I hadn’t thought of it like that. How if I were to read Mum’s diary of the summer, or Archie’s, or even Granny’s, it might be different. I guess I’l never know the rest. They were al there that summer, they know what it was like, but even then there’s stil a lot they’l never real y understand.
‘I stil think about her, I can stil picture her so clearly,’ Louisa says. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Every day,’ Mum tel s her. She looks so old, suddenly. Tears swim in her eyes. Whether it’s the wind or not, I don’t know. ‘She was lovely, wasn’t she?’
They give each other a smal , half-smile, as the wind buffets us. ‘She was,’ says Louisa. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘It’s not,’ Mum says. ‘But like I say, it’s in the past now.’
I find myself nodding. She’s right. ‘Wel , I disagree. I think we should read it too,’ Octavia says.
‘Why?’ I ask her. ‘Because we deserve the truth. Al our lives, Mum’s the one who’s done everything for your mother and father. She’s got nothing for it, she’s never been thanked or rewarded—’
‘What, you want money?’ I ask. ‘Is that what this is about?’
‘Octavia! Natasha!’ Louisa hisses. ‘No, of course not.’
‘I’m just saying, I’ve grown up with it. I’ve sat there and watched Mum cleaning up, cooking, spending al summer here, her looking after
she points at me – ‘because
Octavia laughs. ‘They never say why we can’t rock the boat. We just al pretend it’s al OK.’
I’ve had enough. ‘Octavia, you don’t know what the hel you’re talking about,’ I say. ‘You’ve got it al wrong! Mum’s not the one who—’
And then something strange happens. The diary is in Mum’s hand, and it suddenly flies out, eddying away on a huge, arching gust of wind, out over the beach, dropping abruptly like a rock into the sea. Louisa cries out, and Octavia scrambles for the steps, but my mother, with an iron grasp, stops her.
‘No. Octavia, don’t. It’s too dangerous.’
She turns them back towards the house. ‘It’s gone,’ I say, looking out at the tiny red exercise book, floating further out to sea. ‘It’s real y gone.’
‘Now we’l never know, I guess,’ Louisa says. She shrugs sadly, and looks up at Mum. ‘Miranda, be honest for once. There wasn’t anything real y horrid in it, was there?’
Mum glances down at her. ‘Absolutely not, Louisa. I promise.’
‘Good.’ Louisa nods. I don’t know whether she believes this or not.
‘And Louisa, you know, that thing with Archie?’ Mum says. ‘Jeremy used to look at me al the time too. He was just better at not getting caught, that’s al .’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It real y is,’ Mum says. ‘Like I say: just because you didn’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Louisa demands.
My mother gives a quick, twisted smile. ‘Who’d have believed me?’ She glances down at the shingley path. ‘Please, trust me. Just this once. It was a long, long time ago, al of it. You don’t hate Archie now, do you? I mean, you don’t like him much, but it’s al so long ago. Al of it. So why don’t we just cal it quits?’
‘You’re bloody crazy,’ Octavia says. ‘Yes, I am,’ my mother says. ‘I know it more than most people. Lousia?’ Lousia smiles her sweet smile.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Let’s.’ Mum’s eyes shine at her for a second, and then she nods at me. ‘Darling, we should go—’
She takes my arm. Octavia storms ahead of us, not saying anything. Louisa cal s after her. ‘Octavia?’ She shakes her head. ‘Oh, dear,’ she says. ‘She’s – wel , a bit unpredictable.’ She smiles. ‘A bit like you, Miranda.’
‘Me?’ My mother looks completely horrified at the suggestion that black-suited, clompy-shod Octavia and she are similar, and I chew my lip, trying not to smile. It’s strange, but she’s right.
The three of us walk back up towards the house in silence. We stand outside on the terrace, and Archie appears.
‘About time,’ he says. ‘Come on, girls.’
‘Let me just brush my hair,’ my mother says. ‘Mum, we real y should hurry –’ I say, looking at my watch. ‘The train leaves in less than an hour.’
‘So . . .’ Louisa fiddles with her bag, peering right inside it as if looking for Aztec gold in there. ‘So . . .’
I lean forward and give her a big hug. ‘Thank you for everything you did today,’ I say. ‘Wel , everything. You should come into town some time.
Come and see me.’
She looks taken aback. ‘Oh, Nat darling, lovely. I’m sure that’d be – er . . .’ She trails off.
‘I’m very near the Geffrye Museum,’ I say. ‘We could go and look at nice almshouses and English furniture. Maybe wander down Columbia Road, there are some lovely places to have coffee there. And you could see where they’re stocking my jewel ery.’ Next to me, Mum looks uncomfortable. ‘I’d love you to see it.’ I feel that if I don’t say it now, I won’t have a reason to see her again. Yes. So I say, ‘I’d love to see you.’
Louisa suddenly goes a bit pink. ‘I’d love that too.’ She pats my arm. ‘I’m so proud of you, Natasha. Your granny would be too . . .’ She bites her lip and looks away. ‘Goodbye,’ she says, and she grips Mum’s arm too.
