camilla

I was edging my way to the bedroom door to block Camilla’s way if she should suddenly decide to leave. If this turned out to be unsuccessful, plan b was to say something very loud, so the others would be alerted.

I was very uncomfortable. I felt it was always me stuck at the sharp end of things. Joel and T were having fun, rifling through the possessions of Camilla’s appalling parents, especially her mother – god she was a bitch – and there I was, pinned very unnaturally with my back against the door of this stuffy over-furnished room trying to keep her talking. It was easier said than done.

I had completely run out of things to admire. We had talked about the pony club rosettes along the wall; we had discussed in detail the invitation from the Duchess, which was displayed prominently alongside

“Cammie why don’t you just say no? What’s the worst she could do?”

“It’s hard…”

“I know but Prince Andrew.. for fuck sake – you’ve got to stand up for yourself!”

“I know”

She looked down. I sighed. It wasn’t her fault, but it was frustrating. I liked Camilla – she was nice, but she was fifteen now – old enough to be a bit braver. We’d all felt so sorry for her at school – the youngest by miles at twelve, stuck in those horrible rooms at lunchtimes, with a diet pill and a magazine, by order of her nasty mother. I could see why it was difficult but all the same, once your mother started sending you off to mingle with hideous chinless wonders, it was time to take a stand.

Clutching at straws, I tried one last time to keep her there.

“Let’s see the Tatler again”

She took one off the pile and brought it over. We looked at the full-page photo. It was all soft focus, a small string of pearls with matching earrings. Camilla’s hair had been swept up and fixed on top of her head, with a few strands artfully arranged to hang loosely on either side. She was wearing something long and sleeveless and they’d made her eyes look smoky and huge. Above her in big black letters, it said “Girls to Watch.”

“It was quite fun to do”, she said

“All the same….”

I disapproved. To me it was not much different to Amanda’s foray into pornographic modelling; they were both selling themselves. At least Amanda had made quite good money out of it. She’d asked if I fancied having a go but that was a step too far. The prostitute thing had been over in an evening; the magazines would be around for years. I’d told her she was mad and she would forever be wondering if men opposite her on the tube had read it, or even her father’s friends – or worse still - her father.

Even when she had pointed out that she didn’t look at all herself, which was actually true – you wouldn’t have know it was her in the photos – I wasn’t convinced – you could still see it was her if you looked very, very closely at the face. At least it had been her choice though – no one had forced her, like Camilla.

I was bored. What could they possibly be doing that was taking so long? Then I heard voices – no footsteps – the carpet was too thick for that kind of thing. At fucking last! I opened the door and Joel and T. stood there. Joel’s face was red, and T. was trying not to laugh. We were really crap burglars. I went over to where I’d left my bag.

“Shall we go out then? Ready Cam?’

Luckily the restaurant wasn’t far. The piggy bank was quite heavy. T. carried it, which was fair since it had been his idea all along, and to be honest the day wasn’t turning out as exciting as we’d thought. It was funny to watch the waiter’s face when we emptied all the loose change out to pay the bill, but not so amusing when he made us count it into little piles. It had taken ages and we’d all had enough by then.

Camilla was looking anxious – she had to be home before her mother, and we were desperate to get back to Joel’s flat. We walked back up Queensgate, past all the little embassies for countries we’d never heard of, said goodbye to Cam, and headed off again up towards the Royal Albert Hall and the bus stop.

As soon as we were out of sight I looked at the others

“Well?”

T looked embarrassed;

“It was harder than we thought. We should’ve worn coats; we could’ve stashed more in the pockets.”

“So what did you get then?”

They showed me. It was disappointing. Cigarettes mainly – as many as they could cram into their jackets, and silver teaspoons, and three fat cigars.

We smoked the cigars on the top deck of the bus as we headed home. They tasted foul but I’d never tried one before, so that was a plus, and perhaps we would do better next time if we decided to try again.

I watched T. as he kicked a can away from us with his pointy white shoes. A little bit of whatever had been inside spilt out onto the floor as it rolled down the bus. I turned round and looked at the disapproving glances of people sitting behind us. It had been a moderately interesting day - maybe we would think of something more exciting to try next. I felt sorry for Camilla and Amanda, and really happy to be me instead, with my two best friends – it was so much more comfortable.

Joel looked at his watch;

“The North Star might be open by the time we get there. Shall we stop for a drink on the way home?”