Page 41 of The Rest is History
‘Hi, sweetie.’ Emmy pulls me in for a fragrant hug before releasing me and studying me, her eyes huge with concern, her hands gripping my forearms. ‘How are you doing? You look so peaky. Carol’s made you some chicken broth.’
I conjure up the effort to smile at her. She’s such a sweetheart, and absolutely stunning, her copper hair framing delicate features before tumbling down over her shoulders. She’s in a long white dress and looks like an angel. I’m not jealous of my brother—I love him far too much for that—but coming here does tend to cause a pang. It reminds me of what I’ll never have in my own life. That open-hearted existence, enveloped by love. Kids. Happiness.
‘Thanks, Em. That sounds good. I’m getting there—needed to get out of the house.’
I follow her over to where the adults are clustered and work through my greetings. An effusive, and equally fragrant, hug from Stacey, a stunning blonde who always looks like she’s either stepped out of a boardroom or off a yacht (this evening, she looks as though she’s moored her yacht in St Tropez and is heading out for the night). A bro-hug for my brother, who’s tanned and relaxed and jovial in the middle of this mayhem, and kisses and handshakes for the others.
I spot Martha and Tallulah sitting on a low wall, wrapped in towels with heads close together, looking like drowned rats as they gossip. They’ve sequestered a platter of canapes.
‘Back in a minute,’ I tell Emmy as she hands me a glass of sparkling elderflower. I make a beeline for the girls.
‘Hi girls.’ I stand in front of them.
‘Hey.’ They look decidedly underwhelmed at being interrupted before Martha remembers my no-show today.
‘You okay, Uncle Charlie?’
‘Much better, thanks. How did your History lesson go today with Miss Peach?’
I didn’t have to say her name. But I say it every chance I get.
I’m expecting the usual teenage shrug and noncommittalgoodorfine.Instead, they glance at each other and grin.
What is that grin?It’s one quarter guilty and three quarters smug.
‘No offence,’ Tallulah says, ‘but it was, like, the best History lesson ever. Like, I swear I nearly cried in it?’
I squint at her. ‘You nearlycried? What do you mean?’
‘Like, you know, from actual sadness? Because it was all so shitty for Anne? Me and Martha talked about it the whole way through lunch.’
I must look baffled, because Martha interjects.
‘She was basically amazing. Miss Peach, I mean. She said we were supposed to be talking about whether the charges matched the laws, and which boring old jury members had vendettas against the Boleyn faction, but honestly, we didn’t talk about any of that. We talked about, like, whether Anne had an RH, and?—’
‘What the hell is an RH?’
‘You know.’ Martha lowers her voice. ‘Like areverse harem. When a woman has lots of guys she can fuck, and she doesn’t have to choose.’
My vision begins to shrink to pinpricks as my heart hammers in my ribcage.‘What?’
‘Don’t stress,’ Tallulah tells me. ‘She used it as an example because of Booktok. She was trying to make itrelatable.’ She raises her eyebrows pointedly, and I smell a slur against my teaching methods.
‘By talking about porn?’
‘It’s not porn. Seriously, you look like you’re going to have a heart attack. Shouldn’t you be taking it easy if you’ve been puking all day? Especially at your age?’
I open my mouth, but she forges ahead.
‘It was really good. She was using it to make a point—she really got us thinking. Like, what a ridiculous idea to suggest Anne had this stable of lovers, when she’d always been so strategic—that was my word, by the way—and so sensible.’ Sheleans forward. ‘But the thing that really got us was how fucked up it was that Henry had the marriage dissolved. Like days before she died. So uncool. And all the girls got really upset because we realised that if there had been no marriage, then there couldn’t have been any adultery.’
She nods like she’s impressed a point on me that she’d like me to take away and ponder.
‘Yeah,’ Martha echoes. ‘Honestly, it was so fucked up. And, like, really, really sad. It made us all feel sick, like there was basically no justice in Tudor times. Not really. They were just going through the motions and she never stood a chance.’
I grit my teeth. ‘Yes. Well.’
‘She’s so pretty though, isn’t she?’ Tallulah asks, perking up.
