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munsonsfairygarden · 5 months

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Reaching Nirvana - [E.M x Fem! Mexican! Reader]

notes: reader's heavily based on Kurt Cobain bc canonically Kurt could be a year younger than Eddie and reader's age (if that makes sense). she/her pronouns, fem! reader, use of Spanish. reader's mom is a badass, a cute cat named Limón is hanging around the house. there's a lot of background info so that's why i'm offering a part two, or three, or four :]

warnings: mentions of marijuana, self-harm scars, dysfunctional family, abusive past, shitty father alert, anxiety and depression are discussed, homophobia, as well as internalized homophobia, mental health talk, coping with humor, a bit of body image issues, lmk what else i missed!!

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my eddie masterlist <3

For a young, angsty kid like yourself, music was your emotional outlet. Growing up in the small home of a dysfunctional and crumbling marriage, chaos reigned in your household. Your parents fought almost constantly and over everything, even the smallest issues would be the fuel to the fire of some of the most intense scream matches they would have before their eventual divorce on your 12th birthday.

Understandably so, you were mad. You hid in your room for days, bands like Scorpions, Led Zeppelin, and Deep Purple blasting into your ears through your walkman to drown out the ongoing commotion both in the real world and in your head, accompanied by the sound of your guitar playing mindless riffs. The only times you would come out of your room was to go to the bathroom or fill up a glass of water until you were practically forced out of your bedroom and your house as the divorce was finalized.

Your father wanted nothing to do with you after you moved from Aberdeen, Washington to Hawkins, Indiana, and frankly, you wanted nothing to do with him either. He had been a monster both to you and your mother, who you loved and adored with every fiber in you. She always put you as her top priority, even when money was scarce, she made sure that there was some left to suit your needs. Whenever your dad’s anger issues would get the best of him, she used her body as a human shield because she much rather have a permanent scar or a black eye than see her little girl with a handprint mark on her body.

You missed Aberdeen, a lot, but you hated the idea of going back to the place where your biggest terrors inhabited. Changing schools was possibly both the worst and the best thing to come out of the change of scenery. The bullying you faced never went away, you would be picked on because you hung out with the queer kids, which, to them, made you queer as well, and that was frowned upon. You could care less, the people you hung out with were the only ray of sunshine in your gloomy and dark life.

Satanic panic rose during your time in Hawkins High, and ultimately the harassment got worse, to the point it started to get to you and your friend group. The insults escalated from mindless teasing and making fun of, to slur-calling and physical violence, usually by the jocks and cheerleaders. By that time you had also discovered that you were attracted to both men and women, but God forbid that information made it outside of your social circle.

By the time you were in junior year, you had to repeat the grade because the overwhelming amount of anxiety you were experiencing made it difficult to concentrate on your work and pay attention to the teacher’s lessons. It got so bad that it was almost impossible to get out of bed, so your daily routine and have a steady social life. To the public eye, you were a reserved person who often wore baggy, long-sleeved shirts, even during summer, but behind the scenes, you were struggling, in a constant war with your mind, taking it out on your body instead of properly coping.

Luckily for you, your mother was more than supportive of your academic achievements, even if it meant repeating a year and not knowing about the state of your mental health. She was the only form of comfort you found in a world where everything seemed to move at a frighteningly fast pace while you played in slow motion. Your friends were also a huge source of your mild happiness, they made you laugh and feel accompanied outside of your household.

And when you least expected it, someone else had stepped into your life to make it a little less miserable.

Eddie Munson, a town freak. He was someone you only knew from afar, with his loud, extroverted and dramatic personality, he was very hard to miss. You used to pay no mind to his antics, but also never actually believed the rumors. From outcast to outcast, you knew what it felt like to be constantly targeted by those more privileged, to be pushed away from everyone else because you don't follow the status quo. The main difference was that he was vocal about it, while you were nonchalant about it.

So when your paths crossed during your senior year (this being Eddie’s 3rd year) at a World History class, there was an instant spark. Your study sessions turned into weekly hangouts in which you would spend the day getting high and talking about anything and everything. Ultimately, this friendship morphed into something else, neither of you could quite pinpoint what it was, but it was a feeling beyond platonically infatuated with one another. Though neither of you would admit to it.

This scared the living shit out of you, but you managed, somehow. You were still the very reserved girl he met a few months ago, he admired how unbothered you were by the real world, he loved that your taste in music and your reasoning for loving certain genres was the same as his. Eddie had finally found someone he deemed perfect. He wasn't the most emotionally open person either, yet he found himself crawling to you for support, and you'd hold him until he calmed down and was sober enough to guide him through his obstacles.

You were more closed off, you hated being seen as vulnerable. When you cried, you'd do it alone in your room with the door locked, away from everyone. It didn't mean that Eddie was untrustworthy, quite the contrary, it was you that wasn't worthy of trust. This was a well-known fact about you amongst your friend group, and they never pushed you to say anything, and neither did Eddie, he figured you weren't ready to talk about it and had to have some time to yourself. You eventually did though, only covering the surface of some of your troubles, but Eddie was grateful that you trusted him enough to let him into your life.

Hanging out at Eddie’s place was a reoccurring habit. You usually brought your guitar with you, and you would share a joint while strumming your respective instruments and chatting.

