeling this is too much for him to wrap his mind around.

(Which I understand, don't get me wrong. When I first heard about Di and Nia having met at some science conference for clever people and having subsequently fallen for each other, I felt much the same way. I mean, I fully support it and wish them all the best, but it was a bit… weird. In a way, it still is.)

"They're just sort of-partners," I explain, trying to sooth Ken. "Friends with benefits? Something like that."

Instead of replying, Ken looks from me to his friends, back to me and finally settles on staring at them in a rather obvious way. "How could I have not known this?" he murmurs.

The answer would be, of course, 'you were gone', but it seems an unkind thing to say.

I'm still trying to come up with a reply, when Ken turns back to me. "I was gone for too long, wasn't I?"

Well, if that isn't a pleasing degree of self-awareness…

"I won't deny that," I tell him. To soften the blow, I add, "In fairness, I think they were 'off' for a while. They just rekindled their… their thing very recently after Mark broke up with that blonde."

"But still!" Ken protests. (It's a very me thing to say and I'm a little amused at having rubbed off on him.) "They're my friends. I should have known this."

"Probably, yes." I shrug. (After all, this is not my battle to fight.) "But I guess since it's just a sort of-thing, they didn't see much sense in telling."

"You know!" Ken insists.

I pat his hand in the way you would to someone who's a little slow and only just now cottoning on to the fact that the sky is blue. (The little Jake in my head pipes up to inform me that the sky is not, in fact, blue. I nudge him aside.)

"We're women, my darling," I inform Ken. "We tell each other things."

That seems to give Ken something else to consider, because now he's staring at me. "How many… things?" he asks hesitatingly.

"More than you'd be comfortable with knowing," I reply, not missing a beat. "Or telling."

He swallows and I know he's trying to decide whether he wants to find out what we women tell each other or whether he's happier with not knowing. (I vote the latter.)

Looking back over my shoulder, I see that Tatty and Mark have left the bar and are approaching us. Ken notices as well and takes a long sip from his drink.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Tatty cheerfully informs him when she's within earshot.

"I… I…" Ken stutters, before raising his glass again – and chocking on whatever is in there.

Rolling my eyes, I clap his back as he coughs.

Tatty look from me to him in confusion, then starts laughing. "Oh! Rilla told you!"

"It does look like it," confirms Mark, quieter, but also amused.

"I didn't mean to," I defend myself, still clapping the back of a coughing Ken. "I thought he knew."

Tatty shakes her head. "Nah. How would he have known?"

"Not from you," Ken forces out between coughs.

"There's nothing much to tell," Mark replies. "It's an occasional thing. We're both single, we enjoy spending time together, so…" He trails off.

"We occasionally help each other scratch an itch," finishes Tatty brightly.

Ken is immediately overcome by another coughing fit.

Tatty sighs in a long-suffering way and throws me a sympathetic look. I smile back wryly, now rubbing Ken's back seeing as clapping doesn't seem to be have done much good.

"And since we're speaking of scratching an itch," Tatty turns to me and grins. "Did you hear that your Mexico fling is rumoured to be lined up for I'm a Celebrity?"

"Tat," Mark says quietly. Ken coughs more heavily and gestures to communicate something neither of us understands.

I shake my head and smile to tell both of them that it's fine. There aren't many people allowed to tease me about this chapter of my life, but Tatty is among them. After all, we're women and we tell each other things.

(On the whole, I've sort of made an uneasy peace with the whole Chad thing. I mean, I still want the floor to swallow me up whenever his name is mentioned, but that's mostly out of embarrassment that I ever slept with that man. The painful, awful feeling of the winter, when he first appeared, has mostly passed.)

"Did he get eliminated from Big Brother already?" I ask Tatty, looking her straight in the eye to show her that I refuse to be teased.

"Oh, long ago," she answers, waving her hand in a throw-away motion. "He did well in the beginning. Looked good in the hot tub, hooked up with another contestant… made for good TV. About one third into it, he revealed himself to be rather too much in love with himself though and was voted off. A week later, he went crying to the Daily Mail about how he was unfairly treated."

"Yes," I sigh. "That sounds like him alright. And like the Daily Mail, too."

"Speaking of which," begins Mark, clearly wanting to change the subject, "Ken told me you're pursuing a law suit because of that article earlier this month?"

It's not exactly the subject I would have chosen, but it's better than Chad. Pretty much anything is better than Chad.

"Yes, Teddy and I are suing the photographer and the paper because of those pictures," I explain to Mark. "They were – how did that lawyer put it? – not legally obtained."

Ken, whose coughing has quieted down, draws me a little closer to him and kisses my temple. I give him a grateful smile.

"It's good that you're doing this," Mark tells me.

"Yes," agrees Tatty firmly. "About time someone shows them there are boundaries."

"We hope it will make them respect those boundaries, too," I reply. "Whether they actually will…" I shrug. I'm not sure how hopeful I should be.

"Fingers crossed!" Tatty raises one hand, her index and middle finger crossed, while nudging Mark with her elbow until he does the same.

