The Queen and I Read Free Page B

creosoted fence dividing their house from its neighbour. The tired fence gave way under his fragile weight and collapsed. Seeing him there, fallen and shrieking amongst splintered wood, Diana automatically looked for Nanny, who always knew what to do, but Nanny wasn’t there. She bent down and lifted her son from the wreckage. Harry whimpered and clung to the hem of her denim jacket. Charles booted furiously at the front door, which opened, releasing a stench of neglect and damp and ghostly chip fat. He switched on the hall light and beckoned his wife and children inside.
    Tony Threadgold lit a cigarette and passed it to his wife. Then he lit one for himself. His good manners were often mocked at the Flowers Estate Working Men’s Club. He had once said, “Excuse me,” as he struggled through the scrum at the bar with a tray of drinks, only to have his sexuality challenged.
    “‘Excuse me?’” mocked a fat man with psychotic eyes. “What are you, a poofter?”
    Tony had brought the tray of drinks crashing down on the man’s head: but then had immediately gone to Bev and apologised for the delay in obtaining more drinks. Lovely manners.
    The Threadgolds watched as a shadowy figure ordered a tall man out of the van. Was she a foreigner? It wasn’t English she was talking was it? But as their ears became more accustomed they realised it was English, but posh English, really posh.
    “Tone, why they moved a posho in Hell Close?” asked Beverley.
    “Dunno,” replied Tony, peering into the gloom. “Seen her some where before. Is she Dr Khan’s receptionist?”
    “No,” said Beverley (who was always at the doctor’s, so she spoke with some authority), “definitely not.”
    “Christ, just our bleedin’ luck to have poshos nex’ door.”
    “Least they won’t shit in the bath, like the last lot of mongrels.”
    “Yeah, there is that,” conceded Tony.
    Prince Philip stared speechlessly at Number Nine. A street light flickered into life, casting a theatrical glow over his dilapidated future home. It continued to flicker as though it belonged in the theatre and was auditioning for a storm at sea. The driver let down the ramp at the back of the van and went inside. He’d never seen such lovely stuff – not in twenty-one years of removals. The dog in the cage at the back started to growl and snap and hurl its ferocious little body against the bars.
    “They’ve got a dog,” said Tony.
    “So long as they keep it under control,” said Beverley. Tony squeezed his wife’s shoulder. She was a good kid, he thought. Tolerant like.
    Prince Philip spoke. “It’s abso-bloody-lutely impossible. I refuse. I’d sooner live in a bloody ditch . And that bloody light will send me mad .”
    He shouted up at the light which carried on with its storm-at-sea impression, taking on hurricane status when Philip took hold of its post and shook it violently from side to side.
    Beverley said, “I got it. He’s a loony, one of them that’s been let out to die in the community.”
    Tony watched as Philip ran to the back of the van and screamed at the little dog, “Quiet, Harris! You sodding little turd!”
    “You might be right, Bev,” said Tony. They turned to go back into their house when the Queen addressed them.
    “Excuse me, but would you have an axe I could borrow?”
    “An ix ?” repeated Tony.
    “Yes, an axe.” The Queen came to their front gate.
    “An ix ?” puzzled Beverley.
    “Yes.”
    “I dunno what an ‘ix’ is ,” Tony said.
    “You don’t know what an axe is?”
    “No.”
    “One uses it for chopping wood.”
    The Queen was growing impatient. She had made a simple request; her new neighbours were obviously morons. She was aware that educational standards had fallen, but not to know what an axe was … It was a scandal.
    “I need an implement of some kind to gain access to my house.”
    “Arse?”
    “ House !”
    The driver volunteered his services as translator. His hours talking to the Queen had