Princess Diana, My Bestest Friend

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My first sight of Diana was when she came to the King Edward VII Hospital for Officers when she was nineteen.

I was seventeen at the time. She had come because the Queen Mother wanted her to be examined to make sure that her hymen was still intact. The whole operation was of total confidence, only the select few knew.

I remember Dion was waiting for me outside the hospital. There was a war going on at the time and my boss, Chief Accountant Johnson came into my office and asked if I knew him. Mr. Johnson thought that here was an Arab assassin, and he was terrified. I laughed and explained that Dion was my boyfriend.

After Diana had been examined, she came to my office to give a donation towards the staff fund. The Matron’s secretary Lindsey introduced us, she curtsied as she left, and I smiled almost laughing. Diana was not Queen yet.

Diana was indeed a pretty girl and only two years older than me. It was hard to imagine that she was going to marry the old fart.

“I’ve come to give a donation towards the Staff Christmas Fund.” I could tell that she had been coached into doing so. She asked how much she should give. I told her that the Queen always gives £25 per stay; she smiled a cheeky smile and said, “I’ll give £50 then.”

We both laughed.

“You have a lovely smile; she said to me. I questioned it.
“With this big gap, I don’t think so.”
“It’s supposed to be lucky,” she said.
“Yeah I know, I guess it has been so far.” She commented on my hair. I had it braided, long plaits, down my back. She asked how I did it. It was too complicated to explain so I just made a joke and said, “My sister held the ends while I ran round the block and it stretched.” We both laughed again.
“So what’s it like?” I then asked her.
“What’s what like?”
“Marrying the future King of England and all that goes with it, Queenie?”

She looked down and shrugged her shoulders. Her smile dropped. I could see that she felt uncomfortable with not only the question but also the situation, so I changed the subject.

“Look,” I called her to the window facing the street. “That’s my boyfriend over there. His name is Dion Khan. His Dad’s a Diplomat.”
“He’s gorgeous,” she said. “I wish I could marry a black man.” At that, she placed her hand over her mouth as if to swallow the sentence.
“Really?” I said in disbelief.
“I should not have said that,” she continued.
“No, that’s all right, the place isn’t bugged, and I won’t tell anyone.”
“Yes,” she said. “Ever since I saw a picture of Bob Marley with Mick Jagger, I said, ‘That’s the man for me.’”

I did not honestly know what Bob Marley looked like; I just knew that he was a Rasta man who sang a song called Jamming. It was not until later, years later, that I came to know the true Bob Marley and all he stood for, and it wasn’t until then that I realised Diana’s fatal attraction.

It was time Diana went - the bodyguards seemed to be getting restless. I signed and gave her the receipt for the staff fund. As I handed it to her she said, “Jac.” I was surprised, as she had shortened my name.

“Jac can we be friends, close friends?”
“Friends,” I said, that’s impossible isn’t it?”
“No, we’ll find a way,” said she.

And at that, she smiled and turned to leave. As she was going I shouted:

“Keep that signature, it will be famous one day.”
“As famous as I,” she replied.

It was two months before I heard from Diana again. I was at my desk and the phone rang.

“Hello, is that Jacqui?”
The voice sounded muffled as if she was talking from a pit.
“It’s me Diana, I’m on my mobile.”
“Hi Queenie, how’s life at the Palace?”
She told me to “Shh,” so I did.
“I’m in the West End shopping later, can we do lunch or something?”
“Lunch or something - that’s a bit OTT - what will Charlsey say about that?” I asked.
“True,” she said.
“I tell you what…I just live around the corner maybe we can pop into mine for something light to eat and a chat,” I said.

I gave her the address and we arranged to meet at one o’clock.

As I turned the corner, I half expected to see a big black stretched limo with bodyguards surrounding it, but there was none.

As I got closer to the apartment, there she was, sitting in the driver’s seat of her car looking in the rear view mirror. She didn’t see me approach. As I knocked on the window, she jumped. We both grinned.

