Chapter 36 William
William
The sun was shining, children were running around squealing with delight, and the sweet smell of sugar filled the air.
Newton Bardon Common was alive. Large marquees were buzzing with deliveries of things in want of judging—cakes, jams, flowers, poultry, handicrafts, and rudely shaped vegetables.
The great and the good of the village were throwing balls at coconuts, dipping hands into the tombola, and shooting corks from wonky rifles to win highly flammable prizes.
I was peering out at it all like a coward from the safety of the jauntily medieval red-and-blue-striped tent that was my base camp for the annual re-enactment of the Battle of Buckford Field.
I stood at the tent flap, worrying it with my fingers.
Petey rested his chin on my shoulder. “I’m meant to be judging jam in forty-five minutes. Shall we go show our faces to your people?”
“Please don’t call them my people.”
“Well, aren’t they? You literally own the village.”
“I don’t own the people, though.”
A fellow in a Yorkist uniform walked past the tent and doffed his helmet in acknowledgement. “Morning, my lord.”
“Morning, Andy. I hear young Matthew is joining us for the first time this year.”
“That he is.”
“Well, he’ll make an adorable addition to the battlefield. Tell him if he can fight his way to me, I’ll kill him myself.”
“Thank you, my lord. That’ll make his day.”
As Andy left, Petey ran a hand up into my hair playfully. “Not your people, hey?”
I kissed him on the forehead. “Charles the First probably thought they were his people, and look what they did to him.”
Petey laughed. “Wasn’t he a first-rate arsehole, though? Are you expecting to be beheaded?”
“No, much like the jam, I’m expecting to be judged. I’m afraid they’ll think I’ve come up short.”
“Well, if they behead you, you probably will.”
I groaned. Petey smiled and kissed me on the nose. But the truth was, I really was worried. That article would have confirmed what everyone must already have been thinking: William Winters was a dumb jock who’d be the last of the Buckford Winterses.
Petey’s hand slid into mine.
“You’re going to be absolutely fine,” he said. “You look bloody gorgeous. The women will all be swooning after you, the men will all be questioning their sexuality, and I expect even a few of the chickens will be having unnatural thoughts while you judge them.”
I was wearing my new uniform—teamed, this time, with an air force blue blazer Bramley insisted I wear. Petey, meanwhile, was wearing an asymmetrical red tartan coat that fit like a glove, over what I can only describe as Mickey Mouse trousers.
“Besides, it’s me who should be nervous,” Petey said. “This is my chance to make a good first impression. I don’t want to blow it.”
“You recall this is a fake engagement, right?”
“That’s hardly the point.”
I squeezed his hand. “You look gorgeous. They’re going to love you.”
Petey kissed me, then stepped out into the daylight, dragging me along behind him. We walked up to Birdie Craddoch, a tweedy woman from my grandfather’s generation, at the tombola. I introduced her to Petey, and she curtsied.
“No, please don’t do that,” he said—getting the hang of the Buckford way of handling formality. I handed Mrs Craddoch my two-pound coin to exchange for a ticket. She refused to take it.
“I insist.”
Mrs Craddoch leant into me, her hand folded around mine, and whispered in my ear.
“Your money’s no good here, my lord.”
She winked, slid a yellow ticket into my palm, and turned to speak to the next person in line.
“That was weird,” I said to Petey as we walked away.
“What was?”
But before I could answer, he was dashing over to the shooting gallery. When he reached it, he turned back to face me, splaying himself playfully across the counter of pop guns, eyes full of mischief.
“Can you shoot?” he said. “I know your family don’t do guns and violence.”
“Can you shoot?” I said as I reached him. “No, don’t tell me. Had your first shoot-out with the cops in an East End alleyway at five years old, brought down your first policeman single-handed at ten. The gang calls you Dead Eye Pete.”
The shooting gallery was being run by Noah, the village electrician, who made a couple of uncomplimentary comments about the state of my wiring.
Nevertheless, I dug around in my pocket, fished out a couple of two-pound coins, and handed them over.
