I wanted to talk to Zoë but I figured she’d be out with Jason or chatting to him on the phone. So I did the only thing I could do in that house. I went back to my room and back to the desk.
Dear Princess Diana,
My mum always said jealousy was a curse. She must have been right because it certainly hurts. I’m so jealous that my friend Zoë has a boyfriend, I can’t even think straight. It seems so unfair. She’s pretty, popular and smart. She has a loving family and all the girls at school think she’s a goddess, and now she’s got a boyfriend. She’s my best friend but it makes me feel like I’m not even in her league. Not even close. Now Zoë has someone special who thinks she’s amazing and I can’t help having this dark jealous feeling, even though I like Jason Chee and of course I love Zoë. How do I make this nasty feeling go away? I must be such a cow to think like this.
The truth is, I just want to be loved by someone special too. My family, if you could call it that, is no use there. Sometimes I think I might never be loved by anyone. Ever! And that makes me frightened. I wonder if you’ve ever had that same fear?
When this dark feeling wraps around me like a blanket, I miss my mum even more. It feels like there’s no point in going on without her. I know this sounds dramatic but now that she’s gone it’s like a big gaping hole in the universe. And no matter how many friends, shrinks, whoever, tell me I should kinda get on with it, I can’t help this scary feeling, that I just can’t do it all by myself, from taking over.
Mum and I did everything together—well, before Graham came along anyway. And I mean everything. One of Mum’s favourite pastimes was shopping. Mostly window shopping, of course. But even with not much money she was exciting to be with when she was on one of her shopping trawls.
‘Just wait till you clap your eyes on this, Di-Di. You’ll love it!’ She’d take me by the hand through the shopping mall as if we were in Wonderland and I was a little kid. Just before the shop in question, or the article in question, she’d sometimes say, ‘Close your eyes sweetheart and don’t open till I tell you.’ Then she’d let go of my hand and say dramatically, ‘Now open them!’ And there’d be what she’d call the most darling pair of jeans at Target, or a simply must-have fake handbag at Sussan. I’m not a mad shopper like she was but Mum made it a high adventure. Although that changed a lot once Graham came on the scene. Mum went up-market, shopping at big posh stores and she usually took Graham with her.
Mum had great taste in clothes. Babs always said things like, ‘Your mother can throw on any old thing and dress it up with a scarf or a wrap just like that! She’s got a colour conscience that’s for sure.’ She meant Mum was ‘colour conscious’ but I agreed with her without cracking a smile because it was true my mum had style. Mum took special care with her clothes and make-up. She always told me what to wear too, every detail down to the colour of the shoes, because I’m not madly interested the way she was.
My mum knew about everything I did. When I came in from school she’d be waiting for me. To be honest, sometimes I felt like she was going to pounce on me if I didn’t give her every detail of my day—conversations, the lot. One funny thing, though, was the time when my English teacher (not my current one who hates my guts) said I had talent and should do some writing in my spare time. When I told Mum about it, she got a bit angry. I never really knew why.
Sometimes when I was doing homework or my own writing she’d call me from the TV room. ‘Hurry and finish that stuff and come and have some fun, darl! It’s Oprah and that’s educational!’ She liked me to watch with her. Come to think of it, maybe my mum was a bit controlling because I never did a thing without her and I stopped talking about my writing. Even stopped writing at times so I could be with her.
When I put on weight a few years back, Mum suddenly took up walking and that meant I had to go with her. It annoyed me in one way to have to put away whatever I was doing, but it was good too. Up and down Bondi Beach on the sand, just Mum and me. And all her ideas and dreams would kinda come rushing out. No Graham and no Marcus. Just us. It was almost worth staying fat so we’d have to keep going on walks. No, not really!
It’s funny, whenever I go to do anything now I wonder what Mum would have to say about it. What she’d do. It’s like I’m listening for her to guide me. The only thing is, she seems so far away. She was the special one in my life. She was the best. I’m sure you’d understand all this, especially about wanting to be loved by someone special.
Can it be that difficult if you’re a princess?
Can it be that difficult for anyone?
