There’s a bit of a silence.

Me: Will you go back? You never have, have you? Dad shakes his head & looks down: No. It is a very different place.

Me: But you could now.

Dad: Maybe I will.

Me: Can I come with you?

Dad nods and smiles. Would you like to?

Me: Yes please!

Dad shakes my hand: Well, we will shake on it. This is our pact. When you are grown up, we will go together. I will show you my school, the bazaars, the Shalimar Gardens, Lahore Fort, built by the great Akbar. It is a very beautiful city, Lahore.

I feel sad then, that Dad has lived most of his life in another country. It’s a part of me, and I don’t know it.

Me: Do you miss it?

D: I miss my father, & my brothers. But they’re dead.

Me: How did they die?

D: They were killed, after Partition. Many, many people died then. It was a terrible time.

Me: Who killed them?

Dad is silent, then he says: Ignorant men. They slit their throats. While my brothers slept. They killed my father when he tried to run away, in the night.

I’ve been trying to remember everything as accurately as possible as he said it, because I don’t know any of this and I’d like to record it properly. But all I remember really clearly is his face as he said this. Awful. I just stared at him.

Me: I never knew that. Honestly?

Dad smiles: Honestly. My cousin wrote to me of it.

I was in London, in Spring. You were a few months old. I saw the letter . . . very old it was, battered & the address was faint, the ink had run . .

. And I knew. I had been reading the papers, I had tried to get messages to them, to telephone the old school, the Post Office where Govind (think that’s how he said it) worked . . . then that letter came. I remember walking to the door. It was on the wooden floor. Staring up at me. I knew what was in it. I knew they had been killed. My cousin wrote about the many trains pulling into Lahore Station. Filled with bodies. Hundreds, thousands of them, slaughtered on the way up. Blood dripping onto the tracks. The smell of it, in the heat.

Diary it was so awful just hearing his voice, monotone, saying these terrible things, in this warm, quiet room with green outside the window, blue sea in the distance.

Me: It must seem a very long way away.

Dad looks round the study, out of the window: It’s a very long way away. I do not know if I could even go back to Lahore, now. But we could certainly go to the Punjab in India. To Amritsar, the Holy City of the Sikhs, & the Golden Temple. Would you like that?

Me: Yes, I’d love that. When shall we go?

Dad: When you leave school, my little child. We will go then.

We talked for a long time. I looked down & saw the Times on Dad’s desk. Odd to think they started the summing up in the Stephen Ward trial today. It seems so silly, so gossipy & . . . tawdry. When I looked at my watch it was one-thirty, & no one had rung the bell for lunch.

‘Alas, you cannot hear the bell in here,’ Dad said, which I thought was pretty funny. That’s why he’s always late.

In the afternoon the others were playing tennis and going for a swim but I went for a walk along the coast by myself. I felt all sort of churned up, at what Dad said, about his brothers, my uncles, how they died. That is a part of me, & I know nothing about it. It seems we never discuss it, not because it is something bad, but because we are so complete in our world here, I always thought.

We have a lovely house, we have money, we have Mummy & Dad, the sea & the knowledge that we are well-off & intellectually satisfied with our lot.

We have made our own way of life, the Kapoors. As I walked along the cliffs, with the wind blowing my hair so it turned into little fluffy knots, I wondered then, WHY? Why does it feel like there is something missing, something wrong. There’s Dad, in his study, so remote he can’t hear the bell for lunch, and there’s Mummy, in her studio, for hours on end. I don’t think either of them looks out of the window. They don’t go for walks on the beach or swim in the sea.

Later.

In the evening Mummy went to bed early with a headache, & Louisa helped Mary, she made chicken mousse, with salad & greengage tart

& clotted cream for pudding. It was delicious. Dear Louisa looked really pleased, we were all begging for more, & even Miranda said, involuntarily, ‘This is absolutely gorgeous, Louisa, thanks a lot.’

Doesn’t sound much but gosh dear Diary, that is a lot coming from her at the moment. They smiled at each other & suddenly everything seemed a bit less . . . I don’t know, again. I wish I wasn’t so stupid & could find the words to describe it. But it’s beyond me, obviously. Goodnight DD, I am finding you so helpful.

Love always, Cecily

Wednesday, 31st July 1963

After our long conversation, I dreamt I was with Dad, only he was a young man, in Lahore. We were walking through a bazaar together & it was very hot. I could smell sandalwood, incense, rich beautiful perfumes, & we were pushing red, pink, burgundy silk rugs & carpets out of the way as we walked. Then I woke up, & it is funny, for the first time I can remember I was disappointed to be here, in Summercove. Normally it is the place I long to be at most, my home, I dream about it when I’m at school endlessly, & when I wake up & I’m in my horrible dorm smelling of damp & Margaret snoring, I could cry. Like when you wake up thinking it’s the weekend & then realise it’s only Tuesday.

Today, me, Guy & Louisa went with Mummy to St Ives to see her dealer. She tried to get the others to come along, & they were being too lazy & wouldn’t go. Bowler Hat was going to come, but he was very irritating, Uhming and Aahing about whether to, & in the end he dropped out.

