Letters to a Princess (3 page)

Zoë likes you as well, Princess Diana, but not in the same way I do. She humours me with my ‘freaky Diana craze’, as she calls it. But then we compete even with that. We spend time Diana-hunting, as we call it. We collect pictures of you and we try to outdo each other and see how many we can cram on our bedroom walls. I win outright because she has to fit Brad Pitt in somewhere, whereas I only have you.

I’m lucky because Babs has a friend who works on the checkout at our local supermarket. If a magazine is torn or creased, she saves it to give to Babs. Babs passes it on to me, and most of the time there’ll be a picture of you in it, of course. Plus, when I do my Fruit Mart job I sometimes
find magazines that are tossed out round the back, and I go through them hungry for the goss. Sorry if that sounds a bit desperate.

Sometimes at school when we’re bored, Zoë and I go through the magazines together.

‘Skiing again. I wonder if we’ll run into them at Aspen, my deah?’ Zoë joked last week. We were looking at the photograph of you in the snow with William and Harry.

‘Aren’t those two little boys the sweetest? Actually, that one’s not so little anymore, he looks just like her. How cute!’

It was Zoë who noticed how the magazines and papers don’t seem so much in love with you after your divorce, which is so unfair.

‘Doesn’t pay to be famous, Di. Absolutely does not!’ Zoë said.

‘We needn’t worry,’ I quipped.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Zoë came back at me. Zoë makes no secret of the fact that she wants to get into NIDA, the most competitive acting school in Australia. If I have dreams about being a writer, Zoë is hell-bent on becoming an actor. ‘And if I don’t make it as an actor then I’ll just have to settle for a career in modelling!’ she says. I never quite know if she’s joking or not. Probably not!

But Zoë and I both feel sorry for you. I mean, I can’t believe the press hid and took photos of you sweating it out at the gym. No-one looks good after a hard workout!

Anyway, I just want you to know how much support you have here in Australia. We’re all mad about you!

Okay, I’m mad about you! And that’s the truth.

Your Aussie fan,

Diana Moore

My second letter to Princess Diana was really a lifesaver. I told Babs about my desperate night of writing and she was so happy that I’d found a way to turn my black mood around.

‘You and the Princess, you have a lot in common you know,’ she said, tying a clean apron over the old striped blue dress she always wears when she’s cleaning. And not just your names either!’

‘Oh please!’ The idea that my life has anything in common with Princess Diana’s is ridiculous. I looked around the modest kitchen of our suburban home, at the grease-marked table, the calendar hanging askew on the wall and the faded photo of Mum and Graham on the noticeboard which nobody uses anymore. ‘How can you say that? What exactly do you mean?’ I asked Babs.

‘Well, you both feel things deeply and want to do good in the world.’ I wasn’t sure I’d shown this goodwill
at all, except for a one-night fast for starving kids a couple of years back.

‘And you both have the eating problem,’ Babs kept on. ‘Now don’t get cross, Di, I know you hate my mentioning it but the Princess has overcome her problem—well, seems to have—and that means you can too. Look, dear, it’s something Martin and I want to talk about with Graham. You know it can be serious if it gets out of hand. You know you can even die of it, love! Martin read that somewhere. People become so thin, just like skeletons. Now I know you’re not like that but we think you need a bit more help. There was this young girl Martin knows of who …’

‘Princess Diana had bulimia, Babs,’ I interrupted. ‘That’s when you make yourself throw up. I don’t do that!’ This was a bit of a lie because I had on some occasions when I’d eaten too much and felt sick, but I didn’t do it on a regular basis.

‘Same thing. Well, it’s related anyway. What you’ve got can lead to what she had,’ Babs argued.

I felt angry that Babs was harping on to me about this and even angrier that Martin had stuck his oar in.

‘I’m already seeing another counsellor about Mum and all of that,’ I said and told her about Leila, lying just a little about how often I see her.

‘Why didn’t you say, love?’ she sounded relieved.

‘I’ve got to keep it a secret from Marcus or he’ll give me heaps. Like he used to when I couldn’t stop crying about Mum.’

‘That boy has no right! I should give him a piece of my mind.’