This time was a little different, for the first time, Eddie had ever stepped foot into your home. There was no particular reason as to why you had never had him over, it just wasn't a top priority.

So the sight of him sitting across from you on your bed with your cat, Limón, on his lap while you drew them in your notebook was new. Your mom would be home anytime soon, you knew she would be more than delighted to meet him, having talked about him maybe a little more than what some would deem as normal.

“I think she likes you,” you comment, Limón purring while Eddie scratches her behind her ear, her little head resting on his thigh.

He looks up at you, “She's adorable,” he shrugs, “Might as well take her home with me,”

This makes you giggle, finally finishing the drawing, signing it before closing the notebook, placing it on your nightstand before grabbing your guitar, and laying it across your lap as you start to tune it.

“Have you written anything new lately?” Eddie asks, and you give him the so-so-hand gesture as a response.

“Not anything I actually like,” you say, “I did learn the solo you wanted me to learn though,”

Eddie's eyes lit up at your revelation, he had begged you for months to at least try to listen to Iron Maiden. You did and wound up really enjoying their music, especially their incredibly amazingly crafted guitar riffs and solos. He got into your head about learning The Trooper's solo so both of you could jam together as if you were huge stars on stage.

“Told you you'd like ‘em!” you roll your eyes playfully, laughing at his antics.

“I do have a soft spot for Bruce Dickinson,” you say, shrugging, “I’d play it for you, but Limón hates the electric guitar with a passion. She prefers the acoustics,”

Eddie looks down at the cat in his lap, her big green eyes looking back up at him as she had rolled onto her back.

“It's physically impossible to be even the slightest bit upset with Limón, so I'll let it slide,” he gives the fluffy one a scratch on the head before looking back up at you. You found it cute how he pronounced her name

“I think my mom corrupted her into liking Mecano and Emmanuel. Not that it's not good music, but I didn't raise her like this,” you comment, making Eddie laugh.

“You should get me into some of those bands you like. I may have failed Spanish a few times but I could manage, right?” he suggests, and as insignificant as that may sound, it makes your heart flutter.

“Sure, I have a few bands you may like and other artists that I will force you to like.” you finish up tuning your guitar and leaving to the side before reaching for a few cassette tapes you had laying around.

“So,” you start, laying them all on the bed for him to scan over, “We have Soda Stereo’s self-titled album, it came out two years ago. Trátame Suavemente and Sobredosis de T.V are my personal favorites,” you hand him the tape, “Oh! This is La Cagaste…Burt Lancaster by Hombres G. Personal favorites… there's Indiana, El Ataque de las Chicas Cocodrilo, and Te Quiero,”

Eddie watches as your features soften at the mention of the last song as you hand him the tape. Truth be told, you hated yourself for listening to sappy songs while thinking about the man across from you, no matter how hard you tried to get rid of the image, he always managed to take over your thoughts.

You ignore your increasing heartbeat and continue rummaging through the pile of tapes in search of the more 'mom’ music you had.

“Now, these are less rock n roll and more Regional Mexicano with a hint of pop,” you explain, handing him Juan Gabriel’s 1983 release titled Todos, “It's definitely not in your realm of genres, but as I said, I’ll make sure these legends grow on you.”

“I’ll also need some Spanish lessons, don't you think?” he inquires, tilting his head to the side with a goofy grin.

“As long as you promise to be consistent with them,” you say.

He holds up three fingers, “Scouts honor,”

“Alright then, moving on. We have Emmanuel’s En la Soledad, it came out like three years ago but my mom adored it so much that I pretty much have every song memorized by now.”

“I’m aware that this may not be my business, but has it always been just you and your mom?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

Figuring you'd have to open up at some point, you take a deep breath before starting to speak.

“Not really, no. We used to live in Aberdeen back in Washington with my dad as I told you. I don't want to get into too much detail about him but all you have to know is that he was a spawn from hell. Once my parents divorced, my mom and I moved here.” you feel yourself starting to become vulnerable, almost fragile, tears starting to blur your line of vision as you look down at the tape you were holding.

Now that hit close to home for Eddie, and his heart broke into a million pieces when he noticed a single tear run down your cheek that you quickly wiped away.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“It's okay, don't worry about it,” you sniff, still avoiding eye contact, “I think it was about time I let you get a glimpse of my life, it's not the prettiest but it's better than nothing,”

“Do you ever miss your Aberdeen?”

You nod, “It was only a part of Grays Harbor County. My mom used to take me to the Olympic National Park every summer, it's beautiful over there. I wish I could go there without the constant reminder that he exists. I wouldn't be surprised if he had another family by now,”

“Thank you for telling me, I’m sure that wasn't easy to talk about,”

You look up, still teary-eyed, and give him a weak smile, handing him the tape.

“Thank you for listening, I'm sorry for crying, I know it's stupid,”

Eddie shakes his head, reaching his hand out to hold yours, “It's not stupid, ‘kay?”

Figuring it'd be best to change the topic of conversation, you wipe the tears away with the sleeve of your green flannel before speaking.

“Wanna go down for dinner? I’m sure there's something we can eat,” you suggest, getting up from your bed to stretch your aching limbs.

“Sure, we do have a little issue though starting with an L,” he points at the curled-up cat on his lap, you chuckle and reach over to pick Limón up. She protested at this, of course.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. You'll get to hang out with Eddie later,” you coo to the cat, letting her down on the floor.