Diana being Diana did not take the conventional exit from the car; she climbed across the passenger seat, legs spread eagle and came out of the car onto the pavement in a ruffled state.

“Future Queen of England, ah,” I said jokingly.

We did the cheek kisses and fell about laughing as we went inside.

We linked arms all the way upstairs, just like we had been bosom buddies since birth. We laughed all the way up; anyone seeing us would have thought we were drunk.

As soon as I opened the door, Diana said, “Have you got any music?”
“Music is my thing, every weekend I spend half my wages on records…I have done ever since I was a kid.”

There was a market stall on Marylebone High Street and there were two guys that sold my type of music “Lover’s Rock” and “Rare Groove,” I was a popular customer.

“What type of music do you like,” I asked her.
“Black music. Do you have any Bob Marley?”
“Unfortunately not, but if you like Reggae music then you’ll love Lover’s Rock.”
“What’s Lover’s Rock,” she asked.
“Lover’s Rock is the most angelic form of Reggae that you will ever hear, old soul songs sung by girls and guys our age from the streets of Britain, actually it’s called “British Lover’s Rock,” I explained.

I put on a tape that I had recently made; we listened while we made corned beef sandwiches with hot pepper sauce.

“What do you think,” I asked.
“Of the music or the sandwiches,” she replied.
“Both,” I said.
“In a word – HOT!”

We both laughed.

Come to think about it, we spent many a times during the next few years just doing exactly that, laughing.

We left the apartment about an hour and a half later. Diana jumped into her parked car, by the driver’s door this time. As she rolled down the window to say goodbye, I whispered in her ear:

“Remember, always wear a slip under those see through skirts. We don’t want to see any more ex-rated front page pictures of your legs right up to the thighs.”
“Next time I will only be wearing a see through bikini,” she joked.

We did our cheek kisses and she sped off at about 70 miles per hour in a 30 mile an hour zone.

That was Diana for you.

The phone rang, “Hi Jacs.”
“Hello you,” I never mentioned her name on the telephone just in case the operator was listening or worse.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
That was the thing with Diana, she never asked how I was doing, always what.

It was good to hear from her. I hadn’t heard from her since before William was born. She did however send me a lovely picture of William in his christening gown, and on the back, she wrote “To his Spiritual Godmother,” I was chuffed.

“Not much,” I replied.

Dion had been away in New York for the past four months so for me it had been just home and work, work and home.

Diana asked if I wanted to meet, she said she needed to talk, something about Post Natal Blues.

I agreed and we met two hours later at the Blythe, the park that backed on to my house.

She arrived wearing a baseball cap, denim jacket, torn jeans and trainers. When she opened her jacket, her tee shirt had a razor slash right across the chest so that her cleavage showed. She flashed it as soon as she was close enough for me to see:

“Diana, you’re such a slut,” I said jokingly.
“So sue me,” she replied, and as usual, we laughed - LOUD.

We were so loud it was a good job that the park was always so empty, but I’m sure that they could hear us in the valley below.

We went and lay down on the roundabout. It was almost nine o’clock and the sky was darkening, the clouds moved slowly across the sky as the moon came out. For a while we span in silence, just laying there looking up at the sky, deep in our own thoughts but glad to be in each other’s company.

“So what’s new?” Diana eventually asked.
“Motherhood” I replied.
“Not me, you, everybody knows my business” she said grudgingly.
“Well - the only thing new is that I have found a new best friend,” I said.

She sat up with a start. “What’s - her – name?” She asked the question slowly as if to spell out each word.
“C-A-N-N-A-B-I-S” I spelt.
“Dope!” She squealed.
“Yeah dope,” I said grinning.
“Oh let me try some,” she reached out her hand.
I haven’t got any now, it’s over North London,” I said.
“Can we go and get some please,” she cried.
“If you want, but there is no guarantee.” I told her.

She quickly dragged me off the roundabout and started pulling me home towards the cars. “Come on we’ll catch up in the car on the way to North London.”

“I’m driving,” I ordered. “You are too wild behind the wheel.”

We got in the car and as soon as the ignition was on Diana pushed the cassette into the player.