We took our shots. The rifles were so wonky my first cork nearly took off my ear.
Petey didn’t fare much better, although his last shot did skim the edge of the baked bean tin and made it wobble.
Noah walked over to it and gave it a bit of a nudge, and the tin fell.
“Congratulations, sir!” he called out, loud enough for the whole village to hear. “We have a winner!”
“No, we don’t,” I said as Petey took receipt of an enormous stuffed yellow duck, smile beaming across his face. “This is fraud.”
“Everyone wins a prize,” Noah said loudly. Then he leant over to me and grabbed my hand as if he was going to shake it, and I felt my coins tumble back into my palm. “My wife and I wish you all the very best for your impending nuptials, my lord. We hope you’ll be very happy together.”
I tried to hand him back the money, but he wouldn’t take it.
“I’ll come around next week and do a free survey on your wiring. A little wedding gift from the missus and me.”
I was so gobsmacked I could barely speak, but Petey thanked him profusely and pecked him on the cheek.
Noah blushed like a spanked buttock. Petey drifted off towards a stall selling cotton candy and doughnuts.
I waved at Gurpreet, the village chemist, who was manning the machine.
His wife, Harpreet, was on the till. They were both filled with congratulations on our impending wedding.
“What would you like?”
Petey got a stick of candyfloss and I got a box of six doughnuts, but when it came time for reckoning, Harpreet’s hands went up.
“Absolutely not, William. Your money is no good here.”
“But—”
“I will not hear of it. Please.”
The same thing happened at the coffee hut, the coconut shy, and the hook-a-duck. By the time we had got around all the stalls, Petey was high on sugar and I almost had more money in my pocket than when I started.
“They’re meant to be raising funds for good causes,” I said.
“Clearly they think you’re a good cause!”
But I struggled to see how denying the local nursery or the village school two pounds benefited anybody. I’d have rather they had it than the taxman.
Judging duty started at eleven. We bumped into Mum by the floral marquee. She was on flower-and-suggestive-vegetable duty this year. Petey had bagsied the jams and preserves.
“I’m jealous,” I told him as I deposited him at the right marquee. “Mrs Craddoch does an incredible red onion chutney. She wins every year. Can’t get the recipe out of her.”
“I’ll keep a taste bud out for it.” Petey pecked me on the cheek. “Where are you off to now?”
“Poultry shed.” I pointed over my shoulder. “Somewhere in there is the best cock in the village, and it’s my job to find it.”
From the chickens, ducks, and pigeons it was on to the cakes, scones, and biscuits—which had to do double duty as lunch because by one o’clock, I was back at my medieval tent, being trussed into my suit of armour by the ever-faithful Bramley.
I’d been shoehorned into sabaton, greave, cuisse and tasset, fauld, plackart, breastplate, and pauldron.
I only had my gauntlets and helm to slide on when the bloated crimson face of Horatio Blunt appeared through the tent flaps.
“You absolute prick,” he said.
“Lovely to see you, too, Horatio.”
“This isn’t going to work, you know?”
I had no idea what he was talking about and said so. Horatio produced a copy of The Bulletin, held it aloft, and slammed it into his open hand.
“Bramley, dear fellow, could you give us a moment? Perhaps go check Achilles hasn’t wheedled his way out of his barding again.”
He gave me a weary glance, passing me my sword on his way out the door. He’d never been subtle, Bramley.
“What isn’t going to work?” I enquired.
“Don’t be coy, William, it doesn’t suit you.”
“But does this suit suit me? That’s the only question of importance today,” I said, pointing at my armour and hoping to drive him insane.
“I know what you’re doing.” Horatio was sneering, spittle flecking my previously spotless armour.
I hadn’t seen a face that red since, well, since Indira’s heart burst all over the Great Lawn.
“You’ve planted this little story in the paper in order to flush out other potential buyers.
You’re trying to inflate the price. But I will not have it, William. I will not!”
He hit me on my right pauldron with his rolled-up newspaper.
“You realise this was made to withstand the blunt force of metal?”