“Mamoncita, mija, eh?” you mutter under your breath as Eddie follows your lead and gets up from his sitting place on your bed.

You and Eddie make your way down to the kitchen with Limón right at your feet. On the dinner table was your mom, working away on a few papers you presumed to be from her job.

She looks up, and Eddie immediately notes the uncanny similarities between the two of you. He felt a little awkward since he wasn't properly introduced to her and vice versa.

“Hola, Ma. ¿Todo bien?” you ask, pulling up a chair next to her with your best friend right behind you, hands on the back of the chair like a bodyguard.

“Si, mi amor. No te preocupes,” she assures, leaving the pen to the side as well as the papers.

“Oh, this is Eddie, by the way,” you say, motioning to the man behind you. He gives her a kind smile and nods in response.

“Lovely to meet you, Eddie. I’m Victoria, Y/N's mom,” she says and gives you a knowing look.

You internally panic for a second and shift uncomfortably in your spot.

“You kids hungry? I brought the empanadas your Tía Ivette sent,” she stands up, and you jovially follow, practically dragging Eddie to the kitchen.

“Hell yeah!” you cheer, and turn to look at the metalhead, “Have you ever tried empanadas?”

He shakes his head, “No, not really.”

She takes out the empanadas from a bag, wrapped in tinfoil to preserve their heat, and hands one to you, “Want one? If you don't like it it's fine but you'll really hurt my feelings,”

This makes both your mom and Eddie chuckle at your antics.

“Sure, don't knock it till you try it, right?”

He takes the baked turnover and takes a bite out of it, the flavors of the sweet corn kernels beautifully mixing with the spiciness of green rajas invading his mouth and melting his taste buds in the best way possible.

You giggle at his delightful expression, “Good?”

“So good, this is amazing!”

You take an empanada for your consumption and enjoy the taste of it. The treat was somewhat nostalgic, having been part of some of the less horrible bits of your life.

The room is flooded with a comfortable silence as you all eat, you lean against the counter, laying your head on your mom’s shoulder despite the height difference between the two of you.

Those damn genes from that father of yours.

“Linda, ¿puedes ir a darle comida a Limón?” Victoria asks, and you nod, finishing your empanada and then washing your hands in the sink.

“I'll be right back, okay? Gotta make sure the fuzzball is being fed,” you give Eddie a friendly pat on the back before walking away to the laundry room where you kept the cat food (the bag wouldn't fit anywhere else.)

Victoria turns to look at Eddie, who's wiping his hands on a napkin. She knows what's going on, she's seen it all before. She noticed the way your eyes shine every time you talked about him, how you'd go out of your way to make little things for him, like bringing him lunch, sharing your work with him (which you rarely showed to anyone), even noticing how one of your most adored rings sat on his pinky finger.

“She likes you, you know?” she suddenly reveals, much to Eddie’s surprise.

“I- What?”

“She likes you. It's not every day she comes home to talk to me about someone for hours on end, not even about the friend group she hangs around with.”

“She talks about me?”

“Mhm,” Victoria hums, “She may be a little bashful at times, never gives herself enough credit for her accomplishments, and sometimes, she can get a little aggressive, but I'll tell you what; when she cares about someone, she really cares. She doesn't give away her precious rings that easily, and you're going to have to forgive me for this, but I overheard her open up to you about her dad. Eddie, honey, you gotta believe me when I tell you that my little girl likes you,”

Eddie stays silent, processing your mom’s speech. He liked you, a lot. Even the guys at Hellfire had started to notice his change in attitude, suddenly more attentive, yet distracted at the same time. They'd often find him staring in the direction of a secluded table, especially, a girl that often wore long sleeves, always had her nails painted black, and was usually listening to music on her walkman.

He looks down at the ring you had gifted him some random Saturday dawn while you two were hanging out and getting high together at his trailer.

“I really wish she saw herself as I do,” he admits with a soft sigh, “She's really incredible, and she's made me feel better about frosting senior year for the third time. I used to think I was such a loser for that, but now I see that it's just a matter of effort and dedication.”

“Third time’s the charm, right?” Victoria replies, nudging his side, “If Y/N survived her second attempt at junior year, I'm sure you'll graduate with her this May,”

Eddie looks over at your mom, confused. You had repeated a year?

“Y/N repeated a year? But she's so smart and she's a bit of a know-it-all sometimes,”

Victoria sighs, grabbing a glass from the cupboard, “It's not my place to tell you the full story, but Y/N deals with a lot of personal issues, and when it becomes unbearable, she goes on autopilot. Not necessarily beneficial, but it does get in the way of her day-to-day activities,”

Handing Eddie the glass of cold water, he takes a sip of it, the engine turning in his head, lost in thought for a moment.

“Y/N talks about you a lot, ma’am,” he says, and Victoria puts a hand to her heart, touched by his revelation “Just minutes ago she was showing me these artists she says you really enjoy, I believe one of their names was Emmanuel?”

Victoria chortles, “I had to expand her music taste somehow. She's always loved those metal bands of hers, gotta make sure she remembers where she comes from,”

Unaware of the conversation that was happening previous to your arrival, you walk into the kitchen with Limón right next to you. You had switched from your flannel to one of Eddie’s old sweatshirts that he had so gracefully gifted you, so naturally, his brain short-circuits for a moment.

