The Men in her Life

stormed upstairs to have a bath, and Holly felt a failure. Despite her indifference to the news, she seemed as magnetically drawn to the television as Clare was. Finally Joss came down, scooped Tom up, dressed him and announced he was going out.
    ‘Can’t you see it’s upsetting him to see you crying like this?’ he accused Clare.
    ‘I can’t seem to stop,’ she said, ‘I’ve tried to explain to him...’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake, he’s too young to understand about death or princesses,’ Joss said impatiently. ‘At least we’ll have the beach to ourselves if the rest of the world is as mawkish as you two...’
    ‘It feels like watching history, like we’re all in it together, like the beginning of a war, or something,’ Holly tried to defend herself, ‘look, look, here’s Tony Blair...’
    ‘How convenient to catch him coming out of church. How very spontaneous,’ Joss sneered, but sat down on the arm of the sofa to watch and listen to the Prime Minister as he paid tribute to the People’s Princess.
    ‘Well, that had to be the most carefully-prepared, off-the-cuff eulogy I’ve ever heard...’ Joss said as soon as he had finished.
    ‘You’re so cynical,’ Clare told him.
    ‘It brought a bit of a lump to my throat,’ Holly tried to tread the middle path, ‘whatever you think, you have to admit he does do this sort of thing well... he really looks as if he means it...’
    ‘How do you know he doesn’t?’ Clare snapped at her, ‘I mean, he’s met her, his children have played with the princes...’
    ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Joss said, ‘you’re beginning to sound like a feature in Hello !’
    ‘At least I feel something,’ Clare retaliated.
    ‘I can see you do,’ Joss said, ‘you’ve got all the early symptoms of a massive attack of hypocrisy...’
    ‘Oh come on, guys,’ Holly said, ‘a woman’s dead, isn’t that enough for one day?’
    Joss glared at her, took hold of Tom’s hand roughly and led him out of the house.
    Every channel had the same footage. They played it over and over again, interspersed with gloomy-looking royal reporters.
    ‘Do you think they’re genuinely upset, or are they mourning for the loss of their livelihood?’ Holly asked. Clare kept staring at the screen, saying nothing.
    ‘I’d hate to have all my investments in magazines right now,’ Holly commented later, ‘I mean what the hell are they going to put on their covers?’
    ‘Your humour may impress Joss, but it doesn’t impress me,’ Clare suddenly said.
    Holly’s mouth dropped open, and then closed.
    ‘Are you unable to watch television without giving a running commentary?’ Clare asked her.
    ‘Well, excuse me,’ Holly said hotly, ‘perhaps you’d like to be left on your own?’
    ‘As a matter of fact, I would.’
    ‘Fine.’
    Holly got up and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
    All right, it was sad, but Clare was behaving as if she had known Diana. Holly stood at the garden gate trying to decide whether to walk to the clifftop or to the beach. It was a bit windy for clifftop, she decided. There was only so much fresh air city lungs could cope with.

    If someone had asked her the day before whether she identified with the Princess, Clare would have laughed. Of course they had nothing in common. Diana was tall and statuesque, rich and famous, a fashion icon, who did a lot of silly things as well as a lot of good ones. Clare had never been one of Diana’s detractors, although she had wondered recently what on earth she was up to visiting a clairvoyant by helicopter, but she wasn’t a fan. Princess Diana really wasn’t someone she was aware of feeling one way or another about.
    Clare kept telling herself this while the tears continued to stream down her face. It was as if a tap had been wrenched on behind her eyes and the washer broken, making it impossible to turn off however sensibly and logically she tried to think about it.
    When she saw the Royal Family attending church in their big black car, the princes sitting stiff with shock in the back, anger clutched at her insides making her desperate to rescue them from their wicked family, the only family in Britain in the Nineties to have escaped contact with popular psychology books. What would their lives be now? Motherless, secluded in castles and forced into clean slacks and pressed shirts even for the so-called informal photo-calls. It was too cruel. Clare sobbed because there was nothing she could do about tt.