‘Please Babs, don’t make trouble. You’ve tried before and it just makes it worse.’ She pursed her lips and I thought I was in for trouble but then she gave me a smile. The Leila news must have satisfied her because she got off my case.

‘I’ve something very good to tell you. You’ll like this, Diana!’

‘What? I could do with some good news.’

‘It’s about Princess Diana. I’ve just read it in
Australian Woman’s Weekly
so it has to be true. She’s coming to Australia! To Sydney too!’

‘No way!’ It took all my willpower not to grab for the phone right then to tell Zoë the good news.

‘She’ll be here in a few weeks, in time to open a wing of that medical centre right next to St Vincent’s Hospital in Darlinghurst. The one near that café you and Zoë like so much. You might get to see her, Di. You might even get to talk to her!’ Babs exclaimed.

My heart was beating wildly. Maybe I could find out where she’d be staying while she was in Sydney and send the letters to her there. Better still, go there myself and hand them to her. But who would ever let a 15-year-old schoolgirl anywhere near a real live princess? And even if they did, why would she be interested? But to see her in the flesh, wow!

When I finally told her about Princess Di’s visit, Zoë topped it with news of her own. As of Thursday at 5.30 pm she and Jason Chee were officially ‘an item’. Zoë was ecstatic and I was more than a bit pissed off. Suddenly my Diana news didn’t seem so exciting.

‘After the movie he asked me to go out with him. Just him and I,’ Zoë babbled on.

‘You and Jason—no way!’ I was jealous and she must have heard it in my voice.

‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘D’you have a problem or what?’

‘No problem. He’s nice. But you said you thought he was a bit of a shortie and …’ my voice trailed off.

‘He’s exactly my height,’ she said coldly. And even if he weren’t, everyone knows he’s a pretty cool guy with a great sense of humour. And anyway, I said yes!’

‘That’s great!’ I replied.

She just looked at me.

‘I mean it Zoë. It’s great for both of you.’

She slipped her arm through mine. ‘That’s really good news about the Princess visit Di-Di,’ she said, obviously trying to make me feel better. ‘We’ll have to work it with Miss Pate so that we can go to that medical centre to see her. We can write it up for our Journalism assignment.’

I agreed that it was a great idea but I didn’t think Miss Pate would ever let us go. Which just goes to show how wrong you can be.

Jason is a good-looking guy, I suppose. He’s good at soccer and not so good at school work. But, hey, who cares, right? Zoë doesn’t seem to mind.

Lots of boys like Zoë. I’ve always been in her shadow when it comes to socialising. It’s just not that easy for me to think of things to say to boys. Sometimes Zoë teases me. ‘C’mon Diana, who do you like? You can tell me …’

There is this one guy, Seb, in our group who sometimes talks to me. I know I blush like mad when he looks at me. I think he’s pretty hot but there’s no way I’d ever tell Zoë because you can’t predict what she’ll do or say.

Graham came home early that night with my favourite ‘Lite’ frozen dinner, but I just couldn’t eat any of it. All the talk about Zoë and Jason, and thinking about Mum, had put me off.

‘Not this damned no eating thing again, Diana! I won’t put up with it!’ Graham shouted.

‘She’s crazy. She needs a pie-chiatrist,’ Marcus said as he swiped my share of the food. When Graham left the room he added, ‘Ugly Di gets uglier. And ugly Di, dies. Ha, shitface!’

‘You’re a pig! An absolutely disgusting pig!’ I came back at him as he stuffed his mouth, but I had the good sense to leave the room as I said it.

I wanted to talk to Zoë but I figured she’d be out with Jason or chatting to him on the phone. So I did the only thing I could do in that house. I went back to my room and back to the desk.

Dear Princess Diana,

My mum always said jealousy was a curse. She must have been right because it certainly hurts. I’m so jealous that my friend Zoë has a boyfriend, I can’t even think straight. It seems so unfair. She’s pretty, popular and smart.
She has a loving family and all the girls at school think she’s a goddess, and now she’s got a boyfriend. She’s my best friend but it makes me feel like I’m not even in her league. Not even close. Now Zoë has someone special who thinks she’s amazing and I can’t help having this dark jealous feeling, even though I like Jason Chee and of course I love Zoë. How do I make this nasty feeling go away? I must be such a cow to think like this.

