Faye's Diary

Chapter 3: Private Thoughts Of A Dead Girl

Yes, it was definitely a diary. And despite the dust that had covered it, I could tell it wasn’t very old. Probably ten years at the most. It was pale pink with a dark pink flower in the middle. It definitely belonged to a girl; maybe Mum. But something told me not to tell anyone I had found it.

Another creak outside my door made me jump again. Realising that Mum was going to come in again soon, I replaced the diary and the floorboard and sat down heavily on my bed.

Just then my door opened and Mum told me that Aunty Alice was here with Amy. I sighed and came downstairs.

“Hi Amy!” I said brightly. I didn’t like her very much but it was her birthday the next day. “What are you doing for your birthday tomorrow? Are you having a party?” I looked at Mum, who mouthed, 'Thank you.’

I nodded and Amy said, “Yeah, I’m going to Princess Palace and all my friends are going to come! And we are going to go on all the slides and I am going to have cake and play on the trampoline. And, everyone is going to get me a present!” Princess Palace was an adventure playground that looked just like a castle with all the fairy-princesses there.

“Wow, what presents do you want?” I asked.

“Um, something princess!” I laughed, knowing that she would say that even before I asked the question.

She asked if she could come into my room and I said yes. Before I had even opened my door, she had asked to put on my make-up.

I sighed, “I will put some on you.” Last time I had let her do it on her own; she’d scraped all of my new blusher out with her nails and snapped my best lip-gloss stick.

Five minutes later, she rushed down the stairs wearing lip-gloss, eye-shadow, mascara, foundation, blusher and eye-liner. I had put it on subtly and she actually did look really nice.

As soon as Aunty Alice saw her, she cried out, “Oh Faye! Oh my, she looks gorgeous! Oh thank you, if only I had my camera, oh Amy, you look so grown-up!”

Amy beamed, glad of getting so much attention. Most normal parents would scold me for putting so much make-up on a child (I know my Mum would), but Aunty Alice was a designer and make-up artist herself, so she often tried out her new ideas on Amy. Very often, she had heard of a new look for older teens and had called me around to be her model. I can’t say I minded all too much. Mum did though because every time I was going to a party and she offered to do my make- up, I would always tell her that Aunty Alice was going to do it; and she would always sulk.

Aunty Alice had continued, “This is possibly my new favourite look for her. Could you show me how to do it? Very subtle and yet, it looks so nice! This proves it, less is definitely more!” I laughed. She was always coming out with little sayings.

So I proceeded to use a wet-wipe to clean Amy’s face and show my Aunty what I had just done. She was delighted when I had finished and gave me a huge wet kiss.

“Oh, I love you, thank you so much! I will show this to the head of office straight away, I’m sure she will love it!” my Aunty squealed.

And with that, Aunty Alice took Amy and led her towards the front door. Mum and I got up to see them out and once all the goodbyes had been said, they left.

“Bye guys! Have a great birthday tomorrow Amy! See you soon,” I yelled after them as they strode towards their car. As they drove past, Aunty Alice beeped her horn and Amy waved to us from the backseat.

Back upstairs Mum couldn’t stop saying how proud she was of me. “I know Amy isn’t your favourite person in the world, but well done for putting it all behind you for her birthday! I’m sure you two will get along much better now, as I say, she should be like a sister to you.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t answer. This was because I was only half listening; I had another thing on my mind; the diary that I had found in the secret compartment in my bedroom. Who did it belong to? How old was it? Should I even read it? Girls were not meant to read other girl’s diaries; and this one had been so well hidden that it was obvious that whoever had written it hadn’t meant anyone to find it. But I couldn’t just leave it there, I would be forever wondering what it had said. It could drive me mad, and besides, what if it contained a dark, deadly secret that had to be revealed?

“Hello? Faye, hello? Are you listening to me?” Mum was calling me.

“What? Oh, sorry, I was daydreaming.”

“Evidently,” Mum said with a look of annoyance. “I said what do you want to do tomorrow? Do you want to go out somewhere?”

I looked at her dubiously. “Are you sure that is wise?” Going over the events of today, I didn’t think so.

She sighed, “Well Faye, the longer we leave it, the harder it is going to be. We can’t stay in forever can we? Come on, let’s go out somewhere. I won’t be an embarrassment, I promise.”

I gave an inward groan. I really didn’t want to go out tomorrow, I wanted to study the diary, but Mum was trying so hard. There was only one way out of the situation and that was almost as bad as going out. I took a deep breath, and dared myself to say it. “Well, actually, I was thinking of staying in tomorrow.  We didn’t get that girly chat did we?” I put on a fake grin and looked up at Mum.

She looked very surprised but pleased too. “Of course, if there is anything important that you need to say then you only have to tell me and we can sort it out.”

“Sure, but I think I will go on up to bed now. I’m quite tired; it’s been a long day. I will see you tomorrow,” I said.

Mum agreed that it had been a long day and I rushed upstairs. I paused for only a second once inside my room, then I lifted the floorboard and grabbed my tweezers. Within seconds, I had opened the secret compartment and had taken the diary out of it. I then closed both compartments and tip-toed over to my bed.

Once I was comfortable, I turned the book over in my hands wondering whether to read it or not. Finally I decided I would, as the suspense was overbearing.

Although doubts were still nestling in my mind, I opened the front cover very slowly. At first there didn’t seem to be anything there, but then, written in very neat handwriting at the top corner of the page was, 'Property of Charlotte Baskerville.’

I dropped the diary back onto my bed and leaned back into my pillow in shock. I had expected it to be Mum’s diary really; instead, I was holding the most private thoughts of a dead girl.

It might not be her; it might just be someone with the same name as her. But really I knew it was. The same first name as my sister, and the same last name as me. Charlotte Baskerville was the girl who had died eleven years ago. Charlotte Baskerville was my dead sister.

A huge urge to run downstairs and tell Mum suddenly rushed over me but I fought it down. I wanted to read this in private first, because if I told Mum about it, she would probably lock it up somewhere and forbid me to look at it.

So I would read it privately to myself first, and then show Mum. Feeling slightly guilty, I tuned the page over and began to read.