Letters to a Princess by Libby Hathorn Page A

them out of it? That’s what I’d like to know. Isn’t that why we’re all here? And hasn’t anyone got a sense of humour about this whole thing? I mean, they might have fertile imaginations but in general what’s wrong with that? Yes, they went too far. But it’s not as if these girls planned murder or espionage. I think we should cut them both some slack. And as for that journo who let out the wrong story, he should take some of the blame, shouldn’t he?’
    I could have hugged him. Though Bee bit her lip and said no more and Miss Pate frowned and Ms Morrison spoke about responsible behaviour, I wasdumbly grateful for his support. Graham certainly wasn’t giving me any.
    … Unhealthy interest … mother’s death … mood swings … desires to lock herself away … obsessional dieting … workouts … cousin’s wedding …
on and on.
    Ms Morrison gave our parents the details of our punishment—community volunteer work, extra study and the removal of privileges. We also had to give personal apologies here, there and everywhere. And Ms Morrison made Graham promise that I’d see a counsellor again.
    Zoë and I accepted it all without complaint (at least in the office) and promised to do everything that was aked of us (there being simply no other choice).
    Bee didn’t smile at me as they left but Jack squeezed my hand, ‘It’s come out all right, Di, it’s not the huge crime they’re all making it out to be, love!’
    Graham wasn’t as encouraging but at least he had stopped bleating at me. And he cut Marcus short at home when he tried it on, ‘Hail Princess Poo-poo. Is it true that you are on the nose to the entire world now?’
    Zoë and I knew we were still in deep trouble. We made a list of all the people we had upset or offended:
Every teacher in the school and one member of the English staff especially.
Every journalist in town, and one journalist at the Daily Telegraph especially.
The Diana-loving press-reading world! Especially Babs (‘I’m disappointed in you, Diana, keenly disappointed!’).
Hammond Zeigler and Princess Diana.
    Zoë and I weren’t allowed to do our homework together anymore. They even put us in separate English classes and I had the bad luck to be stuck with Miss P, who said she’d keep an eye on me. Zoë, meanwhile, was put in the lovely Mrs Theiring’s class. The worst bit about the whole affair was the thing I had most dreaded. I got a zero in Journalism. I begged and begged Miss Pate to reconsider but she wouldn’t budge.
    When Zoë and I finally got to catch up on our own, Zoë told me about what was going on with her at home. Turned out her mother wasn’t as easygoing as I’d thought. ‘She’s giving me hell, the witch!’ Zoë complained. ‘I’m grounded night and day and Jason’s fed up! If it weren’t for Dad …’ It was unusual to see her so down. But somehow I knew that with Zoë, it wouldn’t last long.
    It took weeks for the whole thing to die down at school. The weird thing was that as time passed, Zoë became more and more the hero of the story and I became more and more the villain.
    Jason Chee took me aside one afternoon and told me that true friendship meant standing by your mates no matter what, and never dobbing them in, no matter what. I tried to explain that I hadn’t dobbed anyone in, that Zoë had dumped herself in it. To be fair, Zoëtried to tell him that as well, but I don’t think he believed her.
    The fact is, everyone held me more responsible for the mess than they did Zoë. That’s how it seemed to me, anyway, because they were sympathetic to her in a way no-one was to me.
    I had no choice but to go back to counselling. I also had no choice but to accept Graham’s decision to send me to a new counsellor rather than Leila who I at least trusted. The new shrink reckoned my stress about the fake-interview fiasco was making my eating problem worse. She spent ages in our first session lecturing me on all the dangers of under-eating and