This Much Is True

Margaret told me, ‘Jacqueline said, «I’ve given my staff the day off. I want you to come over.» I went to her house as she asked — I had a key, and I took along a syringe and the liquid. I let myself into the house. I went up to her room where she was in bed and we talked for a bit. Then I said, «Are you absolutely sure that you want me to do this?» And Jacqueline said, «Yes. I am. And I can only trust you to do it for me.» I was a trained nurse during the war, I knew what to do… If you want to help someone to die, or to murder someone, without a trace,’ Margaret said, ‘you inject them above their hairline.’ I always remember her saying that. She continued, ‘So, of course, I kissed her, and I injected her. Then I looked around, checked that there was no trace of my presence, and I let myself out of the house. Just hours later, of course, Jacqueline’s close friends sat with her as she died, and nobody ever knew it was me.’

I felt honoured that Margaret should tell me, but I found it shocking; the most sobering thing I’ve ever heard. I suppose she felt that she didn’t want that knowledge to go with her to her grave without anybody knowing what Jacqueline had asked of her. And yet, although she was obviously deeply affected by it, Margaret related it to me entirely matter-of-factly. She believed that it was the highest mark of love for Jacqueline that she could show, to release her from the horrors of her illness. Perhaps telling me was the ultimate proof of our friendship, because, obviously, if she had been found out, she could have been charged with murder. I hope by telling this now, I have kept my promise to Margaret.

Margaret told me that she had known Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas in Paris but she decided not to attend my show at the Hampstead Theatre Club. ‘I wish I’d gone. I should have gone but I thought you’d never get them right.’ She always regretted it.

I am forever grateful for her wisdom, her insight and her friendship. The prospect of losing Heather nearly broke me. When I came to Margaret I was in bits, but she put me back together again. I am quite sure I would have lost Heather if I hadn’t gone into therapy. I realised then that I can’t live without her and I never gambled with my happiness again. Sometimes I jokingly say that I think I’m perfect. Well, I’m not, but for a talented twelve-year-old, I’m not far off.

Only Connect

One morning, at the beginning of term at Oxford High School, I saw a strange, new girl in the playground. She had a quality of deep solitariness. She had blonde hair and a long, pale face like a Viking and was standing there all alone, her arms by her sides. Nobody was talking to her, so I went up to her and I said, ‘Will you be my friend?’ She looked at me, somewhat nervously — with reason — and said, ‘Yes.’

My offer of friendship was borne out of two things: a genuine sense of compassion because she was on her own, and a violent curiosity to know who she was. To this day these remain my two motivating factors, and they have served me well. From that moment on, Katerina (Katy) Clark and I were friends. It was through her I found Heather: my friends have enriched and deepened my life immeasurably and in so many ways. Daddy, on the other hand, was somewhat caustic about friendship. When I asked him why he didn’t have any friends he snorted, ‘Friends?! Friends are people who drag you down.’ How wrong he was.

I was popular at school. But I was also frightened of not being popular. I would always ask people if they liked me. A sign of insecurity, and yet at home with my parents I was surrounded with love, so I don’t know why I was so anxious about it. Perhaps it’s because I was an only child that, all my life, my friendships have been my lifeline. From the age of eleven I had four lists: ‘Love and Hate’, ‘Sometimes Love’, ‘Sometimes Hate’, and ‘Sometimes Love and Sometimes Hate’. It was a moveable thing, because my relationships were volatile.

Liz Hodgkin, Katy Clark, Catherine Pasternak Slater and Anna Truelove are just a few of the many strong friends that I’ve kept from school. Seventy years on, I can name every single girl in a form photograph taken at Oxford High. There’s nothing more valuable than friends who really know you and still like you. I take friendship seriously: there are responsibilities and commitments involved. For this reason, I’m the driving force in our school reunion group: I feel responsible for keeping us all in touch, sending updates and information about our get-togethers. When one of our number dies, I tell everyone the funeral details.