Page 20 of The English Queen

“So, everyone is wrong–not just the Mail, Sun, and bloody Metro? I’m talking The Guardian, Page Six, and Tatler, too.”

“Who taught you to search for tabloid news? Also, Page Six is where misogyny rules–it’s no better than the Mail. It’s terrible. Don’t go there,” Rita sighed. “Who is teaching you about this stuff? Helping you?”

“Nat. She’s the undisputed Queen of the Internet,” Winston answered.

“She can find anything. She’s like a detective,” Gerry added

Brilliant, Rita thought to herself, another thing I have to tell Vanna about.

“Alright, there was infidelity, yes. But that should not affect your relationship with your dad. He would be heartbroken if he were excluded—”

“Would he?” Winston said. “Because I don’t think he would.”

Rita let it go. She was going to have enough to get through today when they returned home. She had to tell bad news, good news, and then send them off with Richard. When they arrived back at home, Bruno was in the den with his computer. He looked up at them, excited to tell them the news. However, as his glance reached Rita’s, he realised she wasn’t excited anymore.

“Winston, G-man,” he said, “how was the week?”

“It blew,” Winston tossed himself onto a chair.

“Horrid,” Gerry groaned.

“Well, didn’t you learn anything useful?” Rita asked. “You looked quite pleased leaving today.”

Winston was all too excited to share something. “Bobby Jerrods says you can tell the difference between real and fake boobs just by touch. Some interesting information from the senior boys up the hall. That was all anyone cared about this week. Important, crucial stuff.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s completely true. And I doubt he’s touched enough pairs of tits to know,” Rita said.

Gerry covered his ears, “Mother, don’t say tits!”

“Sorry, breasts. Boys your age know nothing about sex. They are not experts. Also, it doesn’t matter if they are real, it’s no one’s business but the haver-of-the-breasts. Breasts are breasts.”

“I am with your mother here,” Bruno said. “All of it. Also, it’s way more complicated. And it doesn’t matter. What did you learn at school?”

“I learned about the Battle of Waterloo,” Gerry said.

“That’s interesting,” Rita tried to make it sound interesting.

“They are moving me to a new maths course, pending your approval,” Winston said. “The Head Office will call you next week. I would start in January.”

“What?”

“Advanced maths.”

“You’re already in advanced maths,” Rita furrowed her brow.

“Advanced-advanced, then.”

“Two years ahead?” Rita asked.

Winston shrugged.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Winston. You love maths. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m clever, I guess? This is another reason I don’t want Dad showing up looking like a dullard and insinuating I am daft. I’m not daft, you know? I guess it doesn’t matter. I’d rather be in art. Of course, he thinks that’s for… well, I won’t say that word.”

The word was a slur Richard liked to throw around.

“We never thought that,” Bruno said. “Your mother has always thought you both were clever and has always said you did so well in math and art.”

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