“My clients have offered you a fair price, Dub-Dub. A very fair price indeed.”
“Oh, we’re back to Dub-Dub now. Over our little fit of pique, are we?”
I was, very deliberately, riling him up.
“And as a gesture of my client’s enduring goodwill, they have this morning increased their offer by a further five million pounds, on the condition you withdraw the house from the market today.”
I shook my head. “Alas, I can’t do that, Horatio.”
The head was rattling now, great chunks of spittle flying everywhere, face completely blue like that kid in Willy Wonka.
“Why not?” he raged.
“Because—and this does seem to be a point you’ve failed to understand at every juncture, dear chap, which really is an appalling oversight for someone in your line of business—it’s not bloody well on the market.
It’s never been on the market. It’s not going to be on the market. My family home will never be a hotel!”
That’s when the name-calling started.
“You are a joke, William. You’re humiliating yourself. You’re not a quarter of the man your brother was. Or your father.”
Fury welled inside me. Back at Petersham College, Horatio had led the gang of bullies who haunted my every waking move—and many of my nightmares.
He and his little friends had been responsible for me seeking refuge in the school library and then, when I saw how he never picked on the beefy lads on the rugby team, for taking up rugger.
He still knew how to press my buttons, and he was bashing at them with his fist now.
“It won’t work, Horatio,” I growled. “Now piss off back to Daddy and tell him you’ve failed. Yet again.”
That got him.
“You’ve always been an idiot, William, but at least now everyone can see how stupid you really are. I could have saved you from all this. I tried to save you from all this. If you’d sold the estate when I first came to you, I could have spared you all this embarrassment.”
My parents taught me never to choose violence, but in that moment, the only thing stopping me bashing Horatio over the head with the hilt of my sword was the vision of Petey appearing behind him through the tent flaps.
Apparently, no one had ever taught Petey not to choose violence because he calmly tapped Horatio on the shoulder and, when he turned around, planted his fist into the odious man’s eye socket.
Horatio fell to the floor, clutching his hands to his face and threatening to sue. Petey picked the newspaper off the ground and stood over Horatio like an East End heavy in a gangster film.
“You know who I am,” he said with menace.
He pointed to the newspaper article. “You know who my people are. You come for me, mate, and we’re coming for you.
And we’ll do you slowly, fingernail by fingernail, until you wish you’d never been born.
Now I reckon, prima facie, William’s already got a dozen cases against you, civil and criminal.
Enough to tie you up in court for years.
I don’t even have to break your legs. What will my old man find once he starts grubbing about in your private affairs?
You better hope you’re squeaky clean, bruv.
Or you might be spending a lot of time as a guest of His Majesty.
Now, I don’t know your people, but I reckon they’d probably consider you a bit of a failure when they visit you in Wormwood Scrubs.
So why don’t you stop cowering on the ground, stop making threats you’re never going to follow through on, and fuck right off, you pathetic little pisswank. ”
Horatio jumped to his feet and scuttled out across the common.
I stared at Petey in awe.
“What have I witnessed?”
Petey calmly unhooked the tent flap, shutting out the outside world, so the two of us were alone.
“Are you OK?” he said, grabbing my hand, his voice back to normal.
“Holy shit, that was hot. I mean, I would never condone violence. I’m certainly glad you didn’t have access to my sword. But wow! You beat up my school bully.”
My erection was bashing against the inside of my armour like a battering ram. Petey wove his hands behind my neck and pulled me towards him, his eyes blazing with intensity.
“I want you to listen to me, William. You are not a failure. You’re magnificent. The people here love you and respect you and want you to succeed. So do I. I am so proud to be your fake fiancé.”
I let my sword clatter to the ground, clasped my hands around Petey’s jaw, and dragged him into a deep, passionate kiss. As we pulled apart, Petey started jumping up and down, hands flapping, face contorted in disgust.
“Ew, ew, ew! I just invoked my parents. I’ve literally never done that in my entire life. I feel so diiiiiiiirty.”
I didn’t feel dirty. I felt incredibly turned on. A switch had been flicked inside my brain.