“She's happy and fed, I don't expect her to act up tonight,” you announce

“She better not, I want to sleep tonight,” the cat raises its hind legs to Victoria’s legs, stretching, “Eddie here was just telling me that you're educating him on the good music,”

“Forcing him mostly,” you shrug, giving Eddie a small grin that he returns, “Next thing you know we’ll have Eduardo, el divo de Hawkins running around town,”

Your mom bursts into laughter, followed by you who also brayed with laughter. Eddie watched amused as you tossed your head back, wrapping your arms around your middle at a joke he half-understood and could only chuckle at. He had never heard you laugh like that, but it had now become his favorite sound in the world.

“Ay, Y/N. Tú y tus barbaridades,” Victoria shakes her head, smiling.

“I’m inexorable,” you claim, taking your spot between your mom and your best friend.

With a yawn, your mom leans over to kiss you on the forehead, “I'm gonna go to bed, I have to run to the office early tomorrow morning,” she says, moving onto Eddie and ruffling his hair, “You're welcome to stay if you'd like, the house is always open. Good night you two,”

“Buenas noches, ma,”

“Good night, ma’am. Thank you!”

Victoria walks away, going to pick up her papers before venturing upstairs, leaving you and Eddie alone in the dim kitchen light. You lean against his side, his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulder, resting his head on top of yours.

This was a relatively new feeling for you, having mostly been uncomfortable with touch. Not with Eddie though, he felt warm and safe, like home.

—————————————————————

The next day, you awoke in your best friend's arms underneath your fluffy blankets. He was dressed in a pair of sweatpants you had bought that were too big but fit Eddie’s frame perfectly, as well as one of your oversized band t-shirts. You were still in the sweatshirt you had changed into last night, and loose flannel pants.

Your legs were tangled together, his face was buried into your neck, his breath fanning over your skin as he breathed in and out. His untamed mane of curls sprawled out on the pillow beneath him, mixing with your own messy hair. With your back pressed to his chest, and his arms wrapped around your waist, you had to admit that you had slept way better with him by your side than you had in years. Your insomnia hadn't made an appearance either, it felt like inhaling a breath of fresh air.

Should your happiness rely solely on a man? No. But you were willing to work towards your own satisfaction.

Attempting to free yourself from Eddie’s grasp, he groans and pulls you back in, nuzzling his nose further into the nape of your neck, placing a faint kiss on the skin, so faint that you wondered if it even happened or it was just made up by your imagination.

“Eds, c'mon,” you plead, he almost whines in protest, not wanting to open his eyes just yet.

“I’ll make you those chocolate chip pancakes

you really like for breakfast if you let me go,”

Now that sounds promising. He obliges and lets go, allowing you to climb out of bed. Eddie rolls over, throwing the covers over his head as you open the blinds, letting the sunlight illuminate the room with its mellow heat. You let him sleep in and head downstairs, making sure to be as quiet as possible to not wake the sleeping man upstairs.

You're met by the presence of Limón propped up on the couch, looking through the window. You give her a scratch on the head and a little kiss before reaching the kitchen. Searching through the pantry, you find the pancake mix and gather the necessary ingredients for your breakfast meal. Your mom had left a sticky note on the refrigerator door, written on it was at what time she'd come back home from work signed with a small heart.

Time flew by as you prepared the pancakes, and as you were flipping the last flapjack onto a plate, you heard soft footsteps approaching your direction.

“Good morning,” Eddie greets you in his low, raspy morning voice.

“About time you woke up,” you joke, turning off the stove. You take his plate, already complete with cut-up fruit, syrup, and cutlery.

“Thank you, this looks delicious,” Eddie sets his food on the kitchen island, propping himself up on one of the stools as he digs into his meal.

You pour him a glass of orange juice that he gratefully accepts as you accommodate yourself across from him.

It was rare for Eddie to have a bite to eat in the morning, never mind a complete meal. Partly because he woke up at around 1-3 pm instead of 10:30 a.m, especially on a Saturday morning, but also because food tended to be short most of the time, often having to order takeout for both he and Wayne.

“Enjoying yourself?” you tease, seeing as Eddie had already finished his food. With his cheeks full, he resembled a chipmunk, which made you giggle.

He manages to chew and swallow his remaining bites before speaking, “You make some really fucking good breakfast,”

“I’m flattered. Thank you, kind sir,” you say courteously, popping a piece of strawberry into your mouth.

“You're really pretty, you know that?” Eddie suddenly blurts out, something you were clearly unprepared for.

“You think I’m pretty?” you ask, looking for some form of sign that he was messing around with you. But you find none, only finding sincerity and kindness in his eyes.

“I-I do. In fact, I know so,” he says confidently, fiddling with the fork in his hand.

“Barcode arms, stretch marks, and messy past included?” you question, and he nods.

“I think stretch marks are pretty hot,” he comments with a smirk, making you feel flustered.

“Oh stop it,” you drop your table fork to cover your face with your hands. Eddie chuckles and reaches over to take your hands in his, forcing you to look at him.