The truth is, I just want to be loved by someone special too. My family, if you could call it that, is no use there. Sometimes I think I might never be loved by anyone. Ever! And that makes me frightened. I wonder if you’ve ever had that same fear?

When this dark feeling wraps around me like a blanket, I miss my mum even more. It feels like there’s no point in going on without her. I know this sounds dramatic but now that she’s gone it’s like a big gaping hole in the universe. And no matter how many friends, shrinks, whoever, tell me I should kinda get on with it, I can’t help this scary feeling, that I just can’t do it all by myself, from taking over.

Mum and I did everything together—well, before Graham came along anyway. And I mean everything. One of Mum’s favourite pastimes was shopping. Mostly window shopping, of course. But even with not much money she
was exciting to be with when she was on one of her shopping trawls.

‘Just wait till you clap your eyes on this, Di-Di. You’ll love it!’ She’d take me by the hand through the shopping mall as if we were in Wonderland and I was a little kid. Just before the shop in question, or the article in question, she’d sometimes say, ‘Close your eyes sweetheart and don’t open till I tell you.’ Then she’d let go of my hand and say dramatically, ‘Now open them!’ And there’d be what she’d call the most darling pair of jeans at Target, or a simply must-have fake handbag at Sussan. I’m not a mad shopper like she was but Mum made it a high adventure. Although that changed a lot once Graham came on the scene. Mum went up-market, shopping at big posh stores and she usually took Graham with her.

Mum had great taste in clothes. Babs always said things like, ‘Your mother can throw on any old thing and dress it up with a scarf or a wrap just like that! She’s got a colour conscience that’s for sure.’ She meant Mum was ‘colour conscious’ but I agreed with her without cracking a smile because it was true my mum had style. Mum took special care with her clothes and make-up. She always told me what to wear too, every detail down to the colour of the shoes, because I’m not madly interested the way she was.

My mum knew about everything I did. When I came
in from school she’d be waiting for me. To be honest, sometimes I felt like she was going to pounce on me if I didn’t give her every detail of my day—conversations, the lot. One funny thing, though, was the time when my English teacher (not my current one who hates my guts) said I had talent and should do some writing in my spare time. When I told Mum about it, she got a bit angry. I never really knew why.

Sometimes when I was doing homework or my own writing she’d call me from the TV room. ‘Hurry and finish that stuff and come and have some fun, darl! It’s Oprah and that’s educational!’ She liked me to watch with her. Come to think of it, maybe my mum was a bit controlling because I never did a thing without her and I stopped talking about my writing. Even stopped writing at times so I could be with her.

When I put on weight a few years back, Mum suddenly took up walking and that meant I had to go with her. It annoyed me in one way to have to put away whatever I was doing, but it was good too. Up and down Bondi Beach on the sand, just Mum and me. And all her ideas and dreams would kinda come rushing out. No Graham and no Marcus. Just us. It was almost worth staying fat so we’d have to keep going on walks. No, not really!

It’s funny, whenever I go to do anything now I wonder
what Mum would have to say about it. What she’d do. It’s like I’m listening for her to guide me. The only thing is, she seems so far away. She was the special one in my life. She was the best. I’m sure you’d understand all this, especially about wanting to be loved by someone special.

Can it be that difficult if you’re a princess?

Can it be that difficult for anyone?

I’m sending very loving thoughts to you. Just looking up at your smile makes me feel something tonight. Right now I’m more hopeful somehow. I don’t really know why. Just keep smiling, as Babs would say.

Your friend,

Diana

PS. I should seriously take my own advice!

I knew I’d have to edit this letter big time. But writing to Princess Diana had helped me get through another long, difficult evening. It was like writing to a friend. It was like
The Diana Papers
was a friend.

The next day at school Zoë was her usual self. She hadn’t been out with Jason last night after all. In fact, she was more interested in talking about her dad’s new job. ‘He’d better do it this time,’ she said dramatically, ‘because I’ve already told Jason that my dad’s a managing director, you know!’

‘God Zoë, you do carry on with some crap!’ She told lies so smoothly that usually I just had to laugh with her.

‘Well he
will
be a managing director if this new job comes off,’ she protested.