‘Who? Cecily?’

He shakes his head. ‘Read it.’

We walk through the silent, echoing shop. It is almost dark now. I have my hand on the door; the old bel jangles loudly. ‘I’l read it tonight,’ I say.

‘And cal me afterwards?’ His face is hopeful. ‘Don’t talk to anyone else, wil you promise me that?’

‘Promise. Goodbye, Guy.’

‘Natasha –?’ he says. ‘It’s lovely to see you again. You look wonderful, if I may say. I heard from your mother that you and Oli have separated,’

he says. ‘I’m sorry. But it obviously suits you.’

I think of the rumpled bed Oli and I had sex in this morning, the rain on the cobbles last night . . . Ben’s face as I walk away from him. ‘That’s unlikely. But thank you.’

I smile my thanks and suddenly his expression changes, as if he wants me gone, instantly. ‘Wel , I’d better get on—’ He looks around the shop and I take my cue and go for the door again.

‘Oh, let me get that.’ He comes forward and holds it open for me, and then suddenly he leans towards me and kisses me on the cheek as the bel jangles.

‘It’s great to see you, Natasha,’ he says. He smiles at me and I smile back. ‘And—’ He stops.

‘What?’ I ask. I’m standing on the threshold of the shop. ‘You do look so like her. Cecily.’

‘That’s what my grandmother used to say,’ I tel him. ‘Wel , it’s a compliment,’ he says. ‘She was beautiful.’ He stares at me curiously. ‘We’l speak. Please, I want to speak to you once you’ve read it.’

He shuts the door, suddenly. I am increasingly unsettled as I start off back home. I walk and walk, through the quiet Georgian terraces of Islington, down towards the canal, past the Charles Lamb pub, out towards Shoreditch. It is that curious time of day you get in spring when it is stil light but feels as if it wil get dark at any moment, that the day is over. It is dark by the time I reach the curious Victorian enclave of Arnold Circus and walk down Brick Lane.

I let myself into the flat. I make a cup of tea and sit down, thinking about my conversation with Guy. I look down at my lap, at the exercise book, so innocuous-looking in my hands, the schoolgirl handwriting and floral decoration around the border the same as a thousand others, before and since. It strikes me that I’ve always thought of Cecily as being a child. They always talked about her, when they talked about her, as a young child.

And she wasn’t, it seems, if what I found out this afternoon is true. She was a woman.

I open the diary, on my knees. The rest of the flat is dark, its cool loneliness is what I need. I feel my heart thumping, as if someone is holding it, squeezing it. I know once I start reading I won’t be able to stop. Voices echo in my head as I open the flimsy red exercise book, looking at the careful y scratched patterns on the front. ‘That was the summer she died . . . That was the summer she died . . .’

And I read.

The Diary of Cecily Kapoor

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