Jemma’s Version
After dinner, I wandered around Denby for a good hour.
My intention was to go back to my room, but I remembered that there’s a Champions League match between Borussia Dortmund and Arsenal tonight.
I had to find a tv!
I slipped into one of the corridors and started opening doors. I saw paintings, statues, musical instruments, desks, books, more dining tables, carpets, but nothing that resembled a tv.
Then, I found a staircase and went up. Other sofas, armchairs, fireplaces, and so many beds – what the hell is this place, a hotel?
I was starting to get nervous, as the kick-off was five minutes ago and I couldn’t believe there isn’t a single tv in this huge mansion!
I climbed another staircase, and now I’m in a narrower corridor with more doors.
As my hope is fading away, I start opening them one by one, until I find a small, old crt tv. The room is rather bare, with almost no furniture and yet there is all I need: a sofa and a socket.
Feeling victorious, I pick up the remote control and try to tune in, hoping it’s not one of those matches which start with a goal in the first minute. I heave a sigh of relief when I see a reassuring 0-0 on top of the screen. I haven’t missed very much.
God, I wish I had some chicken wings, now!
Fuck Delphina and her recipe book of bloody jelly like crap!
I swear at the midfielders, who apparently have no intention of touching the ball, then I hear the handle click behind me.
“So, Martin, do you reckon we’re going to kick the Kraut’s arses? Alvin bet that one of them will be sent off by the end of the first half… oh, I’m sorry, Lady Jemma, um, I had no idea you were here… I…” a male voice says hesitantly.
I turn around, surprised: it’s Lance. He’s taken off his uniform and is now wearing a comfortable synthetic tracksuit with the Arsenal badge on the chest.
“Don’t make me go away, Lance. It’s the only room I’ve found with a tv. Please, there’s a match tonight. Just ninety minutes and I’m off.”
“On the contrary, My Lady: if you prefer, we can leave the room for your exclusive use.”
“No way, Lance. Watching a football match on your own is really sad. I like cheering in company, it makes support stronger!” I beckon him to sit next to me. “I got here just in time, I nearly missed the first half! It took me ages to find a tv here.”
“These are the servants’ quarters,” says Lance with a hint of hesitancy.
“Well, I must say that you treat yourselves far better than those rich people! So… is it just you and me? Is nobody else helping us support the Gunners? Come on, it’s an away match, the cheer is worth double!”
“Campbell and Bowen are on their wa—” Lance says, and then the two show up at the door just before he can complete the sentence.
“So? Has anyone scored yet?”
I make a brief summary of the game. “0-0 since I turned on the tv. No yellow or red cards. Only a free kick, but it went over the crossbar. The Kraut goalkeeper didn’t even blink,” I comment, keeping my eyes on the screen. “Hey, ref, are you blind or what? Everyone saw the foul!” Then I turn towards Bowen and Campbell, who are still frozen near the door. “Won’t you take a seat, then?”
They look at me, petrified. “Lady… Lady Jemma.”
“It’s all right, sit down,” Lance encourages them.
There’s total silence in the room, and for the first time in my life I see three middle-aged men sitting as stiff as boards during a football match. “Look, it’s all right, I’m a woman who likes football, not a three-eyed freak show! And yes, I do understand the simple mechanism of two teams with different uniforms who must kick the ball in the goal of the opposite team. You can relax, now!”
They look even more petrified and barely move their eyes. They lean against the backrest only when Lance encourages them with a nod.
“Cross! Cross, for God’s sake! Can’t you see that Sanchez is already in front of the goal?” I shout, alarming the three men. Campbell, a little bloke in his forties with copper red hair, starts and accidentally kicks a plastic bag at his feet, causing a familiar clank.
“Campbell! You brought beer and you’re not offering it round? Not good! Football fans are a big family! You’re supposed to share!” I tease him.
He blushes up to his ears. “Um, yes, but I didn’t think you liked beer.” He reaches out towards the bag and hands me a bottle. “Is this all right?”
“Guinness! You bet!” I take the bottle and open it using the edge of the table, then I raise it to him. “Cheers Campbell, I owe you one! To the Gunners!”