I’m sending very loving thoughts to you. Just looking up at your smile makes me feel something tonight. Right now I’m more hopeful somehow. I don’t really know why. Just keep smiling, as Babs would say.
Your friend,
Diana
PS. I should seriously take my own advice!
I knew I’d have to edit this letter big time. But writing to Princess Diana had helped me get through another long, difficult evening. It was like writing to a friend. It was like The Diana Papers was a friend.
The next day at school Zoë was her usual self. She hadn’t been out with Jason last night after all. In fact, she was more interested in talking about her dad’s new job. ‘He’d better do it this time,’ she said dramatically, ‘because I’ve already told Jason that my dad’s a managing director, you know!’
‘God Zoë, you do carry on with some crap!’ She told lies so smoothly that usually I just had to laugh with her.
‘Well he will be a managing director if this new job comes off,’ she protested.
I didn’t understand why she was trying to impress Jason Chee with this stuff when he was already mad about her.
Zoë hooked her arm through mine and told me all about Xian Cho’s latest nerd-tantrum. Xian’s way competitive and way successful even though she’s only been in Australia for three years and she’s had to learn English from scratch.
‘So I was talking to Xian after the English test and she was really mad,’ Zoë gossiped. ‘She said she flew through the grammar part but she was spitting chips about the writing assignment! “I mean who has a Picnic in a Lift?” she raged, and what was the teacher thinking setting a topic like that? It wasn’t fair blah blah. I told her it was Panic in a Lift and I couldn’t help laughing my arse off!’
Zoë and I had a good laugh about that even though I felt a pang of sympathy for the tiresome goody-goody Xian.
‘She won’t get her usual 95 per cent!’ Zoë crowed. It was just as well we could laugh because we were both in deep shit with Miss Pate over the last English assignment we’d done together.
Miss Pate said our next assignment was ‘make or break’ and would determine whether or not she’d reconsider our marks. ‘It has to be spot on, girls,’ she said in that unsmiling way of hers. ‘And I mean spot on!’ I hate the way Miss Pate’s lips work when she talks. They are thin and mean-looking, and so is she.
‘She’s your teacher, darl,’ Babs said whenever I compained about her. ‘English is an important subject for you, you said so yourself. So you just have to cough it sweet!’
5
Dear Princess Diana,
I’m counting down the days until you arrive on Australian soil. Zoë and I have talked through all the details, and of course I’ve talked to Babs too. We can hardly wait. But I have to confess, news of your visit was pushed off the radar a few days ago when I found out I was going on a trip of my own—to Melbourne.
A wedding invitation for ‘The family’, arrived in the mail. As if we are a family!
‘Your cousin Aronda’s getting married, Di,’ said Graham. ‘Nice girl, that Aronda.’
I didn’t want to go and said so. But Zoë, who loves any occasion to dress up, said she’d lend me an outfit. And she pointed out that I have the best shoes to go with it—a pair I found in Vinnies and that we’d fought over. Luckily her feet are a bit bigger than mine so I scored them in the end.
Zoë vaguely knows
of my cousin Aronda. She always says Aronda is the worst ‘made-up name’ she’s ever heard. When she found out Aronda’s marrying someone called Beauregard, she exploded with laughter.
‘Wonder if he’s a made-up man, too?’ I chuckled.
‘Now listen up, Di-Di, you have to go to this wedding and you have to call me from the hotel and tell me every single detail. Think of the goss, Diana!’
So I’ve borrowed the dress which goes perfectly with the shoes. And I’ve agreed to go.
I’m surprised Graham’s been invited to the wedding, let alone me. But for some reason, Aronda’s mother Ingrid has become friendly with Graham since Mum died. She says she calls him to check up on me but she’s never really liked me so this doesn’t figure. I know they talk a lot about real estate and shares on the phone because I can hear Graham’s voice booming all over the house. His tone lifts when he’s talking to Ingrid. He reports bits and pieces back to me. As if I care!
Graham says Aronda is working for an up-market investment bank and this is where she met Beauregard, ‘a lovely young banker who simply adores her’. For a man who doesn’t usually have much to say, Graham is pretty chatty with Ingrid.
