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CONTENTS Author’s Note Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Epilogue About Andie About Anna This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Copyright (c) 2022 by Andie M. Long and Anna Bloom All rights reserved. Cover by Tammy Clarke. Images from Deposit Photos. In memory of Her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor 21 April 1926 - 8 September 2022 Thank you for your seventy years of service. AUTHOR’S NOTE Sometimes the muse comes, and you have to go with it. Both of us were touched by how much emotion and compassion we saw over the official mourning for the Queen, and this is our very small way of paying tribute to a woman who we adored. With special thanks to Sarah Dale who stood in the real queue for over twelve hours, for her help with our research questions. Happy reading! Andie & Anna xo Queenie It’s kind of the irony of my life that I’m running across London, last minute, trying to get somewhere I never thought I’d want to go. ‘You’re always in a tizz’, Mum would have said. Sure. Right now, she would have been right. This is insane. I can’t stop walking to think about the utter ridiculousness of what I’m going to do. If I stopped, I’d think about all the other places I need to be, should be. Just like that, my conscience would prickle and stab me in the eye with remorse, and I’d turn around and leave. I have to remind myself that this is for Charlie and me. I’m doing it for the both of us. If I can just focus on that then the guilt won’t make me change my mind. Reece had looked at me like I had two heads when in the middle of us getting home from our evening out, I’d knocked his hand off my bum, told him my (ever so slightly crazy) plan, grabbed my coat, and headed for the door. Then he’d looked at me, commented on my impractical shoes, shook his head, and said, “See, Queenie, this is the point I’m trying to make. You’re never focused on me; you’re always doing things for someone else.” Stabby intentions towards my boyfriend aside, he probably has a point. In my defence, there are only twenty-four hours in a day and as it is hygiene always comes way down my list. Maybe if Reece actually– “Gah.” I don’t mean to speak out loud, aware of the fact I’m in a wild, drifting sea of people, all of us heading in the same direction and about to land on an island of unexpectedness. I don’t want to think about Reece and the uncomfortable feelings that arise every time I think about my boyfriend. Our relationship needs a plaster, smoothing over, but if I were to peer into that gloomy uncomfortable sensation, I’d have to acknowledge that the plaster wouldn’t be an Elastoplast, but more an industrial mixer full of cement. Running off on a whim to join a thousand people in London probably isn’t the right approach to healing. Damn Mum and Dad. My feet slow when my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s not going to be Reece; he’ll be sulking for at least forty-eight hours. As it might be Charlie, I hurry to check the screen. “Babes,” I answer. I’m a bit breathless and I try to control it. Not easy. I need to do more cardio, but then for that I’d have to create another thirty minutes in the day. Tick tock, no chance of that. There’s a long breath of a pause. “Queenie?” “Charlie, babes. Now don’t worry, but I’m going to be a little late.” I grimace because I’m telling an outright lie. I missed seeing him tonight because I had to attend Reece’s work do. Lying doesn’t sit well with me, but a little extension of the truth, I’ve learned, sometimes makes things easier. Calls from Charlie in the middle of the night are my norm. Another thing that I juggle alongside everything else. “Queenie, Queenie, Queenie.” My fingers grip the phone a little tighter. “I promise I’ll be there, okay? No matter what time.” I hesitate and then take a breath before speaking. A lump lodges in my throat, feeling rather like last week when I accidentally swallowed a Malteser without chewing and thought my number was up. It was only when Charlie’s face flashed before my eyes that I somehow managed to get the damn thing to move down my throat. “I was thinking about Mum and Dad, Charlie. I think they’d want me to do this.” “Queeeeenniie.” “I know. I know.” I’m not entirely sure what conversation we are having, or if he even understands what I’m saying. It’s hard when we aren’t face-to-face. “I’ll see you later, okay? Get some rest.” He doesn’t answer, so I reluctantly end the call. I’ve learned there isn’t much point in listening to dead air. Before, I would have sat there and listened to my brother breathe, but time doesn’t stretch that far these days. If someone asked me on the 7th of August three years ago if I’d be heading towards