Letters to a Princess (2 page)

‘You need a shrink, girl,’ she said the other day when I wouldn’t agree to go out. We were in the Lower Playground at our school, Sydney Girls’ High. Zoë was planning what we’d do that afternoon when we got out of school. She was even more enthusiastic than usual because of a new group of boys she’s just met. We sometimes go to a café called Bar Coluzzi in Darlinghurst but that day she wanted to go to Macca’s at Bondi Junction where these guys usually hang out. Just the smell of hamburgers and chips makes me feel sick but I couldn’t admit that to her—I’d never hear the end of it.

‘Don’t think so,’ I said, ‘I’ve got another free pass for the gym.’

‘You’re getting way thin, Di, with all these workouts. My mum reckons you can be too thin. She’s always going on about how models starve themselves and then schoolgirls like us look at them in mags and think their bodies are normal. Well, they’re not. My mum reckons it’s insane and so do I. And you know it too. Remember that model who died last year because she was so bloody underweight? Do you want that to happen to you?’

‘Of course not, but what is this? An inquisition?’

‘You haven’t eaten lunch any day this week and then you go working out at the gym like a fiend.’

‘Better than pigging out!’ I said, starting to get angry.

Zoë is tall and inclined to be a bit chubby but her full round face looks a picture of health and she doesn’t give a damn about calories. She is so pretty with her blonde hair and tanned skin and long, long legs, it doesn’t matter for her.

‘I know you like the gym, Di, and so do I. But working all those hours at the Fruit Mart and spending
all
the money you get on the gym is a bit crazy, girl. Everyone thinks so!’

‘Everyone?! Is that what they’re saying? Crazy?’ That word again. The one Marcus loves to throw at me.

‘Well, at least you’re not eating cottonwool or tissues so your tummy feels full, like those crazies in Year 10!’ said Zoë, and she looked at me long and hard. I didn’t think this deserved an answer.

‘But then again, maybe you are!’ she said.

‘Hey, ease up will you!’ It was like a hit in the face that last remark. We’d all heard the rumours about the two anorexic girls who were so obsessed with being thin they decided they couldn’t even drink water because it made them feel bloated! And we were all a bit frightened when we heard one of them was dangerously ill and had to go to hospital. And then the other one went too. So now they’ve both disappeared from our school but the rumours about them are still rife.

‘Did you know Angela took Ecstasy whenever she could get it and then worked out at the gym? And
now she’s so weak she can’t walk properly? She’s got some bone disease!’ And, warming to this horror story, Zoë added, ‘Yeah, and do you know Felicity’s still in hospital? Hair has grown all over her face! And her teeth have decayed. Ugh! Everyone thinks it’s gross!’

I wasn’t like those girls. And who was anybody to judge me? I felt a lump in my throat.

‘Who’s talking about me?’ I asked, and then added, ‘and anyway, it’s nobody’s bloody business what I do, Zoë!’

‘Saji and Selma think you’re too thin, for starters!’

‘Then go ask them to go with you to Macca’s,’ I said. Saji and Selma are in our group, but they’re more friends of Zoë’s than mine. Neither of them has the freedom to hang out after school like I do and I knew it.

‘But I want
you
to come. And what kind of a friend are you, when you just keep doing solo stuff at the gym? Tell me that!’

I hadn’t expected an attack like this, even though it’s true I’m spending time at the gym whenever I can and avoiding our old haunts. I know it upsets Zoë that I haven’t been going to Bondi with her like I used to. She loves the beach and not only for surfing. She’s shown me what she calls her secret cave, which is a cool place round at Ben Buckler. It’s a bit of a climb but we sometimes go there at low tide. We haven’t been for ages though.

Then there’s her latest craze—afternoon ‘pigouts’ at Macca’s. Zoë doesn’t really understand how important it is for me to somehow control my weight problem.

‘You’ve never been a fat arse,’ I said to her. ‘You don’t know how it feels to be called that by Marcus every day of your life! Fatso, Fat Arse, Hippo Hips.’

‘Just look in the mirror, Di. For God’s sake, just take a look!’ Zoë shouted. ‘You don’t want to become anorexic do you? That’s nutty!’

‘Not you too, Zoë! Give me a break.’

