Let Bygones Be Bygones Coffee Break Tale
I’m fed up with this place,” said Oliver, his gaze sweeping the wood-panelled room with its suits of armour and paintings. “Ghostland! It’s pathetic – a pretend castle in a fairground.”
“It could be worse,” said Charles philosophically. “We could be working on the Ghost Train.”
“Well, it’s all right for you,” retorted Oliver. “You’ve got your acting career to fall back on.”
I suppose he’ s got a point, thought Charles. I maybe type cast, but wandering around in those zombie films didn’ t seem like work at all.
“Mummy, why does the ghost with the short hair look so sad?” said the little girl. “And look, the other one, he’s got his head under his arm. How can he do that?” She blanched. “They’re not real ghosts, are they, Mummy?”
“Of course not,” the child’s mother replied. “It’s just an illusion – very good, though, he looks just like that painting of King Charles I.”
“Talking about old kings,” Oliver said, when the visitors had moved on. “How did the Tower Banquet go last week?”
Charles smiled at the memory. “It was excellent – one of the best.”
Every ten years a banquet was held at the Tower of London, for all the past kings and queens of England – not always the happiest of events.
“Everyone enjoyed it – except for Henry, of course. As he says, one woman scorned is bad enough – try having six.” “Were they all there?” “Oh yes – all his queens turned up.” “What? Even Ann Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”
Charles felt a twinge where his heart used to be. If Ann Boleyn and Catherine Howard could forgive Henry VIII…
“Oh, they tease him – they even got one of the servants to dress up as an executioner, complete with axe.”
“And what did he do – King Henry? Did he laugh?”
Charles shook his head, which was now back in place. “No, he didn’t see the joke at all, said he’s not going to the next one. But he will. Anyway, after all these years, what’s the point of bearing grudges? You’re a long time dead…”
As his words hung in the air, Charles looked over at Oliver, and their eyes locked. But then a child’s voice broke the spell, and they took their positions.
“Daddy,” the little boy was saying wistfully as they walked in. “I wish you could come back home to live with us.” The man’s body seemed to slump as he looked down at his son. “I don’t know, Jack…”
Charles looked over at Oliver, at the sadness in his eyes; the same sadness he’d just seen on the visitor’s face as he’d looked at his son.
I guess we all make mistakes, listen to the wrong people. Perhaps that applies to Henry the Eighth too–maybe he listened to the wrong people…
“It’s up to Mummy,” said the man, as father and son made their way out. “I did a bad thing, Jack. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.” The little boy stopped in his tracks. “Oh, I think she has, Daddy. I heard her talking to Auntie Sue. She said she missed you, and there was, there was… some water under the bridge.” His father smiled. “Did she now?” “What does that mean, Daddy, about the water under the bridge?”
“Let’s go and see Mummy, shall we, and find out?”
“Look! One of the ghosts is crying and the other has his arm around him.”
“I should never have done it,” Oliver sobbed. “You were a King of the Realm. I had no right.”
“Never mind, Oliver. It’s like the boy said – it’s all water under the bridge.”
As Charles spoke the words, he realised that he actually meant them. It must have been the Tower Banquet, seeing all that forgiveness…
“Tell you what,” said Charles. “We’ll finish off the season here, then let’s see whether we can both get parts in that new series of Outlander. They’re starting on the auditions soon. I’ll have a word in my agent’s ear.”
“Would you really? Would you do that for me?”
“Of course. We’ve been together a long time now, Cromwell. I spend more time with you than with my family. We’ll have to move fast, though, before that lot from the Tower get wind of it. And we all know what Henry’s like if he can’t have his own way.”
For how long can you reasonably hold a grudge?…