London, England
March 2015
What do we do with our lives?
"We're going to grab some lunch. Do you want to come with us?" asks Meggie and peers at me around my computer.
I lower the top of the laptop slightly, the better to see her. Behind Meggie, I spy Rina and André, who presumably make up the rest of the 'we' who plan to get lunch.
"Sorry." I shake my head and gesture at the plastic container next to me. "I'm on that diet, remember?"
"Still?" Rina steps forward to eye my food container with distaste. "How come you aren't sick of it yet?"
I am sick of it. In fact, I've been sick of it since before I started, most especially because it's a fake diet to begin with. Going out for lunch constitutes being visible and so, it's out of the question as per the rules put up by Oliver. The problem was that after the third day of suddenly refusing my co-workers' invites to lunch, they started asking questions, and I can't have anyone asking question (also per Oliver's rules). So, in an attempt to make the questions stop, I invented this super rad new diet that I'm now following and that prevents any lunch dates.
What I didn't count on (but should have) was Marion, who's always trying to lose weight, asking for details about my new diet, so I basically had to make them up on the spot. Unfortunately, because my mind was pretty blank, I didn't come up with anything creative and am now doomed to eat steamed unseasoned kale for lunch until… well, until this whole charade is over.
The food container sitting next to me, is, therefore, filled with that very same steamed, unseasoned kale and Rina's look of distaste is really the least it deserves. It's… revolting and the very sight of it makes me feel sick. (If only it could already be Friday! On Fridays, I get an additional peanut. Unsalted, of course.)
"Sorry." I smile apologetically at Rina. "This diet is all about changing your eating habits long-term and I'm still just on the first step." Maybe I can soon graduate to step two and add some celery to shake things up a little?
"And how many steps are there? Twelve?" jokes André.
I roll my eyes at him good-naturedly. "Enough steps to keep me eating rabbit food for quite a while." Until Ken returns, specifically, which won't be until summer.
The thought of having to invent new steps for this fake diet to tide me over the next few months does not exactly make me feel very complacent. In fact, the sudden repulsion coming over me is enough to make me nauseous. (Or else, it might be the prospect of having to eat that container of steamed, unseasoned kale – without even a peanut on top!)
"Rather you than me," remarks Rina and pulls a grimace. Not that I can blame her.
"So, no lunch?" asks Meggie with a sigh.
I shake my head and smile apologetically. (I want to go with them, dammit!)
"Maybe you want to come to the movies with Felicity and me on Saturday?" Meggie tries instead.
Do I want to? Of course I want to. I haven't been out in weeks and I'm sick of staring at my living room wall every sodding evening. (Even George is annoyed with me hanging around at home so much.) But going to the cinema also falls under the definition of being visible, so I can go with them on Saturday no more than I can go with them now.
I shake my head and no-one looks surprised. "I can't, I'm sorry. I have… a call with my parents scheduled on Saturday."
I half-expect one of them to point out that I could reschedule the call, but somehow, no-one does. Instead, they exchange quick glances and I realise that they know that if they pressed it, I'd just come up with yet another excuse.
Excuses have become my life now. Some might also call them lies. No matter who asks, I always smile and pretend to be both well and busy, neither of which is correct. I barely leave the house anymore, just go to work in the morning and return home in the evening. On a rare, exciting day, I get to go to the supermarket, but that's the extent of variety in my routine.
I don't even get to leave the office much, because at my own request, I've been reassigned to do solely desk work. Normally, I'd go out and personally supervise the events I organise, but nowadays, I stay behind my computer and leave the visible part of work to others. Pamela was confused but very accommodating when I asked her and while the bigger part of me was grateful, there was also a smaller part that almost hoped she'd deny my request. But Pamela is too good a boss (and too briefed about the challenges faced by a royal girlfriend) not to make such a request work for me even without understanding why I asked for it. Therefore, for the time being – that is, until Ken's return – I'm tied to my desk and I hate it almost as much as the lunches of kale.
The kale is all I'm left with for company when my workmates, rebuffed by being served yet another thin excuse, withdraw to get their lunch. I look after them for a long moment, before getting up, grabbing the food container and going to the bathroom, where I proceed to pluck the kale into tiny bits and flush them all down the toilet. (Somehow, it doesn't feel nearly as satisfying as it ought to.)
The rest of the day continues as it began – that is, forgettable in the extreme – and doesn't turn in any way memorable until I walk home from the tube station in the evening and find two familiar figures waiting for me by the gate.
"Jem?" I blurt out when I recognise them. "Faith?"
"Sister-dear!" exclaims Jem and opens his arms to draw me into a bear hug. I wrap my arms around him and hold tight.
