Part 2
PRIVATE
25th July, 1963.
Continued!
Dear Diary, just us. I can write what I want, and no one need ever see it.
So. The Leightons have arrived. They are Frank, he is twenty, & he is training to be a surveyor.
He is very goodlooking, tall & blonde & handsome. Rather pleased with himself, like a politician. He reminds me of Cyril in Bonjour Tristesse, except pompous. His brother Guy is nineteen. He is reading PPE (don’t know what it is) at Oxford University, Brasenose College (like that word). He is quiet with hair that sticks up & glasses. He looks like an owl. Louisa is different now they are around. Normally she is so forthright, she thinks nothing of telling you when your brand new Fair Isle twinset looks moth-eaten, as she did to me the other day, or if your complexion needs carrots to wash it out. She said that to Miranda, & Miranda is veeery sensitive about her skin. She shouldn’t do it, especially with Miranda, who we all know has a terrible temper.
Anyway we had a special supper tonight to welcome the guests & I was allowed champagne. Miranda wore a new dress, beautiful black thick silky taffeta like. Apparently Connie (her godmother) gave her ten pounds. I find this annoying and I’m not even sure I believe that’s where she got the money for them from. But it’s strange, she did look very beautiful and she never has before. Sort of furious, all hair and frowns. But I heard Mr Wilson the maths teacher say to Miss Powell once, ‘that one’s going to be trouble’ & she nodded & said ‘when she realises . . . yes, I agree.’ I wasn’t eavesdropping, I’m not a sneak, they were watching her chatting to the gardener on a sunny day & I was walking past & couldn’t help. Perhaps that’s what they mean. Because actually suddenly she is beautiful. Chic. As I say, ANNOYING!
Anyway So back to Frank & Guy. It feels different, now they’re here. Mummy likes visitors. Everything’s perked up a bit. I was next to Frank at supper. He clears his throat before he speaks, & Louisa was staring at him the WHOLE WAY THROUGH the meal. He tried to impress Daddy, he called him ‘sir’, which of course was a waste of time. Guy called him ‘sir’ too but he talked to him about his books, too, as if he was really interested. Another thing about Frank is: he kissed Mummy’s hand after dinner! Which was so funny I just stared at him. But Mummy laughed, she said it was very charming, & she smiled at him & he looked rather embarrassed which at least took the pompoisity pompousity pomposity! off him a bit.
Jeremy told me I was being awful today but he was nice – I do like Jeremy, this is a such a secret dear Diary. I looked it up at school this term & it isn’t illegal to marry a cousin. Then I think about Archie peeping at Louisa & it makes me feel a bit sick. So I shouldn’t think those things.
When I was waiting for Miranda to come upstairs last night, I heard Frank ask Louisa something, they were still up on the terrace chatting. I wasn’t eavesdropping, it was right above me. I wish I hadn’t heard it. But I pretended I hadn’t & I scurried into my bed. I wish I could say it but I am too shy to write it down. He is not what he seems, that is all. It was a very rude thing to ask someone.
Bust: 20
Nose: 2 mins sorry.
Love always, Cecily
* * *
Friday, 26th July 1963
Today is Linda Langley’s birthday. I wonder what she’s doing. She had her hair cut before term ended, it looked marvellous & she said it was for her party. She lives in Bath, it’s too far for me to go for a party, not that she asked me. Bet her party is jolly good though.
Louisa isn’t speaking to the man with the Bowler Hat ie Frank this morning. I bet I know why. It is bc of what I heard him asked her to let him do last night which I am not going to say, it is too smutty for the written word. The BH looks like he has rather loose morals, a bit like Captain Wickham in P&P, goodlooking but FECKLESS – that is a good word.
Apart from that it’s fun having the boys here. Everyone is making an effort. Even Miranda, who is so weird & shy & normally never talks to boys, is suddenly talking to Guy & Bowler Hat man, & parading around in her swimming costume, fluttering her eyelashes at them. It’s hard to believe this is the girl who ran off when Andrew Laraby asked her if she’d like a cup of tea at the Spring Fete at Easter. Mummy hates it, I can tell, she thinks Miranda is boasting, which she is.
