Love Always

by Harriet Evans

  Secondly, I sat for Mummy again. I can’t explain it but it is putting me in such a bad mood. I didn’t like it much to start with, now I really don’t like it. It’s hot & boring & my shoulders ache from sitting in the same way all day. My derriere hurts. Mummy sits & paints furiously, we don’t talk any more, & I more & more fear that it will just make me look like a horrible ugly ghoul, which is what I think I look like anyway. It is depressing, that’s all.

  I was so glad to get out of there & to talk to Miranda again, & then all hell broke loose . . . oh dear God DD.

  Louisa caught Archie again. Watching her getting dressed. AGAIN. And she – I think – broke his nose. Bashed her knee into his face when she opened the door. There was blood everywhere, anyway. It is disgusting disgusting, I can’t really think about it. He tried to deny it, that’s what’s worse. Miranda of course defended him, though how you can I don’t know, though I have to say even she looked a bit sick about it.

  I looked at Archie, blood streaming down his face, swearing at Louisa, he was so nasty to her. Louisa was crying & the BH holding her & telling her it’s OK. And Jeremy is saying, hey chaps, it’s all going to be all right, in his rather bluff Captain Scott way. And Miranda starts uttering these threats. ‘Don’t cross me, I tell you.’ The BH looked terrified.

  I knew something was up. My stupid imagination but Oh dear God, I hope I’m wrong about this. Miranda is my sister, I’m supposed to love her, & instead I am fairly convinced she is doing something really awful. And Archie gets pleasure from watching his cousin get changed. It’s almost as bad.

  Suddenly, in the midst of this Aunt Pamela & Uncle John arrive and stand in the hall!

  They are so stiff. I expect them to creak when they move. I’m sure they thought something strange was up, & Mummy appeared and was terribly flustered, of course. It was weird, having them standing there, correct & smart in their London clothes. Makes me realise how isolated we have let ourselves become these two weeks.

  After lunch Guy and I went for a walk. Thank goodness for Guy. We went to pick the early blackberries, tight, sharp, sweet little things, all along the hedgerows up around the house & down towards the beach. Just the two of us.

  ‘Why do you think he’s like that?’ I asked him. Guy thought about it for a while. He thinks things over, doesn’t talk unless he has something to say. I do like that.

  G: Because . . . He is the only son, & that’s hard. Your father is a tough person to live up to.

  I laugh: No he’s not! – because Daddy is so strange it’s impossible to imagine anyone else being like him.

  G: Fathers & sons are tricky. Your father had a very different upbringing, in a completely different place. He came to England to be educated & he manages to snare one of the most beautiful women in the country.

  And THEN he says:

  I read an interview with your mother a couple of yrs ago & did you know 6 men had proposed to her before your father. & she chose him. For whatever reason, he’s a hard act to follow.

  It’s strange how when I talk to Guy I find these things out about my family that had never occurred to me before, like I’ve been some silly blind girl not aware of what’s right underneath her nose. It’s like he makes me see everything for the first time.

  As we were having this conversation, we were standing on the cliffs, me carrying the basket, & there was a lovely gentle wind blowing up from the sea which was calm for once. It was very peaceful, almost too peaceful. Humid. A thin layer of cloud covering everything. Felt miles away from Summercove.

  G: Anyway, Archie has a lot to live up to. I don’t think your father puts pressure on him. I think everyone else does.

  I ate a blackberry and I can still taste the juice now as it burst onto my tongue, sharp and sweet. We were silent.

  ‘Prhaps you’re right,’ I said.

  Guy said almost as if he was talking to himself: I suppose the truth is, he’s just a simple chap who likes cricket & girls & likes to think of himself as a bit of a smoothie. He doesn’t know much about the real world & has two parents who are completely self-absorbed, & don’t have the foggiest how to help him.

  Then he’s silent, & then he said, ‘My God, Cecily, I’m so sorry –’

  Me: (pretending not to be shocked) It’s fine!

  Guy (very pale straight away): I’m – that’s unforgivable of me – it’s just sometimes I forget you’re – Oh God. Cecily, please – God, what an ass I am.