"Hi Rilla," greets Faith with a wide smile. When Jem lets me go, she bestows a quick hug of her own on me.
Flabbergasted, I look from one to the other. "What are you doing here?"
"There were no direct flights home and when they offered us the choice of a layover here or in Amsterdam, we decided to come visit you," Jem explains very matter-of-factly, his tone implying that I really should have been able to guess this.
"But…" I frown. "I didn't know you were planning to leave Africa already."
"We weren't planning on it," replies Jem unhelpfully.
"Alas, plans change," adds Faith, barely any more helpful herself, and shrugs.
Hmm… I'm sure there's more to this, but I guess I have more time to get the full story out of them later. For now, the most important thing if to get us inside, especially because the light drizzle that's been ongoing all day is now threatening to turn into one of those uncomfortable London rains with its big, wet, icy drops.
Grabbing my keys from my bag and turning to unlock the gate, I ask, "Are you staying the night?"
"Yes," answers Jem simply.
"What Jem is saying," amends Faith, shaking her head good-naturedly at her husband, "is that we'd love to stay at your place if it's possible, but if it's too much of an inconvenience, we can get a hotel room somewhere."
"Hotel rooms in London are bloody expensive," I declare and give the gate a push. "You're staying here. I don't have 1.5 spare rooms for nothing."
Behind me, I can hear Jem ask, "How can someone have 1.5 spare rooms?"
"I'll show you," I promise and wave them through the gate and over to the front door of my little mews house. Once inside, I gesture for them to leave their luggage in the hall and slip into the kitchen.
"Tea? Coffee?" I call out.
"Coffee," comes Jem's immediate reply.
"For me, too," agrees Faith.
Thus, I make coffee for them and a cup of tea for myself, put everything on a tray and lead them upstairs to the living-room. Once we're all seated, Jem and Faith take a moment to survey their surroundings and I take a moment to survey them.
Faith looks as glorious as ever, perhaps more so. Her hair is all shiny and golden, her skin is nicely tanned and without the jacket, I can see that her body is enviably toned. She looks out of place in cold, rainy London, but as I watch her, I can immediately picture her under the African sun.
Jem looks equally out of place, but it's less due to the London weather than to the eclectic taste of Genie's interior designer. If the African sun turned Faith into a golden Goddess, it left Jem looking like some sort of poor man's Crocodile Dundee. His red hair is bleached almost blonde and his skin is tanned brown and leathery. (The mere thought of how many sunburns he had to go through to get there makes me wince.) He's wearing a faded khaki shirt and cargo pants with frayed hems. All he's missing is a cowboy hat and some crocodile teeth around his neck.
"This is one fancy place," Jem declares, indicating the room around us.
"I'm very lucky to live here," I reply sincerely.
My brother nods. "I'd say!"
"Does Ken live here with you?" Faith enquires curiously.
My heart clenches at the mention of his name and I quickly gulp down some tea to mask it – burning my tongue in the process. "He lives at Kensington Palace, but in a normal week, we're together either here or there most nights," I intone carefully.
It's not a lie, per se. Kensington Palace is his permanent home and when things were still normal, we did spend most of our free time together. So, that's true. I just might have neglected to mention that at the moment, nothing is normal.
"Can we expect him tonight?" Jem wants to know, peering over at the window as if Ken was going to suddenly appear on the balcony without warning.
"No, not tonight," I reply, again picking my words carefully. "He's… busy."
(Not a lie either!)
Jem accepts the answer at face value, but Faith looks at me curiously for a moment. To prevent her asking any question I don't care to hear, I quickly add, "But enough of that. You must be hungry. Shall we order some food? We could have Indian, Chinese, Italian, burgers…"
"Or we could go out!" Jem suggests immediately, sitting up straight and looking quite taken with his idea.
Suffice to say, I'm… less than taken with it. Because me going out for dinner also qualifies as being visible, so it's perfectly out of the question. However, I can't let Jem and Faith run around London without me either, because if they were to get papped, it would lead to the inevitable questions of my whereabouts and tabloids asking questions is exactly what we're trying to prevent.
In short, I need to keep them inside and I need a plan.
"Aren't you tired?" I arrange my features into an expression of concern. "It must have been quite some journey."
Jem shrugs. "I slept on the plane."
"But I didn't," pipes up Faith. "I'd like a quiet night in."
I quickly look over to her, but she just smiles back, her expression pleasant and open. I can't tell whether she really didn't sleep on the plane or if she sensed my desire to stay inside, so I just settle on being silently grateful. Because if there's one person to whose whims Jem bends to immediately, it's his wife.
