3-29（在线收听）

29.

The Sun ran a correction for their porn story. In a tiny box, on page two, where no one would see

it.

What did it matter? The damage had been done.

Plus it cost Meg tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees.

I rang Pa yet again.

Don’t read it, darling—

I cut him off. I wasn’t about to hear that nonsense again.

Also, I wasn’t a boy anymore.

I tried a new argument. I reminded Pa that these were the same shoddy bastards who’d been

portraying him as a clown all his life, ridiculing him for sounding the alarm about climate change.

These were his tormentors, his bullies, and now they were tormenting and bullying his son and his

son’s girlfriend—did that not inspire his outrage? Why have I got to beg you, Pa? Why is this not

already a priority for you? Why is this not causing you anguish, keeping you up at night, that the

press are treating Meg like this? You adore her, you told me so yourself. You bonded over your

shared love of music, you think she’s funny and witty, and impeccably mannered, you told me—so

why, Pa? Why?

I couldn’t get a straight answer. The conversation went in circles and when we hung up I felt

—abandoned.

Meg, meanwhile, reached out to Camilla, who tried to counsel her by saying this was just what

the press always did to newcomers, that it would all pass in due time, that Camilla had been the

bad guy once.

The implication being what? Now it was Meg’s turn? As if it were apples to apples.

Camilla also suggested to Meg that I become Governor General of Bermuda, which would

solve all our problems by removing us from the red-hot center of the maelstrom. Right, right, I

thought, and one added bonus of that plan would be to get us out of the picture.

In desperation I went to Willy. I took advantage of the first quiet moment I’d had with him in

years: The end of August 2017, at Althorp. Twentieth anniversary of Mummy’s death.

We rowed the little boat out to the island. (The bridge had been removed, to give my mother

privacy, to keep intruders away.) We each had a bouquet of flowers, which we set on the grave.

We stood there awhile, having our own thoughts, and then we talked about life. I gave him a quick

summary of what Meg and I had been dealing with.

Don’t worry, Harold. No one believes that shit.

Not true. They do. It’s drip-fed to them, day by day, and they come to believe it without even

being aware.

He didn’t have a satisfying answer for that, so we were silent.

Then he said something extraordinary. He said he thought Mummy was here. Meaning…

among us.

Yes, me too, Willy.

I think she’s been in my life, Harold. Guiding me. Setting things up for me. I think she’s helped

me start a family. And I feel as though she’s helping you now too.

I nodded. Totally agree. I feel as though she helped me find Meg.

Willy took a step back. He looked concerned. That seemed to be taking things a bit far.

Well, now, Harold, I’m not sure about that. I wouldn’t say THAT!