Diana

Diana Part 2

For my first ever follower, juliebriand15, and also who it was that voted for this story, thanks so much!

A/N I managed to update this quite quickly, I hope you enjoy it! Whoever it was that votyed for this story thanks a million! I am soo happy! Could you comment please so that I know who you are! By the way, I am a Londoner, but also part Irish, so if you don't understand a word I have written, just comment and I'll tell you what it means. Picture of their mum, Annie Milton, on the side! >>>

I ran to my room, flung open the wooden door and wept. I cried so hard that my sides ached and my eyes hurt. I don’t know how long I just sat there, letting out streams of heart-wrenching sobs. The tears ran down my face and coated my eyelashes.

Finally, I tried to compose myself, changing out of my school clothes and having a quick shower before pulling on a comfy t-shirt and some jogging bottoms. I reapplied my minimalist make-up and pulled back my wet hair into a hair ponytail.

All I know is that during school today, about the time I was leaving science, Diana collapsed or something. My dad was called and he rushed her to the hospital, where they have said that the cancer has come back. We don’t know anything else.

I went downstairs, now that I had freshened up, and walked into the living room. My mum was not there. Maybe she had done the same thing as me. I walked into the kitchen to get a cup of juice and saw her milling around by the oven.

“Whatcha doin’?” I said, as cheerily as possible. Mum turned to face me and said, “Cooking!” Oh, no, not good! Surprised I walked over to the stove where a bowl of pasta was overflowing.

“You never cook!” I exclaimed, “Here, let me, you’ll burn the house down!” I gave the pasta a stir. She whispered in my ear, “Peter, I mean, Dad and Diana will be home soon, I want everything to be as normal as possible for her.”

“Mum! You cooking is not normal, or safe either!” Mum giggled nervously, before smiling sadly, “Will you keep Diana out of the way so that I can talk to Dad when he gets in?” I nodded in agreement.

Pouring the pasta into a colander, I took a bowl out of the cupboard and dumped the now dry pasta into it.

Before long there was a knock at the door. I ran to open it to see Dad lifting Diana out of the car. She was called Diana because I was born on the 7th of July 1997, about a month before Princess Diana died. So when she was born, Diana was named after the princess.

Dad walked up to the door with Diana still in his arms. She squealed, yelling “Put me down!” She was surprisingly happy for just being diagnosed with cancer. Maybe she didn’t know.

Dad was upset though, I could tell. Despite his cheery teasing, his eyes were clouded over and fixed in a sad position. When he attempted to smile, only his mouth moved, unlike when he is normally happy his whole face lights up.

Dad wandered into the door, swinging Diana onto his feet. “Annie!” He called, before turning to us girls, “I’m just going to talk to your mother for a bit, stay out of our way will you?”

I nodded in agreement as he walked down the corridor, hanging his coat on the hook as he went past. Quietly, Dad shut the kitchen door behind him, and Diana and I were left in the corridor.