Chapter 7 #4
“Oh, you’re apologizing now?” Lauren said.
“Because that’s going to take a while. Like, twenty years’ worth of apologies.
Maybe you have that kind of time, but I don’t.
” She started to walk through the house, looking at the TV and old books and a newspaper scattered on the kitchen table, its crossword half finished.
The sad earth banner was rolled up in a corner, and as she ran a hand across one of the side tables, a small pile of dust gathering on her fingertips, Lauren could feel the lonesomeness in every room.
It made her sad when all she wanted to be was angry.
“I don’t even know why I’m here,” she continued.
“I don’t even know what I want from you. ”
“You could stay for supper if you’d like,” Callum said. “Some of the guys from my activist group are coming over, I could
set an extra seat.”
Lauren whirled to look at him, her eyes wide.
“Okay, all right,” Callum said. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting to see you here. You’ve . . . you’re so grown up, Lauren.
I don’t know what to say.”
“I know I am,” Lauren said. “You missed it, remember? The whole thing—me growing up and all. You left us.”
“I did,” he said. “And I am very sorry.”
Lauren walked through the kitchen, opening the refrigerator before going toward the cabinets. The fridge had a few foil-covered
dishes inside, with some cheap plastic glasses in the cabinets. She saw medicine bottles on the counter behind him and wondered
what they were for, wondered why she even cared.
Callum paused. “So you’re working at the Palace?”
“I am,” she said. “You may have noticed that yesterday when you and your friends were screaming at me as I climbed out of
a helicopter with the rest of the staff.”
Callum at least had the decency to wince when she said that. “I think I just about had a heart attack when I saw you. Your
face is still the same.”
“Do not do that,” Lauren said, her bottom lip trembling. “You don’t get to say that to me, not after all this time. You had years—decades—to see my face.”
Callum took a deep breath as he leaned against the door. “I’m so sorry, Lauren. To both you and your mum. I made a mistake.
And once I made it, I didn’t know how to go back and fix it. I just ran, and finally I ran so far for so long that I didn’t
know the way back to you.”
Lauren thought of DC, of the way she had boarded a plane to London with just one suitcase, running from Brian and Brooke,
pushing away the hurt, just going as fast as possible before all her feelings could catch up with her.
Fuck.
The smell of a turkey roasting in the oven was starting to make her slightly nauseated, and she found herself wanting some
fresh air. “I have to go back to work. Burn some fossil fuels, you know, maybe pour some oil into a river. Give you something
to do next Christmas.”
“I’m glad you came,” Callum said. “I want you to know that I’ve deeply regretted my decisions over the years. I should have
done more to stay in your life, and I know that all too well now. I know I can’t fix the past, but it would be nice to maybe
have a fresh start going forward?”
Lauren leveled her gaze at him. “No.”
“Okay, of course. Well, you’re welcome here anytime, Lauren. I mean that.”
“Sure, okay,” she said, knowing that she would never step foot in that house again.
“Merry Christmas,” he added, sounding almost hopeful.
Lauren left without responding, her taxi still waiting outside to take her back.
She was halfway through the car ride when her phone started buzzing, and Lauren glanced down to see her mom’s photo looking back at her.
“I’m sorry he showed up at your job.”
“He didn’t ‘show up at my job,’” Lauren said. “He was protesting environmental pollution in this group that apparently demonstrates
at Balmoral Castle every year.” She paused before adding, “So I looked up where he lived and took a taxi to tell him to stay
away.”
“You what?”
“I know, it was stupid.”
“No, it wasn’t stupid,” her mom said with a sigh. “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing if I were in your shoes.
Are you okay?”
“Kinda,” Lauren said. There was something about someone asking if she was okay that always made her feel not okay, and she
looked out the window toward the dark woodlands on the grounds of Balmoral. In the light of day, they seemed a lot less intimidating.
“I’ll be fine, though. It was just a lot.”
“Well, I think it was very brave of you.”
“I know we don’t really talk about Dad that much, but can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Did you ever try to stay in touch, even though I know he was awful? For me? Or even just for you?”
There was a long pause before her mom spoke again. “I decided that I wasn’t going to let a man—any man, not just your father—dictate
my life. If anyone’s actions were going to affect my course, they would be my actions, my choices. And I wanted you to see me do that so that you wouldn’t make the same mistakes that I made.”
Lauren knew that was supposed to make her feel better, that it was supposed to empower her, strengthen her, that she could do whatever she set her mind to.
But all it did was make her think about Brian again, how his actions had affected the course of Lauren’s life, whether she liked it or not, and she just felt weak and small, not strong like her mother.
That evening at the Balmoral estate, Lauren stayed mostly by herself in the small living room of the guest cottage she was
sharing, replying to emails from reporters and producers from overseas morning shows who were only just preparing their royal
stories for the following day. By the time she finished, both Harriet and Violet were already asleep and all she wanted to
do was take off her shoes, shower, and follow suit. However, the wailing sounds of orcas from Harriet’s white noise app greeted
her as soon as she opened the bedroom door, and Lauren decided that maybe sleep could wait for an hour or so, or until Harriet’s
phone battery died.
She thought about texting Oscar, but she knew that he was at a B&B an hour away and probably still on deadline, and she also
knew that he’d be able to tell that she was agitated after her visit with her dad, and the absolute last thing she felt like
doing on Christmas night was accidentally telling a reporter that her long-lost dad’s Christmas tradition involved waving
hand-painted signs at the Queen and violently screaming about planet Earth before roasting a turkey for a gang of protesters.
A walk was beginning to sound better and better, Lauren decided, just as a whale let out a somewhat orgasmic moan.
