Being Margaret Read online

  She asked her sister Emma once if Adam was “slow.”

  Emma frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “Like me,” Margaret explained.

  “You’re not slow,” Emma protested.

  “You know what I mean. Is he all there mentally?” Margaret hated that she couldn’t tell, that she had to ask her sister this question.

  “He’s normal,” Emma said thoughtfully. “Maybe on the low end of normal IQ-wise, but…” She shrugged.

  “He operates rides at a funfair, and he does laundromat work.”

  “Someone has to,” Emma pointed out. “It’s respectable work. Even ambitious people have to do it at some point.” She patted Margaret on the leg. “I like him.”

  Easy for Emma to say. She’d come home engaged after a whirlwind weekend and was planning her wedding. Margaret would be in it as maid of honor.

  In any case, the wedding remained a few months off, and Margaret needed to get to New York City to speak with Tessa in person.

  “Broadway?” Adam said, his brown eyes quizzical. “What’s wrong with the plays in London?”

  “Nothing, but it would be nice to travel, to go somewhere, the two of us.”

  “I like England,” he said.

  “You’ll like New York too.”

  “I’d have to save up.”

  “I will pay for everything. The hotel, airfare, new clothes, show tickets.”

  Adam shook his head. “No. It’s my job to pay.”

  It irritated her that he insisted on being so old-fashioned. It wouldn’t be a big deal if he worked as, say, a lawyer, but what could he afford on a funfair ride operator’s salary?

  Margaret mustered up patience. “I would like to do it, Adam. Please let me do it for us.”

  “Would, like, people photograph us and stuff? You know I’m shy.”

  “We could do it on the down low.”

  “I don’t see how,” he said.

  “Fine. Then I’ll go alone.”

  “C’mon,” he whined.

  “I don’t mind going alone,” she pressed. In fact, now that she’d said it, going solo held a certain appeal. She wouldn’t tell her mother or sisters of her plans. She’d simply let her security detail know she was going to a Broadway show next Wednesday, and it would be done.

  “I’ll go,” he said.

  Okay, good. Really, it was better that he go. She smiled at him, taking in his strong jawlines and soft eyes.

  “We should wait until after your sister has the baby,” Adam said.

  Oh. Yes. Katharine, eight-plus months pregnant, could give birth any day now. It would look like a snub if the heir to the throne was in another country for the birth of her replacement.

  “Soon, then,” Margaret said.

  Chapter Two

  Adriena

  Some year ago, former Queen of England, my friend Amalia, give me cheque. She tell me travel. Go Paris. Barcelona.

  I try. I say to Mama, “You want go on vacation? I pay. We stay nice hotel.”

  Mama scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. How would you be able to pay?”

  “I play lotto ticket. Every week.” It not true, but how else explain the money? If I tell Mama that queen give me funds, she get greedy and want more.

  Mama eyes squint.

  “I win 500,000 pounds!”

  Mama face get red. “Adriena Agata, stop lying! Tell me where you got the money.”

  “From…from palace.”

  “You stole it?”

  “No! I friends with someone important.”

  Mama shake her head. “Give me the money.” She hold her hand out and waggle her fingers.

  “Why?” But I see two whys in her eyes. Because she don’t believe me or because Mama think I no know what to do with money. But I do. I already went bank. Opened account.

  Maybe we compromise. “I give you 30,000 pounds,” I say.

  “No one gave you nothing,” Mama snicker. “Why the bloody hell would someone from the palace give you 500,000 pounds?” She walk to TV and turn it on with her pointer finger because we never can find remote. She sit and watch old WestEnders show.

  I look her. I feel mean inside, like I want hit her. Happens sometimes when people think I slow and stupid—but never this deep. Never this bad. I trembling.

  I walk to door.

  “Where you going?” Mama ask.

  I no reply.

  **

  That afternoon, I sign lease on flat. It near-ish to palace. By palace, I mean Buckingham, where I work before. Where before I work hard cleaning for king and queen and where I meet little girl who became not-so-little girl and got me fired.

