Chapter Text
HOW IT STARTED
As far as HRH Princess Mary was concerned, there had been only one perk to being the third daughter of the King of England. She believed that wholeheartedly until her fourth sister's wedding when she was twenty years old.
She’d already seen her eldest sister, Jane, The Princess of Wales, married off to Lord Charles Bingley, Commander of the Royal Victorian Order and, actually, they seemed very happy. Similarly she’d been part of the genuinely heart-felt celebrations when her second-eldest sister, HRH Princess Elizabeth, married Viscount Fitzwilliam Darcy of the Royal Marines Reserve. The youngest, HRH Princess Lydia, “the black sheep” as the tabloid press liked to call her, had moved in with a tattoo artist in Glasgow. And her fourth sister, HRH Princess Katherine had married The Honorable Frederick Buncock, the son of an Earl whose name Mary had forgotten.
The wedding itself was lovely. The unexpected perk came in the form of the person her loving sister, Kitty, had placed next to Mary in the seating plan…
What she had previously thought of as the only perk to being the third daughter of the King of England was that of being regarded as somewhat of a royal mascot for her beloved Leeds United football team.
The Leeds United affiliation had been somewhat of a surprise to the English public. Princess Mary’s main press attention prior to this discovery had been headlines in The Sun like HER ROYAL HUMDRUM or, as The Daily Mirror loved to call her, YAWN HIGHNESS. Yes, very droll, she thought to herself, until the day a particularly unflattering photo of her pushing her glasses up her nose was plastered across the front pages of The Sun under the heading BORING BY ROYAL APPOINTMENT.
But by this point, much to the Queen’s chagrin, Mary was beyond caring. As a child, her beloved royal nanny, Mrs Hill, had spoken lovingly to Mary of her native Yorkshire and especially Leeds United. They watched as many games as they could together with Hill dropping the odd choice Yorkshire sayings at triumphs or dismays. For a spell, Mary had even had a slightly broader accent that required rounding out with elocution lessons.
The best days of Mary’s life in her early teens had been when Mrs Hill had secretly arranged an informal task-force within the football-loving ranks of the royal security forces and, with Mary in heavy disguise, taken her along to her beloved Leeds United matches.
She had initially only attended early matches in early stages of the season. Even while she worked away at her advanced studies in the Department of Earth Sciences at the University of Cambridge, football was her escape valve. As more successful anonymous visits had been achieved, she had been able to be secreted in the stands for the FA Cup final when Leeds had defeated Man City. She had cheered them on from afar as they’d moved through the table of the UEFA Champions League. Leeds United had been on a tear the last few years and Princess Mary was loving it.
If it were possible, her devotion to the team had grown ever more fervent from the moment Leeds acquired a dangerously talented young striker by the name of Tom Hayward. As Hill often enthused, Hayward was a real Yorkshire boy, born and raised in Sheffield. He was handsome, yes, but he was humble – good Yorkshire stock. And Mary could not get enough of him.
As a young player he’d score four goals against fierce opponents and, in his post-game interview, still standing on the pitch, quietly say things like, “The lads did all the hard work,” or “The goals might have my name next to them, but they belong to the team.” His celebrations were all class – pointing to the teammate who assisted, a quiet fist pump while his teammates all jumped on his back, a brief smile, then straight back for the restart. At the end of devastating victories where their opponents had been thoroughly trounced, Hayward would make the effort of shaking the hand of every player on the opposing team, then all the officials. Though still very young himself, he’d then go to the youngest players on his own team first, warmly congratulating them for their efforts and, by his quiet, steady leadership, ensuring the atmosphere across the club was always impeccable. If Leeds were on a winning streak, the credit was broadly attributed to Hayward. Mary had ordered his jersey the first time she’d seen him play and she’d worn it to every match since.
Then came the day Princess Mary was spotted in the stands. As far as Mary and Mrs Hill had been concerned, it was like any other match. They wore their jerseys, scarves and hats, they painted their faces, putting on the disguise that allowed them to hide in plain sight because they looked like every other football hooligan. And they behaved like every other football hooligan. For Mary it had been the ultimate tonic. All that stitched up polite behaviour at the palace could be left behind her. She could absolutely lose her mind in the stands, cheering and yelling and gesticulating wildly because she was absorbed into the crowd, at one with her fellow Leeds United fans, just like everyone else.
But the day the story broke, she was no longer like everyone else. When Mary had first been summoned to her mother’s sitting room in Windsor Castle, she assumed it would be another dress fitting or a briefing about her next charity appearance or similar. What she found instead was an entire extendable antique royal table covered in tabloid front pages of HRH Princess Mary, head-to-toe in Leeds United kit, screaming like a crazy person. At least the headlines had changed. Instead of THE PRINCESS OF BEIGE, this time she got BEIGE NO MORE! Wallflower Princess Goes Full Football Nutter, 'BORING' PRINCESS BUSTED BELLOWING FOR LEEDS and LEEDS HER MAJESTY ASTRAY Princess's Secret Terrace Life Exposed.