M brought Jeremy’s copy of Private Eye down to the beach & showed off about her swimming, & she keeps having these silly conversations with either Guy or BH. She speaks to them in this horrible arch way. She loves ‘That Was The Week That Was’, apparently – hah!
Guy likes lots of strange things I’ve never heard of, he reads American writers like Jack Kerouac & Martin Luther King who is in jail, & books like that. Also George Orwell. BH just swanks around looking pleased with himself. I tried to bring up the report of the trial in the Times today as it was very juicy again, & there was such a funny advert for British Rail with Tony Hancock which made me laugh, he is pulling a silly face to a ticket inspector, but I was too shy in front of all of them, & now they must think I am just a bit young & foolish & only good at cricket.
Miranda on the other hand was so flushed with her success at being sophisticated that she was horrible at tea, she said, ‘Cecily’s a baby, she only likes Swallows & Amazons & the Lone Pine Club’. I HATE HER!! Guy just said, ‘I love those books too, Swallows & Amazons is my favourite.’ Miranda looked so stupid and then she started pretending she likes them too because Guy likes them and she likes Guy. It’s obvious. He’s not interested in her. I wanted to say what would you know, you haven’t read a whole book since Just William when you were ten. Miranda has that effect on One. She brings out a nasty side of me, more so than ever these holidays. I wish she’d go away. She didn’t come to bed till awfully late tonight and she was flirting with the Bowler Hat all evening. She still hasn’t come in, in fact. I’m waiting for her right now.
* * *
Saturday, 27th July 1963
Tired today. It is very hot, getting hotter. Mummy painted me again. She snapped at Mary about the Eccles cakes we had for tea. We went to the Minack Theatre & saw Julius Caesar. It was good, but quite long about Latin politics. Louisa & BH had another argument. Perhaps I will write a poem about it & it will be called, ‘Stop Having Shrill Rows Outside My Bedroom Door’. If he is so desperate to Do It with someone why doesn’t he just go and ask Miranda? She’s behaving like she would.
Haven’t been doing my bust etc exercises which is bad of me dear diary sorry.
Love always, Cecily
* * *
Sunday, 28th July 1963
Today was a wonderful day. It might be the best day of my life so far, though I hope there are better to come. You know when everything is perfect? & the air is sweet & people are sweet too.
It has been so hot, so we went to St Michael’s Mount, in the car, with the roof down. Miranda & the Bowler Hat stayed behind, Mummy & Dad too. Jeremy drove us. He is a dear, Jeremy. But perhaps he is a bit dull. I sat next to him & I realised halfway through the journey – I don’t know what to say to you next. Although he’s so nice to people. Tall & comforting & kind, when he hugs you it’s wonderful. But I feel awkward & silly when I talk to him & I don’t understand (or care about) rugby & I don’t know medicine. We drove past two huge hoardings on the side of the road for the News of the World, CHRISTINE’S DIRTY SECRETS one said. When I asked Jeremy about the Profumo trial he blushed & got very awkward, clutching onto the wheel like it was trying to get away. ‘Um . . . ar . . . Cecily . . . Not very appropriate . . .’
We parked by the fields because Marazion is a small village, full of day trippers. We bought pasties for our lunch & took them down to the beach, where we sat on the golden sand & looked out to St Michael’s Mount, & then we swam. I like it better out on a big beach sometimes than our own cove back at the house. Our cove is secluded but sometimes you feel shut off from everything. No one can see you. Marazion beach had people with picnics & transistor radios, all playing ‘Summer Holiday’ over & over again. Sec
retly I rather like that song. It was great to be out in the open, not cooped up at the house or in our tiny little secluded beach. It has been so hot & humid, today there was a bit of a breeze & it was delicious.
Guy & I walked across the sea on the causeway, to the castle. The others couldn’t be bothered to come. We talked about lots of different things, I can talk to him about anything, he’s v. calm but he’s interesting too and I like that. I didn’t think you could talk to a man like that, I have to say. Guy asked me what the exercise book was for & I told him about the diary. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Are we all in it?’
Me: Yes.
G: & your darkest secrets?
Me: Yes, but I don’t really have any. (Except I do, squashing my nose every night and bust exercises & not being quite sure what intercourse is.)
Guy: Tell me one.