He wanted to sunbathe, which I suppose if I am being charitable is fair enough, it was boiling hot, but why does he have to take an hour to decide?

We were late to leave because something funny happened. Mummy was holding the door open for us as we scooted in, like an air hostess,

& when the Bowler Hat finally made up his mind at the last minute not to come (I think he saw how cramped the car would be), she sort of swiped at him, like Scarlett O’Hara, only she stumbled a bit on the gravel (drive v uneven) & it was awful, she trod on his foot with her little heel. Nearly gave him a stigmata, Archie said. (Archie found the whole episode hilarious – but he loves pain & suffering, he is a fairly Base Person). He was hopping around in agony, & we had to give him a bandage. Mummy was so mortified, it was quite funny to see her embarrassed, normally she never loses her cool, ever.

She drove like a lunatic to St Ives, I think it shook her up. But Louisa was wonderful, talking to her nicely about her show, though it only seemed to make Mummy crosser, somehow, oh ARTISTS. I talked to Guy, which is, DD, becoming one of my favourite things about this holiday. I feel like I could talk to him all day & night & never run out of things to say. I told him about my chat with Daddy yesterday, about going to India, about the Koh-iNoor diamond.

Guy said: I saw it at prep school. We came up on a charabanc, we went to the Tower. I wore some chain mail. It was v exciting. When you’re next up in town, we should go together & have a look at it if you’d like.

People are stupid sometimes. I said: Guy, I’m at school. In Devon. I don’t go up to town, ever.

He looked embarrassed as if he hadn’t really thought about it properly: Oh. Maybe in the holidays.

Me: Yes, that’d be lovely . . .

Actually I don’t ever go off to London in the holidays, unless we all go to visit Aunt Pamela. But I felt I can be honest with Guy. So I said,

‘Really Guy if I were to go out by myself in London, I should want to go to Soho, to sit in a bar & drink Café Cremes (or is that a cigarette? Can’t remember), not amble around with hundreds of tourists looking at the Crown Jewels.’

Guy started to laugh, & he laughed so hard Louisa & Mummy asked what we were talking about. He held my hand up, like boxers do in the papers when they’ve won, & he squeezed it. ‘You win again,’ he said, & he kissed my hand, & then nudged me.

I sometimes think with Guy that It’s a bit of a bunfight, getting into the town, now more & more people have cars. There’s a queue everywhere. It was annoying, & Mummy still had the roof down & we were in all the back streets & people were staring at us & I didn’t like it.

Stupid red-faced day trippers with ices, staring at us, because of the big cream car & because Mummy looks like someone famous with her headscarf and big dark glasses. Suppose she is famous. But I felt like Little Lord Fauntleroy.

Mummy’s dealer at her gallery is French, with a funny name – Didier & he is very nice. However his father was there too, a famous dealer from London who runs the gallery where Mummy’s show will be. He is called Louis de something, & he was far too over the top, he kissed Mummy’s hand too. He spoke to her in a very funny way. ‘Dear Madam,’ he called her. ‘Dearest lady, you who shine brighter than any other.’ Etc etc.

On the way back we stopped for petrol & heard on the radio that Stephen Ward has taken an overdose this morning. The judge began summing up the trial yesterday. He is in a coma. I feel sorry for him. But some of the things . . . ! Archie whispers ‘Vickie Barrett’, whenever I go into a room, as she is the girl who said there were whips & chains & contraceptives lying around Stephen Ward’s flat. Don’t believe it but it’s most alarming to think of.

Dear Diary, we had a lovely evening when we got back, quiche Lorraine & salad & ratatouille except that Miranda flirted with Bowler Hat all evening, and it was pathetic. Why it was pathetic is because Miranda just gets hysterical, not sophisticated, and says racy things to him. It’s not impressive, it’s embarrassing, like Judith Fairfax at school who no one talks to & when you do she gets all silly and overexcited and starts being embarrassing and childish. Even the BH was looking a bit perturbed. Louisa couldn’t really do anything. Louisa is sort of diminished this holiday. I used to want to be her so much. She was so strong & Hail Fellow Well Met-ish, the blonde, beautiful, friendly Head Girl.

Now she’s just . . . hopeful. Smiling brightly, wearing a nice expression in case BH turns to notice her. Dear God, I really don’t like him.

Perhaps I should try & have a word with Miranda . . . She is downstairs still, outside, I can hear her laughing with someone.

She is coming. I will put the diary away now.

Thursday, 1st August 1963

Yes, I did have a terrible row with Miranda. I wish I hadn’t. Oh God, DD, I wish I hadn’t. I accused her of terrible things and she did too, she was horrible. I shouldn’t have started it, but she is so mad at the moment. Esp now she has found her Beauty.

She came in last night after I put the book away & she smelt of cigarettes. I will try & write it down briefly.

Me: Were you out with BH?

Her: MYOB.

Me: You’re hurting Louisa you know.

Her: Shut up.

She hit me on the cheek. I knelt up on bed & hit her back. I caught her by the hair & scratched her, I enjoyed it. I really did. It’s awful. I could feel a bloodlust in me. It was strange. I felt my fingers digging into her scalp, she did the same to me. Then she let go. She said: I’m not doing anything wrong.