  He looked really upset.

  Me: Guy, it’s fine, honestly!

  And he said, ‘Sometimes I forget you’re one of them.’

  We were silent. My back was aching and I stretched my arms out, high above me. Guy said, ‘You’re really not like them at all.’

  I turned to him and we stared at each other. It was strange.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I’m not.’

  We walked together not saying much. Just being next to each other.

  And then later on, this evening, there were drinks & dinner. It was more formal, because of the Jameses. Mummy made me put on a dress. I felt different around him, all of a sudden.

  Guy and I were standing by the French windows together. He suddenly touched my arm, & I wasn’t expecting it. And DD, it felt as if . . . I have never had that before. Like electricity shooting through me, like I was alive, alive for the first time. I looked at him, & he looked at me, & . . .

  I want him. I knew it then. I want him to kiss me. I wanted him right at that moment, his beautiful clear grey eyes, his kind, handsome face, slow smile, sweet expression. I wanted to bite his lip, to hold him, for him to hold me . . .

  He said I was beautiful. We were silent afterwards, & then we were called into dinner. As I’m writing it now, the memory of it is lovely. Supper was awful, it’s funny to think of it now, Miranda and Uncle John had a huge row. I was barely aware of it. Everything else that’s going on, all these worries I’ve had about all of us, that Miranda’s having an affair with the Bowler Hat, that Mum and Dad aren’t happy, that we’re not the family I thought we were, and I’m moving away from them – this feeling that I want to get away from Summercove, get away they just – they’re not there when I look at Guy.

  I’m in love with Guy? Yes, I’m in love with Guy. It should be scary. It’s not.

  I escaped to bed as soon as I could. I looked at Guy as I was leaving. He was just there, staring at me. I know he is watching over me. I know he loves me. I love him. So strange to write it! But it’s so natural too. What will tomorrow bring?

  I love you darling Guy. I always will.

  Love always, Cecily

  * * *

  Saturday, 3rd August 1963

  Darling diary I don’t know what to do, how to write this, what to say, I am shaking as I try to hold the pen, because I can’t believe what I’ve seen.

  It’s horrible.

  I don’t understand how people can do that.

  I have been horrible to Miranda. I have got it all wrong, I am so stupid, I know nothing – oh my goodness, though, diary, is this how it happens, what it’s like?

  Today I went down to the cove. I have lost a sandal, & I thought it might be down there. I was walking carefully, so I didn’t slip. I heard voices, when I got to the stairs. I should have turned back.

  But I didn’t. I could hear the Bowler Hat’s voice. Gosh, I hate him. I hate what he is, what he stands for – that he can just do what he wants & get away with it? I HATE HIM.

  I heard things, & I should have just turned & run away, I wish I had. But I wasn’t sure, & I was sure my shoe was down there.

  He was down there with Mummy. My mother. I stood completely still, I couldn’t move. He kissed her, they took their clothes off, I saw him touch her, then they began to then I saw I really can’t write what I saw, & then I ran away.

  There’s no one I can talk to apart from you. I can’t tell Guy, it’s his brother. I can’t tell Miranda, of course not, she must hate me. I hate myself, for thinking she would do someth
ing like this.

  I heard the way Mummy laughed at him. Her voice, it was so – cruel. Cold. I almost felt sorry for him, & I hate him!

  It’s Mummy. I can’t tell anyone. They wouldn’t believe me. I hardly believe it myself. He was kissing her. He took her top off. She undid his trousers. I saw them . . .

  So I said I was feeling ill & I went upstairs and missed lunch. Mummy has been knocking on my door asking if I’m OK all day. I think I want to kill her, but I don’t know what to do. Miranda has ignored me, that’s fine. What shall I do? Oh God. What shall I do?

  I don’t feel grown-up any more. I feel like I want to curl into a ball. I want to sleep. I know I won’t be able to though. I wish I wasn’t here any more.

  * * *

  Sunday, 4th August 1963

  I did not sleep at all. I am so tired.