The three men raise their beers towards me, in response. “To the Gunners.”
However, even before we can have a sip… “Goal!” We all shout together, standing up as though an electric discharge had hit the sofa.
Now we’re ahead, we can sit back and enjoy the game until the end of the first half.
“So, Lady Jemma, you’re a football fan?” asks Lance as soon as the ads start.
“It’s pretty clear, isn’t it?” I ask, pointing out the obvious.
“Let’s say it’s an unexpected feature.”
Paul Bowen finally opens his mouth. “Yes, I mean, we don’t often see duchesses around here. Certainly not to watch football. When Campbell and I got here, we had quite a surprise!”
“Yes, Bowen, I noticed. As for me, I didn’t expect to find any Arsenal fans within these cold walls.”
“How long have you been a football fan?” Asks Bowen curiously.
“As long as I can remember.”
Lance smiles at me openly for the first time. “Is your dad a fan?”
“No, not really. Actually, my father has never been a fan, and we don’t even have a tv, at home. It’s because, back at school, I mainly played with boys. The girls used to say that I stank, so I always hung out with the boys during the breaks. They talked about matches, footballers, teams, and I became passionate about it.”
Campbell struggles to hold back a laugh. “Lady Jemma, I apologise for the insolence, but… did you say you stank?”
“Yes, my mother is an ecologist, and she’s never wanted to use industrial detergents or soaps. She uses exclusively organic laundry products, with the only result that all our clothes stank like a wet dog. That’s why the girls didn’t want me to play with them. But for the boys, this made no difference, as they were always too sweaty and covered in dirt and grass to pay attention to me. So, I blended in…”
“The same happened to me at school, but because of my snacks. My mother always made me sandwiches with Stilton cheese…” Bowen laughs, touching his round belly. “And you can see that I’ve eaten many of those!”
As soon as the stadium is back on the screen, we shut up as though we were in church.
At least until we score another goal, by chance, at the last minute. When the referee whistles, we hug each other as soldiers who have won a war.
After the post match interviews, we turn off the tv and look at each other. Or rather, I look at Lance, Campbell and Bowen, in an attempt to buy some time. I know, it’s time for me to get going as I’m the intruder here. However, to be honest, I’ve felt more at home in a bare sitting room with the servants for these ninety minutes than for the whole day in the luxurious rooms of the mansion.
“I… had better…” I start saying.
“If you allow me, I will accompany you to your apartments, My Lady.” Lance proposes.
“Um, okay, but Lance, since we watched a football match and drank beer together, why don’t you just call me Jemma?”
“The protocol doesn’t allow that.”
“It makes me feel uncomfortable,” I admit.
“You will get used to it,” he replies, understandingly, then he opens the door and invites me to follow him.
I say goodnight to Campbell and Bowen and follow Lance, who leads me through the corridors.
Denby Hall is immersed in silence and shadow; the long hallways are lit by the soft lights of wall candelabra, which were probably used to hold candles in the past, but now have elaborate sprout shaped light bulbs.
Lance walks in front of me with long silent steps, which make me feel too noisy, so I decide to take off my high heeled shoes and walk barefoot on the cold marble floor.
“Cheers for your company, Lance. I enjoyed the match much more. I’m used to going to the stadium and being in the front row with many other fans. I just have to apologise for invading your space. It’s ridiculous that you’re the only ones with a tv!”
“It was not at all an invasion. It was a pleasure for me, and I believe it was the same for Campbell and Bowen. You’re welcome to join us whenever you like.”
“Then sign me up for all the next Premier League and Champions League matches!”
“I will be happy to reserve the best seat for you, and Bowen will bring the beer. Is Guinness to your liking or do you have other preferences?”
“Guinness will do just fine,” I say, sinking onto my bed, feeling a flicker of life for the first time in the whole day.
“Well, I bid you goodnight, Your Grace.”
“Goodnight Lance, see you tomorrow.”
He closes the door, then opens it again and says: “One last thing. I’ll show you a secret,” then he presses a switch near the bedside table. With a long whirring sound, a tv as big as a whole museum wall appears from behind a chest of drawers.