Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [56]
I wouldn’t say I was naturally gifted, but I am definitely a grafter. I really thrived on applying myself, which was just as well because Grandpa insisted on the highest standards. He was very strict. If I made a mistake in my homework, especially once I’d gone up to senior school, I rewrote the whole thing. He wouldn’t tolerate crossings out and, of course, after a while I grew to despise them as well, so I would just start again. I didn’t mind. The strive for perfection burnt bright.
It wasn’t just Grandpa who was pleased with my progress. I was in the headmaster’s office every single week to get a gold star for the quality of my work. And if there was a new hall display, you could guarantee one of my stories or pictures would be up there. I was completely unrecognizable from the illiterate little girl who’d had to be escorted screaming from the premises.
If I wasn’t doing homework, I’d be customizing my books. We are an artistic family and I’d think nothing of spending all my free time decorating the covers of my exercise books with colourful borders or intricate flower designs. It was the same diligence that I’d applied to making pom-poms for Mushka back at Telscombe Cliffs, although I tried not to think about that.
Mum was rarely far from my thoughts, but I had to select the memories. Too many, in hindsight, were soured by this new knowledge of drug-taking. Despite my best efforts, I’d begun to wonder, If it was so dangerous, why did you do it? Why risk your life and leave me all alone?
But it wasn’t hard to sift out the good memories. Mum never told me off or made me do much that I didn’t want to. Life with her was fun. Just being with her made me happy. She was all I needed. I just wished I had been enough for her.
Outside school, my thirst for perfection – and, I admit, hunger for winning – was there in everything. When I was young Granny would take me to Brownies. After that I couldn’t wait to join the Girl Guides. I loved everything about it, but what really thrilled me was collecting the achievement badges – for reading, sewing, helping, you name it. The target was thirty-three badges, which nobody got. I’d managed thirty-two by the time I left. One more and I would have qualified for the Queen’s Guard. I wasn’t particularly disappointed to have missed out because it was working towards a goal that really excited me. In any case, I did get to go to a massive Girl Guide jamboree and I always had a really great time.
I loved a challenge. I was soon picked for the school tennis team and no sooner had Grandpa taken me for swimming lessons at Roedean School for Girls than I was begging him for more and more practice time. Six months after my first lesson I represented the school in a competition. I obviously had a really competitive streak, but Granny was the one with the high aspirations for me.
‘You’ll have tea with the Queen one day,’ she told me one morning as she teased my hair into its usual top-knot. ‘It’s your destiny.’
Of course, as a little girl, I wanted to believe that, so when Granny insisted I learn the correct way to break open and butter a scone, I listened and copied devoutly. It wasn’t just afternoon tea she was concerned about. I was schooled in all manner of etiquette, all in preparation for that day when I would dine with royalty – and marry a certain type of gentleman. Our Sunday afternoons were already packed, but somehow Granny found time to teach me how to speak correctly, how to carry myself upright with books on my head, how to eat fairy cakes, even how to get in and out of cars with grace. It was like being at a Swiss finishing school.
The final piece of her jigsaw, she thought, was ballroom-dancing lessons. ‘For when you take a twirl around Buckingham Palace.