London, England
August 2016

No time for losers

"Now, he is hot," Tatty states appreciatively and leans forward to get a better look.

"He's also French," I point out, smiling, and nod at the digital French flag unfolding on the screen behind the scantily clad man Tatty is ogling as he walks up to the competition pool.

She, however, is not to be deterred. "No matter. He can talk in French to me any day."

"You don't speak French," Katie reminds her drily.

"Oh, but I do," Tatty insists. "Bonjour, oui oui, baguette, monsieur."

Pressing my lips together, I do my utmost to keep a straight face. I direct my gaze straight ahead, because I know that the moment I look at Katie, I will lose it. I very nearly manage, too, until –

"Oh God," chokes Katie, unable to suppress her laughter.

"Katie!" I chide, now laughing myself. "You're weak!"

Tatty looks from one to the other, evidently confused. "What? What? Why are you laughing?"

"I… You…" Katie gestures vaguely as she doubles over with giggles, unable to form a proper sentence.

"It's the baguette that makes it art," I remark, not doing anything to mask my own laugher anymore.

Her head whipping from left to right, Tatty tries to get to the bottom of our mirth. As she does, her confusion is slowly replaced by the realisation that – "You're making fun of me!"

"Only a little bit," I soothe and place and arm around her.

"And in a supremely juvenile way," Katie adds, still chuckling.

Tatty narrows her eyes. "So you thought that when saying baguette, I meant…"

"Bread," I finish for her. "We thought you meant the bread. We only stipulated that you could also have meant something else."

There's a disdainful sniff from Tatty, but I can see her eyes dance with humour. "You two have dirty minds," she declares.

Katie and I look at each other and the moment we do, we both break out in laughter again.

"I guess we can't deny that," admits Katie, dabbing at her eye.

"Très cochon," I supply with a grin.

Tatty frowns. "You better not be making fun of me again!"

"No." I shake my head. "If anything, I'm making fun of us."

"I can live with that," Tatty decides after a moment of deliberation. "And now, do let us pay attention, because I think I've seen a hint of baguette beneath those fetching trunks."

And this time, when Katie and I dissolve into laughter again, Tatty is right there with us. (In hindsight, maybe we shouldn't have accepted the waiter's offer of a second bottle of wine with dinner.) By the time we regain our composure, the 100m backstroke race is very nearly over, so we only just get a glimpse of the finish as one of the Americans gets his hand on the wall first.

"Such a disappointment," sighs Tatty and shakes her head at her chosen favourite who placed a mere 5th.

"You should go introduce yourself anyway. Maybe he needs someone to comfort him," Katie suggests wickedly.

"Only if you congratulate the winner," Tatty shoots back, unfazed.

Katie inclines her head and wrinkles her nose a little. "He's a bit green behind the ears, don't you think?"

"Nice abs though," Tatty points out.

"Hmmm…" Katie hums thoughtfully. "You're not wrong about that. But even if he were ten years older, you forget that I'm not exactly free to play the field."

"Nor am I," replies Tatty and smiles down at the sparkling ring adorning her left hand.

"So that means I get them all for myself?" I chime in, batting my eyelashes innocently.

Immediately, both of their heads whip around.

"No way!" Katie declares firmly.

"Over my dead body!" Tatty cries rather dramatically.

I bite back a smile. "I'm the only one not wearing a ring though." To prove the accuracy of that statement, I wiggle all ten fingers in front of them.

"Like we care about that," scoffs Tatty.

Katie reaches over her to lay a hand on my arm. "You're forbidden from doing anything that will get Ken moping again," she informs me.

Tatty groans. "He was insufferable when you were gone. I tried everything to cheer him up, but he was all sulking and broody the entire time. We do not need that again!"

Her words have a somewhat sobering effect on me, so instead of volleying back a joke, I simply nod. "It won't happen again."

"Good." Katie briefly squeezes my arm and smiles at me.

"Unfortunately, it looks like the days when we could have affairs with hot French swimmers are past all three of us," Tatty states and sighs wearily.

"We all had to grow up someday," I reply and mirror her show of regret by shaking my head heavily.

Katie laughs and reaches out to hit first Tatty and then me on the back of the head. "Who's moping now?" she wants to know.

Tatty and I exchange a glance, before shrugging at the very same time.

