Page 44 of The English Queen

“You need me to work but I am in no condition to—”

“No. I need you with me. The children need us all together. I need you. I don’t need Vanna the Worker Bee right now. I need my wife right now. That’s all. And Paul needs to be in school.”

“I’m not safe in London,” Vanna said, tearfully.

“Vanora, nothing can hurt you. Who would hurt you, my love?”

She sobbed.

“Mum has no say, Vanna. And I would never, ever let her hurt you or the kids.”

“You already did! Many, many times. And I can only handle so much. It’s not your fault. It’s hers. You’re trapped. I understand but… I don’t need to be the reason for more discord.”

“I would sooner leave than lose you, Vanora,” Robbie insisted. “It wouldn’t happen. I would not lose you. You don’t get it. I do this out of duty, yes, but… my love, I don’t want to do it alone. I could not do it alone. It’s okay for you to take more time with the baby and to recover. It’s okay if you never want to be alone in a room with my mother again or attend a function where you have to have a conversation with her. I will make it all so perfectly choreographed you never will. But, please, my love, do not do that. Do not go anywhere. Please.”

Vanna shook her head. “She sent you to pull me back! No, I refuse to kowtow after all she said. She was so cruel.”

“I haven’t said two words to her. She’s rang me a dozen times, but I haven’t taken her calls. My staff have been told to tell her I will reach out when I can. She can wait. Again, she’s not managing the ship. It’s not her problem. She feels guilt over getting caught and not what she said. She knows I am livid. She knows I will protect you. So, she’s trying to apologise and feign contrition. If I never had a personal conversation with her again, I would not care. The way she treats you… I do not want the children to see and find it acceptable. The twins are getting to the age where they can understand.”

“I don’t want you to stop talking to your mother, that’s… that’s not what I want,” Vanna said. “Your relationship with her is your business and I can be civil. I always have been. But… I cannot believe a thing she says. She thinks I am entitled. She thinks I am untrustworthy. She thinks I am a bad influence on you. And Lord knows she already thinks I am a bad mother. I think I am a bad mother, too. I don’t need—”

“Vanna, my love, do not say a thing! You are a wonderful, loving, kind, and patient mother. If every child had a mum as good as you, the world would be a much better place. Don’t think for a second you are a bad mum–or an average one. You are a fabulous one. You’re the best. Don’t let it enter your head, okay?”

She nodded, sniffling.

“What is going on? How can I help?”

“Everything frightens me. I worry something will happen to the children. Kiersten, in particular. I cannot put her down. I worry about her getting sick or hurting herself or me. And then I worry about you and that frightens me, too. I need to calm down. I want to gather us all, climb in a bunker, and stay away from the world for a bit. I need a moment to breathe and catch up.”

“Anmer. We’ll swoop the twins up for the weekend and go. Just the six of us. Just a family,” Robbie assured her. “But you have to promise me you’re going to go see someone. This isn’t normal for you–or anyone–and I don’t want you to live like this. Rita says we will find help and it happens to lots of mums.”

“It does. I thought it was me being a bit overprotective.”

“It’s not.”

“Oh, Robbie, I told her to go fuck off. I told her ‘Fuck this and fuck you’.”

Robbie looked at her. Vanna’s face was serious. However, he burst out laughing. Vanna joined in.

Robbie said, “Fuck. It’s the best thing I’ve heard in so long. And, according to Rita, she bloody well deserved it.”

?????

“Come right with me,” a nurse said in French, beckoning Beth into an exam room.

Beth stepped in and sat down on the table, nervously. The nurse ran through a few questions, took her blood pressure, and then stepped out to get the doctor. He came in and said, “Hello, I’m Dr Fournier.”

“Hi,” Beth replied. “I’m Beth.”

He nodded in the not-at-all-personable way people did here. It was all business. The place was bureaucracy-obsessed. People were kind and they were genuine, but they were not friendly in the way a Brit would be. A Brit would invite you in for tea out of obligation if you just walked up to the wrong door looking for a friend. That would not have made sense to a Belgian. They were not rude. They were efficient.

“We can speak in French if you prefer,” Beth said, nervously.

“English is fine,” he replied. “You need to have a check-up. I reviewed your file and looked at your dose. It appears fine. Your seizures… what brings them on?”

“I’m not terribly photosensitive. It’s mostly forgetting my medication and stress. My staff forces my medication on me, so I am careful. I don’t have them often but… I do have them.”

“You wanted to discuss changing your medication, though? We generally don’t—”

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