My Secret Diary Read online

  But I was lucky that evening. I wrote: 'I had a partner for nearly all the dances, but I'm not particularly keen on any of the boys here although they are really very nice.'

  'Very nice' sounds a little limp. I was obviously still feeling depressed. Harry was very quiet too, though he did dance with Biddy several times, and even steered Grace around the room in a jerky quickstep. Biddy and Ron danced too. I wonder if those snatched five-minute sessions on the dance floor made the whole holiday worthwhile.

  But the next evening:

  we went for a walk around Zennor head. First we climbed up a very high stony hill which was covered with very soft earthy grass that looked rather like lava from a volcano. When you reached the top a tremendously powerful wind almost lifted you off the peak, so that I experienced a sensation almost equal to flying. The wind seemed to cleanse and lift my spirits until I was almost bubbling over.

  I can still vividly remember staring up at the stars and wanting to spread my arms and leap upwards.

  'Then we went for a walk along the cliff in the dark and poor Uncle Ron tripped over and sprained his ankle.'

  Did he trip – or was he pushed? Did Harry bump into him accidentally on purpose? Did Grace shove him with a sharp elbow? What were we doing, walking along a clifftop in the dark?

  But we all got back to St Ives safe and sound, though Ron limped for a few days and wasn't able to trip the light fantastic at the farewell dance on Friday night.

  We moved on to Newquay on the Saturday, all booked up for one more week. I'd much sooner have gone straight home to Cumberland House, where I could have a bit of privacy in my own bedroom, read and write whenever I felt like it, and go to the pictures or the shops or the lagoon with Chris or Carol. I even fantasized about seizing my train ticket from Biddy's purse and travelling home on the train by myself.

  I tried suggesting this in a very roundabout way – 'It's been a lovely holiday but I'm a bit worried, I didn't take any of my school set work. Tell you what, I could always go home a bit early and get on with it. You don't have to worry about me, you know I like being by myself, and I could have my dinners at Ga's, she wouldn't mind a bit.'

  'Don't be so silly!' said Biddy. 'Come on, start getting your things laid out nicely on your bed for me to pack. You're coming with us.'

  'But I don't want to,' I mumbled childishly.

  'Well, that's just too bad,' said Biddy. 'Now get cracking with those clothes, pronto, and stop being so ruddy ungrateful. I never went away on holiday for a whole two weeks when I was your age. Stop pulling that sulky face. You'll love it when you get there.'

  She was right, oh so right!

  13

  Cookie

  Saturday 27 August

  Our new landlady, Mrs Philpotts, is an absolute scream of a character, although she means very well. She is a very hearty type with an enormous bust and a horsy face. I think I'm going to like Newquay and this hotel better than St Ives. The young people are – two teenage blondes that are nicknamed 'The Beverley Sisters', a big hefty boy called Jeff, and a nice-looking boy about 13–14 called Colin, with his sister and his sister's friend, both called Gillian and both 16.

  I never got to know the Beverley Sisters or big hefty Jeff – but I did get to know Colin.

  I got up early on Sunday morning and wandered downstairs a good half-hour before the breakfast gong. Mrs Philpotts had said there was a recreation room with a small library. I still had Gone with the Wind as a standby but I wanted to see what other books were on offer. I peeped in several doors and found the dining room all set up for breakfast and a sitting room with big sofas and a small television set – and then I stumbled upon the recreation room. It was just a small room with a shelf of Agatha Christie and Alistair Maclean paperbacks and a lot of board games, Monopoly and Ludo and Snakes and Ladders. There was a table-tennis table crammed into the room – and Colin was standing at the net, madly trying to play his left hand against his right hand.

  He grinned when he saw me and clapped his tennis bats together. 'Hurray! Come and play with me!' he said, as if we'd known each other for ever.

  'I can't play. I don't know how,' I said.

  'I'll teach you,' said Colin, thrusting the bat in my hand.

  'I'm not any good at games,' I said. 'I'm sure I'll be hopeless.'

  I was hopeless, but Colin didn't seem to mind. He was happy to chase after the ball and win spectacularly.

  'Champion, the wonder horse!' he sang. (It was the theme tune from a children's television show.) He threw back his head and neighed while I giggled uncertainly.

  'You are daft,' I said.

  'Course I am. Totally nuts,' said Colin happily. 'I'm Colin. What's your name?'

  'Jacky.'

  'Have you got any brothers or sisters here?'

  I shook my head.

  'I've got my big sister Gillian. She's with her friend Gillian. She's OK but she's sixteen, too old for me. How old are you, Jacky?'

  'Fourteen.'

  'Well, I'm nearly fourteen. Do you want to be my girlfriend?'

  I stared at him. I liked him but I didn't want a boyfriend who was younger than me – and totally nuts.

  'Let's just be friends,' I said cautiously.

  'OK,' said Colin, not seeming to mind. 'I've got this friend Cookie. He's a great laugh. He's got this beach hut. We muck around together. Maybe you could be his girlfriend?'

  'I don't think so!'

  Cookie! He sounded as odd as Colin. I didn't think it at all likely I'd want to be his girlfriend.

  'Well, you could still come and hang out with us by the beach hut,' Colin suggested.

  'It's very kind of you, but I'm here with my parents and their friends,' I mumbled. 'Shall we have another game of table tennis?'

  'Yeah, yeah, great,' said Colin, immediately serving and not even giving me a chance to return the ball. 'One to me. Are you going to the beach today then?'

  'Yes, I expect so.'

  'Are you going to do any surfriding?'

  'You bet,' I said.

  He looked surprised and wiggled his eyebrows. 'You can really surf?'

  'Of course I can,' I said proudly.

  I'd been to Newquay two years before and surfed every day. Not the surfriding guys in wetsuits do today, standing up and zigzagging over huge breakers. I wish! No, in 1960 in England, surfriding meant basic wooden boards. As long as you were a strong swimmer anyone could wade out, wait for a big wave, lie on the board and be whisked along into the shallows. I might be a total duffer at table tennis but I loved swimming and I'd taken to surfriding in a big way.

  'Two to me. My pal Cookie's super at surfing. I'm just sort of so-so,' said Colin. 'I don't like getting my head under the water.' He shook his thick brown hair, pulling a silly face. Then his eyes brightened.

  'So what kind of swimming costume have you got, Jacky?' he said, serving again. The ball whizzed straight past me. 'Come on, you can't be that bad . . . Is it a bikini?' he added hopefully.

  'No, it's not a bikini,' I said.

  'Oh, spoilsport,' said Colin. As he served he started singing the 'Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini' song.

  'Mine's a swimsuit. It's not itsy-bitsy or teeny-weeny, and it's not even yellow, it's blue and white,' I said. I actually managed to connect bat with ball and smash it past him.

  The breakfast gong sounded and Colin grinned.

  'Just as you were coming into your own. Oh well, maybe see you on the beach? Or if not, come and find us along the beach-hut terrace. Cookie's hut is number sixty-eight.' He put his head on one side, squinting at me earnestly. 'You're absolutely sure you don't want to be my girlfriend?'

  I was still absolutely sure, but I did like Colin a lot. He waved to me enthusiastically when I entered the breakfast room with Biddy and Harry, calling, 'Hello Jacky!' nearly knocking his orange juice over.

  'I see you've made a friend here already, Jac!' said Biddy.

  'We just played table tennis together,' I said casually.