"Being here is certainly one of the perks of being, you know… us, all grown up and with useful connections," I admit. "Also, the wine."

"Absolutely the wine," Tatty agrees, nodding eagerly.

Katie grins. "Useful connections indeed."

She isn't wrong. She, of course, got her VIP pass to the London Summer Olympics by virtue of being a Royal Highness, but Tatty and I got ours solely through the people we know. Or, to be exact, through the person we know.

When Ken first dangled a laminated pass in front of me, granting me access to all venues at all times, it was so tempting that my refusal was but superficial. I know I should have rejected it out of principle, but come one… I'm only human and it's a once in a lifetime situation! He had the good grace to claim that he didn't ask for a pass for me but was offered one by the Olympic committee because they figured I'd bring them more publicity, but with all the sports stars in the world assembled here and seeking greatness, it's not like they really need little old me for press attention. Still, the pretence made it a little easier to accept the pass and all it entailed.

However it was acquired, I've already made excellent use of the pass by watching as many events as possible. It requires some juggling with my job at the youth centre, but working half-time and having flexible hours certainly helps. Today, I worked until afternoon before meeting Tatty and Katie for an early dinner and setting off to the Aquatics Centre with them. The children love living vicariously through me and demand a play-by-play of everything I've seen, so there's something good coming out of this for them, too.

"Useful connections?" asks a familiar voice behind me, drawing me from my thoughts. "Is that all I am to you?"

Moments later, I feel Ken wrap his arms around me and drop a kiss on the top of my head.

"Now he figures it out." I raise both eyebrows meaningfully at Tatty and Katie, causing both of them to laugh. Mark and Teddy, who must have arrived with Ken, join in readily.

"You wound me, Rilla," Ken declares dramatically.

"Oh, you'll live," I inform him bluntly. But to show that I'm not serious, I turn back to briefly kiss his cheek. Below us, the swimmers of the men's 200m freestyle have just turned for the last lap, but I know that a good few of the present cameras are trained on Ken and me right now. I just can't find it within me to care.

"So, are you enjoying the swimming?" asks Mark and I look to my left, where Katie has shifted to free up a seat for him between her and Tatty. With Teddy next to her and Ken just now taking the seat on my other side, the two royal brothers make up the bookends of our party.

"We're appreciating the view," Tatty replies and grins brazenly.

"View?" repeats Mark, raising both eyebrows.

"Oh, you know." Tatty gestures at the swimmers who have finished their race and are now climbing out of the pool. "Chiselled abs, tight swimming trunks, dripping wet bodies…"

Mark laughs. "Some view!"

"Indeed it is," Tatty confirms with a firm nod. "And don't you go all holier than thou on me, because I happen to know you've been watching beach volleyball today and I also know for a fact that you can't tell the difference between bumping and setting the ball, so you certainly weren't watching it for the sport."

For a moment, Mark stares open-mouthed at his fiancée, clearly needing to process her little speech first. Finally, he settles on a harmless, "It was an interesting game."

Tatty rolls her eyes at him, but isn't able to hold the pretence for long, before she laughs and pecks him on the lips.

Next to me, I hear Ken chuckling quietly. Leaning toward him, I murmur, "If I were you, I'd be careful. I can't imagine Mark went to see that beach volleyball game on his own."

"Just like Tatty didn't go solo to watch swimming?" Ken retorts, his voice quiet and his lips close to my ear.

"Yes," I tell him sweetly. "Just like that."

Looking at him out of the corner of my eye, I hold his gaze, both of us waiting for the other one to break first. In the end, we both do, a smile appearing on his face at the same time as I feel one creeping to my own lips. For a moment, we just look at each other, both grinning widely and I know he's thinking the same thing I do.

We both still get them, these sudden flashes of wonder, when we marvel at the fact that we're back here and back together, despite everything that's happened and everything that worked against us. This is one such moment, for both of us, and I know he cherishes them as much as I do.

"Oi, you two lovebirds," Tatty interrupt us, snapping her fingers close to me left ear. "Do you think you can stop with the lovey dovey eyes for a moment and listen?"

"Depends on what you have to say," Ken shoots back, leaning around me to look at her while slipping an arm around my shoulders at the same time.

