Dear darling diary

I’ve had an ok day. Mrs Johnson really liked my poem about my grandma, especially the bit about her smelling of mint and lavender. She said I used good descriptive words. Also my BFF (best friend forever) Stacey gave me one of her One Direction pens. Harry is so buff!

When my mum picked me up from school she said I am going to go to the seaside on Saturday with Dad and his girlfriend Lizzie. I’m not really looking forward to it. Lizzie is nice and always buys me stuff like sweets or stickers, but she’s not Mum. Mum is a bit wacky, but she’s my mum and I like it when we have cuddle time on the sofa on a Saturday night. We sometimes argue but not for long.

Dad and Lizzie hold hands and kiss. I don’t like it. It makes me feel funny and a bit like I am going to be sick. He doesn’t do big long kisses like teenagers do, just small ones on the lips. But I still don’t like it.

Last time I saw Lizzie we went ten pin bowling with her and her little boy, Ben. He had to use one of those ramp things because he’s only three and had the rails up. I managed to get two strikes.

Anyway it was fun, but not as fun as it would have been if Mum had been there. In the car home Lizzie said she had really enjoyed her day with her “three favourite people”. That made me feel upset. She is trying to make a new family with me and Dad and Ben, but that means without Mum.

Mum asked me if I was looking forward to going to the seaside. When I said “yeah, I suppose so” she asked me what was wrong so I told her what Lizzie said after we went bowling. Mum said Lizzie was only trying to be nice and show that she wanted to be my friend. I said it felt like she wanted Mum to go away, then I got really upset and cried.

I just want to have Mum and Dad and me together, living together. Why can’t we all be together and have cuddles on the sofa all together? Mum and Dad used to do that before they shouted a lot and had lots of arguments. It’s not fair that they split up.

Stacy’s Mum and Dad are together. Why can’t mine be? Mum said that sometimes things go wrong and people need to split up because it’s for the best. It’s not for the best for me. I have to sleep in Dad’s flat, in a big bed while he sleeps on the sofa. The bed is too big and cold and smells yucky.

If Dad came back I could stay in my own room and no one would have a yucky bed.

The above is complete fiction and any similarity to a nine-year-old girl’s diary is purely coincidental.

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