"A quiet night in it is," he thus declares – predictably – and settles back against the cushions of the sofa.
I, on the other hand, am already on my feet and fetch some menus of nearby restaurants that offer delivery service. I toss all of them at Jem and he peruses them eagerly. With Faith and me declaring ourselves to be open for anything, Jem ends up picking the small Italian place down the road (the one that closed down several times in the past year to host date nights for Ken and me).
Half an hour later, we're sitting around the dining table with freshly made pasta and chilled white wine. I didn't get any further in coaxing Jem and Faith to tell me quite what made them end their African adventure so suddenly, but they are much more forthcoming when it comes to sharing memories of said adventure.
Sipping my white wine, I listen to them tell me about their African home, their co-workers at the hospital, the children they worked with and the people they met. The joy and excitement they feel at the memories are palpable from the smiles on their faces and the way they talk over each other in an attempt to give me every detail and to get their stories just right. (It does, again, beg the question why they're here, but I don't press it.)
It's lovely, listening to them. Their words and the photos they show me on their phones transport me all the way to Africa, until I can almost picture the life they lived there. It's clear that it wasn't always an easy life, that the work was often hard and the loss sometimes horrible, but that it was… fulfilling. There's a sense of purpose to what they did, a logic, a meaning that is woven into every sentence and every memory.
(And as I listen to them, much as I enjoy it, I'm overcome by a sense of… of wistfulness. Of longing, even. The feeling is hard to place, but it settles heavily in my stomach, so I pour myself another glass of wine to try and wash it down.)
After the pasta is eaten and the wine drunk, the stories told and the photos shown, I take Jem and Faith to the guest room (pointing out the pantry bedroom to Jem in passing, as promised) and, after making sure they're well-settled, retreat up to my own room. There, it takes a long, long time until I finally fall asleep.
When my alarm rings in the morning, I don't feel well-rested at all, but needs must and the least I can do to repay Pamela's kindness is to be at my desk on time. Therefore, I drag myself from the warm cocoon of my bed and pat over to the bathroom. George, who was very put out yesterday at having his second-favourite bedroom taken up by a tall, galumphing human such as Jem, follows me hopefully, but when I don't go downstairs to provide breakfast immediately, gives me a look of betrayal and stalks off.
Having showered and gotten dressed, I finally enter the kitchen and I find George waiting for me by the fridge.
"Meow!" he demands.
"Shh," I chide. "Jem and Faith are still asleep. We don't want to wake them up, do we?"
George does not look at all concerned about their beauty sleep, instead showing much more interest in finally getting food inside his very, very empty belly. He rubs his head against my calf and when he sees me reach for a tin of cat food, he immediately runs to his bowl and looks up at me beseechingly.
"Someone is hungry," comments a voice behind me.
I empty the tin into George's bowl and look over my shoulder. Faith is standing in the doorway, wearing a well-worn t-shirt and with her hair ruffled from sleep. (She looks far better than anyone has the right to so shortly after waking up.)
"He's always hungry," I tell her with an affectionate glance at a happily munching George.
"So is Monday," replies Faith laughing.
"Are you looking forward to getting Monday back?" I ask as I move over to the coffee maker. "Coffee?"
"Yes, please," confirms Faith, before answering my first question, "Monday is a sweet dog. I'm not much of a dog person myself, but he's hard not to love. And Jem is really enthusiastic about seeing Monday again."
Motioning for Faith to take a seat, I start setting the table for breakfast. "Those two are quite a pair," I comment, thinking back to the antics of Jem and Monday.
"They are," agrees Faith. "Don't tell your Mum, but I think of everyone waiting for us in Canada, Jem is wanting to see Monday the most."
"I think Mum gets it," I assure her. After all, there is very little Mum doesn't get.
Faith smiles "She probably does."
Handling a third plate uncertainly, I enquire, "Is Jem still asleep?"
"He grumbled something when I got up but I wouldn't expect him down anytime soon," replies Faith good-naturedly.
Nodding, I put the third plate back into the kitchen cupboard. With coffee and toast done, I place both on the table next to cereals, milk, butter and jam. "Is this okay? I don't usually make an elaborate breakfast when it's just me."
"It's fine. I mean, who does, right?" Faith smiles reassuringly and reaches for a piece of toast.
A second later, there's a red flash and George jumps up on the table. "Georgie!" I chide him. "No sitting on the table when we have guests."
George turns his head to give me his most unimpressed stare.
"Sorry," I apologise to Faith as I pluck the cat from the table. George tries to wiggle from my grasp, but I don't let go until he's firmly on the ground. When I do, he runs off to sulk, not even looking back at me.
"Don't wake Jem!" I call after him warningly.