“I’m serious. You're the most wonderful, gorgeous, and amazing woman I know. I’ve liked you ever since I met you, Y/N. With your Black Sabbath shirt, those cool chains you wear at times, your rings, your books, and your interests that differ from mine, I adore it all. You're such an incredible person and I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

“I kinda like you too, and you're not so bad yourself,” you admit, watching as Eddie’s face lit up at your confession.

“Let me take you out on a date. Just me and you, we can do whatever you want,” he brings your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“Can I drag you to the bookstore and recommend some of my cheesy reads?”

“Whatever you'd like, it's on me,” he assures, placing another kiss on your knuckles.

“It's a date then,” you conclude, letting go of his hands with a final squeeze so you could get back to your pancakes.

As you dig back into your food, you realize something.

“Did my mom give you a pep talk?” you say unexpectedly, and Eddie looks at you with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah…” he replies, scratching the back of his neck.

“She's convincing, isn't she?” you ask, he nods in response, “Gave me that same talk because I started acting like a normal human being,”

“You are a normal human being,”

“You know what I mean,” you shrug, finishing up the last few bites of your food.

As you start to collect the dirty plates, Eddie stops you and takes the dishes into his hands, assuring you that he got the dishwashing covered. You observed Eddie as he worked away at the sink, bowing strands of his hair out of his face with his mouth. Rolling up your sleeve, you find your handy-dandy hair tie and make your way behind Eddie, gathering up his messy set of curls into a low ponytail. He looks over his shoulder and smiles before going back to his duty while you back away into your previous place.

Once he's done, he dries his hands with the hand towel and approaches you. Holy shit did he look good in a ponytail. You smile as he leans over to kiss your forehead, resting it against his own, singing contently.

You're cornered into the kitchen island, but you didn't care, you're with him and that's all that matters.

“How ‘bout we get to that date we talked about, hm? So you can get all nice and pretty how you like”, he suggests, tenderly tucking your hair behind your ears.

You nod, feeling completely weak in the knees at his acts of affection. You weren't the biggest fan of physical touch, but with Eddie, it was different. His calloused fingers, a product of many years of guitar playing, felt smooth and gentle against your skin, and his strong arms provided protection from the outside world.

Being with Eddie was like reaching Nirvana.

Buddhists believe that this is the place where suffering ends and peace begins. Nirvana in Sanskrit means "the blowing out." It is understood as the extinguishment of the flame of personal desire, the quenching of the fire of life.

Eddie’s presence made you forget about all your worries, all those anxieties and reminders of your past permanently tattooed on your body. On those days when energy lacked and torment reigned in your mind, he was there to hold you without question.

He was your safe space, one your mom would grow to adore even more as your relationship progressed throughout the following months. To say she was happy to see her only child, her daughter, and her world finally find peace with someone who loved and adored her all the same, flaws included, would be an understatement.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x latina reader #eddie munson stranger things #anna speaks #joseph quinn stranger things #eddie munson x mexican! reader #eddie munson x hispanic!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst

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grandmaster-anne · 4 months

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Gyles Brandreth's Exclusive Extract Part 1

The Mail Plus | Published 25 November 2022

SATURDAY and Sunday, September 3 and 4. It is the weekend before the Queen’s death. The Right Reverend Dr Iain Greenshields — who is staying with her at Balmoral — finds her ‘in fantastic form’.

He has dinner with her on Saturday evening, gives the sermon at Braemar and Crathie Parish Church on Sunday morning, then has lunch with her on Sunday afternoon. They talk about the Queen’s childhood, her horses, church affairs (she is ‘well up to speed’) and her sadness at what is happening in Ukraine.

This is quite typical. The Queen is good at living in the present but often draws on her memories of the past, grateful for the lessons it has taught her.

‘She was so alive and so engaging,’ recalled Dr Greenshields later.

Tuesday, September 6. Clive Cox, one of Her Majesty’s favourite racehorse trainers, gets a call from the Queen at 10 am. She wants to chat to him about the prospects for her two-year-old, Love Affairs, who is running in the two o’clock at Goodwood.

‘We talked about the filly,’ he said, ‘how the race might pan out, how another horse of hers was doing in my stable, and about a couple of other things. She was sharp as a tack.’

It is a busy day. Not only does the Queen present her outgoing Communications Secretary with an honour, but she also spends time with her fourteenth and fifteenth prime ministers.

Boris Johnson said: ‘She could not have been kinder, more sympathetic or personally encouraging.’ Moreover, she was full of ‘characteristic humour and wisdom’.

Wednesday September 7. Every newspaper is carrying pictures of the Queen at Balmoral yesterday. She appears old, yes — she is 96 — and frail. There is a dark bruise mark on the back of her right hand but she looks alert and very much alive.

She is smiling, looking over the tops of her spectacles at the camera. There is a definite, mischievous twinkle in her eye.

For other royals, today is business as usual. Prince Charles spends the day doing good works in Lanarkshire. Tonight, he is hosting a dinner at Dumfries House in Ayrshire.

Edward and Sophie, the Earl and Countess of Wessex, are at events across Lancashire. Princess Anne is visiting the Isle of Skye and the Isle of Ramsay.

By late afternoon, however, rumour is rife. I have a call from my son-in-law (a former Coldstream Guards officer) to say that he is at the Cavalry and Guards Club in Piccadilly, where groups are gathering to discuss the detail of Operation London Bridge — the codename for the action-plan that comes into being the moment the sovereign dies. What has happened? Has she had a fall? Has she had a stroke?