"Not Tatty. Teddy wants to ask something," clarifies Katie for her and points at Ken's brother sitting at the end of the row.

Teddy nods, half-standing so we can see him over the heads of the three others sitting between us. "I was just wondering if you're going to do the handshaking today of if you want me to do it?"

"The handshaking?" repeats Tatty questioningly.

"It might be all fun, games and fit bodies for you, but for Teddy and me, this is work," Ken teases her.

Tatty glowers at him in response. "Inasmuch as shaking hands with half-naked beach volleyball players could be called work," she shoots back haughtily.

Ken laughs good-naturedly. "Precisely." Shifting his attention back to his brother, he replies more seriously, "I can do it. I think Oliver is already on it anyway. He disappeared a while ago, muttering something about organising a meeting opportunity."

That, in turn, piques my attention, though I try not to show it. "You're meeting the swimmers later?" I ask, attempting to show nonchalance.

"Yes." Ken nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'd ask if you want to join, but evidence has shown you to be disinterested in boring matters such as these."

I pout in reply. He just laughs, pleased with having scored a point.

What he's alluding to, of course, is that I declined his offer to watch the Opening Ceremony from the royal box. It might seem tempting to the uninitiated, but I'm perfectly aware that an Olympics Opening Ceremony is fun for all of an hour and that the rest of it is only bearable when one turns it into a drinking game. Thus, I wisely watched it at Wren House with Lucy, Dev and a visiting Josh. When Ken returned from the actual ceremony late in the night, he was quite grumpy with boredom and we were more than a little tipsy, showing me once again that my assessment was absolutely correct.

Of course, Ken was also grumpy because I intervened to talk him out of his stunt, which he quite had is heart set on. Back when Owen was still scheduled to open the Olympics, they filmed this little movie clip that had him be picked up in a helicopter by James Bond and then parachute out over the Olympic Stadium. The jump was to be done by stuntmen, or at least that was the plan until Ken stepped in for his father and remembered that he'd done training jumps as part of his pilot training. Lo and behold, he suggested that he parachute out of the helicopter for real during the actual ceremony.

The mere suggestion was enough to drain all colour from Oliver's face and when he later informed Beckett of their charge's plans, I though the latter might actually faint from the shock. They practically begged me to intervene and talk Ken out of it, which I did dutifully (and also gladly, because it was a foolish idea if there ever was one). Thus, the movie clip was redone with Ken as the subject – and a lengthy cameo by George who wandered in and plonked himself down right in the middle of the carpet in Ken's study for an afternoon nap – but the jump was done by stuntmen, just as planned. For Ken, it meant that a long, boring night was bereaved of its one interesting element and he was a bit cranky about that afterwards.

He did also accuse me, half playfully, of not being supportive enough as his girlfriend, but that's nonsense, of course. I simply knew what was best for him better than he did and acted accordingly. As far as I'm concerned that marks me out as the very best of girlfriends, really!

"You know why I didn't come!" I accuse Ken, frowning at him. "And you can't deny I was right!"

"You're right, I can't deny that," he admits, laughing, and leans forward to brush his lips over my furrowed brow. "And I'd be happy for you to come along to meet some people if you want to."

There. That wasn't so hard, was it?

He makes good on his word, too, and when the victory ceremony of the women's 100m breast wraps up a little past 9pm (won by yet another American, because this is swimming, after all), he takes me with him 'behind the scenes'. Oliver has reliably done his job and when we arrive, a sizable number of swimmers and trainers from all nations have gathered, most of them looking quite excited to meet a proper royal.

Ken does his usually thing, somehow managing to be approachable and statesmanlike at the same time, in the way he and Owen do so well. He gives a short off the cuff speech (or at least it looks like that to anyone but me who knows that he has several speech fragments ready that he can cobble together as needed), delivering it with both charm and gravitas. When the speech is done, he goes to do what he came here for – shake hands and make small talk.

I hang back a little, watching him and admiring the adeptness with which he handles the situation. From looking at him, you'd think this royal business was the easiest thing in the world.

Ken is just congratulation the Hungarian who won the women's 100m backstroke today, when I hear a voice beside me. "Um, excuse me?"

Turning, I find myself confronted with a small group of younger female swimmers, looking at me a little uncertainly.

