The Girl behind the Throne (Editing)

Chapter 3

The next morning, I awoke with a start, the sounds of my father moving around in the small downstairs kitchen of our cottage, drifting up to the second floor. Propping myself up on my elbows, I tried to see the clock clearly with my bleary eyes, letting a disbelieving grunt pass my lips as I reread the time. It was six o'clock. I actually couldn't remember the last time I had intentionally been awake at six am. The only time that was coming to mind was the last time I had gone out with Sloane, my best friend from school, and we had snuck back into the school at nearly five in the morning.

Wincing against the bright light coming in the window, I threw myself back on the bed and covered my face with my pillow. I snoozed gently for the next fifteen minutes, waking up every time my father moved a cup, or closed a cupboard.

I only drifted back into consciousness, when dad finally shouted 'Tess, you better not still be asleep'. To which I grunted a noncommittal sound, which was easier at that time than actually talking. Holy Christ, my tongue felt like it had been replaced with a block of cement.

'Therese, I don't hear you getting up.' Dad shouted five minutes later, bringing me out of my lolling sleep again. I grunted once more, actually trying to sit up and shout back at him.

'Stop calling me Therese.' I eventually managed to reply, sitting up finally and slumped forward. I heard my dad's reply of chanting 'Therese' repeatedly, like it was the name of a football team.

'Stop it you lunatic'. I shouted again, throwing one foot out of the bed and stomping on the wooden floor, hearing my father laugh in reply. I hated the name Therese. It's nothing personally against the name in itself, I just don't think I suit the name Therese at all, in fact, I'd prefer to be called Moonbeam or Tigerlove, than the stuffy name passed down from my Father's late mother.

Fighting the urge to either lie back on my bed, or to run down the stairs and throttle my father, I stood up, shuffling to the bathroom and washing my face, and brushing my teeth. I was in the process of gargling mouthwash, when the subject of my intense dream had come back to me in a rush.

Blushing, I tried to push the imagery from my head as I poked around my mouth with the floss. Oh my god, I couldn't explain quite how such a thought had come into my head. All I know is that it had started as Liam, and ended as Jamie.

Picking up a fluffy bath towel of the side rail, I pressed it firmly to my mouth and screamed, hoping that the thick material had smothered all the noise.

'Therese, was that you screaming?' My dad asked, letting me know that I hadn't managed to smother any of the noise.

'No dad'. I replied, in a loud bellow.

Dad harrumphed in reply and shouted back, 'Save the screaming for when you're at work.'

'Sorry dad, there's a spider up here.' I grasped, hoping that my father hadn't remembered that I never really had a phobia of spiders, woodlice however, make me want to vomit, and as spiders eat woodlice, I had taken on a 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' attitude regarding them.

'Yeah well, maybe I should put it in your bed next time, maybe you'll wake up on time.' Dad shouted up, followed by a very passive aggressive reminder of the time, and how much I had already wasted.

Hurriedly, I threw on the black sack of a dress I call a uniform, tying back my hair and putting on my ugly, flat shoes which look comfortable, but in reality really, really hurt. Popping my trusty old iPhone into the pocket of my black sack and joining my dad downstairs, we set out for the palace.

Within an hour of the beginning of my work day, I had been put on bed linen duty, in charge of stripping and remaking the family's beds and replacing their towels. So far, I had done The Queen's, The King's and Maggie would finish off Jamie and his insufferable brother Richard's room.