Thursday September 8. Rumour had swirled all morning. At 12:32 p.m. Buckingham Palace issued a statement saying the Queen’s doctors were concerned for her health and, though she was ‘comfortable’, recommended she remain under medical supervision while family members were informed. The Queen’s helicopter left Windsor Castle at 6:48 a.m. to collect Prince Charles from Dumfries House where he had spent the night. He reached Balmoral at 10:27 a.m. Camilla had spent the night at Birkhall on the Balmoral Estate and was driven by car to join him.

Charles leaving Dumfries house to rush to the Queen's bedside

The Princess Royal was already there — at her mother’s side to the end. Andrew and Edward, the Queen’s younger sons, and Sophie, Edward’s wife, and Prince William and Prince Harry were reported to be on their way.

There was confusion about whether or not Harry’s wife, Meghan, would go up to Scotland with him. When it became clear that Catherine was not going because she would be collecting her children from school, it emerged that Meghan was not going, either.

Andrew, Edward and Sophie, and Prince William arrived at Aberdeen airport in an RAF executive jet at 3:50 p.m. and William drove the four of them to Balmoral, 45 miles away. They arrived at 5:06 p.m. Queen Eli

The formal announcement of her death came from Buckingham Palace at 6:30 p.m. while Prince Harry was still in the air. His flight from Luton airport to Aberdeen was delayed. He was the last of the family to arrive at Balmoral, and the first to leave. Travelling to a BBC studio in London in the early evening, I saw a double rainbow in the sky above Buckingham Palace.

And I found out from a friend in the racing world that the Queen’s horse, Love Affairs, comfortably won the two o’clock at Goodwood on Tuesday: ‘led field centre, made all, ridden and stayed on gamely final furlong, unchallenged’.

The truth is that Her Majesty always knew that her remaining time was limited. She accepted this with all the grace you’d expect.

‘Her faith was everything to her. She told me she had no regrets,’ said Dr Greenshields, referring to the last weekend he spent with her at Balmoral.

I had heard that the Queen had a form of myeloma — bone marrow cancer — which would explain her tiredness and weight loss and those ‘mobility issues’ we were often told about during the last year or so of her life. The most common symptom of myeloma is bone pain, especially in the pelvis and lower back, and multiple myeloma is a disease that often affects the elderly.

Currently, there is no known cure, but treatment — including medicines to help regulate the immune system and drugs that help prevent the weakening of the bones — can reduce the severity of its symptoms and extend the patient’s survival by months or two to three years.

Was the Queen given steroids to help get her through that important final day of duty two weeks ago? Was that bruise on the back of her hand that we saw in the photographs of her with Liz Truss the mark left by an intravenous cannula? Or was it simply the kind of accidental bruise that comes with old age?

All I do know is that ‘cause of death’ on her death certificate will be given simply as ‘old age’ — just as it was for the Duke of Edinburgh last year.

‘Old age’ is a quite commonly listed cause of death when a patient is over 80 and their doctor has cared for them over time and seen their gradual decline.

(When the Queen’s death was registered on 16 September my prediction proved accurate. The death was certified by Dr Douglas James Allan Glass, a local GP and official apothecary to the Queen who had been looking after her in Scotland for more than 30 years and who was with her when she died. Dr Glass said: ‘We have been concerned about the Queen’s health for several months. It was expected and we were quite aware of what was going to happen.’)

When Prince Philip retired in 2019, the Queen very deliberately left him to it. She carried on with her royal duties at Buckingham Palace or at Windsor Castle while he lived out his days at Wood Farm on the Sandringham Estate.

They would speak regularly on the phone, but weeks could go by without them seeing one another. That shocked some people, though not those who appreciated how well the Queen understood her husband — understood his wish to be left to his own devices, ‘not to be fussed over’, to be allowed, after more than 70 years of duty, to see out his days in his own way.

When the Covid-19 pandemic swept the world in 2020, however, Prince Philip decided to spend ‘lockdown’ with the Queen, and a small retinue of staff, at Windsor Castle.

And when lockdown was lifted, Philip and Elizabeth, having spent more time close together than they had done in years, decided it rather suited them. They left Windsor together and travelled up to Balmoral together for their traditional summer break.

When that was over, they went back to Sandringham — but not to the big house. Instead, together they went to live at Wood Farm, Philip’s bolthole, the un-grand, unpretentious place he regarded as his home on the estate.

It’s where he wanted to end his days, and the Queen wanted to be with him to the end. But on February 16, 2021, the Duke was admitted to hospital in London as a precautionary measure after feeling unwell.

On March 3, he underwent a successful procedure for an existing heart condition. He was discharged 13 days later and returned to Windsor Castle.

Three weeks later, his death was announced at noon, April 9, with the release of a statement saying he had ‘died peacefully’ that morning at Windsor Castle.

His daughter-in-law, Sophie, Countess of Wessex, described his death as ‘so gentle. It was just like somebody took him by the hand and off he went’.

The Queen was reported to have been at her husband’s bedside when he died on the morning of April 9, 2021. In fact, I don’t believe she was.

The Duke of Edinburgh had been in a hospital bed, set up in his dressing room at Windsor Castle. That morning, he went to the bathroom, helped by a nurse.

