Page 22 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“That’s it?” My nan laughs, appalled. “That’s all you’re going to do?”
I shrug even though she thinks it’s worse than first degree murder. “That’s all there’s worth doing.”
“Very well,” she clears her throat, shuffles on the sofa. “Why Phoebe?”
“Why Phoebe?” I give her a wild look. “Maybe because I’ve been in love with her since I was five.”
My nan looks at me, head on. “There’s no such thing as love, Arthur. You should want to marry so you can one day sit on that throne as your father and as your brother will.”
I clench my teeth.
And then I stand up to leave.
“What about Astrid the Princess of Sweden?”
I whip my head around. “What about her?”
“Why not marry her?” She straightens out her skirt, not looking at me. “She’s remarkably beautiful and she’s focusing on getting her PhD.”
“I don’t care,” I laugh—don’t care who I’m talking to. “Why would I marry her?”
“She’s looking for a husband.”
“Her family is looking for a new asset and this isn’t the eighteen hundreds, we don’t do arranged marriages anymore.”
“You’re very right,” she says flippantly. “It’s just something to consider.”
No, it isn’t.
Met Astrid once, when I was about eight at a garden party.
All these people care about is the throne and that to me, is beyond ludicrous. No such thing as love? My parents are in love, I know they are because I’ve seen it. My grandparents? Sure, maybe not—but me and Phoebe? Is a love they’d never fucking understand.
If she came to me and asked me to drop my title and live in the Mongolian jungle with her, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d die getting her out of a fire she lit and that’s something no member of my family could comprehend.
I thought we’d moved away from all the fucking Victorian shit but apparently not. The paparazzi and the papers don’t even know the half of it, all they see is what we put out. For years, they thought my grandparents lived in Buckingham Palace. They don’t, they live in Windsor but everything we do is calculated and manipulated into what we want seen. Yeah, you have the lip readers and the body language experts who think it’s in their right to comment on every single thing we do but we’re aware, we know they’re going to examine us.
What happens inside this house, they’ll never know. For so, so, so long I felt so disgusted and ashamed of myself for the habit I couldn’t break. My parents hid me like a sordid affair. But as long as we look perfect when we leave the house, it doesn’t matter.
I go upstairs, go through my room and collect more of my stuff, throwing everything into duffle bags. It’s not a lot, a few clothes and the stuff in my drawers.
My room is completely empty when I’m finished, just the furniture. Even the bed only has the mattress on it. It feels weird, like a happy goodbye which is strange because can any goodbye be a happy one? I don’t think so. There’s always some bittersweet feeling residing. But not now. I think I’m glad toleave it all behind. If it was up to me, I’d never step foot in this house again.
I’d be feeling a lot different if I had Phoebe in here but I never did, she never came here because I loved her too much to bring her in here. Every place I look is a place that holds the same disturbing memory. My desk, where I used to trick myself into thinking I could rack up a few lines to get my homework done. My bed, where I’d spend weeks in the most inhuman agonising pain—
Memories don’t have a sell by date but the ones that are stuck to the walls in this room—in this house—have blended into the furniture like mold. No matter how hard you try to erase them, they’re not going anywhere. It’s like hanging a picture over a hole in the wall—just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean that it isn’t there. It’s still going to bug you every time you walk past it.
I take a deep breath, remind myself I never have to go back there and flick the light switch off. When I go into the hallway, I hear crying coming from behind Ev’s door.
We haven’t spoken. We should—we need to.
Taking a chance, I knock once.
“If it’s Arthur, fuck off!”
“Fair enough,” I call back.
She sniffs. “Go away!”