Then her mother’s staff pulled up the videos. There was a TikTok of her flipping double birds and yelling obscenities at the referee for a dubious call against her team. There was another one of her dancing with wild abandon in celebration when the Leeds keeper saved a shot on goal. But the worst of the TikToks, the one it seemed that social media was least likely to let fade into obscurity, was a compilation of each time Hayward scored with Mary turning her back to the pitch, grasping both shoulders of her jersey and shaking it to show it was his name she proudly wore, and then turning back to the pitch making vigorous heart-hand gestures.
At first it seemed this was very bad. Mary was in a lot of trouble. But then, for what seemed like the first time in her life, fortune came her way. And, in this instance, Fortune’s name was Tom Hayward.
During the week, he’d been called up amongst a raft of other players for a morning press session back at the club. The minute he’d taken to the microphone he’d been peppered with questions about Princess Mary. He took them all in his stride and, as Mary watched the TV from her bed in her pyjamas she felt her face growing redder and redder.
“Tom! What do you make of Her Royal Highness, Princess Mary, turning out to be a rabid Leeds United fan?”
Tom had smiled warmly at the camera. “The boys and I appreciate all the support we can get. If Her Royal Highness is a fan, we need to start treating her better. I’ve chatted to the club and we’re hoping she’ll accept our gift of club membership. We’re working out a royal box at Elland Road as we speak and we hope she’ll take us up on it.”
“Judging by the photos and videos, Princess Mary seemed to be loving it out on the terrace,” joked a second reporter. “She’s a proper hooligan.”
Hayward laughed. “I don’t know if the club has had a royal patron before, let alone one as passionate as Princess Mary, but we’ve never been readier to welcome the royal support.”
“And Tom!” called a third reporter. “You’ve only been with Leeds United for a couple of years, though those years have been extremely distinguished, of course.” Tom had given a polite little nod in acknowledgement of the compliment. “At only twenty one years of age, how did you feel knowing that it was your jersey Princess Mary was wearing? And maybe tell us about the heart hands - how does it feel to be Princess Mary’s favourite player?”
If possible, Tom’s smile got even warmer and his cheeks turned a little bit pink. “As I said, we all appreciate the support as a club. That Princess Mary wears my own jersey is, of course, a very great honour. If she appreciates my game, well, I’m very thankful. And I might as well admit,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “since I heard she’s been a patron of both my beloved UK National Parks and The Children’s Poetry Project, which was a program I benefitted from enormously as a boy here in Yorkshire, she’s easily become my favourite of the royal family.”
The headlines for the next day wrote themselves:
THE HOOLIGAN PRINCESS - LEEDS STRIKER’S FAVOURITE ROYAL
PRINCESSES AND POETRY The Secret Passions of Leeds United Striker
LEEDS STRIKER SECURES PRIVATE BOX FOR ROYAL CRUSH
Slightly embarrassed though she was, Mary found herself the guest of honour at any future Leeds game she wanted to attend. And, as it happened, with the ever faithful Mrs Hill egging her on, she wanted to attend all of them. Her mother’s one stipulation, which Mary had found punishingly harsh and utterly inescapable, was that due to the ongoing outlandishness of her behaviour as a spectator, which Mary would not hear of curtailing, she was banned from having any interaction with the players before, during or after matches. The queen imagined the worst kind of press – lewd and untoward suggestions that Mary was flirting with, or worse, sleeping with players – and made her firm ruling, which was duly communicated to the team in no uncertain terms. Leeds United had to make do with footage of Princess Mary bellowing out their songs, insulting refs from the box, and holding out Hayward’s name on her jersey, along with the prolific heart hands whenever he scored.
More quietly, and out of the public eye, Mary also became an avid supporter of the women’s game. Due to the discrepancy in media and public interest, the press never caught wind of it but she attended even more games for Leeds United W.F.C. than she did for the men. Because her mother had made no rulings, Mary met and befriended the players and coaching staff, regularly congratulating them after matches and becoming their key patron. Though it was a reprieve for Mary to be able to be so involved without making such a spectacle of herself, the discrepancy of interest and investment in the women’s game distressed her and motivated her.
In contrast to the national tabloid press, Mary was a hero in Leeds news. The local papers, news and radio stations covered her every public appearance, football-related or otherwise, in glowing terms. Every donation to or event with UK National Parks or The Children’s Poetry Project received a frothingly positive write-up, complete with approving quote from Tom Hayward.
Mary had quietly arranged a postal subscription to each of the relevant news outlets. There was nothing quite like a Saturday morning on which she got to lie in bed reading and giggling and kicking her feet:
Tom Hayward reliably smiles at the mention of Leeds’ royal patron. “Have I heard about Princess Mary’s latest efforts with UK National Parks? Yes, I have. Let me say again, the entire club and community really appreciates her in what she does for us locally and I personally really appreciate her commitment to these favourite causes of mine. It’s nice to know that such a wonderful person, so beloved in Leeds, also has the same organisations that I love near to her heart.”
I ask if he’s had the chance to meet Princess Mary and express those sentiments to her in-person. “I haven’t yet,” he says ruefully. “But she’s an extremely busy woman. I hope one day I’ll get to meet her and we can have a long chat. I think she and I would get on well.”