Without thinking I just said, ‘I want to be a writer.’ I wished I hadn’t, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded & we walked on over to the island and climbed up to the castle. It is very steep, along a cobbled path, but in the shade from the sun. The castle looms over you, it is very dramatic. After a minute G said:
‘I think you’d be a jolly good writer, Cecily.’
Me (holding my breath, because I found I really cared about his answer): Why?
G: Because you notice everything, & you see the world in your own way. You’re your own person & you’re lovely as you are. Don’t ever change.
That’s exactly what he said. I memorised it.
I think that is about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Especially because I want to change everything about myself. I was embarrassed, but I didn’t want him to see. I asked him about himself instead, what he wants to do when he leaves. He wants to be a satirist, writing for television or a lampoon like Private Eye. He would be ever so good at it, I think.
We walked to the top of the castle & we climbed to the viewpoints where you can stand & look out across past Penzance almost to our house, & the sun was glinting on the waves like diamonds. Everything looked still & peaceful from up there. I wondered about Miranda & Mummy & the others back at Summercove & what they were doing.
I talked to Guy about Miranda. I wanted to explain that she’s not always this bad.
Guy said she’s looking for attention. ‘Perhaps she doesn’t get enough of it.’ I laughed cause EVERYONE pays her attention because she’s so badly behaved a lot of the time. Then he said, ‘Why does she dislike your mother so much?’
I know they don’t get on but it’s not terrible, so I was surprised he’d noticed.
Me: She’s just being difficult, that’s all. Mummy can be tough with her, I suppose.
G: She’s terribly jealous of you. Hadn’t you noticed? That’s why she’s nasty to you.
I laugh: Hardly. She thinks I’m a baby.
G: It’s more than that. How old are you?
Me: Fifteen. Sixteen in November though.
G: Fifteen? Really? He shook his head.
Me: Yes why do I seem much younger than that? (I was crossing my fingers not.)
G: Sometimes, yes. A lot of the time . . . no. Fifteen, eh?
(He was silent for a moment & then he nudged me. I was blushing.) Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps you’re still just a baby then.
Me: You’re 19! You’re not much older. Just three years & a bit.
G: I suppose so.
I hope he was joking.
We came back via the moors & the daytrippers were just leaving the beaches along the way past Penzance: Lamorna Cove & the rest of them. We stopped off at Logan’s Rock (the pub not the rock) for a lemonade & sat outside on the tables. The countryside was so beautiful, green and lush & heavy, so still & quiet. Jeremy, Louisa & Archie talked about what we would do this week. Guy & I didn’t say very much. I sat next to him quite still. I felt the cotton of his shirt on my bare arm. I didn’t move. He didn’t move. We sat there while the others talked. I can’t explain it but it was wonderful.
When we got home, it was late, after nine-thirty. Miranda was in bed. She pretended to be asleep but she’d been crying. I heard her when I came upstairs. I got into bed and I said, ‘Are you all right?’ softly, but she didn’t say anything. I don’t think she is and I don’t know why.
* * *
Monday, 29th July 1963
Miranda was sitting up in bed when I woke up this morning & she said, ‘You snore like a pig.’
That is not very nice, I said with what I hope was dignity. I do not snore.
You do you’re a horrible little pig. And then she walked past & threw her glass of water over me. I was still in bed & I sat up & screamed, and then I said, I’m going to tell Mummy what you’ve just done, you idiot, she is already furious with you.
M: Just go ahead & tell her, you little sneak. I tell you, she wants me gone anyway. She wishes I wasn’t here.
Me (upset) Don’t be mean about Mummy. You’re always so horrible about her, & all she’s trying to do this holidays is help you with what you want to do now school’s over . . .
I was trying to sound reasonable & mature, but this only made her crosser. DD, I thought she was going to hit me. She came over, looming over me & her face was like murder. M: ‘You have no idea about the real world do you darling? None at all.’
Bits of spittle were falling into my face. She was gripping the bedstead with her hands, right over me. I thought she might actually spit at me or bite me. She is like a wild cat.
I dodged under her & stood up so we are facing each other. I was still in my nighty, she was dressed in her capri pants & a lovely black & white geometric patterned top.
Me: Where have all these new clothes come from? M: Connie gave me some money, I told you.
