Chapter 28
Eleven months later
‘T ell us, Lady Alice, what do you find so important about community centres?’ A few cameras capture my dirtied trousers and paint-stained jumper as I stand outside the newly refurbished Skegness Community Centre, personally adding the finishing touches.
‘Though I have spent my life being photographed at busy parties, surrounded by people, I’m not afraid to admit that I was horribly lonely. For young people like myself, our main forms of socialising have become void of intimacy. Either we socialise behind a screen, or in a pub, club, or at a party where no one has a chance or space to truly talk about how they feel. Community centres are a space to socialise with your neighbours, of all ages, to sit and have a chat, to share a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits and form relationships that we have neglected for years whilst we’ve allowed these places to become derelict.’ I have no script. My only preparation for all of these press events has been my genuine passion for the work I have devoted the best part of a year to.
Though not a lot in my life has drastically changed – my image still belongs to the public; I am still forced to mingle in circles of people whose philosophies I despise; and I still have this cursed title – at least my words are now my own. My voice belongs to me for the first time in a very long time, and now all of those other things don’t feel so oppressive. I have chosen this specific role, I have chosen these specific words, and I am finally in control. I finally feel like myself.
‘It’s not just young people who need more spaces like this. Every generation will benefit. If we as a society interact more, if we get to know our neighbours, we learn more about ourselves, become less selfish, and find more purpose in our lives. At least, that has been my experience,’ I continue, standing strong in front of the crowds as I deliver some of my own intimate truths, unable to allow last summer to escape from anything I do.
Not a day has passed that I haven’t thought of Balmoral. Mrs Buchanan calls to check in every now and again. But now the summer has come back around, she’s far too busy to waste time on giving me all of the castle gossip, though she still makes sure to tell me that Sophie is well and her usual self, and for that I am grateful. One piece of gossip I have clung to all this time, however, is the fact that Fraser Bell took the job in Edinburgh. That knowledge alone is enough to fend off the pain of having to leave him behind during the day, though it still keeps me awake at night.
‘You have been rather open when talking about your mental health struggles over these past few months. Do you have anything you’d like to say to those people who have criticised you, saying that you are far better off than 99.9 per cent of the population?’ This statement has been haunting me these past months. What could you possibly have to be sad about? How can someone like you be so depressed? Don’t you have everything you could ever want?
‘Mental illness doesn’t discriminate. In talking about my battle with depression, not once did I want or expect to gain any sympathy. I am not depressed because I have lost a ruby from my tiara or got my Gucci shoes muddy, I am depressed because I have an illness. In speaking about my illness, I wanted to show all of those people who are struggling that they are not alone. That on the outside, so many of us are pretending, just putting on a show. For once, I wanted to tell the truth, to show all of myself so that all of the people sitting at home wondering why their lives don’t look like mine, or his, or hers, realise that even mine doesn’t look like it.
‘For many years, I struggled to make sense of it all, asking myself what could possibly be wrong. I did the therapy, took the pills. I knew I felt the way I did. I knew how I was told to cope with it, and yet I couldn’t. It was like I didn’t have control over my own mind, my own brain, and I was constantly trying to justify how I felt. I am very aware that I am an incredibly privileged individual and I most of all am privileged to have access to the support and health care I need for my condition. But people can experience this illness in many forms, for many different reasons.
‘No one should feel guilty for suffering. You shouldn’t have to prove or justify your mental illness, and if I can h elp to change any of the prejudice surrounding it, then I am glad to have shared my deeply personal story.’
‘Thank you for your time, Lady Alice.’
Releasing a tense breath, I move back inside. The smell of wet paint is overwhelming but the soft chattering that begins to spread through the room, as bodies begin to fill the space, fills me with a pride I’ve never felt before.
‘Where to next?’ I turn to my assistant as she follows by my side. Lainey’s job these last months has been to sort the logistics of my schedule, and mostly keep me company whilst I travel up and down the country alone. If there is one thing that I can’t deny about her it’s that she really does try her best, but many times we have found ourselves in places such as Leicestershire instead of Lancashire. And though her timings are usually impeccable, her capacity for remembering dates not so much. She is, however, rather good company, and with a love of yapping away about nothing much, she has been a much-needed companion.
She shuffles a few papers on her clipboard and then grins. ‘Well actually, something a bit exciting has happened. Your mother called earlier to say that the whole family has been invited by the king to Balmoral Castle in Scotland for something called the Ghillies Ball? I’m not too sure what exactly it involves, but I thought it sounded fun and it matches up quite nicely with some of your Highland projects so I accepted on your behalf.’
The Ghillies Ball. The night where all social order is flipped on its head. The night where ladies disappear into the night with pipers and return with swollen lips and permanently altered heart rhythms.
I know that this is one date she hasn’t gotten wrong. The slight chill in the air reminds me that summer is almost over, and that only means one thing in Balmoral. But how has it already been a year?
How much must have happened in his life? He’ll have moved on. He’ll have found his happiness.
He won’t even be there. And what is Balmoral without him?