I started to cry. I just couldn’t help it, I felt so sorry for myself. My best friend was turning on me just like all the rest of them. Why couldn’t she understand and stop all this labelling? Zoë is really soft-hearted, so the minute I started crying she put an arm around me.

‘Hey Di-Di, don’t get so upset. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, girlfriend, but honest to God you are hard to understand sometimes. Even my dad commented on how thin you’re getting. Maybe it’s time for you to see someone again. I know you saw that shrink when your mum, you know, went.’

People always find it so hard to say ‘died’ and Zoë never says it even though I do.

‘Maybe someone different would help you. The new school counsellor is great. Naomi Vockler told me she helped get her an apartment to live in so she can leave home but still study for her finals. And you know all that trouble Saji had about wearing the hijab? Well, Ms Freeland got it sorted out with those bully girls who were picking on Saji and saying it wasn’t school uniform. Saji says she’s been great for her and I’m worried about you, Di. Don’t say no straightaway, just think about giving her a go. And come with me to Macca’s this arvo, please!’

I dried my tears and reluctantly went to Macca’s. But I got away as soon as I could. Unlike Zoë, I find it hard to talk to new people.

That night I thought a lot about what Zoë had said. And the next day I took her advice about the counsellor. Zoë can be harsh but I know she really cares about me.

Seeing the new school counsellor turned out to be a good thing. First of all she linked me up with Leila Rowland, a psychologist at the hospital where Mum had spent a few weeks.

Leila (and I’m allowed to call her that) somehow made me talk and talk in a way I haven’t been able to before. I talked about the special relationship I had with my mum and how I had hated having to share her with Graham, let alone Marcus. And how terrible those few months were as I watched someone so strong and so major in my life fade away. And how no-one can ever take her place.

Leila talks a lot about my body image and how it’s linked to my feelings about everything. The advice she gives me is actually really useful. Especially about balance with my diet. Still, even though I know it makes sense, I’m finding it hard to follow her suggestions completely.

I am talking small steps, though, like eating something before I go to school. And I’ve stopped going to the gym too. But I still do my own workouts. I get out of bed extra early every morning to do push-ups to make up for eating breakfast and not going to the gym. I try to increase the number of push-ups I do every day because it makes me feel strong and ready to face the
day. So why should I stop just to make Zoë or Leila or anyone else feel happy? It really has to be like this and I know I’m becoming a pretty healthy person. Actually, I’m feeling so much better that I’ve told Leila I don’t feel the need to see her so often.

Babs is indignant because some aristocrat in the English parliament called Princess Diana ‘a loose cannon’ when she began campaigning against landmines. Babs brought me a photograph of Diana with a little boy who’d obviously trodden on a mine.

‘It’s heart rendering,’ she said, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s actually heart
rending.

‘Someone like her, a princess who’s so much in the spotlight, well, she can do so much to change world opinion just by being with those little kids who’ve suffered,’ Babs raged.

‘And then that announcer on the radio this morning added fuel to the fire by saying the subject of landmines was too complicated for her little bird-brain. What an insult!’

I agreed wholeheartedly.

‘I’d like to bird-brain him!’ Babs thwacked the window with her duster as she spoke in angry bursts.

‘Why in hell doesn’t he get out there and do something useful instead of saying things just to sell newspapers? What’s so complicated about getting your foot or your leg blown off by a landmine, I’d like to know!’ I thought a pane of glass might break as she thwack-thwacked with each word.

After Babs left I really wished I could talk to Mum. Not so much to tell her about Princess Diana, though I know she’s suffering at the hands of the press, but about Babs and the way she gets so riled up. I knew we’d laugh together about it, like we used to. But of course I can’t talk to Mum and that makes me feel panicky sometimes. Like now. I wanted to go for a run but it was getting dark and I knew Graham would have a fit.

‘Breathe deeply,’ I heard Leila’s words in my head just in time, ‘Think of a lovely memory of your mum.’

I lay on my bed and for once the house was quiet. I could smell the jasmine bunched up outside on the fence. I thought about how much Mum loved jasmine. She would always point out the tiny flowers and comment on how incredibly sweet they are. She loved the way they became points of light, like small gorgeous stars at night. It was working, I felt as though Mum was near. But then I sat up with a jolt. I wanted to make
real
contact with her, not all this memory stuff. And I felt a surge of anger that I could not see her, talk to her. Again that calm voice: ‘You could write to your mum, you know. Put down all your thoughts.’

‘What’s the use of that?’ I’d said at the time, rather rudely, ‘she’s dead!’

‘Just try it some time,’ Leila had answered calmly. I suppose she was used to brats like me.

I got off the bed slowly and took up my pen at the desk. I thought about what I’d like to say to Mum. But a gust of real fury swept through me and I wrote, ‘Where are you, you total bitch, when I need you most?’ I felt horrible for writing this so I threw the pen down. I felt panic rising again.

‘Breathe deeply,’ Leila’s calm voice came to me again, despite myself.

‘Breathe deeply,’ I murmured aloud but my breath came in sharp jabs that hurt. I just kept clinging onto that soft voice until gradually, gradually my breathing slowed down and I felt calmer. But the pain inside didn’t stop. I was still angry when I looked up and saw Diana’s face smiling down at me from one of the pictures on my wall. That was when I decided to write to her again. I needed to talk to someone who was
alive
; tell her some of my thoughts.

Dear Princess Diana,

It’s late at night and hot, with mozzies batting the flyscreen and the night noises of a party on Bondi Beach keeping me awake. My psychologist, Leila, has told me to write down my feelings but I can’t, so instead I’m writing to you again. I want to tell you a little more about my best friend Zoë, who is a bit of a princess too. Or so she says.

Zoë and I met at Sydney Girls’ High School. My
mum took me on my first day there, which was just as well because I was terrified of the big dark brick buildings and the huge grounds that are like a park. So different from Bondi Beach Public School which I knew so well.

When Mum did the tour of the school grounds with me and we learned it had been the site for the first zoo in Sydney and that there was still a bear pit in the grounds, she said, ‘Watch out Diana. They probably lock the new girls in there for the night!’ But then she quickly gave me a hug and said, ‘Joke Joyce’. She always said that when I didn’t get her jokes. ‘You’ll find a friend,’ she promised as she kissed me goodbye. And I did.

In my first Maths lesson during my first week at Sydney Girls’, I sat next to a tall blonde girl. She asked to borrow my pen, even though I could see she had several on her desk. Anyway, it broke the ice. We found out we lived a few streets away from each other and we’ve been best friends ever since. There’s always something to talk about with Zoë, which is funny because we are opposites in so many ways. She’s untidy, she’s easygoing, and she doesn’t worry about assignment deadlines or anything else like I do. And to be honest, she kinda toys with the truth with lots of her stories. The princess story for example.

Zoë says that her mother, Bee, is related to Dutch royalty not so far back. This is despite the fact that Bee is
plump and friendly and a hairdresser in a really uncool suburban salon.

‘Her name is Beatrice, really, like the Dutch Queen. Bee is just an Aussie nickname. Most of her relatives live in Holland. And I can’t tell you who phones her on a regular basis! But it’s someone royal! No, truly! So in a way I’m a princess, you know. No really!’ Zoë brags.

Zoë told the whole story to Mum not long after we’d met.

‘But didn’t you say your great-grandparents come from Wagga Wagga?’ Mum asked.

‘Yes,’ Zoë said, not flinching, ‘they had to go somewhere and hide out after some big war in Europe. They were on the run so what better place than Wagga Wagga? I’ll have to ask my mum the story again.’

Zoë also likes to talk about her dad, Jack. He’s a real prankster who jokes around with Zoë and her sister and brother in a way that makes me envious. They play ball or sit on the verandah and play Scrabble or they compete at computer games. They’re always laughing. According to Zoë, her dad ‘is on the verge of cracking the biggest business deal ever with America or with China or Europe or wherever. But that’s absolutely confidential.’

‘How come he has so much time to be with you kids then?’ my mum asked her at the time. It was a bit unkind but Zoë wasn’t fazed.

‘He’s between deals, but this one will be …’

That was three years ago and he’s still between deals, not to mention between jobs.

I know that Zoë knows that I know she tells lies. But she’s funny and brave and Zoë, in her Zoë way, ususally tells me the truth eventually. As I reckon the truth usually does come out with everyone. It’s like Martin and the smoking thing with Babs. He pretends he doesn’t know she has that stinking habit. What a joke! Locks herself in the bathroom with the exhaust fan on. You just need to stand near her and you know she’s a smoker.