‘Your mother would want us to go,’ Graham insisted on the night he opened the invite. That really shook me because he rarely mentions Mum.
‘Is Marcus invited too?’ I’m always cautious.
‘It’s Saturday and he has footy—so no.’
‘I don’t really want to go,’ I repeated, but he could tell I was weakening … Travelling to Melbourne with Graham was bad enough, but a weekend home alone with Marcus would be torture.
‘Ingrid really wants you to come,’ Graham added. ‘She wants to see you.’
More likely she wants to see you, I thought.
‘Aronda’s not even my real cousin,’ was all I could think of saying.
‘But she’s a cousin of a cousin so she’s a second cousin or a cousin once removed. That sort of thing. Anyway, it’s a relative and blood is thicker than water you know!’ Graham argued.
Getting deep now, big Graham, are you? Deep as well as talkative?
‘Even if Ingrid and Aronda don’t like me?’ I couldn’t resist asking.
‘Now c’mon Diana. You know that’s not true.’
As I’ve mentioned, Aronda is six years older than I am so I’ve never really known her very well. My mum always said Aronda was a real beauty and super-talented. Whenever Mum said this I felt plain and untalented, even though I knew Mum didn’t mean it that way. But the few times I’d met Aronda and Ingrid they confirmed my feelings of inferiorty.
‘I don’t quite know who Diana takes after Cherie, do you?’ harped Ingrid. This made me feel like a foundling, or at the very least, a dishrag. ‘She’s not tall is she? Not willowy like you are, Cherie. And that curly dark hair? Who’d have thought?’ Ingrid made me feel short and insignificant, and possibly a burden of ugliness to my good-looking, straight-haired blonde mother. I privately cursed my curly-headed Spanish dad—whoever he was.
But I actually reckon Ingrid was always jealous of Mum because she seemed to work at making Mum feel insecure too.
‘You should re-train Ches. Working at the Pizza Hut at your age. I mean, really! And this Graham you’re going out with. He seems sweet enough dear, but not the type you usually go for. He’s short and that hair—no style whatsoever. You’ll really have to work on him to get rid of the tweed sports coat.’ Mum just laughed off these kinds of comments.
Mum couldn’t see it at all. She said I was being overly critical, even when Ingrid couldn’t make it to Mum and Graham’s wedding—and didn’t phone us for ages after. And then when Ingrid eventually did visit, she seemed to be all over Graham, loud sports coat or not. She really made me sick.
But Mum insisted that Ingrid was a good person. She said she’d done such a great job bringing up Aronda as a single parent and, after all, we were related. And now Ingrid has summoned me to the wedding.
‘Isn’t that nice of Ingrid, thinking of you,’ Graham said the morning after the invitation arrived. Talk about rubbing salt into the wound.
‘Thinking of you, mate!’ I wanted to say, but didn’t have the guts.
Graham’s decided we’ll fly down to Melbourne for the wedding weekend, which is one cool thing, I guess. Better than a weekend in Bondi with Marcus anyway. Apparently we’re staying in a ritzy hotel. I know that’s not a big deal for someone like you, Princess Di, but I’ve never stayed in a hotel at all.
In the lead-up to the wedding, Graham kept banging on about how fabulous Ingrid is. ‘She’s just been so clever at getting a good rate for all her interstate guests,’ he babbled. It really made me want to puke.
‘She must be spending a fortune,’ I said.
‘It’s all top-secret but Aronda’s chosen one of the most expensive designers in Melbourne for her dress.’ Graham talking about fashion? It was too funny! ‘So it’s just as well the groom is picking up a lot of the bill,’ he continued.
Wonder how Ingrid’s conned him? I thought.
After another one of his lengthy phone calls with Ingrid, Graham told me I’d be sharing a room with Aronda’s secret ‘going away’ outfit and the rest of her extensive wardrobe. Zoë reckons that it’ll be kind of cool to check out all Aronda’s gear, especially her undies. I must admit, I’m beginning to get a bit caught up in the excitement.
This might not be the best thing to bring up right now but I’ve seen the video of your wedding because Mum used to watch it over and over. She said it was the most beautiful wedding ever and that your dress really was perfect for a princess. I couldn’t believe your train extended halfway down the cathedral! I never got tired of seeing your entrance and the way Mum would say, right on cue, ‘Spectacular!’ Because it was.