George ignores me and disappears into the hall.
Shaking my head, I sit down at the table and look back at Faith. "I'm no dog person either, but at least they're better-behaved. Cats do what they want."
"So does Monday, if he thinks he can get away with it," Faith informs me conspiratorially. "Not that Jem would admit it. That dog can do no wrong in his eyes."
"Clearly not." I laugh. "Dad's the same, really. I think he will be sad to see Monday go when you take him back. That is –" I hesitate, "you plan on taking him back, don't you?"
"I guess it depends on where we settle eventually, but Monday will certainly factor into the decision," answers Faith as she butters her toast.
I pour some cereals into a bowl. "You haven't decided where to live next?"
"We'll go to Halifax first and maybe take over Ingleside for a while until we've figured things out, but we haven't settled on where to go afterwards. We've talked about it a little and thrown around some options, but haven't decided anything yet," explains Faith. "I mean, it all happened pretty quickly."
"What did?" I frown.
Faith grimaces and I realise that for whatever reason, she didn't meant to say that.
I replace the cereal box, but don't yet reach for the milk, instead watching Faith curiously (and, I admit, a little warily). She squirms a bit, but doesn't seem to have a good excuse, so in the end, she relents. "Our departure was… somewhat hasty."
My frown deepens. "Why was that?"
Faith sighs. "We didn't really want to tell anyone, least of all you, but…" She trails off.
I wait.
"There were… messages," Faith continues after a long moment.
"Messages?" I repeat.
"Some might call them… threats," she admits.
Threats?
But…
What does that mean?
"Look, it was nothing definite, so there's no need to get worked up," Faith quickly assures.
"And yet, it was enough to make you leave Africa," I observe, trying to understand what she's saying – or rather, what she's not saying.
"It wasn't that we ourselves were scared," Faith adds. "But people in charge got nervous and pulled us. They said that even if the danger was abstract, they couldn't take any risks."
I still don't think I understand.
"But who threatened you?" I ask. "And why?"
She avoids looking at me, which, for the usually direct Faith, is in itself a worrying occurrence. "There's been a rise of terrorist groups active in Africa and one of them decided to pick on Jem and me."
"Yes, but… but why? Why you?" I want to know, my voice rising in alarm.
Faith reaches over the table to squeeze my arm. "Please don't be upset. I promise that nothing happened and we were never in any concrete danger."
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she's downplaying the seriousness of those threats for my sake.
"Concrete danger or not, someone threatened you," I point out, trying to remain calm. "I absolutely find that worrying! I mean, if you don't even know why they singled you out, what makes you so sure you're safe in Canada?"
"For one, nothing bad ever happens in Canada," she argues, not unreasonably. "For another… we do know why the threats were directed at us specifically."
I incline my head quizzically, nervously tapping my spoon against the table.
Faith sighs heavily and shakes her head. "Apparently, they got it in their heads that the royals would pay ransom money for Jem because he's your brother."
My spoon drops with a clatter and I sit up straighter.
"So, you're telling me that you were threatened and had to give up your work because of…" My voice catches in my throat. "Because of who I am dating?"
A long, loaded moment passes in silence, before Faith smiles wryly and nods.
I drop my head into my hands.
Bloody hell.
Bloody, sodding hell!
"Of course, nothing would have happened if some deluded maniacs hadn't decided it was okay to kidnap people for money," Faith points out.
Not that it makes me feel any better.
"But you… you loved your work!" I protest, raising my head again. "Last night, when I listened to Jem and you… you were so… so alive! Just talking about your work in Africa, you showed so much drive and purpose and passion… and you care so deeply about the people you met there. I mean, you can't just give that up!"
"They didn't leave us with a choice," Faith replies with a sad smile. "And a risk to us is a risk to everyone, so even though we weren't scared, we couldn't have put anyone else through that risk. Not that I wasn't mad as hell at first, of course. When the order to leave came from Geneva, I called to give them an earful and you better believe that if I'd had a number of the lunatics, I would have called them, too!"
I laugh weakly and Faith nods approvingly.
"I really was angry," she stresses. "Even Jem was pretty annoyed for a while, because he didn't want to leave any more than I did. He really loved those kids and I know he will miss them like crazy."
Yeah. Jem has always connected well to children. I think they recognise something in him that they instinctively react to.
"We definitely weren't okay with having to leave," Faith continues thoughtfully. "But I guess making lemonade comes naturally to both of us. It doesn't help anyone to dwell on things you can't change, you know? And paradoxically, it was seeing Jem say goodbye to those kids that made me realise that maybe, if one adventure is coming to an end, it means there's another adventure waiting just around the corner."
