'K, that worked out well', Joe announced sitting down beside Jill. She looked up from the order of service she was reading, resting on her knee. 'What worked out well?', she asked, puzzled, looking up at Joe. 'The seating; the cameras won't be zooming in back here during the service', Joe said, eyes looking around the vast space. 'And how do you know that Joe?' Jill asked him, frowning slightly. 'Hmm. Oh, 'cause Martin said so. Well, I kinda asked him not to', Joe answered, nodding his head in acknowledgment to a gentleman four rows ahead whom Jill didn't recognize.
Her eyes flicked from Joe to the unknown gentleman and back to her husband. 'Whose he?' she whispered, inclining her head in the direction of the unidentified man. 'He works the camera. He's the President of Niger', Joe whispered back, now waving and giving a thumbs up to Emmanuel Macron seated across the aisle. 'The President of Niger is working the camera! Joe, what are you talking about?' Jill asked, laughing. 'What? Oh, No baby, the man I waved to is the President of Niger. Martin is the camera operator, try to keep up hun', Joe replied with a smirk. 'Did you wave to Emmanuel, he won't be happy until you acknowledge him. Maybe give him one of those special smiles, warm him up before the meeting we have soon', Joe said with a cheeky laugh, talking a mile and minute and nodding, smiling and waving to almost everyone in a twenty seat radius. 'Also, babe, you gotta take those glasses of', he said, nudging her shoulder with his. 'Why? Don't tell me there's some sort of protocol about wearing glasses too!' Jill said, rolling her eyes. 'Nah, but this is a place of worship and you're too hot babe I can't concentrate on my prayers' Joe said. Jill guffawed loudly and then tried to cough to cover her laugh. 'Oh, God. Now they all think we have Covid again. We'll be asked to leave soon' Joe said with a snigger.
'Oh hey man', he said, standing quickly and shaking the hand of a distinguished-looking man in black leggings and coat with white stockings and a white ruff around his neck. The man looked just like he'd walked in the door from Victorian London. As Joe chatted Jill managed to look discreetly at his attire. She pondered his outfit and how a man wearing stockings and buckled shoes was no problem at a royal funeral but when she wore lace tights stepping off a plane to spend the weekend in private with her husband the whole world seemed to weigh in with their own opinions. She sighed and put it to the back of her mind. As long as she and Joe were happy, what should she really care what others thought.
Joe chatted to the man for a few minutes before Joe took his seat beside her again. 'Man?', she queried. 'Who was he?' 'Blackrod' Joe said, leaning close to her ear as if it was completely normal that a person would be called Blackrod. But then again there were so many people dressed in shoes with buckles, knee-socks, voluminous gowns, every sort of uniform and headwear and weighted down with service medals and chivalric orders 'Blackrod' was probably a pretty tame title she decided. He waved again to somebody numerous rows ahead. Scanning the congregation all around her Jill just laughed, Joe really did know every world leader, and everyone else too it seemed and they all in turn wanted to catch his eye.
She smiled a smug little smile. They can all want him; his time, his opinion, his help, support she thought, but I'm the only one who can have him. The only one he wants. He looked down at her fondly as she gently squeezed his knee. 'I might go to hell for this but it's worth it', he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. As he put his hand on hers, still resting on his knee the deep boom of muffled drums and the lonesome wail of bagpipes drifted in from outside, indicating that the procession carrying the Queen's body to the abbey church was underway. The thirty minute countdown had begun.
'Joe', Jill nudged him in the ribs. 'Hmmm', he said, trying to read the inscriptions on the stone tablets adorning the walls of Poet's Corner nearby. 'A little someone is waving at you', she said, nodding towards the front of the congregation. Joe's face lit up and he waved back. 'Hi Joe', called a small voice approaching, holding the hand of his mother. 'Mr. President, I'm sorry to intrude but Stephen insisted on saying hello to you in person. You made quite the impression last evening. Thank you again for looking after my son,' the Princess said as Joe stood politely. The young boy reached out and tugged Joe's trousers, Joe smiled brightly, he knelt down on one knee and made to shake the young man's hand. The young prince had other ideas and he reached up and wrapped his short arms as far around Joe's neck as he could. 'I love you Joe', he declared, 'you're my friend', to the oohs and awws of the nearby congregation. 'Aww thanks, little man, you're my friend too', he promised, looking up as the music changed and took on a more somber note. 'I think you've probably got to take your seat now buddy', Joe said, beginning to stand, reaching out to shake the hand of the Princess. 'I want to sit with you', the boy declared, looking up into the clear blue eyes of the President. 'The drums scare me', he declared. 'I got frightened outside and I started to cry and Mama said I had to come in here but I said I wanted to see you because you made me feel safe last night when the guns woke me up and I was scared', said the little boy, his voice shaking, tears spilling from his eyes as he rubbed his little fists against his cheeks.