‘We do need to hurry if we’re going to make it in time, my lady.’ My assistant looks at her watch nervously.
Going back at some point was inevitable, but now? Right now? At the Ghillies Ball no less? With Fraser settled in Edinburgh, at least a chance meeting with him is off the cards. But will Sophie be happy to see me? Or will she still resent me? Would she have missed me like I have her?
‘Ma’am?’
I have to find out. I need to see her. I need to prove that I have changed, for the better. I owe it to her to apologise. Properly.
‘Yes, yes, let’s go.’ We make our way to the car, and I turn to look back at the modest little building we have just left behind. I’m proud. I am genuinely proud of what I have helped to create, all inspired by Sophie. This is all for her, because of her, and I need to be able to tell her in person, no matter how much my chest tightens and my heart aches.
‘I sent for some more of your things from London this morning, ma’am. Hopefully a little more weather-appropriate,’ my assistant says as we set out for Scotland. She hands me a duffel bag containing a few more clothes.
‘Thank you, Lainey.’ Unzipping the bag, I see that an unwashed woollen jumper sits on the top and I burst into tears at the sight of it.
‘Ma’am?’ Lainey turns around from the front seat with a look of concern and spots the sweater gripped between my fingers. ‘Well, I saw it when it arrived and did think it was a bit ugly. Then I just assumed it was one of those chic grandpa sweaters that are supposed to be ugly in, like, a sexy way. I’m sorry, ma’am, I can bin it if you’d like?’ She stretches out her hand to take it and I instinctively snatch it to my chest.
‘No, no, it’s okay.’ Swiping my tears, I clear my throat and try to regain some face. ‘I just thought I had lost this, is all.’ I didn’t. I knew exactly where it was: tucked in the back of the drawer of my dresser where the tips of my fingers can just reach it when I need something to keep me going. Something to remind me exactly why I am doing all I have done since leaving Balmoral.
Folding up Fraser’s jumper, I place it on the window, and rest my head against it. It still smells faintly of him, though with a year since he last wore it already been and gone, there is only a ghost of him in it now: the slight holes in the sleeves where he’s tugged on it with nerves; the pulled thread on the left shoulder from Hamish taking a playful bite of him; the stretched-out collar where he’s pulled it over his head again and again. It is the only thing I have of him to remind me that it was all real. With the same thoughts of him running through my mind like on a perpetual playlist, I fall asleep to memories of him and the hum of the car on the motorway.
* * *
We drive through the night and I sleep just enough for my mind to descend into lucid dreams of him but not enough for the ending to be satisfying or for me to be properly rested. By the time the car pulls to a halt, the sun is beginning to wake the birds in the trees and their soft song draws me out of my stupor.
The Balmoral Arms stands before us and on its doorstep, Callum and Rose, landlord and his dog, come to greet us. I give him a knowing smile from the distance, remembering our journey to Aberdeen together, where I pretended to be someone else, and he pretended not to already know. Neither of us knew then that I’d return, humiliated, believing I’d lost the love of my life, only to actually lose him a couple of months later.
‘We shall rest in the rooms here for a few hours and head into the village by lunch to have a little look at their community centre. I shall bring your clothes through once you’ve managed to have a sleep.’ Lainey fusses in the way she knows best and shuffles a load of bags over to Callum and attempts to shake his hand.
Approaching cautiously, as to not disturb, it is Callum who disrupts the conversation to bow to me. ‘Lady Allie.’ A wink follows his words and Lainey’s horror is evident on her face as she looks between us both, trying to decipher if she should correct his breech of protocol.
‘All right, Callum. How’ve you been?’ I shake his hand with genuine appreciation and he pulls me into the warmth of the pub.
‘No’ bad, no’ bad. Haven’t found any royals on my doorstep for a wee while so it’s all been pretty uneventful.’ He pours myself, Lainey, and our driver a tea from the pot on the bar and encourages us to take a seat at the hearth. ‘Not on horseback today then, lass?’
‘Thankfully not. I did think about it, but we’re on a bit of a tight schedule.’ He chuckles and I take a much-needed swig of tea.
‘Mary Buchanan from up at the castle has been telling me what you’ve been up to.’ My cheeks flush as he places his hand firmly on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. ‘I’m proud of you, lass.’ Unable to hold myself together enough for a PR-trained response, I draw him into an embrace and he returns it. Hardly able to think of the last time I heard those words, I squeeze him tighter.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper in his ear before drawing away and brushing myself down, as if trying to shake some sense back into myself. ‘Don’t tell anyone about that.’ I point a warning finger at him, though my glassy eyes tell a far softer story.
Callum puts his hands up in surrender, then taps the side of his nose as if to say my secrets are safe with him. ‘You get up to your room,’ he says, handing me a key. ‘Make sure you have a good rest before your big day. I hear a lot of the folk in the village are very excited to see you.’
‘See me?’ I say, confused.
‘Aye.’ He scruffs Rose’s head and disappears with Lainey and leaves me to climb the rickety stairs to bed.