Among Others

lunch in a posh department store called Owen Owens. The food was overcooked and slimy.
    When we got home, I offered to make scones, in as deferential and polite a way as I could. They really didn’t want me to, I could see that, but I can’t quite see why. I can cook, I’ve been able to cook for years. I can cook a lot better than they can. They can’t think it’s beneath me, because they do it themselves. Maybe they don’t want to let me into their kitchen, but I wouldn’t mess it up.
    I hardly saw Daniel today. He was working at something. I’ve borrowed a great pile of his books and am working my way through them. I wish the light in here was better.
    I don’t think I am like other people. I mean on some deep fundamental level. It’s not just being half a twin and reading a lot and seeing fairies. It’s not just being outside when they’re all inside. I used to be inside. I think there’s a way I stand aside and look backwards at things when they’re happening which isn’t normal. It’s a thing you need to do for doing magic. But as I’m not going to do any magic, it’s rather wasted.
    S UNDAY 23 RD D ECEMBER 1979
    Church. The aunts inspected me when I got up as if I’d be on display, and one of them suggested that I should find something a little smarter. I was wearing a navy blue skirt and a pale blue t-shirt, with my school coat on top. It wasn’t a cold day, though it was raining. I thought I was fine. I gave in though, and went up and put on a grey pullover. I don’t have many clothes that aren’t uniform. I left most of my clothes when I ran away, obviously.
    Apart from the inspection, church was normal enough. St. Mark’s is a nice old stone church, with gothic arches and a crusader tomb that’s probably one of their ancestors, but I didn’t go and look. It was an English service, as I’d expect, and a normal enough Advent sermon. There was a crib set up in the church already, and the hymns were carols. The vicar talked to us nicely afterwards, and they introduced me as Daniel’s daughter. Daniel wasn’t there. I wonder why not?
    He was there for lunch, overcooked roast beef with oversalted potatoes and carrots. I wish they’d let me cook. I can understand why they wouldn’t want me to cook Sunday dinner right off, but they could have let me make some scones. Three more days. This is as bad as school. Worse, because no book club and no library to disappear into.
    I went for a walk after lunch, despite the rain and my leg, which actually isn’t too bad today, just grumbling, not screaming. It’s just like around school, not real countryside, just farms and fields and roads, no wild, no ruins and not a fairy in sight. I can’t think why anyone would choose to live here.
    M ONDAY 24 TH D ECEMBER 1979, C HRISTMAS E VE
    The Russians have invaded Afghanistan. There’s a terrible inevitability to it. I’ve read so many stories with World War III that sometimes it seems as if it’s the inevitable future and there’s no use worrying about anything because it’s not as if I’ll grow up anyway.
    Daniel brought home a tree and we decorated it, with brittle Christmas cheer. The decorations are all very old and valuable, mostly glass. They’re exquisite, and very magical. I was almost afraid to touch them. Even the lights are antique—Venetian glass lanterns that used to hold candles but they’ve been refitted for electric bulbs. Two of the bulbs had gone and I changed them. I miss our old Christmas decorations, which Auntie Teg will be putting on the tree even now. She’ll be doing it on her own, if they’re only letting Grampar out for the day. I hope she can get it to stand up all right. The trouble we’ve had getting trees to stand up! Last year we had to tie it to the cupboard door. But it’s better not to think about last year, the worst Christmas of all time. Of course, the good thing about that is that no matter how awful this is, it can’t even compete.
    Our Christmas decorations are also old, mostly, though some of them are new, bought in our lifetimes. They’re mostly plastic, though the fairy that goes on the top is china. The Old Hall tree doesn’t have a fairy, which seems strange. It has Father Christmas on the top. Ours don’t match, except in being such a mixture they do match, and we have lots of tinsel, not thin silver strands, big thick twists of it. I hope it isn’t too much for Auntie Teg to do all on her own. I hope my mother doesn’t turn up