  And Mummy was vile about missing my sitting. I looked at her as she was being cross with me. Her green green eyes, so evil! Her skin is flushed with freckles and tanned, I know why now. All the times she’s appeared smelling of cigarettes I thought she’d been working, now I know why she’s behind this week all of a sudden with her work.

  How did it start? When?

  I don’t know what to do. What shall I do?

  Guy has been asking if I’m OK. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t want him to ask me, I can’t tell him, can’t tell any of them. He must think I’m ignoring him.

  I was sitting out on the lawn with him and all the others & the BH & Louisa were hugging each other & I just watched the BH. He saw me, & he looked uneasy. I thought, I can’t stay here any longer, so I just went upstairs again & I’m here. The house is full, full of people. There’s no space, no respite, except in my room. I act perfectly normally, I even reply when people ask me questions, & inside I am screaming, like a mad person. There are things I can’t stop seeing in my head, like Mummy’s face as she turned towards him, laughing, alive, full of cruelty, so beautiful . . . I didn’t know her, not at all, & she is my mother. I can’t understand it. I keep seeing my sandal, bobbing in the water behind them, at the edge of the sea, & then nearly slipping & falling as I stand at the top of the steps, they are treacherous. Imagine if they saw me . . .

  It is strange, how you can appear normal to people. As if nothing’s different. I am doing it, the Bowler Hat is doing it, Mummy is doing it. I don’t want them to ever know. I should tell Louisa, I know I should. But I simply can’t do that.

  Perhaps it’s not so bad, they will split up & she will marry someone else. And then I think no, something has poisoned us, this will stay with us for ever. Mummy did this, she is behind it. She is my mother, I can’t believe it. Am I being prudish? Have I been closeted away for too long? Is this quite usual, elsewhere? Do properly grown-up people act like this all the time?

  If I didn’t know, everything could go on as normal. But I feel that because I know it can’t, now. If I wasn’t here, it would be OK.

  * * *

  Monday, 5th August 1963

  I have just reread the first pages of this diary. It’s like they’re from another lifetime. It is only two weeks. I feel like a different person. One thing after another, & it’s as if I am watching myself do these things, say them.

  Tonight I kissed Guy. I nearly had sex with him, in fact.

  Funny, that we didn’t, in the end, because I would have let him, only he stopped. I have never seen a grown man naked before. Now I have seen two, in three days. Guy, & his brother. I liked the idea that if I let him be with me, that he & his brother would have done some kind of double act, a mother & a daughter. Perhaps that’s what happens in real life, perhaps I’ve just been innocent and stupid. But I am the only person who’d know that. Oh, DD, I wish I could be back at school, in my dorm with Margaret, Rita & Jennifer. Being told what to do, when to do it, instead of this terrifying summer world I’m living in.

  Most of all, I feel sad. Because before all this I thought Guy was . . . don’t know how to put it, because it is ridiculous. But someone I knew. Someone I could fall in love with.

  I still think that. But I also think it’s too late, for him & for me.

  It happened like this: Mummy, Jeremy, Uncle John & Aunt Pamela played bridge after supper. Very demure. The Bowler Hat & Louisa sat outside with their cigarettes, listening to some jazz, he with his arms round her, both of them gazing up at the stars. She looked so happy, with her little pink & white face & fluffy hair. He was behind her, one hand on her shoulder, one on her ribcage, & he looked bored. I could tell he was trying to move one hand down, the other up, so he could touch her breasts, without looking indecorous. There was something . . . OH GOD, I HATE THIS.

  Something so disgusting!! So vile & animal like about him, his leg splayed out, carelessly trying to touch L, when I know what he’s been doing . . . it made me feel sick, & . . .

  Anyway, I got up & said, ‘I’m just going to shut the gate.’ Guy followed me.

  ‘Do you want to go for a walk,’ he said. It is a beautiful night, very clear, very warm. Stars everywhere.

  We walked down the path, towards the sea. I wasn’t even thinking about trying to impress him, now, I was just thinking about BH & his hands, & Mummy sitting upright playing bloody cards.

  Guy said, ‘Cecily, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because – if you don’t mind me saying it – you seem rather twitchy. I hope I haven’t said anything . . .’

