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I’m not named in the article for some reason or another, but I have been given the title of “local schoolteacher who is neighbors with the royals.” It starts off by saying there was an altercation at the pub over the service (a damn lie and they know it) and that Harrison Cole reacted in an aggressive manner toward the owner. The article goes on to talk about Joey himself and his family and their island legacy, before going into the negative impact the royals will have on the island. It says that the island so far has been peaceful, but when the royals become news, the media will come out in droves again.
That part is most likely true. However, the article then veers into fearmongering, talking about how the royals might be bad for the island long-term; how the island doesn’t need negative publicity, since the royals’ appearance in Canada alone has brought out resentment from taxpayers; that we’re far too small and humble for the likes of celebrities like them, etc.
Basically it’s just one long, big bashing, using Harrison’s incident as an excuse for it.
I don’t recognize the name of the person who wrote it, but that doesn’t matter much anyway. They think a certain way, and I’m sure Barbara Mischky and others are apt to share the same complaints. I think it’s ridiculous that this hateful drivel was actually allowed to be printed, and on the front page, but sometimes I suspect the people at the newspaper might not be as unbiased as they claim.
I’m still stewing over this when, surprise, there’s a knock at my door.
This time I have no idea what to expect. Is it Monica, here to get mad at me for what happened at the pub (after all, the outing was my idea)? Is it Harrison . . . here to get mad at me for what happened at the pub? I mean, the possibilities are endless.
I open the door.
A tall and lean man in a suit, with a strong jaw, black hair, and dark eyes, is standing on my steps.
PPO James.
“Good afternoon,” he says in a Scottish brogue. “I hope I’m not bothering you. The duchess is wondering if you’d join her tonight on the dock.”
“Am I being forced to walk the plank?” I ask.
James smiles. He has a nice smile. Proof that not all bodyguards need to be as moody and broody as Harrison. “Not at all. She said she was due for a girls’ night and was hoping you would join her. I believe she’ll have drinks and food set up. You don’t have to bring anything.”
“Why did she send you here?” Why didn’t she send Harrison? “She could have just texted.”
“She would have come here herself, but she’s gone off island with Eddie. To the doctor.”
“Oh my god, is something wrong?”
Another quick smile. “Not at all. It’s routine.”
Ah, for the baby. Of course.
“Okay. Sure, I would love to have a girls’ night. Do you know what time?”
“I’ll be back at seven p.m. to get you,” James says. Then he touches his forefinger against his forehead in a sort of salute and walks off down the driveway, the fallen leaves of the arbutus tree crunching beneath his boots.
Interesting. He said that he’ll be back to get me tonight. Not Harrison. I figured the reason Harrison wasn’t here delivering the invitation was because he was off island with Eddie and Monica. But if that’s the case, then wouldn’t he come get me later, not James?
Unless Harrison is embarrassed to be around you. The way he acted, how drunk and vulnerable he was, the nightmare. He’s probably seen the newspaper. Maybe he realizes he needs to take a step back. Maybe whatever you had between you, that beginning of a friendship, maybe that’s officially over.
I usually tell the negative side of my brain to shut up, but I don’t have a good counter to it this time. I think I’m right.
* * *
At ten to seven, I’m wearing skinny jeans, a white tank, and a long cardigan, since evenings can get cool, and waiting for James. My mother is in her room still, only coming out briefly to get some water and snacks before going back. She’s avoiding me, and as much as it hurts, I know I just have to let her have her space.
At seven on the dot, there’s a knock at the door.
James is outside and nods when he sees me. Seems all the bodyguards are equally as punctual.
I walk with him to their house, glancing at him curiously. In some ways he seems the same as Harrison: big, broad-shouldered, a body that looks like it has no problems being lethal if it has to be. And even though James is quick to smile around me, there’s a sadness in his eyes. He looks like an old soul.