  Flat very nice. Huge windows. Much sunshine. View of park and trees. But space empty. Floors bare and wood.

  Lots to do. Decorate. Furniture. This my place. I do with it what I want, only what I want. No Mama in next room to say I can’t do things.

  Next few days I go shops. I not go home. Let Mama worry. She deserve it. I buy red couch like in 1960s American movie I saw few year ago. It have many buttonlike things on back, and it elegant.

  Also buy bed. Have hard time deciding. Is one bed with tent canopy I much like. But I want nothing to block sunshine. In the end, I buy normal, boring-looking bed but at least it let sunshine in. And I get shimmery purple sheets for bed.

  It take one week to finish shopping, but finally, my flat finished. It furnished. It have bed, dressers, couch, two chairs that go with couch, kitchen table, chairs, towels, washcloths, toilet paper, food, lots other stuff.

  I living alone and I doing fine. I not buy TV because Mama watch it too much and it turn her in zombie. Instead of TV, I plan walk. I plan sew. I plan do things.

  Because flat all finished, I go see Mama to say goodbye.

  “Adriena!” Mama scream when she see me. She hug me so hard I pop. “Where have you been?” She cry and cry. “Don’t do that again!”

  “I have my own flat. I not live here with you.”

  Mama eyes go wide. “But…no, Adriena.”

  “I come back Sunday, 6 p.m. We go restaurant, okay? Every Sunday.”

  “Where’s this new flat of yours?”

  One thing I know: I quite enjoy live alone, and I no want Mama know where flat is.

  **

  Soon, I do go vacation to United States of America. Many cities I interested to see. New York, San Francisco, Seattle, Los Angeles, Boston, Atlanta, Philadelphia. Others. But where I go is place called Savannah in state of Georgia. It not tall and glittery like other cities, but I pick Savannah because it maybe Amalia favourite. Neil said so. He my former boss at palace, and sometime he like pretend he much closer with king and queen than he is.

  “Their Majesties really enjoyed Savannah,” Neil say one day. He go with them on some overseas trips to make sure places and hotels clean for them.

  “What’s there?” ask Yvonna, my friend. She also cleaner.

  “Lots of Southern charm. Flowers. Humidity.” Neil laugh. “The queen liked it more than the king did. She told me she read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil and fell in love with Savannah.”

  “Never heard of it,” Yvonna say.

  “Pretty good book. You should check it out.”

  I no know if Yvonna ever check it out, but I buy book. Reading hard for me sometime so I also buy audiobook at high volume. Audiobook much better. One of my favourite line: “She was a marvel. She did exactly as she pleased all her life, God bless her.”

  Like Queen, I fall in love with Savannah through book. I go. If we meet again, she be pleased I pick her city to visit with cheque money.

  Vacation turn out not too much fun. Too much hot. People rude. I get lost easily. I ask for help and directions. They laugh me. They laugh my clothes. At night in hotel room, I cry.

  I go home early.

  **

  Most my money still left when shootings happen on Easter. King’s sister dead. King, his mum, Princess, one of her sisters, they shot too. Queen okay. She got nothi
ng on her. Her skin as white and pretty as ever.

  Still a hard time for me. I no like Princess anymore, not after she lie about what I done. What I DIDN’T do. That not mean I want her shot. When she come home from hospital few month after Easter, I smile. Maybe even cry little bit. She young girl. Confused girl. Queen many things, but she is like my mama—not good mum to her daughter. Not accept daughter for who she is. I made mistake too, telling Princess she must marry man and have babies. I did wrong thing because I like Queen too much.

  So, I happy Princess okay. I hope Princess sister Margaret turn out okay too. I miss seeing Queen on laptop movies. I want see her smile and be happy. Sometimes, when I sleepy in bed, I remember her smells. Some days, she smelled like money. Like jewels made from flowers. She such beautiful woman who sometimes treated me like I smart.

  Point is, I never expect see her again. She done give me cheque, and I take few years to relax. I clean houses only occasionally. I look at her in magazines and on TV. She get older. She become Queen Mother, and Princess is new queen.

