Free I Conquer Britain by Dyan Sheldon Page A

the stairs. “Strawberry,” he guessed.
    “No, it’s—”
    “Oh, I remember,” he said without turning around. “It’s Cherry.”
    “Actually, it’s Cherokee,” I shouted after him.
    “Right,” he said as he reached the landing. “Like the car.”
    “No, like the Indian tribe.”
    He vanished into his room. That’s the trouble with hope, I thought. It leads you on. I was still standing there, gazing up the stairs, when he came running back down carrying a small satchel, a lot like the one that Bart ate. Why is there never a destructo pig around when you really want one?
    “Tell my mother I won’t be in for supper,” he commanded as he strode back down the hall. “Something’s come up.”
    “Sure,” I said. “I’d be delighted to.” I caught a glimpse of a small red car parked in front of the house before the front door banged behind him. If you asked me, I was right about calling him the Czar. He definitely acted like he thought he was better than everybody else. I stuck my tongue out at the empty hall. “Nice to meet you, too, your majesty.”
    After my encounter of the third kind with the king of rudeness, I went back upstairs with my tea. There was an email from Bachman (the friend I really needed) waiting for me. I would’ve shrieked with joy if I didn’t know Robert would start thumping on the ceiling. Bachman said Bruce Lee wanted me to know he was really sorry for barfing all over me like that, and that he wanted me to know that he was sorry for getting on my case about going.
Rain sounds pretty good
, wrote Bachman.
It’s already so hot I feel like my skin’s starting to melt
. He was working in his dad’s hardware store, which meant he was pretty much sitting at the computer (except when he had to go get somebody some nails or cut a key or something), so I wrote him right back. And that’s how I spent my first afternoon in London – emailing Bachman in Brooklyn. At least I made
him
laugh. He said he was tempted to go into
Smiling Pizza
for lunch and ask for a knife and fork. He figured he’d get his picture in the neighbourhood paper. He wanted to know if I still wanted him to rescue Sophie from the insanity of my family.
If the cops see me walking around with a girl all in pink carrying a bunch of stuffed toys they’re going to arrest me
. He wanted to know what I was doing on the weekend, since I was missing the Mermaid Parade.
Having lunch with the Queen?
I said we were having a barbecue tomorrow.
Oh, right…
Bachman answered.
Now I understand what they mean by the global village
. He cracked me up.

And Then There Was the Queen Who Could Have Started a Revolution
    C aroline and Robert were both in the kitchen when I went down for breakfast the next morning.
    Robert was staring out into the garden. He turned to look at me over his shoulder. “They used to say that the sun never set on the British Empire, but it’s possible that was because it never actually shone on it in the first place.” He waved towards the window. “Wouldn’t you know it’s pissing down?” (How poetic – he wasn’t a writer for nothing.)
    “Plan a barbecue and you’re guaranteed rain,” said Caroline. “Sod’s Law again.”
    Or Murphy’s.
    “Well, all’s not lost.” Caroline put a pot of tea on the table and a metal rack filled with toast (there really seemed to be no limit to English ingenuity). “We can have a nice family dinner instead. I’ll bring Mum round so she can meet Cherry.”
    Robert rolled his eyes at me. “She means get it over with.”
    “That is not what I mean.” Caroline’s smile looked really determined. “Mum’s looking forward to this.”
    I said, “Oh, me too.” I figured a normal old lady would be a nice change from my gran
    Robert sighed. “I suppose there’s no getting around it.” He gave his eyes another roll. “I can’t wait.”
    I was standing on my head (a perspective that made the bedroom look slightly better) when I heard the BMW pull up in