Zoë thinks Aronda will probably be dressed like a meringue, top designer or not, but just in case she’s not, I’m to take special note of the wedding dress so I can report back to Zoë.
‘Why, are you thinking of getting hitched to Jason?’ I teased her.
‘Well, our kids would be half Dutch, a quarter Aussie, and a quarter Chinese-Vietnamese … hmmm … worth thinking about.’
‘Yeah, your kids could be the attendants at your wedding and go to NIDA with you.’
‘No way! You can babysit them! Now come and look at this eye make-up that Mum got as a free sample.’
Zoë really can be a good friend. She showed me how to apply the eyeshadow and then did my face with her new make-up. I was surprised by the difference it made. I started to feel really mean about being jealous of Zoë. She’s never jealous of me. Not even about my trip to Melbourne. Zoë is a generous soul.
I’ll write to you about the wedding when I come back, but probably not for a few weeks. Zoë and I have a major assignment to do for Journalism and we’re trying to make it about you! So I’ll be writing about you, instead of to you, if everything works out.
Your admiring fan,
Diana M
6
Aronda was heaps friendly from the moment we arrived in Melbourne. I had an ‘exclusive’ with her about the guest list. She briefed me on the cool and the uncool people coming.
‘Yes, darling, I’ve been forced to invite some total losers.’
I had to laugh when she told me about her Uncle Tarquin whom she said I should avoid at all costs. Ingrid had invited him because he is fabulously wealthy and ‘might come in helpful one day’. ‘But,’ protested Aronda, ‘he is such an old fart.’
Just then, a friend of Aronda’s interrupted us. His name was Rob and he was really cute and looked like he’d just been playing polo. I took the chance to slip away and write down everything Aronda had said so I could report back to Zoë.
Later, Aronda showed me her dress. It was gorgeous—elaborate, but beautifully so—and her fabulous wardrobe for the Bali honeymoon.
I called Zoë and I guess I just gushed.
‘It’s so gorgeous, Zoë, and Aronda says it’s a one-off.
It’s a top secret design and I’m sworn not to tell anyone about it. So I can’t really give details because Aronda says there are designers out there who’d kill just to take a peek at it right now. You’ll have to wait for the photos.’
Zoë wasn’t impressed. ‘Scalp the design, Diana, for goodness sake. It’s your duty! Anyway, what’s all this “Aronda says” stuff? You don’t even like the woman!’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘she seems to have changed. A lot.’
‘And Ingrid the Witch?’
‘Not so much,’ I admitted. She still has a way of making me shake.
‘Just watch it Di-Di!’ Zoë warned. But I was too happy being Aronda’s gopher to listen. What would Zoë know anyway? I figured.
In all the pre-wedding flutter and excitement, I wondered why it was I hadn’t warmed to Aronda long before this. Maybe it was that jealousy thing again.
‘You’re so grown-up now Di,’ Aronda said to me the next day. ‘You were a bit of a pain, you know, as a little thing. Actually, you were quite a big thing from what I remember. And now, well, maybe you’re a bit on the skinny side, but you’re soooo improved!’
I don’t know why Aronda’s opinion mattered so much to me. Maybe it was because she made me feel part of a family again. She kept hugging me and getting her fiance Beau to take photos of the two of us. She even held my hand and spoke about my mum with tears in her eyes.
‘Ingrid and I are like that!’ she said, crossing one elegant finger over the other. ‘I just can’t imagine life without Ingrid, you know?’ She never called her Mother or Mum, just Ingrid, which I thought was pretty cool.
I didn’t even mind when Aronda talked about my ‘eating disorder’ in front of Beauregard. She confessed that when she was my age she was also on one diet or another.
‘I just needed to learn to like myself more, which you can do too, Diana, can’t she Beau? I mean I was pretty successful at it!’ Without cracking a smile she glanced adoringly into the mirror that was opposite us. I had to try hard not to giggle. I wouldn’t have dared.
Letters to a Princess Page 3
