94. Trophies

While Michael was still wondering about the missing leprechaun, Alpin, Gregoria and I were returning home from the Fayolympics. We were flying back in an Aer Utopia spaceship, courtesy of one of the many boyfriends, both human and fay, Gregoria had made during our London trip.

“Hail, the conquering hero comes! Tra la la la la la la!” Alpin and Gregoria sang happily as we flew.

“I knew that eating more than anyone else had to be a fayolympic sport, “ said Alpin, after they had finished singing. “If I hadn’t put pressure on the judges so they would add new sports to the boring fayolympic list, I’d now be returning home emptyhanded. But I return with seven medals, all gold. For the biggest eater, for the crashingest bore, for a whole bunch of things that deserved to be considered sports and now are.”

“I, too, have reason to be proud,” said Gregoria. “I return with a gold medal for fencing, but I’m bringing back something far more important to my sweet France.”

She had deprived several British royal guards of their bearskin caps. And she was proud to have done that because, she told us, the British were not the first to wear them. Originally they had been worn by French soldiers, but the English grenadiers had stolen the caps from the French soldiers they defeated at Waterloo and brought them home as trophies. And then wearing them became a British tradition. And now she, she said proudly, had won them back.

“I don’t know why you think you’re French,” said Alpin rudely. “You’re from the bottom of my cousin Finbar’s top hat.”

“One is where one feels from,” I said.

“Ah, that is so. But Alpin doesn’t know how I got into that hat or what I was before I came out of it.”

It surprised me to hear that Gregoria had a past, but I decided not to say so.There was nothing really strange about her having a past if you thought about it. Boring or exciting, we all do.

                     

“You might have won a medal too, Arley,” said Alpin, “if you hadn’t wasted your time visiting silly famous houses.You’re not a good friend. You could be a little happy for us, but look at the poor loser face you are wearing. If I had seen it in time, I would have been a good friend and bugged the judges into giving you a medal for pulling long faces. The longest ever.”

“I know I don’t look it,” I said, “but I’m really very happy for both of you. It’s just that I have to tell some people things I would rather not and I’m not sure how to do it. And that is what’s eating me.”

“If you have something dreadful to say, it is best to say it loud and clear, without hesitating. And the sooner the better, n’est-ce pas?”

I thanked Gregoria for her advice, but weeks later, I was still unable to take it.

                   

“If you are going to keep on being depressed, Arley,” said Alpin, “I will want to have nothing to do with you. You are no longer fun. And hence of no use to me.”

He was about to leave me sitting on the branch of a tree at the edge of Minced Forest, worrying about what I had to do, when the Leafy Vinny intervened.

“Alpin has put it rather crudely, but he’s right. People will avoid you if you remain depressed. What is eating you?”

After I told him I had to tell my parents something they wouldn’t want to hear and I wasn’t sure I wanted to say because it could change my life for the worse and my mum was sure to suffer a shock or throw a fit, Vinny said, “If you are going to give your mum a shock, why not do it this Halloween? Halloween is right around the corner. And on that day people are psychologically prepared to be frightened, aren’t they?”

              

 “I think this is another kind of shock.,” I said doubtfully.

“Do it at Michael Toora’s Halloween party,” insisted Vinny. “Traumatic things always happen there and they never have any consequences afterwards. Besides, if you tell your mum something awful in front of a lot of people, she won’t throw a fit. She’ll have to keep a stiff upper lip and pretend nothing much has happened.”

This seemed to make sense.