  I get older too. Lines around Queen Mother’s eyes delicate and fine. Lines around my eyes more rough.

  I touch her pictures in magazines. Sweep my finger up curve of her hip or leg. Stroke her lip. Remember way she brush my shoulder accidentally. Remember way she cross her ankles.

  I decide what to do with rest of cheque money. I talk with lawyer. I talk with smart businesswoman. Never with Mama. Never. Lawyer and businesswoman help me set up company. It called, “Adriena Agata Cleaning Service.”

  By time Queen show up at my door, “Adriena Agata Cleaning Service” doing very well. Have 40 full-time employees. I go office most days to sign papers and talk with lawyer and smart businesswoman.

  Lots going on. My business booming. I kind of rich. Then one day, doorbell ring.

  Always, my first thought when I hear doorbell is that Mama done come found where I live. It make my belly clench.

  I squint through peephole. It not Mama—woman too tall and thin. She all covered up. Headscarf and whatnot, I can’t see her face. But it like that time Queen came to give me cheque. She standing same way. She covering herself same way.

  It Queen Amalia. I think so at first.

  My heart leap. My stomach swirl. My friend back. My friend come see me.

  I open door. “Your Majesty,” I whisper, bowing my head. “Come in.” She smell good. So good, like life and friendship. Whatever she need, I do it.

  It not Amalia. I realise after I see cane and she take her headscarf and glasses off. It not the mother—it the second daughter, the crown princess Margaret.

  I so confused.

  We stare at each other, then she try on hesitant smile. She touch her hand to my arm. Feels warm. Nice. Bright wedding diamond shine on her elder sister’s finger, but Margaret’s is bare.

  “Adriena,” she say, her voice sad and throaty. “I miss you.”

  “I…miss you too.”

  “You’ve made a name for yourself,” she murmur. “Adriena Agata Cleaning Service.”

  I think of cheque Queen give me but stay silent about how her mother help me.

  Margaret look around my flat. “Hmm,” she say. “Hmm. It’s a pretty place.” Then Margaret chew on her lower lip. She no know what to think or say. Finally, she say again, “I miss you, my friend. I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch. I’ve been unwell.”

  I thinking, We was never friends. You no remember me. I saw you only a few times when you little girl. But I look into her deep blue eyes. They pained.

  “I understand,” I say.

  She let out huge breath. She throw her arms around me, and we hug long time.

  Later, when Margaret leave, we hug again and she say, “I’m glad you were able to put my cheque to good use.”

  Cheque? I get feeling that this woman very confused.

  Chapter Three

  The puzzle pieces of Margaret’s New York City trip came together slowly. First, Katharine’s baby arrived late. A week after his due date, doctors induced labor, and at last, the nine-pound, seven-ounce heir to the throne entered the world.

  Margaret met him the day after his birth. “Come on,” Amalia said, urging her on. “Let’s go meet my grandson and your nephew.”

  You mean my replacement. It was funny, really, this heir business. In most ways, Margaret had never been treated as heir. She simply wasn’t mentally capable of leading the United Kingdom, or so people thought. If it happened that the crown fell to her, well, they’d figure out a way to whisk it on to Emma. Above all, Margaret hated the burning knowledge that for the past sixteen years, the world must have held its breath and hoped for nothing bad to happen to Katharine, else the crown would fall onto the head of a mental deficient.

  “Katharine is sleeping,” Veronica whispered with a grin when Amalia and Margaret entered the suite. “But the baby is awake.”

  Amalia held and held and held the baby and cooed over him. She kissed his face all over. Veronica seemed equally besotted with her son, but Margaret hung back and migrated to a chair in the corner. Maybe if she sat and was quiet, they would forget about her until they had to leave. Before the shootings, she’d known she wanted lots of children. She wanted a strapping, handsome man to be her husband, the children’s father. Their daughters would look like him except one, who would be the perfect mix of them both. Their sons would resemble Margaret, except one, who would be the perfect mix of them both.

