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3 August 1962, 5.50 p.m.
Diana watched Daddy go into the house. Uncle Tom was already dressed for dinner and he stood beside her. ‘Shall we take a short walk?’
‘Yes, please, and thank you for my book.’
‘A pleasure. Have you had a diary before?’ Uncle Tom put his hands in his pockets which pushed his jacket out of place.
They cut across the lawn and walked up the long path.
‘No. What do I put in it?’ She turned the red book over in her hands. It was beautiful.
‘Your thoughts and what you did during the day.’
Diana frowned. ‘Do I only write in it once a day?’
‘That is entirely up to you.’ He stopped to sniff a flowering tree. ‘At your age you are already good with words, so you may want to write stories as well as what happened during the day.’
‘Oh.’ Diana stood straighter. She liked words a lot. ‘Does being good with words mean that I’ll be a writer when I grow up?’
‘Possibly or maybe a journalist for a newspaper,’ he paused and studied her.
‘I like that idea. They write stories.’
He laughed. ‘Technically they report events, but I do believe sometimes it is more storytelling.’
‘Report events?’ Diana decided to try to do that in her head. They passed the magnolia tree that was in bloom, it smelled lovely. She’d been told by the gardener that it was special, but she didn’t remember why. ‘I think I would like that.’
As the path rose the trees became taller and the camellia bushes bigger.
‘It’s an important job,’ Tom continued. ‘Think of all the people who read newspapers every day to discover what is happening in the world.’
She nodded. Mummy and Daddy did that, then they would discuss parts of what they’d read. ‘So, I should read the paper to discover how to report?’
‘You are a very clever soul, Diana.’
‘Am I?’ She stood straighter and took a bigger step forward.
‘Yes, you are and I think you would be a very good journalist.’
‘Thank you.’ Diana looked up to the big Monterey pine tree and saw the birds gathering there. They must have a wonderful view of the bay. She was jealous of their lookout. To see further she frequently went up to the attic rooms of Boskenna. From the one above her bedroom she could see over the trees and onto Carrot Hole. No, Mummy would correct her: Carrickowel Point.
She turned and looked up at Tom. He was so handsome. Not as handsome as Daddy, though. ‘What do you do, Uncle Tom?’ She thought she must have asked once before but she couldn’t remember. ‘You are good with words, too.’
‘I love words and history. But I look after people.’
Diana picked up a stone from the path. ‘Are you a nurse or a teacher?’
He chuckled. ‘A bit of both, to be honest.’
‘Oh.’ She wanted to ask more but wasn’t sure what to ask because she couldn’t think what job would be both nurse and teacher. Walking down the path towards them was Mr Carew. He limped ever so slightly, and Mummy had told her that he’d lost his leg in the war, but they had found him a new one when he came home to England. Diana had asked if they kept spare legs in England to replace lost ones. Once Mummy had stopped laughing, she explained it was made of wood and held in place with leather. Diana wanted to see it but hadn’t yet worked up the courage to ask. Maybe this weekend she would.
‘Hello, you two.’ Mr Carew held out his hand to Uncle Tom then took hers and bowed over it slightly. ‘I see as usual, Tom, you are escorting the most beautiful woman.’
Uncle Tom grinned. ‘Always.’
In the distance Diana heard Mrs Hoskine calling her. She looked up and said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, please.’
‘Of course.’ Uncle Tom smiled then continued walking with Mr Carew.
Diana raced to the house hoping that Mrs Hoskine was going to ask her to help with the final touches for the silverbelle, Diana’s favourite chocolate pudding, for tomorrow’s special birthday dinner for Daddy. Diana loved chocolate and so did Daddy.
3 August 2018, 6.00 p.m.
Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Lottie was greeted by the voice of Bobby Darin. ‘Somewhere Beyond the Sea’. Gramps had taught her to dance to this while Gran taught Alex. They had been invited to a big black-tie party at Eddie Carew’s house for his eightieth. Neither Lottie nor Alex had known how to dance properly so the week before the party the drawing room rug had been rolled up and every night, just after cocktails, it had been like a session of Strictly for the hopeless. But by the time the party had arrived, both Lottie and Alex could dance. Even now she could remember how handsome he’d been in his borrowed dinner jacket and the feel of his arms around her. It had been a magical evening of dancing under the stars. A few days later it was over.
She couldn’t fix the past, but she could make sure she didn’t mess up any more of the future. Hopefully now she had learned to let no one in and to trust no one. That would be key to going forward.
In the courtyard she tapped on the cottage door. Alex opened it, dressed only in a towel. She looked at the top of his head for fear of staring.
‘Sorry to disturb you but Gran would like to come downstairs and she said you’d help.’
‘Of course.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
‘Do you need help?’ She looked down at his bare feet.
‘I can get dressed on my own.’
‘Right.’ She risked a quick glance up but wished she hadn’t. He was amused but she felt an idiot. Exiting swiftly, she set a smile on her face and walked back to the house and into the drawing room with her head held high. No one here knew what a mess her life was at the moment and it would stay that way. It would cause Gramps so much pain and her mother would be disappointed yet again.
‘Lottie, my dear. Gin?’ Gramps asked, putting his hands on the arms of the chair.
‘I’ll get it, Gramps. You stay seated.’ She walked to the end of the piano where the