When he came back, he said he felt a little faint and wanted help getting back into bed. The nurse called the Duke’s valet and the Queen’s page, Paul Whybrew, for help — and he died before the Queen could be called.

The Queen wasn’t yet up. And she wasn’t called until after a doctor had come and pronounced the Duke dead.

He was being laid out when the Prince of Wales arrived. Charles waited and had a cup of tea, but went away without seeing his father.

Prince Edward did see him and then, gradually, the rest of the family began to arrive. As they tried to comfort the Queen, the Queen was comforting them.

It helped that Elizabeth was accustomed to her own company. Even when her husband was alive, she had so often spent evenings on her own.

Immediately after Prince Philip’s funeral, she returned to her apartment in Windsor Castle in silence.

‘I helped her off with her coat and hat,’ her dresser, Angela Kelly, remembered, ‘and no words were spoken. The Queen then walked to her sitting room, closed the door behind her, and she was alone with her thoughts.’ When Prince Albert died, Queen Victoria retreated from the world. When Prince Philip died, Queen Elizabeth II went towards it.

She knew it was her Christian duty to carry on as best as she could. ‘There is no magic formula that will transform sorrow into happiness,’ she said, ‘but being busy helps.’

In the immediate aftermath of Prince Philip’s death, Vice Admiral Sir Tony Johnstone-Burt, the cheery Master of the Household, told me: ‘My principal duty with HM has been to keep her spirits up — so I’ve been watching Line of Duty with her��. . . I’m “the Explainer”! It’s very funny.’

The 95-year-old widow of Windsor laughed as she struggled to understand the convoluted plotting and sometimes incomprehensible dialogue in the popular ‘police procedural’ television series.

She enjoyed watching television, she told me: ‘It keeps me in touch — when I can understand what’s being said. There’s an awful lot of mumbling on television now. It’s not my hearing. They just don’t seem to speak as clearly as they used to do.’

Her grieving was private, but in public the Queen was determined to carry on as normal. ‘Life goes on,’ she said. ‘It has to.’

That first summer after Philip’s death, she chose to dress — as she herself put it — ‘as cheerfully as possible.’ With the help of Angela Kelly, she opted for yellow and pink and powder blue, in summery dresses with pretty floral designs.

Her closeness to Kelly, the daughter of a Liverpool dockworker, did not always go down well; the ladies-in-waiting found her a nuisance at times. The dresser was from a quite different background to theirs, and irritated some at court with her no-nonsense Northern manner, her easy access to the Queen and her effortless familiarity with her.

They particularly resented the way Kelly felt able to step out of line to adjust the Queen’s clothes or drop a word in her ear at what they considered to be inappropriate moments. But they could do nothing about it because the Queen regarded Kelly as one of her true friends.

She was dazzling in green when she opened the Scottish Parliament on October 2, 2021. A few days later, all in pink this time, she opened the Welsh Senedd in Cardiff.

The Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall were also on parade for both visits. ‘We weren’t required,’ the Duchess said to me soon afterwards, laughing. ‘We were there to help out if necessary. It wasn’t necessary. The Queen did it all. She wanted to. She’s unstoppable.’

For six months following Prince Philip’s death, the Queen did so much, so purposefully and with such a determination not to give way to any form of self-pity (which, she said, ‘My husband would certainly not have approved of’), that she probably did too much.

In the autumn of 2021, she had a sudden ‘energy low’. She felt exhausted. Her doctors ordered her to ‘rest a bit, not to push herself so much, to take it easy.’

She had planned to attend ‘COP’, the climate change conference in Glasgow, in person on November 1 but, in the event, had to record a video message instead.

She had also hoped to attend the Festival of Remembrance at the Royal Albert Hall and the Remembrance Sunday service at the Cenotaph — fixtures in her calendar — but was persuaded not to. ‘I’ve got to be sensible,’ she said. Until then, her energy had been little short of astonishing. Over her final decade, she’d not only continued her work as monarch but actively engaged with modern life.

She had her own mobile phone, and obliging grandchildren ready to show her how it worked. She understood ‘texting’ though was rather defeated by ‘apps’. And she did not allow her grandchildren to bring their ‘devices’ to the dining table, under any circumstances.

Believe it or not, I think I once heard Her Majesty refer to the lavatory as ‘the toilet’ — in a concession to the vocabulary of the younger generation.

She had loved the early James Bond films — ‘before they got so loud’, she said.

And it was thanks to Bond that she famously made a truly dramatic entrance when the 2012 Olympics were staged in London, in a filmed sketch with Daniel Craig. Craig was seen running up the red-carpeted stairs at Buckingham Palace, meeting two of the royal corgis, being greeted by the Queen’s page and ushered into the royal presence.

It was the Queen’s own idea to keep Bond waiting a moment as she signed off a letter, before turning around to say: ‘Good evening, Mr Bond.’

Her line delivered, the Queen, accompanied by Bond and her page and her corgis, walked with purpose to the waiting helicopter that transported her past the statue of Winston Churchill in Parliament Square (Churchill looked up and gave Her Majesty a wave —she especially liked that touch), along the course of the river Thames, to the Olympic park in East London.

‘She was a natural,’ said Daniel Craig. ‘I was definitely more nervous than she was.’