“Who are we listening to?”
“Gregory Isaacs,” I told her.
“This isn’t Lovers Rock. This is ‘I’m missing you Dion’ music,” I explained.

Diana talked non-stop all the way to Stanford Hill. I felt that I had given birth to William by the time she had finished giving me all the details. But as always, I could tell that Diana was not happy being Princess.

“So who are we going to see?” she asked.
“My friend Lance, I call him ‘King of the Jews’ because he lives in a big house in Stanford Hill amongst all those Jew boys.
“So what is he like - you know?
“Tall - six foot four,” I said.
“Nice,” she whispered.
“Behave,” I said, hitting her arm, “Dark,” I said,
“How dark?” she asked.
“As dark as it gets,” was my reply. “Handsome; and he has the body of a God,” I added.
“I cannot wait to meet this friend of yours,” she said smiling.
“Well, here we are,” I said as we pulled up outside Lance’s house. I looked up at his bedroom window; his light was on. “He’s home, so it is not a wasted journey,” I told Diana.
“Jacs,” Diana said as we got out of the car, her face looked concerned.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“He won’t say anything about me, will he?”
I knew what she meant, newspapers, television, photos, blackmail.
I took her arm, “Girl, he will not even know who you are,” I assured her. “Come we step.”

She laughed.
“I’ve taught you too much,” I said.

I pressed the intercom. A smooth dark voice said, “Hello, who is it?”
“It’s me Jacqui; I’ve brought my Best Friend with me. I hope you don’t mind.”
He pressed for us to come in.

The house smelt as usual of `White Linen’ from the Body Shop, soft candles were burning in the hallway, his tribal marks and statues seemed to come alive in the glow of the candles. The place was silent and spiritual.

“Come up,” Lance called down.

Diana took my hand and we climbed the spiral stairs.

Lance as always was lying on his four-poster bed in his string vest and boxer shorts.

“Hi Lance,” I said.
“Hi, who is your friend,” he looked at Diana.
Even in the dim light, you could see Diana’s cheeks slowly turning scarlet as she began to blush.
“Hello my name is Di,” she said shyly from under her baseball cap.
“Hello, I’m very pleased to meet you, sit down,” he pointed to a carved stool, “would you like something to drink.” He asked.
“Not at the moment,” Diana replied.

Lance looked at me, I looked at him, and He looked at Diana.

Now I knew that I was not supposed to bring no white woman to Lance’s house, Lance was a True Rasta man and didn’t `deal with pork’, but I knew that this was someone special otherwise we would not have come.

“We’ve come for de weed,” I said with a smirk. “Di would like to try some but I have tried to tell her that she will not be able to handle it.”
“Never smoked before Di?” Lance asked.
Diana blushed again, “No,” she said under her cap.
“Well there’s a first time for everything,” Lance announced. “Go on Jac you know where it is!”
I looked up at the suitcase on top of the six-foot high wardrobe.
“Ha-ha Lance, I will need to stand on your shoulders to get up there.”

At that, he jumped up, picked me up and lifted me above the wardrobe. Diana sat in amazement. Lance went to the kitchen to check on his cooking and left me and Diana with a spliff each.

“He’s gorgeous, and that voice,” she said.
“I told you! After that spliff he’ll seem even more gorgeous guaranteed.” So we lit up.

I had brought the tape from the car so I put it on the stereo.

The atmosphere was heavenly, the smell of the cooking blended with the white musk, the smell of the ganja blended with everything, and we were feeling calm.

Lance came up with a plate of food for each of us. Diana had told me she was starving so I knew that she was going to eat.

She started eating, picking at first but after seeing me and Lance with all fingers helping, she did the same.

It was nice to see how relaxed Diana was, that was the thing about Lance, you always felt comfortable at his place, so relaxed.

Food was eaten, hands were washed and after three loud burps, we were all relaxed and chilled.

Diana had at last stopped blushing and although Lance knew exactly who she was, he didn’t let her know he knew. He just kept things pure and simple.

It was December 1992 when the shit really hit the fan.

