Now she’s just . . . hopeful. Smiling brightly, wearing a nice expression in case BH turns to notice her. Dear God, I really don’t like him.

Perhaps I should try & have a word with Miranda . . . She is downstairs still, outside, I can hear her laughing with someone.

She is coming. I will put the diary away now.

Thursday, 1st August 1963

Yes, I did have a terrible row with Miranda. I wish I hadn’t. Oh God, DD, I wish I hadn’t. I accused her of terrible things and she did too, she was horrible. I shouldn’t have started it, but she is so mad at the moment. Esp now she has found her Beauty.

She came in last night after I put the book away & she smelt of cigarettes. I will try & write it down briefly.

Me: Were you out with BH?

Her: MYOB.

Me: You’re hurting Louisa you know.

Her: Shut up.

She hit me on the cheek. I knelt up on bed & hit her back. I caught her by the hair & scratched her, I enjoyed it. I really did. It’s awful. I could feel a bloodlust in me. It was strange. I felt my fingers digging into her scalp, she did the same to me. Then she let go. She said: I’m not doing anything wrong.

Me: Yes you are.

Her: Cecily, you are a child, you know nothing what so ever & I wish you’d keep out of it. One day you’ll realise. You are a little girl. A hairy, ugly, silly little girl.

I wanted to hurt her too – the scratch on my cheek was throbbing a lot. I said, ‘At least I’ve got a brain and a future. & people like me.

Mummy & Dad like me more than you. Everyone does. Apart from the Bowler Hat, because you’re letting him finger you.’

(Fingering is sort of the worst thing I’ve heard someone let a boy do to them at school apart from intercourse, by the way.) But as I was saying it it felt stupid. And now the words are out there & you can’t take them back once they’ve been said.

Miranda said, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ And then she got into bed, didn’t wash her face or take her clothes off. Just got into bed & turned her light off.

They found Stephen Ward guilty. But he is still in a coma, & he has no idea. Archie was pouring over it at breakfast, & I was trying to read over his shoulder, instead of The Lady, which is awfully dull. It has adverts in it like ‘Are you fond of Old People? Would you like to take an active part in their care?’ or ‘A Doctor Explains How it is possible to grow an entirely Fresh New Skin’. No no no & no.

Miranda went out early this morning with Archie & I didn’t see them all day. I felt bad. I tried to explain to Mum in our sitting, how nasty I’d been (not all of it obviously). But she was annoying. She didn’t really listen. I wanted her to tell me I’d been horrible and wrong & should say sorry. But she just sat there, painting away, the only sounds the slap of the wet paint on the canvas, scratching sounds as she blends it in, the sizzle as she draws in the smoke from her cigarette. I can only see the side of her head and shoulder. Oh Mum, be a mum, sometimes, please.

Don’t be the person Miranda says you are, who tries on our clothes and hates us for our youth. It’s not true.

I apologised to Miranda that evening. She was asleep when I came in, I was sitting up late with Guy & Jeremy outside, it’s been so hot. I said:

‘I’m sorry I was so horrible & I didn’t mean any of it, I just think sometimes we don’t see things the same way.’

She pretended to be asleep again. But I think she heard me.

Friday, 2nd August 1963

This morning seems such a long way away, it is so strange, so much has happened. Firstly, Miranda & I are pretending to speak to each other again, we were civil at breakfast, it was fine. I passed her the marmalade, she offered me the butter. I smiled. She sort of did.

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.