Lord Janvrin, the Queen’s former private secretary, told me he was sure the Queen wouldn’t have done the stunt during the Queen Mother’s lifetime. ‘Why?’ I asked him.

‘Simply because she would have felt her mother wouldn’t have approved — that it would have been a bit undignified.

The Queen became less inhibited in several ways after her mother’s death [in 2002], less constrained, more relaxed.’

There was a different Bond connection when it came to the Queen’s next dramatic outing. In 2022, for the Platinum Jubilee long weekend of celebrations marking her 70 years on the throne, the Queen played herself in a delightful sketch with Paddington Bear, the creation of author Michael Bond.

In the scene, Paddington (voiced by Ben Whishaw) is taking tea with Her Majesty at Buckingham Palace and offers her one of his marmalade sandwiches — which it turns out the Queen doesn’t need because she already has her own marmalade sandwich, hidden in her handbag.

This time, much more in terms of acting was asked of the Queen than had been at the time of the Olympics — and she delivered in full measure. I happened to be working with Britain’s most honoured film and stage actress at the time, Dame Judi Dench, and she said to me the day after she had seen it, ‘Wasn’t she good? I mean, really, really good.

‘Her timing was perfect. Every look, every line was just right. It was completely on the money — none of it over-stated. Just wonderful.’

She added, laughing: ‘I’m quite worried. She’s going to be offered all my work now.’

What did the Queen make of it? ‘Great fun,’ she said. She marvelled that such a large crew had appeared at the palace to film such a short sequence, and she was truly amazed that word of it didn’t leak out before the day of transmission.

‘Everyone kept the secret,’ she said, delighted. ‘That was lovely.’

IN ROYAL circles the Duke of York is now someone — like Harry and Meghan —whom it’s better not to talk about.

There is no doubt, however, that the Queen loved her second son to the last. When she died, each of her children published a personal statement about her. Part of Prince Andrew’s read: ‘Mummy, your love for a son, your compassion, your care, your confidence I will treasure forever. I have found your knowledge and wisdom infinite, with no boundary or containment.

‘I will miss your insights, advice and humour. As our book of experiences closes, another opens, and I will forever hold you close to my heart with my deepest love and gratitude, and I will tread gladly into the next with you as my guide.’

Some of the turns of phrase could have been written by his former wife, Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York, who still shares a home with the prince, but the part of the message he very much wanted the rest of us to take note of was where he spoke of the ‘confidence’ the Queen had shown in him.

Prince Andrew stepped down from public life in 2019 over his friendship with the ‘billionaire paedophile’ Jeffrey Epstein. He was stripped of his honorary military roles, including Colonel of the Grenadier Guards, and obliged to give up his HRH style in public. But his mother stood by him. She loved her boy. She retained her ‘confidence’ in him.

That said, there had been a cloud hanging over his reputation, and the Queen was a realist. She essentially fired her own son. A senior courtier said to me, ‘There was a lot of nonsense talked about no one being at the helm, but the Queen took a firm grip of things. To use the military jargon, there was only a few days between flash and bang. Action was called for and the Queen took it.’

The day after firing Andrew, however, she showed us how much she loved him by taking him riding with her through Windsor Great Park in the rain and ensuring that there were photographers on hand to capture the shot. She was also glad to have him at her side as she travelled to her husband’s memorial service.

The rest of the Royal Family was less happy to see Prince Andrew taking centre stage — not because of any personal hostility, but because they feared the pictures of him side by side with Her Majesty would dominate press coverage of the memorial service. And so it proved.The Duke of York, of course, told his mother the whole story of his long relationship with Epstein, all the ins and outs of it, and the details of the accusations made against him.

The first time he gave her the full account of the whole sorry saga, she listened carefully. Then the Queen, who never said more than was necessary, responded with just one word: ‘Intriguing.’

I chair ‘The Oldie of the Year Awards’ where we honour people of a certain age who still have what might be described as ‘snap in their celery’. So last year, post the pandemic lockdown, I wrote to the Queen’s private secretary to ask whether Her Majesty might consider accepting the Oldie of the Year Award.

A witty reply was sent to me from Balmoral Castle on August 21, 2021: ‘Her Majesty believes you are only as old as you feel. As such The Queen does not believe she meets the relevant criteria to be able to accept and hopes you will find a more worthy recipient.

‘This message comes to you with Her Majesty’s warmest best wishes.’

After the birth of Prince Andrew, the Queen — according to one of her ladies-in-waiting — suffered ‘post-natal side effects’ because the baby had been born using the now-discredited method of ‘twilight sleep’.

‘Dammerschlaf’ was a form of childbirth pioneered in Germany in the early twentieth century in which the adminstration of drugs (morphine and scopolamine) puts the patient into an amnesic state during labour. The mother remains semi-conscious but apparently pain-free and has no subsequent recollection of the experience. The baby is delivered by forceps.

In fact, Charles and Anne were also delivered via the ‘twilight sleep’ method — and Prince Edward’s was the first birth not to involve it. The difficult aftermath of Andrew’s birth may possibly have put the Queen off that delivery method for good.

2ND EXTRACT

#Elizabeth: An Intimate Portrait by Gyles Brandreth #this was so hard to read #my heart 😭😭😭😭#queen elizabeth ii #biography

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