Читать книгу Land Girls: The Homecoming: A moving and heartwarming wartime saga - Roland Moore - Страница 6

Extract from the diary of Connie Carter:

“It’s all gone wrong. I don’t know what to do. There was me with my stupid, perfect happy ending and it’s all crumbled to dust. Maybe I should have realised that I just wasn’t ‘good enough’.

But I never thought your whole life could just sort of fall apart like that. And fall apart so easily, either. Each bit of happiness falling like it’s in a row of dominoes or something. If she knew what happened, Mrs Gulliver would be pulling one of her sour old looks and saying something like “I knew she was rubbish, that Connie Carter”. She’ll be pointing fingers with the rest of the I-told-you-so-brigade when they all find out. Maybe she’d be right. There’s too many things that have happened to him, all because of me. He doesn’t deserve that.

The worst thing is that I don’t know where he is. If he’d said where he was going, even if it involved never wanting to see me again, at least I’d have known, wouldn’t I? I could cope with that, eventually. But I don’t even know if he’s still alive. No, can’t think like that. He is alive and I just hope he comes back. And it’s not like there’s anyone I can talk to about it, is there? No one I can ask. No one I can pour my heart out to.

Got to keep it a secret.

That’s why I started to write this diary. Never kept one before. And probably won’t keep this one going for long. See, where I come from, you don’t tend to write down your thoughts and feelings and stuff, in case someone finds it and uses it against you. I’d never have written things down in the children’s home. Last thing you want is someone mocking you and seeing that you’re not as tough as you’re making out. I can take care of myself. Always have done. But a lot of my mouth is just a front. It’s obvious really, I guess. But no point telling everyone, is there?

So this might be the only time I write this stuff down.

I feel on edge the whole time. I can’t settle. Certainly can’t sleep or eat more than the barest amount. Esther, the warden at the farm, has been understanding. She’s been nice. Not that she knows the truth. She thinks I’m ill. That’s because that’s the lie I told her. I couldn’t tell her the truth. Whole can of worms that would be, wouldn’t it?

That’s why the I-told-you-so-brigade don’t know nothing yet.

Best to keep it that way.

Best to keep the big old secret. Isn’t it?

But the trouble is, I can’t just stay indoors pretending that I’m ill. I’m sure some of the other Land Girls have spotted me in Helmstead, walking aimlessly around. Or in the fields, where it looks like I’m enjoying a summer walk, lost in my thoughts. I just keep moping around, searching in vain for some clue. Keep thinking I’ll see him in the High Street or walking along a path somewhere. How can I search properly, though, when I’m sneaking around trying not to be seen?

This isn’t helping. I’m wasting time in here writing this, and it’s not helping.

Yeah, I’ve got to tell Esther what’s happened, at least. Tell her how I’ve blown it. Then I won’t have to pretend to be ill any longer. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. She might be able to help me. The Land Girls might be able to help me.

Time to let the dreadful cat out of the bag.