Me: Well I don’t believe you. Neither does Mummy. There was a weird look on Miranda’s face. She said:
No one ever believes me, do they. I try & I try to get better, and feel better & it still comes back to nothing. I get nowhere.
She said it in a really sad voice, & then she shrugged. I looked at her, diary, she looked different when she said it. So beautiful, so alive & like she fitted everything for once. Like Mummy in her studio: another person, the real person somehow.
I remembered Guy saying it must be hard, being Miranda. I didn’t ask him what he meant. But perhaps it is. Archie is the son, it’s easy being the son. It’s easy for boys, that’s the truth. They can do what they want. If they make a mistake, or fail their exams, they go to agricultural college or train to be something boring. If you’re a girl, you either have to be either useful or decorative. Like a lamp. I think about this a lot & it makes me angry. Mummy is the only person I know who does both, have a talent and be beautiful, and sometimes I think she doesn’t like either of them.
Perhaps that’s why Miranda’s decided to be beautiful, this summer. It takes work, it’s funny. Perhaps that’s why Mummy’s so cross with her. She doesn’t like her being beautiful.
Oh, this is all rather long & confusing but I know what I mean.
I put on my dressing gown & said I was going to have a bath. She let me go but just as I was leaving she said, ‘Can I tell you one thing about Mummy, Cecily?’
Me: Yes.
M: (in doorway looking pleased) If she’s so wonderful, why was she up here yesterday, trying on my clothes, when you were out at the beach?
Me: What’s wrong with that if she does?
I tried to pretend it wasn’t anything unusual but it’s odd, I knew that right away.
M: She’s made me give her two of them. A coat dress I hadn’t worn yet. And the cocktail dress.
Me: The black gros-grain one?
M: & that’s not all she wants.
Me: What else?
She nods, & then she flops down on the bed. ‘You’ll see.’ She’s smiling up at the ceiling. ‘You’ll find out. I hope it’s not too late.’ & then she flounced out.
I have told this so badly, sorry DD. But I wanted to get it all down and so I’m writing this now befor
e breakfast. I don’t know what to make of it all. Things have changed, perhaps since the Leightons arrived? Since the weather got hotter? Since we grew up? I just don’t know.
It is now evening & Miranda & I are sort of speaking but not friends. I keep looking at Mummy over supper, & wondering if it’s true about her trying on the dresses. I just know it’s not, that’s all. My favourite advert in the Illustrated London News this week is: Take No Chances with Facial Hair. The shop is 7 doors down from Harrods. Extraordinary. Miranda is obsessed with her facial hair, maybe I should cut it out & leave it on her bed, but I don’t think that would improve her mood.
* * *
Tuesday, 30th July 1963
I spent a lot of today playing backgammon with Dad again. I am now outside, on the bench under the apple tree on the edge of the lawn, writing what we talked about up, as he told me to. The lavender smells beautiful, perhaps Dad is right.
Since I came back home this summer I have been thinking about relationships. It is strange, being in love. I was so sure most of this year I was in love with Jeremy. And now I know I’m not. I do love him but because he is dear & kind & my cousin. So DD how will I know when the right man comes along for me? Maybe I won’t recognise him, I’ll think it’s me being silly again? I hope not. This worries me.
Louisa & the BH are also strange to me. I assume they love each other? They are certainly here together & he is her boyfriend & I would hope they are, especially the way she raved on about him before he arrived. The only time I HAVE ever seen them alone together is late at night, when he asked her if he could kiss her breasts & lick them, which is what he did ask that night, in a silly boyish voice (yes that is indeed what he said. I have decided to be honest about such things. !!!! Why does he want to, and in this awful baby voice? So strange. They’re just there, they don’t do anything). They talk to each other in front of us, but I never see them go off for a walk by themselves, or chat together at the table, it’s always with other people. He flirts with Miranda, it’s disgusting (‘You have the last piece of bread!’ ‘No, YOU! You need to keep your strength up, I’m going to beat you at tennis this afternoon!’ ‘Oh, really!’ bleurgh like they’re in Salad Days) and he laughs with Guy or Archie all the time, never with Louisa. The people he hardly ever talks to are Dad and Mummy. I don’t think he knows what to say to Dad, and I think he finds Mummy intimidating. In fact I think he has a bit of a pash for her. He blushes when she talks to him.
Love Always Page 33
