our knees. Margot’s hair is in curlers, I am wearing a nightdress, which is much too small, too narrow, and too short.
It all looks so intimate, snug and peaceful, and this time it is too, yet I await the consequences with horror. They can hardly wait till the end of the speech, stamping their feet, so impatient are they to get down to discussing it. Brr, brr, brr—they egg each other on until the arguments lead to discord and quarrels.
Yours, Anne
Tuesday, 28 March, 1944
Dearest Kitty, I could write a lot more about politics, but I have heaps of other things to tell you today. First, Mummy has more or less forbidden me to go upstairs so often, because, according to her, Mrs. van Daan is jealous.
Secondly, Peter has invited Margot to join us upstairs, I don’t know whether it’s just out of politeness or whether he really means it. Thirdly, I went and asked Daddy if he thought I need pay any regard to Mrs. van Daan’s jealousy, and he didn’t think so. What next? Mummy is cross, perhaps jealous too. Daddy doesn’t grudge us these times together, and thinks it’s nice that we get on so well. Margot is fond of Peter too, but feels that two’s company and three’s a crowd.
Mummy thinks that Peter is in love with me; quite frankly, I only wish he were, then we’d be quits and really be able to get to know each other.
She also says that he keeps on looking at me. Now, I suppose that’s true, but still I can’t help it if he looks at my dimples and we wink at each other occasionally, can I?
I’m in a very difficult position. Mummy is against me and I’m against her. Daddy closes his eyes and tries not to see the silent battle between us.
