Page 1 of Duchess Material

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A BUMP IN THE ROAD

The heir to the throne and presumptive Princess of Wales left London with a company of staff, luggage stocked to the gills, and a mountain of run-of-show cue sheets. Her right hand, Lucy Chandler had enough highlighters to paint a herd of manic unicorns to dayglow perfection. She had notation strips in every colour of the rainbow. Her laptop was either running on empty or precariously dangling on her lap attached to a mobile charger. She worked from anywhere and everywhere. She was assigned to clear the way so Princess Natalie could be her charming, relatable self. They would spend the next four weeks jetting and driving across Sub-Saharan Africa on the Princess’s first overseas tour.

The tour’s first two weeks were flawless. Natalie was heralded as a triumph. She met with pilots, spoke on women’s empowerment, learned about sustainable development, rocked evening gowns, danced with children, and ate local food with nary an issue. Lucy was exhausted just watching, but Natalie shone. Lucy heard from the King’s staff that they were nailing it. She was showing her worth now. Lucy was high on life. Natalie was getting a much-needed royal confidence boost. The girls were like a dream team. Then, came the bump in the road.

Lucy’s problem was not her boss or her job. She was at a career peak. Of the palace staff, she outranked all but the private secretaries for the Queen and King themselves. At the tender age of twenty-eight, she had gotten the post most would work decades for. Instead, her malaise was physical. People warned her antimalarials could make you sick. She felt a bit off but settled. It got somewhat better before the terrible seasick feeling kicked in around week two.

The feeling was exacerbated by rough roads. Once you got into the hinterlands, they were sketchy at best. One dodgy road after another wore on Lucy. Natalie rode out severe turbulence without sweating, while Lucy struggled. One morning at dawn, they were in a convoy near a nature park in Uganda when Lucy felt the need to fly out of the back seat of the 4-Runner.

“Stop the car! Stop the car!” Lucy shouted.

The driver complied. Lucy flailed, getting out just in time to vomit on the roadside.

Lucy finished and hunched over a moment until she spied a pair of pink flip flops. A little girl with braids and a school uniform bent to stare at Lucy. Lucy gradually stood up. She knew Natalie’s security was livid with her at this point. She couldn’t help it, though.

Before she could blink, four or five excited children screamed, “Mzungu!”

It meant “white person”. It was the Sub-Saharan version of “Gringo” from what Lucy could glean. Natalie popped her head out of the car and waved. She could charm anyone. She handed them some snacks and Lucy tried not to get invested in the fact that Natalie broke protocol.

Lucy ducked back into the car. “I’m alright.”

A security guard shook his head. Lucy had embarrassed herself. She had no street cred.

Lucy nodded. “It’s the antimalarials.”

It was.

Natalie tried to make Lucy feel better. “They are a bit shit. I’ve been on everything, though. Every jab, too. The don’t go easy on you in the military.”

Lucy was not military grade. She was promised she would adjust. Her body did not adjust. A day later, they were at the Ugandan Parliament building, walking with some legislators when Lucy again lost her lunch—in a legendary way. Lucy tried to make it to the trash.

It didn’t help that she called out, “Trash can!”

It took the other British staff ages to process that she meant a rubbish bin. The Americanism had not helped.

In the aftermath, a mortified Lucy tried tipping an annoyed worker to clean up the vomit. She offered to help, further embarrassing herself and offending the woman who merely said “keep your money” in a flip way.

Lucy was mortified. She felt terrible.

“I think I just screwed up.” Lucy said. “I embarrassed that poor woman!”

She and Natalie transited to their accommodations in Kampala. It was time to transform Natalie for an evening reception.

“You couldn’t help it. It’s not your fault, Luce,” Natalie said. “Miscommunication.”

“I just puked all over a government building.”

The local guide was kind. “You are not the first person to do it on these drugs. Try taking them before bed. It helps, I think.”

Lucy took the advice. Still, the next morning, she felt even worse. She was exhausted, nauseous, and had terrible backpain. Then, it hit her that something much more sinister was going on. Natalie asked her to pack super tampons for the road the next day. And as she did, Lucy realised she hadn’t had her period. Lucy and Natalie spent more time together than apart. As such, the two were mostly in sync with their cycles.

When they arrived on the tarmac in Libreville, Lucy knew she needed to change her approach to life until they returned to London. They rode through town to their new residence. Gabon was a small, beautiful country. The girls stayed on the oceanfront in a fabulous house. Lucy appreciated the change in scenery, but fear of a potential pregnancy lowered the excitement quotient.

The place was immaculate. The staff assisting them were warm. There was fresh fruit laying out, something that normally appealed to Lucy. Her food aversions made her steer clear. It was stiflingly hot. She stuck her head in the big refrigerator and looked for something safe to drink. The thing was loaded with Guinness. Someone must have heard it was the Princess’s preferred beverage. They had been swimming in Export Stout since arriving.

It was those Guinness bottles that haunted Lucy now. Water was hard to come by, as it was unsafe to drink. Lugging bottled water was tiresome. Everywhere, they were offered beer or a fizzy beverage. She lived on bottles of pop. She mixed gin with Fanta, as one of their guides suggested. Lucy tried to fit in and keep up with Natalie. That was a farce, of course. Her friend could drink her under a table every day of the week. Lucy also worried about her antimalarials. Were those dangerous, too?

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