Diana had rang me early in the morning; she was hysterical, crying, shouting and even laughing at times.

“I must see you, I need to talk. It’s about Him. I have to leave him.”

By “Him,” she meant Charles.

My husband Mark was not home, I had married Mark in February of that year. Mark never knew anything about my relationship with Diana; I never dared to tell him.
Mark was a man who loved money he would do anything for it, and that I thought would have included telling whoever about my friendship with Diana, or rather Diana’s friendship with me.

I told Diana to come round; I could not go out because my daughter Kailey was still asleep.

Diana arrived about an hour later she was in a state. She rang the intercom so frantically that she woke both Kailey and Ben my Alsatian dog. You would have heard his barking all over town. He wasn’t called Big Ben for nothing.

I sat Diana down, but she would not stay still. She was pacing up and down just saying, “I hate him, I hate him.”

She then took out a bottle of pills. “Have you any bottled water?” she asked, “What are the pills for and where did you get them from?” I asked.
“I got them from my Consultant Dr Maurice Lipsedge they are just for my nerves,” she showed me the bottle; I read it.
“Water.” She asked again.

“I haven’t got any bottled at the moment, but give me five minutes and I will pop down to the shop and get some, the dog needs walking anyway and I do not want Kailey to see you in this state. Sit down we will be back in a minute.”

I kissed her cheek and myself, Kailey and Ben headed for the shop.

It was as we got to the shop that someone called out my name. As I looked, I saw two WPCs standing by an ambulance.

“Are you Jacqui Whittaker?” They asked.
I replied “Yes.”

They asked me to step inside, as they wanted to ask me a few questions. My first thought was “Oh no, what has Mark done now?”

We, all three went inside the ambulance, Ben included. It was unlike Ben to be so calm; he was trained to attack the Blue Uniform.

As the doors closed, Kailey sat close to me looking terrified.

The ambulance began to move away.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked. The officers did not answer my question; they just asked for my dog’s name, I lied.
As we drove past my home, I started screaming, “You can’t take me away - the Queen of England is in my house.”

By the Queen of England, I meant the Future Queen of England, HRH Princess Diana, but I did not repeat that.

The officers laughed, “Oh the queen of England is in you house, is she?”

I realised what I had and how it must have sounded; I began to cry.

The further we went from the apartment the more worried I became and the more I cried. “What must Diana be thinking? Was she OK or was she in danger?” I wanted to get to a telephone and call her to explain, but explain what, I did not have a clue what was happening.

It was two weeks later when I regained consciousness. The news was saying that Charles and Diana were taking a break overseas somewhere and were talking of divorce.

My head was all over the place; my body was stiff and covered in plasters where I had been injected. I was in a psychiatric hospital. I was brought there on that Saturday two weeks prior; I was placed on a section three, able to hold me for six months.

My god, what had I said, if anything, whilst I had been there, had I said anything about Diana unknowingly.

Mark came to see me later that day but I had nothing to say to him, for somewhere in the back of my mind I believed that he had something to do with this.

It was two days later that I was introduced to my consultant, Doctor Maurice Lipsedge.

It was three months before I was able to talk to Diana again. Three months that I was in that hospital. I was not in there continuously. Mark got me out when he wanted sex, money, or both. I felt like a blow up doll with a cash point card.

I called Diana; I had to despite the security risk.

“Hi Diana, it’s me Jacs. I am so sorry.”
“It’s OK; I know all about it, Doctor Lipsedge told me. Listen, Jacs, we must be careful, they know, so we must communicate through Maurice.”

So that is what we did for the next three years.

It was not until spring 1996 that I saw her again. We met at the Godden Green Clinic in Seven Oaks near where Diana went to school.

Maurice, Doctor Lipsedge had suggested that I needed a rest. I was five months pregnant at the time and a rest sounded good.

I was unaware of his motive until I got to the clinic; Diana was already there.

I was making love to Jason when the phone rang in the early hours of that Sunday morning. I rushed down stairs to answer it; it was Mrs. Seaward, