Monday 24 February

At home, 5 p.m.

Doom and damnation. Something is up with Julie. Definitely. I saw her talking to Carmen at break. They were sitting on the radiators. When I went up she hardly registered my presence. Finally, she said, ‘Enjoy the pancake rolls, then?’

‘Yes, they’re delicious, aren’t they?’ I felt like a puppy trying to lick her hand. But she just gave a chilly laugh and turned back to Carmen. In the end I walked off.

I saw Carmen as I was going through the gates later and asked her if she knew what was up. She said that I should know and that if I didn’t I wasn’t the friend I thought I was. So now I’m really confused. I don’t know whether to be upset or angry.

6 p.m.

Mother’s home and full of good spirits. She’s bought some posh bacon – pancetta – from the Italian delicatessen near the lingerie shop and so there’s spaghetti carbonara for supper. I don’t know whether to feel cross at the extravagance – you could probably buy a year’s worth of bacon for the same price at the supermarket – or simply greedy.

Anyway, it’s been all action at work. Remember that man who bought the set for his fiancée? Today he was back. ‘Was a larger knicker necessary after all?’ suggested Mother. Well, no. Not as such. In fact, no knicker was necessary at all. Engagement was off. ‘Was it anything to do with the thong?’ asked Mother. He shook his head as if it was the least of his worries.

‘These foolish thongs,’ he said. Then he reddened, shuffled his feet and asked if they did refunds. Sadly, Pritchard & Benning, Corsetières by Appointment to the Queen, does not offer refunds. No matter how tragic the circumstances. But he could have a credit note. He stared at this dolefully and then turned to leave the shop. At the door he spun round, dashed back and thrust it into her hands. ‘You have it,’ he said. ‘Do something with it. You’ve been so kind. So understanding.’ And then he was gone.

That explains the pancetta and the good spirits.

In bed, later

Bert dropped by just as we were sitting down for supper. It’s funny how he always seems to arrive at mealtimes. Mother gave him half of her spaghetti carbonara. I gave her a look and she said, ‘I’ll fill up on bread.’ She told him the story of the man and the lingerie set right from the beginning. But all he said was, ‘Seventy quid? Is that how much that stuff costs? Just for a bit of French tat.’

I’m sure he didn’t mean to be rude. He’s Julie’s uncle and she loves him.

Then Mother took Marie and Cyril up to bed and Uncle Bert and I watched the news. It was all about the build-up to war, lots of soldiers marching and missiles being counted. They showed you a picture of a village that was near the firing line, some little children playing in the street with no shoes on. It made me think about the effect it would have on ordinary people. There was an expert talking about other ways of bringing about change, of different sorts of governmental policy, of stopping trade links and stuff like that. It seemed to make sense to me. I can’t wait to talk about it with John The Chemist. But Uncle Bert started huffing and talking about small businesses and ‘who does he think he is, stupid bleeding-heart liberal’.

I said I’d probably go on the school march and he got quite cross. He said, ‘What do you think a demonstration like that will achieve? It’s just troublemaking. How many of you lot are old enough to have a properly thought-through opinion? Don’t you realize the value of a show of might?’

I felt my face get hot. I told him I thought it was a mistake to assume all young people were politically apathetic.

He said, ‘Have you spared one thought for merchandising?’

I’ve made up my mind. I’m definitely going on the march now.