I narrow my eyes and consider her closely. "Are you…?
She shakes her head, a lop-sided smile on her lips. "No, I'm not pregnant. We loved Africa, but we both agreed we wouldn't start a family until after our stint was over. Jem was especially adamant about. There was one time when we had a… well, I wouldn't call it a scare, because it really wouldn't have been so bad at all, but… you know."
I do know. I know much better than Faith probably guesses. Because even if hers didn't feel like a scare, mine certainly did, and even if all three of Lucy's tests came back negative, I still sometimes wake up at night, drenched in sweat, having dreamt of a test that showed that dreaded second line. It's my very personal new nightmare and I'm sick of it already.
"When I first told him there might be something, Jem wanted to put me on the next plane out of there," Faith continues, rolling her eyes at her absent husband. "I only just got him to agree to let me make an appointment first. He was crazy worried."
Yes. Jem would be.
I take a deep breath, trying to quench the cold, clammy feeling that filled me at the memory of my own brush with a scare.
"So, could it be that Mum will get the longed-for third grandbaby soon?" I ask, aiming for lightness, and muster a smile that I hope is convincing.
Faith laughs. "I'm not promising anything, but since we're going back to Canada anyway… I guess it's a strong possibility. We really want to have a family and I know Jem will make a great dad. No child of his will ever be less than loved and adored."
She sounds so sure, so utterly relaxed, so enthusiastic even, and as I listen to her, the clammy feeling rises within me again. It's not that I begrudge her and Jem their happiness, not at all, but… her complete assuredness make me feel… yes, envious.
I want that certainty for myself and right now, I'm not very hopeful that I will ever have it.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'We Don't Need Another Hero' (written by Terry Britten and Graham Lyle, released by Tina Turner in 1985).
To Mammu:
It absolutely leaves them in a difficult place! The thing it that I'm not sure Ken not going would have changed all that much. It would have given them an opportunity to work on their issues sooner, but the damage was done when he planned to go without including her. Even if he'd decided to stay, Rilla would still have been angry at him, I think, and not without reason.
Rilla having to put her life on hold for Ken is kind of becoming the theme to their relationship. It wasn't something she ever enjoyed, but she put of with it so far because there was a promise of a better future ahead. Now though she's starting to lose faith that that future will ever come - and the conviction that it's actually what she wants. Lots of thinking ahead for her for sure. I'm glad you still believe in her and Ken being able to make it, but they certainly don't have an easy path ahead!
To Rach H:
Now that you've made it down here, the big question should be answered - and your gut feeling proved to be right :).
I agree that if she had been pregnant, they would somehow have figured this out, because despite all the problems, they still love each other and they both would have loved a child. I think it would have been enough to paper over the cracks for quite some time, but I also think it would have made Rilla look back at her life 20 years later with strong feelings of "what if". She kind of stumbled into this life by Ken's side without reflecting what it would mean for her and ever since, she's been trying to muddle through it without stopping to think about herself. She could close her eyes and keep doing that, but at some point, she'd come to realise it and it would lead her to question which other paths she could have taken. For that reason, her being forced to evaluate her life and her choices now is a good thing, painful as it is for her.
That said, it's still Rilla we're dealing with here, so we won't see her sit down and consciously reflect on what she wants to do or where she wants to go from here. She's a drifter more than a no thinker and it's in her nature to go where the flow takes her. We won't suddenly see her become all organised and reflective about her future. That's a process and she's still just at the beginning. The pregnancy scare will definitely crop up again in quite a pivotal way, but for now, Rilla would mostly just like to forget about it altogether, thank you very much.
I'm not 100% sure Rilla is really chosing to go through this alone this time. Before, she kept her family and friends out of the loop intentionally, but now, it's more of a case that what Oliver is saying isn't news to her. She realises that Ken being deployed needs to be kept a secret and while she didn't think it would confine her to her home, she'd already made the mental jump to figure out that a secret is easiest to keep when very few people know about it. That doesn't mean she mistrusts her family and friends, but it's just a fact that the more people know, the more likely it is to slip out, even unintentionally. I really think that this time, Rilla isn't hiding her struggles because she wants to appear happy and competent, she's doing it primarily to protect the secret and thus, to protect Ken.
As for the comment about being an ex-girlfriend, you're of course entirely right that with time passing, interest in her would wane and her life would become increasingly more normal. However, she would never stop being the ex-girlfriend of a prince (or king, eventually), so I imagine the press would check in on her sporadically and report if anything newsworthy happened in her life. (As they do for Chelsy Davy and Cressida Bonas - or even still Koo Stark!) I guess that once the world knows who you are, you will never be an unknown again.
