“Can I though?” Because I live in a world where I’m inside a cage with people who come by to see me and stare. There will be judgements about every choice I make, every dress I wear, every man I date. My life is not my own to choose what I do with it.
“Yes and you must. The conversation we had before still stands. There are more ways to do this than how it stands now. I’ve seen your dad battling with decisions that he could never solve because he is just one man with his opinions and it would’ve been the same with your brother.” She sighs loudly and looks to the sky. Her hair has come loose and she looks younger than she did two days ago.
“You believe in a parliament?”
“Yes. I do. I always did. So did your father. He considered it three years ago, going to a referendum where the people decided how decisions should be made and his role became one of a figurehead but Lennox was vehemently against it. Talk to Simon Greenfield about it. He looked into it in depth with Paden.” She smiles and for the first time I don’t see tears behind it.
“Then you choose, Blair. It’s your decision. But it isn’t a decision about you, ultimately, yet you play the biggest part in it. And it will affect you more than anyone.” She ups her horse’s pace, setting a quick trot.
“But what about you? How are you?”
“I’ve had forty glorious years of being with your father that I wouldn’t trade even if he snored, had a menstrual cycle and hated riding. But my life doesn’t end because his has, Blair. He’d have hated that. I have to continue; enjoy the visits I make, being with people, trying to give them hope and for you too.”
We slow down again as the path narrows.
“You have to live.” She smiles. “However that looks, you should enjoy your life like your father did.”
I don’t speak for some time. It would be easier if she read me a list of duties I now needed to undertake, roles I had to perform. Found me a husband that would be a suitable consort and would help me make pretty children.
“What if that means something different to most?”
“Then it’s up to you how you share that information. Just because you have a role in the public eye does not mean everything has to be public. That’s a lesson Lennox didn’t learn.”
The topics change, we leave the future and focus on the present, on the funeral and the arrangements, on our wider family and the gossip surrounding them. On William Goldsmith and the likelihood of him losing his position.
On my mother’s change of heart from being full of ambition for me and pushing to now.
There was never a contest between Lennox and I for my mother’s affections, only maybe there was.
Maybe things really are never straightforward.
Isaac
March is roaring. Storms batter down the motorways and mountains with flooding in areas which means when I reach the castle on Friday night, I can’t get to Ben first. I’m torn in two pieces; needing to be with Blair and provide what support I can and seeing Ben who I know is struggling with the lack of contact with anyone.
The old stone of the castle is black as I approach it, rain battering down hard enough that my wipers look like they’re about to take off. It’s been a long week, even though I’m not dealing with William’s shit anymore and my father has dutifully ignored me.
My house feels quiet. Even talking to Ivy who’s now in Thailand hasn’t lessened the silence. I’ve been on my own, living on my own, since my early twenties, over a decade ago and now it feels wrong.
I park up, no longer needing to stop to identify myself and head towards the entrance that regular visitors use. There are greetings, courteous nods and smiles, I’m offered coffee or something stronger by one of the staff, and for a boy who grew up in a two-bedroomed stone cottage by the sea in Cornwall with his mother and sister, it feels as if I’m living in a film.
Blair is in her sitting room, playing chess with Franklyn who looks the same as he ever does. Black suit, a suitably patterned tie and an expressionless face. She smiles when she sees me, dressed in what looks like silk pyjamas and an oversized dressing gown that had been Ben’s and I doubt she’s washed.
She strides over to me and Franklyn stands up, backing away towards the door. The curtains are drawn and the fire is roaring. It feels like it could be Christmas when she wraps her arms around my waist and lifts her head so I can kiss her.
It feels like coming home.
“How was the drive?”
“Dreadful. But I’m glad I’m here.”
“How long can you stay?”
“I have to be back in London for Tuesday. There’s a debate in parliament that I need to be present for then I have constituency work for the rest of the week.” I’m still holding her, feeling every inch of her pressed against me.
“Will you be back for the funeral?”
“Of course.”