  I looked round at him, & he is looking at me, rather anxiously, & he looks so sweet, so reassuring, so kind, an island in the middle of this sea, like St Michael’s Mount. He’s the one person I think isn’t bad or stupid or evil or wronged or doing something wrong.

  So, oh dear diary. I walked towards him – we were a way from the house, almost at the steps by the sea. I put my hand on his chest. I looked into his eyes. I stood on tiptoe, & I kissed him. On the lips.

  I didn’t think about it, I just sort of knew it would happen.

  He kissed me back. I kissed Brian Deans last year, the son of the history master at school, but this was different. There, I felt my tongue was getting in the way. Here, it was sloppy, but it felt nice. Guy put his hand on the back of my neck, & his tongue was in my mouth.

  We sat down after a while, on the sweet, soft moss, with the crickets chirruping nearby, & the sea crashing in the distance & we kissed more, & then I wanted to touch him, & he wanted to touch me too. He smoothed his hands over my collarbone, & he touched my breasts, my stomach, & I took my dress off, & let him, & I touched him too, took his shirt off, everything really. We were naked, apart from Guy still had his socks on, & when I noticed that it made me laugh. We both laughed. We rolled next to each other, naked, & he held me, stroked me, & I touched him, it is so strange, a man’s body, so different in a way. Much harder, less soft & full of places you can poke. And his penis was hard. I wanted to touch that too. Perhaps I am like my mother, a hard cold woman. Probably. I was quite grown-up about it. I felt very comfortable with him.

  We were silent for a long time. I did hold his penis and stroke it and he loved that. & I kissed his mouth, his cheek, & whispered ‘inside me’, but he shook his head, & he wouldn’t. We lay on the moss for a while, holding hands. Just there, looking up at the stars.

  Summercove was a yellow light, fifty yards away. No one else was near. Just us two.

  ‘I think I love you,’ he said. ‘In fact I know I do.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said to him. I stroked his cheek, his short, spiky hair, his beautiful, kind eyes, his lips.

  It’s true, too. When I said it I meant it. Then I remembered the other things, back at the house. It all rushed back to me & I realised then I knew – it won’t work out that way. I put my clothes on, & he followed me, & we walked back to the house.

  Guy put his hand in mine, as we were walking. He stroked my palm with his thumb. And then he kissed my shoulder, very gently, as we got close to the house. I think I will remember that kiss for the rest of my life. Becau
se it was almost perfect. Like Guy & me. Almost perfect.

  * * *

  Tuesday, 6th August 1963

  I didn’t sleep again. It rained in the night, just a bit, but it was noisy, thunder and lightening. It woke me up. I lay there thinking so much it was scary. Like a black wave washing over me. I can’t ever see how this can get better.

  This morning, Miranda sat down on the edge of my bed. ‘You know don’t you?’ she said.

  I looked at her & she just stared at me. I thought how grown-up she is now. A different person. Both of us are. I nodded.

  ‘How?’

  I said I saw them together. She patted my leg. ‘Me too. That day you were all out. It’s like she wants to be caught. It’s going to be OK. You and me & Archie, we’ll grow up and get out of here soon. It’ll be OK.’

  Me: But I don’t want to. I just want everything to be the way it was before.

  Miranda: Well, it’s not going to be. Can’t you see that?

  Me: Why? Why do you think she’s doing it?

  M shrugs her shoulders, & I realise she doesn’t have all the answers, of course not. ‘I don’t know, Cec. Perhaps the same reason she tried on my clothes or she gazes off into space at supper or she spends so much time up in the studio. Perhaps she’s just wishing she was young again.’

  ‘But that’s so stupid,’ I said. ‘We spend all our time wishing we were grown-ups. She can do anything she wants.’

  ‘Maybe it seems like that,’ Miranda said. I wish she’d always been like this, calm and wise to talk to. I wish we could start over again.

  ‘And why with him?’ I say. There were tears in my eyes, like there are now as I’m writing this. ‘I don’t understand why it has to be him.’

  ‘Because he’s young & gorgeous and he worships her, you can see it once you know,’ Miranda says. ‘I used to think he was handsome, now I hate him. I hate her.’