  At last, Amalia, tears in her eyes, approached Margaret. She held the baby out, and Margaret found herself saying, “No.”

  That damn bluntness. Still there.

  Amalia flinched. “Darling—”

  “Sorry.” Margaret held her arms out and accepted the child. She tried to see him as a doll, not as a living, breathing creature, else she might cry. Would she have children one day? If she wasn’t fit to be heir to the throne, how could she be fit to mother?

  The bundle yawned adorably. Dolls yawn, Margaret told herself, but of course they didn’t.

  “Have you named him?” Amalia asked in the background.

  “We think so. I’ll let Katharine share the name,” Veronica answered.

  “How are Lucas and Jo?”

  “Wonderful. They love him to bits.”

  They continued talking, and rather than keep looking at the doll-child, Margaret moved her gaze to a painting on the wall. Katharine had done it in a frantic flurry of brushstrokes, and it showed a full mouth with glistening red lipstick.

  Aunt Josephine, her father’s sister. She took Margaret to the beach once. Margaret was maybe ten. They’d gone, just the two of them—well, and the security gaggle too. Aunt Josephine had only sons, so she liked to borrow Margaret or her sisters every once in a while. At the beach, they ate candyfloss and went on rides, and it had been one of the happiest days of Margaret’s life.

  Amalia’s scolding voice broke into Margaret’s thoughts: “You’re not looking at the baby!”

  “It’s okay,” Veronica said.

  “Isn’t he lovely?” Amalia said, her eyes pleading with Margaret to divert her attention back to the child. To coo over him, to act with him like Amalia had. To act normal.

  “Will you take him?” Margaret asked Veronica.

  “Of course.” She scooped up the child and kissed his forehead.

  Amalia bent down to kiss Margaret’s forehead as well. “We’re getting there,” Amalia said cheerily. “Soon, we’ll have the old Margaret back.”

  “Those types of comments are hurtful,” Margaret mustered through clenched teeth.

  “What?” Amalia said, and Veronica held her son closer to her and looked like she wanted to disappear.

  “Don’t kiss me on the forehead like I’m a baby, and don’t make comments like I’m not here!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Go,” Margaret cried. “Leave, Mum!”

  “I’m sorry,” Amalia said again. She sounded like she meant it.

  “Leave, Mum.”

>   “I really am sorry, love.” Amalia kissed the baby once more and left.

  Veronica placed her son in his crib and gave Margaret a tentative smile.

  Margaret must have risen from the chair and stood looking at the painting of her aunt for a very long time because the next thing she remembered, a new smell entered the room, Katharine’s smell because of the lotion she wore, and Margaret turned to look at her elder sister.

  Katharine smiled with her beautiful deep dimples. “Hi, Margaret.”

  “I’m going to New York to see a Broadway show.”

  “Oh, that will be nice,” Katharine said. “When?”

  “Next week.”

  Katharine frowned. “But—”

  “Adam wanted to surprise me.”

  Katharine’s features softened. “That’s sweet, but remember your speech. Your first official appearance.”

  Panic tickled Margaret’s stomach, but she forced a wide smile to her lips. “I do.”

  Katharine shot Veronica a glance conveying: See what you made me do? “You forgot,” Katharine accused.

  “No. It slipped my mind,” Margaret protested.

  Katharine patted Margaret’s arm and got the same expression Amalia got sometimes. The I know what’s best for you expression. “Margaret—”

  “I’m ready for the speech,” Margaret said defiantly.

  “You begged me,” her sister said softly. “Last month, you came here and begged to make your first official appearance.”

  “I know.” She didn’t. Time to change the subject. Margaret pictured the doll baby’s adorable yawn. Everything else about him—the cheeks, his chin, his eyes, she’d tried hard not to pay attention to, and her scheme had worked too well. She couldn’t conjure his details in her mind, but the yawn proved enough. “Your son is beautiful,” she said.

  Katharine smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Katharine?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m tired of Mum,” Margaret said. “She smothers me. She treats me like a baby. Can you get her to back off?”