Bundled up in a big puffy coat and scarf, she walked around the castle grounds for a while, feeling more and more like Keira Knightley wandering the moors in Pride and Prejudice, all moody and messy-haired and waiting for Tom from Succession to show up through the morning mist. She had watched the sunset earlier from the living room window, its orange and golden
rays descending past the snow-covered tree branches, making them look like they were ready for a long night’s sleep.
There was a figure walking toward her as she turned a corner, tall and broad-shouldered, and Lauren sighed. One downside to
being at any royal residence was constantly having to prove your right to be there to appease the skittish protection officers.
Lauren pulled off a mitten to dig inside her coat for her laminated badge as the figure got closer. “Ugh,” she muttered to
herself. “You’ll be shocked to know that I still work for the family,” she said bluntly. “Same as when you checked me all of twenty minutes— Oh my God.”
The duke was a few feet away, looking both bemused and tired. “Well, I’ll be sure to make a note of it,” he replied.
“Oh, sorry,” Lauren said. “I’m sorry, it’s dark, I didn’t realize it was you, um, Your—Your Highness. I feel like I’m showing
this badge every ten seconds these days.”
“I told you when we were first introduced, please call me Jasper,” he replied. He looked at her as she tucked her badge back
into her coat pocket. “I’m glad I ran into you, though. Lauren, I’m afraid it’s actually me who owes you an apology.”
“Me?” she said.
“Yes.” He sighed, running a hand through his messy waves of hair that Lauren tried very hard not to look at.
“I’ve been a bit unsure about taking on this role, as you have probably noticed, and I’ve taken it out on you, and that’s unfair.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so riled up in your office the other day or fought you so hard on the event at the children’s hospital.
You’re just doing your job, and quite well, I might add. None of my crankiness is your fault.”
Lauren just stared at him, stunned.
“Was there anything else?” the duke—Jasper—said, laughing a little. “You look like you just saw two moons.”
“No, no,” Lauren said, pulling the belt of her cream coat tighter around her. It felt like a hug. “I’m just surprised, that’s
all. But thank you, I appreciate that. No apologies necessary, but still.” She gave a little shrug. “I think we’re both figuring
out new jobs and doing the best we can.”
“That’s very generous, thank you.” Jasper smiled. “How about you? How has your Christmas been?”
“That is a very . . . That’s kind of a loaded question right now,” Lauren said. “You know, the holidays. Always seem to be
chaotic.”
Jasper gestured to the grounds around them. “The holidays,” he echoed. “Don’t I know it.”
“I imagine that Christmas in New Zealand was slightly less protocol-heavy,” Lauren said. “Definitely fewer photographers.”
“New Zealand was quiet,” Jasper said, and for just a brief second, Lauren could hear real emotion in his voice. “It was different,
peaceful. Definitely not bad. But I never thought I’d be back here doing all of this. What about you? You must be missing
your family. I always felt bad that the staff had to work over the holidays. Were you able to chat with them today?”
“Yes,” Lauren said. You have no idea, she thought to herself. “I did, thank you for asking. And it’s all right, this is the job I signed up for.”
“Well, still,” Jasper said. “I’m glad you’ve had a good Christmas. I suppose I’ll see you in the official greeting line tomorrow
morning?”
“Yes, you will. And also, if we’re apologizing, I’m sorry for snapping at you just now. I just thought you were one of the—”
He waved away her comment. “At least it wasn’t the mailman this time.” He chuckled. “Have a good night, Lauren. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Jasper,” she replied, watching as he walked past her toward the castle. There was a slight pull to his shoulders
that made him seem like he was huddled in on himself, and she found herself wanting to press her hand against his back, to
straighten out his curled spine, to—
“Jesus Christ, Lauren,” she whispered to herself, and she tightened her coat again before heading back to her cottage. “What
the hell is wrong with you?”
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she fumbled for a minute before answering it. Oscar’s name was on the screen. “Hi,”
she said. “What’s up?”
“That’s actually what I was going to ask you,” he said. “Everything’s fine on my end, but you seemed sort of spooked when
you were getting into the taxi today. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“I’m honestly fine,” Lauren said automatically. “Just, you know, the holidays, family, work.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Fair enough. What are you doing now? You sound like you’re out.”
“I’m walking across the grounds at Balmoral, heading back to my shared cottage with Harriet and Violet. What about you?”
“Glad you asked. I’m in a small bed-and-breakfast with, I believe, every single member of the British press corps. The bar
was packed, but I’m about to get in bed now.”
“I’m jealous.”
“Well, wait until you hear about the room. Lace, chintz, doilies on everything.”
“Is there a doll collection?”
“Not yet. It’ll probably appear after midnight, though. A bunch of little beady eyes staring at me while I try to sleep.”
Lauren smiled. “I appreciate that you’re trying to make me laugh.”
“I’m not doing any such thing. I’m just telling you about my accommodations. I can’t believe you’d mock my pain like that.”
She could hear the smile in his voice, though, and she liked it.
“Did you have a good Christmas?” she asked.
“Eh, it is what it is,” he said. “All work, filing stories, a drink with mostly obnoxious royal correspondents. Just another
day, really.”
“Yeah,” she said, opening the door to the cottage and lowering her voice. “I’m back in my room now so I have to whisper to
not wake anyone up.”
“What in the world is that moaning sound?”
“Harriet has to listen to whale noises in order to fall asleep,” Lauren whispered.
“Well, my room situation is sounding better and better by the second.” He paused. “You sure that’s a whale? It sounds obscene.”
“Hard to tell,” she said. “I better go. Thanks for checking in on me, though. Merry Christmas, Oscar.”
“Happy Christmas, Lauren. I’ll see you back home in London.”
Home in London. She sort of liked the sound of that. “That you will,” she said, and waited for him to be the one to hang up first.