"You're, uh, Rilla Blythe, aren't you?" one of them asks, her voice wavering a little.

"I am, yes," I confirm, not quite sure where she's going with this. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know your name."

Her eyes widen. "Oh, of course." She identifies herself and I recognise her as one of the British swimmers participating in the semi-finals of the 200m individual medley today. Helpfully, she supplies the names of the others in her group, too, and I'm fairly confident I've heard at least half of their names before. At least one of them is American and another sounds suspiciously like she's French.

Upon hearing the name of the last of them, I look at her in interest. "You're Canadian, aren't you?"

"Like you are," she replies and smiles proudly. She looks terribly young, especially considering the media interest already focused on her.

"I saw you race the other day on TV," I tell her. "That was incredibly impressive! And you won two medals for Canada! I don't think I've ever seen that happen before."

"We won the bronze medal as a team," she points out, gesturing at what I perceive to be her teammates. "And I'm still working on one of them being gold."

"I'm sure you'll get that gold medal," I reply, meaning it. "But even if not, it's already a great achievement that you're here and taking part in this. That goes for all of you. It must be an incredible experience." I let my eyes drift over the assembled group.

When I look at her, one of the younger girls elbows her neighbour in the side and they both blush and giggle. It's almost as if I were the special person in this conversation, not them. That's plainly ridiculous, however, because it's them who not only made it to the Olympics but did so before graduating high school, by the looks of it. At their age, my biggest concern was how to make my pocket money stretch far enough to buy an electric blue eyeliner!

"They say that taking part is what counts," another of the swimmers states, drawing my musings away from the embarrassing days of my youth, "but if we're being honest, we all want to win. We wouldn't be here if winning wasn't that what we were after."

Her bluntness makes me laugh. "Is that one of the big Olympic secrets no-one ever talks about?"

"What is?" asks Ken as he comes to stand next to me, his arm settling around my waist.

I look up to smile at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see some of the swimmers exchange wide-eyed glances and others laughing nervously.

(Ah, the days when royalty could still draw that reaction from me! I'm afraid I've become too jaded since.)

"I just learned that the Olympic motto is nonsense and that in reality, taking part doesn't count as much as winning," I inform Ken, feigning seriousness.

He groans. "You," he begins, tapping a finger against my nose, "are forbidden from saying that to my sister. I haven't spent a month convincing her that it doesn't matter whether she wins a medal only for you to come along and tell her that it does matter after all."

"Wouldn't dream of it!" I promise, laughing.

And I don't, mostly because I've done much the same thing as Ken in the past weeks to reassure Persis. She's super excited to be part of the eventing team, but also extremely nervous about it. With her parents still in Scotland (though, no doubt, watching closely on TV), the rest of the family has made a point to be there in support of her and I know that means a lot to her.

I saw her dressage test on the weekend, right before going to cheer on my old NYU friend Megan in the women's individual épée. (Just like with Chelsea, time and space meant that our contact petered out to be a sort of birthday card friendship, but I wouldn't have missed her competing for the world and it was lovely to catch up afterwards, too.) I couldn't make it to the cross country part of eventing due to work, but Ken and Teddy were there between beach volleyball and swimming. For the show jumping the next day, which marks the last part of the eventing tournament, the family turns out in full force, lining the ranks.

Aunt Mary brought along her identikit sons and husband, the five of them sitting in the row in front of us. With Aunt Mary, I'm never sure whether she's here because it interests her, because she wants to support her niece of because she considers it her duty. Though I guess with her, there's not so much of a difference, because duty is ingrained so deep into her as to have become part of her nature.

She's picked up most of the slack during the worst weeks of Owen's illness and took over every event she was asked to without any complaint. She held back otherwise, with the exception of keeping herself closely informed on her brother's condition, but I think that's mostly because it's not her style to butt in without being asked to and in all the confusion, no-one thought to ask her. (Well, I did, but I chickened out every time I tried.) Still, she isn't one of the most hard-working members of the royal family for nothing and whatever you say about her, she's certainly beyond dutiful.

