Cinderella - the aftermath

Starbucks was pretty empty at 7am. Even so Cinderella donned dark glasses. Her picture was all over the tabloids. She was meeting Julie, her best friend.

“Bloody hell, you don’t half smell.”

“You’d smell too if you’d been sat in a pumpkin carriage.”

“What are you going to do about….you know,” said Julie, sipping her latte.

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked you here. I can’t marry him. The guy needs a therapist not a wife. He’s had plenty of those.”

“But, why did you go to the ball?”

“Everyone was going. All the strictly judges were there. And… get this. I did impress them.”

“Too bad you impressed his Royal Flirtiness as well.”

“I’ll kill FG when I find her.”

“Where is she anyway?”

Probably gone to screw somebody else’s life up. She has loads of godchildren.”

“Well, he is a catch. Loads of girls would love to be in your shoes.”

“But that’s just it, Julie. Loads of girls have been.”

“He’s probably looking for an heir.”

“Well he can look somewhere else. He’s so bloody arrogant. 4 wives, no children and he thinks it’s them at fault not him.”

“He thinks it’s fate because your foot fit the slipper.”

“Bloody hell! How many women wear size 5 shoes? I ask you. The guy has the brains of a fish.”

“What were you doing wearing a glass slipper anyway?”

“Lord knows. You'll have to ask FG that one.”

“Were they comfortable?”

“Comfortable? I had to walk like a pigeon. That’s why I lost one because I’d chipped it and it was cutting my foot.”

“What I don’t get is why he needed to test your foot to find you. Didn’t he recognise you.”

“No. Thanks to FG. You know what’s she’s like. Has to prove she’s better than every other fairy godmother. I only said that I wanted to go to the ball. I didn’t say I was looking for a needy prince. But what does she do. Only turns me into the reincarnation of Helen of Troy. A job as a waitress would have done.”

“Was he not disappointed when he found you and you tried on the slipper.”

“What!”

“I mean, you know. If he was expecting Helen of Troy and he found a floor scrubber.”

“Excuse me!”

“Anyway where is he now.”

“He’s talking to Dad. About a dowry.”

“I thought the father of the bride paid the dowry. Your Dad hasn’t got two sticks.”

“I think he’s trying to get Prince NotMuchBetweenTheEars to cough something up.”

“So he’s selling you?”

“I suppose so, yeah. 

“Can’t you get FG to help out. After all she got you into this mess.”

“She’s not my bestie at the moment.”

“Listen, I do have an idea, Cinders.”

“Don’t you start calling me that as well. Why can’t anyone use my real name.”

“Some palace bigwigs are visiting me tomorrow.”

“What for?”

“They always check out potential queens to see if there are any skeletons in the cupboard. Not surprising really when you look at Prince ThickAsABrick’s record. I could enhance that story about  you and the school football team on the French exchange visit.”

“What story? Nothing happened.”

“They don’t know that though.”

“But they’ll interview the goalkeeper, the striker, that little Scottish git that played on the left wing and Mickey Jackson. Nobody’s going to believe I even snogged him.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem. No 19 year old oik is going to deny having sex with you. It would destroy any street cred they’ve got.”

“But what about me? Who’s going to want me after they think I’ve been rogered by half the town youth team.”

“Probably Mickey Johnson or that little Scottish left winger.”