Their support draws a smile from me. "Thank you. It really means –"

I don't get any further however, because in that moment, Persis barrels towards us, with absolutely no concern for her expensive bridesmaid dress and her light suede heels. Trying to stop, she almost loses her balance and needs to be caught by a quick-thinking Mark.

"Thanks," she says absent-mindedly in his direction. Then, looking at Ken and me with shining eyes, she exclaims, "You won't believe it! I just got the most amazing news!"

"What kind of news?" I ask, laughing softly at her enthusiasm. Ken grins and shakes his head.

A beaming smile blossoms on Persis face. "It's the WEG later this month, remember? Well, one of the other riders just learned she's pregnant and the other's horse is lame, so they're calling up the alternative and that's me! Me! I'm going to the World Equestrian Games!"


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Forever Young' (written by Bob Dylan, released by him in 1979).


A/N:
I've thought about whether to let reality bleed into this story by acknowledging it via an author's note, but I guess this particular reality is so big that it slowly takes over everything anyway, so here we go. I really just wanted to say that wherever you are, I hope you and your loved ones are well, both physically and emotionally. Someone said to me recently how hard it is to live through history and I guess we're all seeing now how true that is. I have nothing uplifting to say except to note that "this, too, shall pass" - simply because it has to.
I've also noticed an uptick in readership in recent weeks, and want to say that I hope my story is providing even the little-ist bit of distractions in these times when distractions are hard won. Plus, if you like to, I'd love to be in touch, so please don't be shy. One of the true wonders of fanfiction is how it connects people all over the world and that's even more needed right now, when a lot of people are feeling a little uncertain and lonely. So, whether long-time reader, new reader or returning reader, do drop me a line if you like. I promise I don't bite - though I might chew your ear off sometimes :).


To AnneShirley:
Thank you so much for saying that! There was a time when I wondered whether this story held any interest for people at the moment or whether they'd find it silly and trite in light of all that is happening in the world. In the end, I realised that writing was helping me escape the uncertainty of reality a bit, so I kept on doing it just because of that. But if my story is also proving to be a small respite for others, that makes the writing even more worthwhile.
Rilla is a 'lily of the field' in any time, I think ;). She enjoys the finer things in life and she likes a bit of luxury, so to have someone sail her around while she gets a nice tan is definitely her idea of a day well spent. And yes, she is interested in clothing, both hers and that of others, simply because she like pretty things (and enjoys gossiping about the non-pretty clothes others might wear). I
do usually try to convey something when I describe a character's clothes, and I'm glad that's working and translating to page as intended. Leslie wearing rubies is indeed an update of her "touch of crimson" of canon, just upped in luxury to befit a Queen.
As for the royals, my reasoning is that they're normal people in extraordinary circumstances. They experience triumphs and trials like other people, just that theirs might be a bit (or a lot) different at times. They're still humans and they make mistakes, but they also have hopes and wishes and try to make them come true. Here, it's the hope to repair the family bonds. What they weren't able to do on their own, Rilla is definitely helping them with, because as you said, she's bridging the gap between them. Which is why it's a good thing she and Ken agreed on a shared future, because she's really making his life better than it was before!
I think there are restrictions to royal travel, but I don't know how strictly they're enforced. William definitely travels with his children, Harry travels with Archie and I think Charles travelled with both his sons when they were younger. I do think they try to keep the direct heirs separate, so I can't see Charles and William getting on a plane together, much less together with Harry or the various children (I mean, no-one wants Uncle Andrew on the throne any more than Uncle Al...). In my universe, I think that Owen, Ken and Teddy generally fly separately and don't all get into the same car, but with the sailing, the reasoning was that there was the support ship close by to fish them from the sea should anything happen. Persis is a rung lower in the line of succession than Teddy, so restrictions placed on her are less strict. (Teddy is older than Persis, so would always be above her in succession. I do also believe these royals still have male primogeniture though, seeing as they had no reason to change that in over a century, but that Rilla will have a thing or two to say about that in the future.)
Oh, and thank you also for your lovely long review on my little one-shot. It having no follow-up chapter, I can't answer you there and I don't want to go into too much detail here to keep it from getting too confusing, but it was a wonderful review full of interesting thoughts and insight and I'm very grateful that you took the time to write it. (As, indeed, I'm always grateful for your reviews and feel happy whenever one pops up in my inbox.) Like you said, we can only hope that one say soon, we can look at this story and just see it as a bit of historical fiction about an event long ago and not as a scary reflection of our own times.
Lastly, but most importantly, I hope you and yours are healthy and well, and that you're keeping your head up in this trying times. I'm sending you lots of strength and good wishes. Take care and stay safe!
P.S. I was very happy to receive the email alert for your review for chapter 67 - only to then discover that the site glitch means it's not showing up yet. It's a recurring bug and the review will appear when it's fixed, but it unfortunately means I can't reply to it just now. Depending on when it shows up in full, I will either extend this review (even further...) or reply to it next week.