“Don’t worry, Umar, you can walk home with us. Pass the ball.”
“I dunno’, Sam, what if...”
“‘S all right, ‘e won’t do nothin’ if you’re with us.” Sam landed the ball skilfully in the net. Jake retrieved it and smiled encouragement. They really needed Umar in their team.
“Yeah, come with us, we’ll show you the queen.”
“The queen? The one with the crown. The one we had the party for? You’re kiddin’ man.”
Sam grabbed the ball from Jake and ran, shouting: “C’mon, that’s the bell. Art this aft’.”
“Flossy, I’m ringing now ‘cause I’m going to the shops later. Do you want anything getting?”
“No, no, I’m all right, dear.”
“Well ring my mobile if you change your mind. Did the vicar call?”
Florence rubbed her knee repeatedly and smiled as child devils pranced across the silent television screen scattering bacteria. She watched with delight waiting for her favourite bit, when they were mopped away with Heaven Scent ‘all in one bacteria buster’.
“Flossy, are you there? Did Mark, the vicar call?”
“Yes, sorry, I just dropped something. Yes, Mark’s a lovely man. We all like him.”
Crying child devils were sucked whirling down the plughole. Florence laughed.
“I’ll see you later then, OK?”
“OK. But don’t come before 7.30 because I want to watch that programme about the poor disabled children. Mark told us about it in his sermon last week. Bye.”
In the nearby playground the fresh air symphony of children shouting and playing was silenced by the bell clamouring for afternoon school. Time for my afternoon snooze thought Florence. She looked as usual at the photograph of her late husband before settling into the cosy warmth of her neat sitting room and closing her eyes. The silent TV invited her to escape to the country, but Florence was already walking through a secluded wood on the arm of a handsome young man.
At the end of school, Umar went straight to the display of pupils’ work mounted for the jubilee and studied the photograph of the Queen. Sam found him there making the shape of her permed curls with his fingers on his own head.
“What are you doing?!”
“I’m making sure I remember what she looks like, so I can check if she’s the real thing.”
“She looks like my grandma, only without the cardigan. Hurry up Umar, if you want to see the queen you have to be there at the right time.”
As the bell rang for the end of school, Florence sipped her cup of tea and gazed out of the window waiting for the procession of children and parents. Sometimes she waved to them. Recently she had noticed two boys who reminded her very much of her brother, Tom, and his friend when they were children: bright, blonde haired, sweet pink faced boys. Though she had had to shout at them once through the window, she thought of them as good boys.
“You little devils!” she had said when they had picked daffodils from her tiny front garden. But even this she had decided to regard as charming, sure that they wanted them to take home to their mothers. She had a real soft spot for the cheekiest, Sam she thought he was called. She hoped she would see them today; it might cheer her up a bit.
Irritably she pulled at the clean white dressing on her knee. It was too tight; she knew this nurse wouldn’t do it right. She knew the minute she saw her. Why couldn’t they send an English nurse? Weren’t there any left?
The cup rattled as she placed it back in the saucer; she knew a mug was easier to hold but she liked the red rose pattern. Frank had always insisted on china cups, said the tea didn’t taste the same from a mug, said the Queen only ever drank her tea from bone china. “Just like me!” Florence would always reply.
Outside, the familiar sounds of youthful voices liberated from school drew Florence’s attention back to the window. Her favourite blonde haired boy was beaming at her. He looked so like her brother that, startled, she cried out: “Oh, Tom!” In an instant she was a girl again racing her brother home from school, breathless, laughing. They had been so close; she still had one of his old school books in a jubilee biscuit tin in the sideboard. It had all the lovely maps of the Empire that she had helped him to colour in. She closed her eyes for a moment to hold on to the precious memory. The sound of the boys’ voices pierced her memory.
“Jake, you dick! The ball’s gone in the queen’s garden.”
“Shall I go and ask if we can have it back?” Umar couldn’t believe that it was the real Queen of England because of course she would live in a palace not a little terrace house like his, but still he wanted to see up close for himself. Before they could answer, he was walking towards the door, just as Florence opened her eyes. The brightness slipped from her face: here was another one. Her heart raced as she stood to bang on the window. Mouth set hard, straining to be heard, she shouted, “Get off, get off! You.. dirty.. Pa...”
“What’s she saying, Sam?” Jake laughed. “What’s happened to her face? Is she wearing a mask? She looks all peculiar.”
“I don’t know. I think I’ll go and see.” He gave a small wave to Florence.
Umar stood, transfixed by the distorted, angry expression of the ‘queen’. Her curls and powdery face although exactly like the picture, filled him with fear. And why was she waving?
Sam grabbed Umar’s arm. “C’mon, you’d better..
“Sam, why is she so angry with me? She must think I kicked the ball in.”
“Oh, no! She’s fallen down.”
The boys rushed to the window; Florence lay twisted half across the chair, very still. They tried the front door but it was locked. Sam banged on the window; she did not stir.
“We need to get help. We should go next door and get the neighbours. Jake you go that side we’ll go this side.”
“No,” said Umar urgently. “I’ll go and see if the back door is open. We need to press the special button. Me grandma’s got one just like it.”
“What’s he on about?”
“I don’t know, c’mon Jake!”
The back door was locked, but the side window was slightly ajar. Umar, lithe and skinny was soon inside. Pain gripped Florence’s chest in its cruel fist, but she became vaguely aware of remote noises from the back of the house, then a small hand was holding hers. She tried to open her eyes; she saw an image of the queen flicker across the television screen. She was shaking someone’s hand her white glove against black crinkly skin. Florence closed her eyes again.
“I told her yesterday, she looks just like the Queen.” The nurse gently stroked back the straggly curls. “But she won’t let me comb her hair. Just like me, I don’t like strangers messing with me curls. I’ll speak to you later, Florence. I got me hands full on this ward today.”
“Florence, Florence, it’s me, Mark, from St Mary’s. Are you awake?”
Florence whispered, “Has nurse ... gone?”
“Yes. I’ve brought someone to see you. Go and hold her hand.” Mark urged the boy forward; he shyly touched Florence’s fingers. She remained very still, eyes closed.
“I hope you’re feeling better, Florence.”
Half of her face lifted in a smile at the sound of his voice and she opened her eyes.
“Bad boy, ff..ootball .”
“I’ve brought you some flowers.” Sam held up the sunshine yellow daffodils.
“They’re from me and Jake and Umar. Well really it was Umar’s idea. He said you should give flowers to the queen, but he couldn’t come, he had to go to mosque. He’s going to say a prayer for you.”
Florence looked towards the window, then closed her eyes. Pale sunlight washed the silence. Sam looked curiously at her face, searching for the Queen’s familiar features.
“The ambulance man said Umar’s quick thinking saved your life. He pressed the button thing round your neck.” Sam’s face shone with pride. “He’s my friend.”
Florence turned her head towards him, eyes still closed. “I know. I know.”
She looked at Sam and tried to smile, her cheeks wet and crumpled.
“Come on, Sam, we had better go and let Florence get some rest. I’ll put these cards from your friends at church on the bedside table, Florence. I’ll call in later.”
“Wait. Sam, tell Umar, tell him, thank you.”
Mark touched her hand gently and guided Sam away.
“I think she was crying.”
“Yes, Sam. It’s been hard for her to accept.”
Comments