A tiny smile escapes my lips.
“Now, one issue at a time. Let’s start with the least important thing and work our way from there.”
“Which is?”
“Your love life,” Gran says. “Before you allow yourself to be all upset about your young man not rushing to you for make-up sex, you need to decide if he’s worth the trouble, because as far as I can tell, he’s creating a considerable amount of it.”
“Of course he’s worth it!” Now, I’m mad.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Because we’re in love.”
“But,why? I’m not trying to be difficult. Being a royal and being happy are generally not compatible. You need to be one hundred percent certain that he is a man with whom you can go the distance—and let me tell you, the distance is really bloody far, especially if you both live to be as old as me.”
Sitting down on the window seat, I trace the statue on the glass with my fingertip. “He’s it for me, Gran, even though being with him is going to be ridiculously difficult. He just gets me, you know? And when he looks at me, it’s like the rest of the world disappears. And I never feel as alive or as content as I do when we’re together.”
“Not a bad start, but a lot of that wears off.”
“Great, thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see me. I think for a few seconds, then say, “He’s the first person to believe I’m strong.”
“Poppycock. I’ve always known that.”
“Okay then, he’s the firstmanwho’s ever believed in me. Like, reallybelievedI’m capable of tackling anything, no matter how hard,” I answer. “It’s intoxicating to have someone with that kind of faith in you—someone who offers you freedom and excitement. And it’s not only the adventure stuff—we also have so much fun together. We laugh and joke around and I can be myself, Gran. Not anyone else’s version of me but the person I really am. So, yes, he’s worth the trouble.”
“That’s a shame, really,” she says. “It would’ve been so much easier if you’d fallen for, say, an accountant, or a doctor. But since you’ve gone and fallen for exactly the wrong sort of man, the two of you need to sit down and talk. Set up some rules for your relationship, including, but not limited to, ignoring other people’s opinions about your relationship, except mine, obviously—”
“Obviously.”
“And having a maximum number of days apart that you won’t go over for anything,” she says. “Andneverunderestimate the power of the media to tear two people apart—it’s their favourite pastime and the very best way to sell ad space. Start with that and go from there. You’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” I say, relief sweeping over me, before quickly being washed away by worry again.
“Now, let’s move onto your conference, at which you’re clearly failing spectacularly.”
“Yes, let’s,” I say, glad that no one can see I’m pulling a pouty face. “It’s the last day, and I really must come up with something,anythingat all really, to prove I belong. I thought that when I was finally presented with something truly important to do with my life, I’d be so good at it. But I’m awful. I freeze up when it’s my turn to contribute. Oh, God, maybe itwasa bit of a stretch for me to think I could take on something like this.”
“Rubbish,” Gran says. “You’re every bit as intelligent and brave as you let yourself be. The problem with you is that you tend to stop short of the point where your potential is just picking up.”
“Exactly. So, how do I stop that?”
“You just have to say, fuck it.”
My shoulders drop. “Oh, is that the secret to life?”
“A happy one, yes,” Gran says. “Now, you dig into those crepes and apfelradlns while I talk.”
“I’m having a bowl of porridge and some berries,” I lie, sitting down at the table.
“Sure you are,” she says, “And I haven’t been with another man since your grandfather died. Now, shut up so I can tell you what your biggest problem is. Your entire existence revolves around the fear that you might offend somebody or that—gasp—somebody won’t like you, which leaves very little room in your life for doing anything of consequence. And that’s precisely what’s stoppingyoufrom having anything of value to say. You’re terrified of being criticized by those women whoyouthink have more of a right to an opinion than you do.”
I hear a slurping sound, which means she’s testing her tea to see if it’s her preferred temperature. “The truth is, youdoknow the experience of being a woman. You face it every single day, in the way that your father and Arthur and the senior advisors treat you like a child, trying to protect you from anything bad that could ever possibly come to fruition, in spite of many years of me telling them to stop. You’re so busy listening to them that you’ve never made room to hear your own voice.”
I pick up my fork and knife, and slice into one of the pancakes, letting some of the jam ooze out the sides while she talks.
“Stop worrying so bloody much about what anyone else thinks of you or you’ll wind up doing the same banal thing that countless generations of women have done—stay in your safe zone, trying to never offend anyone. Now, you can carry on doing that, or you can go out and live a great, big, juicy life filled with adventure and fun and celebration and laughter. But none of that can happen unless you let go of the need for approval. Are you with me so far?”
“Barely keeping up, but I’m there.”