Less dutiful, but always up for a fun time is Uncle Al, who sits behind us with his wife, son and younger daughter. Aunt Kimberly is watching the tournament with interest, having asked Christopher to explain the rules to her. (The thought of a royal not knowing how eventing works is so weird that I can't help wondering, again, how she managed to survive nearly fourteen years in this family. I like Kim, I do, but she still seems like such a fish out of water here!) Ashley, meanwhile, is fully engrossed in her phone in the manner of all pre-teen girls all over the world, and apparently not even her cousin participating in the Olympics is enough to draw her attention away from Instagram and Snapchat. (That's what the cool kids use these days, isn't it?)

Me, I'm sitting between Ken and Teddy, with Katie and Adam on Ted's other side and Great-Aunt Tanya in the seat next to Ken. Little Puddles has been deposited in my lap by her long-suffering mother within moments of their arrival, much to the delight of Puddles herself, me and, undoubtedly, the phalanx of photographers having their cameras firmly trained on us.

Right now, Ken is teaching an excited Puddles how to wave a little Union Flag and I already know the public will lap up the resulting pictures just as much as they did yesterday's photos of us canoodling in the Aquatics Centres. It'll probably take Persis winning a medal to bump Ken, Puddles and me to a less prominent page in the papers, but that medal, thankfully, is not looking unlikely.

Going into the jumping test, the British team was already on silver medal course (behind the Germans, naturally), while Persis herself sat in a promising tenth place. An individual medal was always a long-shot, especially so because she didn't produce a clean first round today, but as the team portion of the tournament is drawing to a close, that silver team medal is looking increasingly likely.

"They'll really pull it off, won't they?" Teddy asks.

"It does appear so," I confirm, sharply moving my head so as not to get hit in the eye by Puddles and her Union Flag.

"They can't catch the Germans anymore, but that silver is absolutely within reach," supplies Christopher, who appears to have done the math, while leaning forward in his seat.

Teddy nods, looking slightly awed. "My little sister is going to have an Olympic medal."

"Feels weird, doesn't it?" Ken flashes him a grin.

"Super weird," agrees Teddy. "I mean, who would have thought?"

"Not us when we kept teasing her about spending so much time at the stable she'd start eating hay next," Ken replies, appearing almost a little wistful as he thinks back to 'the good old days' (or whatever passes as such).

"We did do that, didn't we?" Teddy, to his credit, is clearly more embarrassed than anything by the reminder.

Ken grins. "We were a pair of little idiots for sure."

"And she's having the last laugh," I add, a little smug on Persis's part.

"Of course she is," interjects Great-Aunt Tanya matter-of-factly, quite as if that was never in any doubt. "And now, shush, all of you!" She points at the arena in front of us where the last British rider is preparing to start her round.

Behind me, I can hear Christopher quietly explain to his step-mother, "The British have seven penalties less than New Zealand right now, so she doesn't have to have a clean round for them to get the silver medal and even if she knocks down two obstacles, they still take Bronze. Three obstacles down, however, and they drop to fourth."

"Let's hope that doesn't happen," Kim replies loyally.

And we do hope that, fervently so. As horse and rider clear one obstacle after the other, we're all on our feet, wildly waving our flags. I'm supporting Puddles on one hip and brandishing my custom hybrid flag with the other hand. It has the British flag on one side and the Canadian on the other and it was quite sweet of Ken to have it made for me. With Canada out of the running after a disastrous showing in the cross-country phase, I'm absolutely alright supporting the British though and I would be even if Persis wasn't part of the team.

That, I guess, is what you get for having two homes.

(I must remember to get pointers from on Katya how to deal with it for when I ever find both pitied directly against each other.)

It's absolutely nerve-wrecking to watch and when the bay gelding clears the final obstacle without any of them having fallen, the excitement if even greater for it. There are hugs and cheers and Ken leans in for a brief celebratory kiss over Puddles's head (in the process of which she finally does manage to hit me with that flag of hers, but I hardly even notice).

The individual competition ends with Persis in eighth place, which is an incredible achievement, even if it's not one they give out medals for. (Those are claimed by two Germans and a Swede, the latter of which is somewhat of a surprise until Christopher informs us that she's married to a German, which is probably the next best thing.)

When the medals are handed out and the spectators start piling out of the arena, Ken, Teddy and I make our way to the warm-up area. I spot Tommy from afar and briefly wave at Molly, who's leading him around and feeding him carrots as she does so. She beams back at me, clearly proud of how her charge did.

