Another lazy day. I didn’t get up until nearly lunch time and I haven’t got one scrap of conscience about it. Isn’t it marvellous to be on holiday?
Jennifer and I went to see Lena in hospital. She is fine but complaining about the injections she has been given. Apparently they hurt more than her ankle. There was so much to talk about that I nearly forgot to ask her how she was.
The main point of excitement was the telegram. It had arrived at home about 5 o’clock and Mum had grabbed it and opened it, getting very excited because, like me, she assumed it was from the hospital to tell us to bring Lena’s clothes that evening. She became very embarrassed when she found out it wasn’t and on looking at the envelope saw it was addressed to Lena. Lena showed it to me when I delivered it. It was from her boyfriend Carl, all the way from Sweden. It said, (in Swedish) ‘you are forgiven. Hurry and get cured’ She was thrilled with it. I would have been too. What a lovely thought, to send a telegram all that way.
I haven’t mentioned Lena’s boyfriend in here before. She takes her photo of him everywhere. His looks are a mixture of Hardy Kruger and Tab Hunter. A real blond bombshell. He is terrifically good looking and, Lena says, has more or less the same nature as Alan. I rather gathered that from the little message he sent to me in one of Lena’s letters. He asked me what was the matter with the English post-office? Because of Bank Holiday he hadn’t heard from Lena until a week after she had left him.
Although it was written in what is to him a foreign language it had just the right amount of pleasant sarcasm that spelt Alan all over. He is twenty-two, like Alan. We thought it a coincidence that Lena is a month older than me and Carl is a month older than Alan. Something else we noticed that shows people all over the world are the same: Lena and I are the same temperament and type and our boyfriends are also similar in ways.
The second subject of great discussion was also brought by the GPO. This morning I got a letter from David. According to the postmark it was sent from Weymouth but the letter was headed Potters Bar. Reading the name David I immediately thought of the guitar player who was at the barbeque last week, because the letter was mainly about Lena. He asked if she would mind writing to him from Sweden. That he mentioned her ankle foxed me. We met him on the Tuesday and she didn’t hurt her foot until the Thursday. The only conclusion I could find was that he had returned to the camp after we had left to get my address from Roger and been given the information then. It was only after about half hour of worrying and puzzling that I connected the two tennis players, David and Ian with Potters Bar. Then everything clicked into place.
I answered the letter immediately, mainly to ask him to find out the address of Roy and send it on to me. We had arranged to meet Roy, Terry and Eddie at Richmond station next Friday with the intention of going to ‘the Lass of Richmond Hill.’ One of the classier spots of Richmond. Alan was supposed to be coming with us. There are two good reasons why we can’t go now. Even if Lena is out of hospital by then I don’t think her ankle will be well enough for the long journey through London.
And, of course, Alan. It seems pretty obvious now that he won’t be home until Friday so I don’t want to be out when he calls. Even though I can just as easily see him the next day.
I know, in fact I am convinced that I won’t see him until Friday. Yet, every morning I take extra care over my appearance ‘just in case’. I am surprising myself about how calm I feel, even inside. I’m not at all worried that he might he home and hasn’t bothered to come round. I know something has happened to delay him. I think I am rather enjoying these few days before. For months I have been saying, ‘only so many months’ or ‘only so many weeks’. Now it is only two more days. It doesn’t seem possible!