the dirt-glazed sofa, which was draped with clothes waiting to be washed. Violet threw the stinking clothes aside, put Marilyn on her back and took her knickers off. The Queen had watched enough cowboy films to know that hot water would be needed and she went to find a kettle and a clean bowl. The kitchen was spectacularly squalid. It was evident that whoever was in charge of keeping the house had failed to do so for rather a long time.
The Queen could not bring herself to touch any of the objects in the room, coated as they all were in grease and dirt. Her feet stuck to the filthy tiled floor. There was no kettle, only a blackened saucepan standing on a fat-encrusted stove.
As she turned to go out, her eye was caught by a bright splash of colour. On a shelf, too high for the squalor to have reached, some body had placed a three pack of babies’ vests – yellow, turquoise and green. The Queen stood on tiptoe and knocked the plastic package down. For some reason, the vests made her throat constrict. “I’m going home,” she said.
“Don’t leave me now, it’ll be ’ere any minute,” pleaded Violet. Marilyn was shrieking with each contraction, “I want Les, I want Les.”
“I’ll be back,” promised the Queen. She ran back to her house and collected linen sheets, towels and pillowcases, a silver kettle, cups and saucers, tea and milk, a large fifteenth-century porcelain bowl and baby clothes that had once belonged to her great-grandmother, Queen Victoria. She had brought them with her from Buckingham Palace. She knew that Diana was keen to have a daughter.
Philip stirred as she banged about in the bedroom, searching the cardboard boxes for baby clothes. How squalid he looks, thought the Queen and she had a glimmer of understanding of how easy it was to slide into such a state and how difficult it must be to get out of it.
Together, she and Violet washed and undressed Marilyn, put her in one of the Queen’s own nightgowns, covered the sofa in white linen and prepared for the baby’s arrival. The porcelain bowl was filled with boiling water, the baby’s layette was put by the gas fire to warm, and the daft teenager was ordered to make tea – using the Queen’s own Doulton cups and saucers.
“Break them cups an’ I’ll break your cowin’ neck!” Violet threatened the sullen youth.
The Queen began to line a shallow cardboard box with towels and pillow cases brought from home. “It’s like playing dollies again,” she said to Violet. “I’m rather enjoying myself.”
“We’ll ’ave to clean this shit ’ole up when Marilyn’s bin took to the ’ospital. Poor cow shoulda said . We’d ’a’ ’elped ’er out. Done her washin’, got stuff in for the baby, cleaned up.”
“I think she’s been too depressed to help herself, don’t you?” said the Queen. “I know somebody in a similar situation.”
“I’m writin’ to my MP about this bleedin’ ambulance,” said Violet, as she checked to see if the baby’s head was visible. “I’ll find out who ’e is an’ I’ll write to ’im. This is disgusting, I’m too old for this mullarkey.”
Yet her hands were assured as she manipulated Marilyn’s body and the Queen was impressed by how readily Marilyn followed Violet’s instructions as she told her when to push and when to stop.
“Did you train as a nurse, Violet?” asked the Queen, as she sterilised the scissors in the flames of the gas fire.
“No, you di’n’t train for nowt in our family. I passed for a scholarship but there weren’t no chance of goin’ to grammar school.” Violet laughed at the thought of it. “Couldn’t afford the uniform, an’ anyway I ’ad to bring money into the ’ouse.”
“How very unfair,” said the Queen. Marilyn shouted, “Oh Violet, it’s ’orrible, it’s ’urtin’ me.”
Violet wiped Marilyn’s face with a snow-white monogrammed face cloth, then peered between her thighs and said, “I can see its ’ead, it’ll be ’ere
The Queen could not bring herself to touch any of the objects in the room, coated as they all were in grease and dirt. Her feet stuck to the filthy tiled floor. There was no kettle, only a blackened saucepan standing on a fat-encrusted stove.
As she turned to go out, her eye was caught by a bright splash of colour. On a shelf, too high for the squalor to have reached, some body had placed a three pack of babies’ vests – yellow, turquoise and green. The Queen stood on tiptoe and knocked the plastic package down. For some reason, the vests made her throat constrict. “I’m going home,” she said.
“Don’t leave me now, it’ll be ’ere any minute,” pleaded Violet. Marilyn was shrieking with each contraction, “I want Les, I want Les.”
“I’ll be back,” promised the Queen. She ran back to her house and collected linen sheets, towels and pillowcases, a silver kettle, cups and saucers, tea and milk, a large fifteenth-century porcelain bowl and baby clothes that had once belonged to her great-grandmother, Queen Victoria. She had brought them with her from Buckingham Palace. She knew that Diana was keen to have a daughter.
Philip stirred as she banged about in the bedroom, searching the cardboard boxes for baby clothes. How squalid he looks, thought the Queen and she had a glimmer of understanding of how easy it was to slide into such a state and how difficult it must be to get out of it.
Together, she and Violet washed and undressed Marilyn, put her in one of the Queen’s own nightgowns, covered the sofa in white linen and prepared for the baby’s arrival. The porcelain bowl was filled with boiling water, the baby’s layette was put by the gas fire to warm, and the daft teenager was ordered to make tea – using the Queen’s own Doulton cups and saucers.
“Break them cups an’ I’ll break your cowin’ neck!” Violet threatened the sullen youth.
The Queen began to line a shallow cardboard box with towels and pillow cases brought from home. “It’s like playing dollies again,” she said to Violet. “I’m rather enjoying myself.”
“We’ll ’ave to clean this shit ’ole up when Marilyn’s bin took to the ’ospital. Poor cow shoulda said . We’d ’a’ ’elped ’er out. Done her washin’, got stuff in for the baby, cleaned up.”
“I think she’s been too depressed to help herself, don’t you?” said the Queen. “I know somebody in a similar situation.”
“I’m writin’ to my MP about this bleedin’ ambulance,” said Violet, as she checked to see if the baby’s head was visible. “I’ll find out who ’e is an’ I’ll write to ’im. This is disgusting, I’m too old for this mullarkey.”
Yet her hands were assured as she manipulated Marilyn’s body and the Queen was impressed by how readily Marilyn followed Violet’s instructions as she told her when to push and when to stop.
“Did you train as a nurse, Violet?” asked the Queen, as she sterilised the scissors in the flames of the gas fire.
“No, you di’n’t train for nowt in our family. I passed for a scholarship but there weren’t no chance of goin’ to grammar school.” Violet laughed at the thought of it. “Couldn’t afford the uniform, an’ anyway I ’ad to bring money into the ’ouse.”
“How very unfair,” said the Queen. Marilyn shouted, “Oh Violet, it’s ’orrible, it’s ’urtin’ me.”
Violet wiped Marilyn’s face with a snow-white monogrammed face cloth, then peered between her thighs and said, “I can see its ’ead, it’ll be ’ere
Similar Books