"Do you see her?" asks Teddy, meaning his sister, and searches the area with his eyes.

His question is answered when Persis herself runs into him at full speed, wrapping both arms around him.

"Did you see it? Did you see it?" she cries excitedly.

Teddy laughs and hugs her back. "We did. Congratulations!"

"You were incredible!" I tell her and am immediately rewarded by a hug of my own.

"So was Tommy," she insists, her eyes shining.

"Yes, so was Tommy," I agree, smiling.

Ken is next, wrapping her in his arms and murmuring, "We're so very proud of you."

Persis clings to him tightly for a moment and when they part, she's grinning widely, her expression somehow expressing disbelief, surprise and utter joy at the very same time.

"I won a silver medal," she states wonderingly, as if needing to say it out loud to believe it. "I really won an Olympic medal!"

And that, I guess, is the absolutely perfect way of looking at it.


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'We are the Champions' (written by Freddie Mercury, released by Queen in 1977).


To Mammu:
It was a good thing it was Ken with the bagpipes, because if anyone else had woken her by playing the bagpipes badly below her window, Rilla might not have reacted so kindly ;). And I love your explanation for why we didn't see Nan's wedding. It certainly beats "I can't write weddings", so I shall henceforth adopt your excuse!
Yes, there will be quite a few chapters to come and when this is done, I'll write something else. I don't know how not to write, to be honest. So, lots more to read for you =). In the meantime, I hope you and the little one are well!

To Guest:
I'm glad you enjoy the scenes with Preti, because so do I. She's a fun character to write and we will definitely see her again over the course of the story!

To DogMonday:
I thought about whether Sam would be there, but I figured with him on the brink of becoming a pop star, he wouldn't have much time for the youth centre. He's still around occasionally (and he will pop up again in the story, too), but not nearly as much as he used to, making the youth centre a safe place for Rilla - though of course she didn't know that when she went there. As for Sam knowing about Rilla smoking a few joints... he and his friends could still sell that out, but I think the general expectation is that if they haven't done it by now, they won't do it at all. For Sam, it would also mean having to admit that he participated as well and as he's only starting out as an artist, maybe he doesn't want the public to know he smoked pot yet. His success is still too new and fragile for possible controversy, so ratting Rilla out isn't in his interest.
I think we can safely assume that wherever Leslie and Owen go, there are about two dozen staff to look after them, many of whom have been with them for a while and genuinely care about their well-being. They aren't alone and isolated up in Scotland, but they can also still lean on each other. Owen is frail physically, but still mentally quite strong, while Leslie is more or less the other way round. (And that she took the initiative here shows that for the moment, her mental health is also quite alright, because at her worst, she wouldn't be able to make plans like this.) As for what she's asking from Rilla... I think mostly, she's asking her to put her mind at ease. Leslie feels guilty for abandoning her children, so she's asking Rilla to make sure to keep an eye on them, so she - Leslie - can go to Scotland without having to worry too much. As Rilla points out, she's already doing what Leslie asked her to anyway, so this entire conversation is more about Leslie needing reassurance than Rilla actually having to do anything specific.
Now, Jerry... much as I can't write weddings, I also can't write Jerry. I just can't get the hang of him. He's just
there, vaguely being in existence, but I can't gauge him as a character, much as I try. He just always slips away and out of grasp. I had similar problems with Di, Shirley and Carl at some point, which I managed to resolve, but Jerry is proving elusive for reasons I myself don't understand. He's just super slippery!
Rilla moves around London much like she used to. If it's just her, she takes public transport or the occasional cab if she has stuff to transport. If she's with one of the royals or if she's moving between palaces, she has access to cars and drivers, but she wouldn't use one to, say, go to work or go grocery shopping because that's personal business and she organises that on her own. Of course, when she takes public transport, people might recognise her, but she benefits from the fact that in the tube, no-one looks another person in the eye anyway ;).
Also, please no worries about the content of your review, which I didn't read as complaints anyway =). Dissenting views are perfectly alright and if I didn't get my intention across in my writing (as with regards to Leslie, for example), that's on me anyway. I'll ponder how I can improve with regards to that and in the meantime, I hope this chapter hits the mark better than the last one. It certainly ticks your box of wanting to see more of Rilla's London friends!