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I hate us all being torn apart. It makes me feel as though I don't belong anywhere. You know, sometimes I get this most extraordinary feeling…as though I were in a sort of limbo, without any identity. It happens just when I'm least expecting it. Riding on top of a London bus, or leaning over the rail of some P and O liner, watching the wake of the ship creaming away into the past. And I think, what am I doing here? And where am I meant to be? And who am I?’
‘I think you must learn to precipitate situations, not be passive and simply let them happen to you. You must learn to be selective, about the friends you make and the books you read. An independence of spirit, I suppose that's what I'm talking about.’ She smiled. ‘George Bernard Shaw said that youth is wasted on the young. It's only when you get to be old that you begin to understand what he was talking about.’
She got no further. Because something, obviously, was terribly wrong. Her mother sat there, in her armchair by the fire, but the face she turned to Judith was stricken with despair and made swollen and ugly by weeping. A half-emptied tumbler stood on the table by her side, and on the floor at her feet were shed, like leaves, the scattered flimsy pages of a close-written letter. ‘Mummy!’ Instinctively, she closed the door behind her. ‘Whatever is it?’ ‘Oh, Judith.’ She was across the carpet and kneeling by her mother's side. ‘But what is it?’ The horror of seeing her parent in tears was worse
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Slamming the drawer shut, glancing up, she faced her own reflection in the mirror, and saw that she looked almost as distraught and anxious as her weeping mother downstairs. Which wouldn't do at all. One of them had to be strong and sensible, otherwise everything was going to fall to pieces. She took a deep breath or two and composed herself.
‘What is the point of having a car,’ Loveday asked, ‘if you never drive?’ Judith felt that perhaps she had been rather disloyal, and should now stick up for her absent mother. ‘Well, it's better than being like my aunt Louise, who drives her Rover at about a hundred miles an hour, and usually on the wrong side of the road. Mummy used to dread going anywhere with her.’
Alone. She realised how much she had missed the luxury of solitude, and knew that its occasional comfort would always be essential to her. The pleasure of being on one's own was not so much spiritual as sensuous, like wearing silk, or swimming without a bathing suit on, or walking along a totally empty beach with the sun on your back. One was restored by solitude. Refreshed.
The most important thing to remember, to be grateful for, is that your aunt has bequeathed to you not just her worldly goods, but a privilege that comes to few. And that is the right to be yourself. An entity. A person. Living life on your own terms with no other person to answer to. You probably won't appreciate this until you are older, but I promise you that one day you will realise the importance of what I am telling you.
‘Seems a shame to go,’ said Heather as they pulled on cotton frocks and stuffed their haversacks with wet bathing-things and the detritus of their picnic. She turned to look at the sea which, in the altering light, had miraculously taken on a different hue, for now it was no longer jade but a deep aquamarine blue. She said, ‘You know, it won't ever be like this again. Not ever. Just you and me, and this place and this time. Things only happen once. Do you ever think that, Judith? It can be a bit the same, of course, but never quite the same.’ Judith understood. ‘I know.’
‘Are you near the sea?’ ‘No. Just the river.’ ‘But rivers aren't the same as the sea, are they?’ ‘No. Not a bit the same.’ Loveday fell silent, thinking about this, digging her chin into her knees. ‘I don't think I could live away from the sea.’ ‘It's not so bad.’ ‘It's worse than bad. It's torture.’ He smiled. ‘As bad as that?’ ‘Yes. And I know because when I was about twelve I was sent off to boarding-school in Hampshire, and I nearly expired. It was all wrong. I felt like an alien. Everything was the wrong shape, the houses and the hedges and even the sky. I always felt the sky was sitting
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She yawned and stretched, and settled back again on her pillows and thought how perfect it would be if sleep could not only restore one but iron out all anxieties in the same process, so that one could wake with a totally clear and untroubled mind, as smooth and empty as a beach, washed and ironed by the outgoing tide. But that was not to be. She awoke, and all her pressing anxieties at once crowded about her and raised their heads again. They had simply been waiting for her.

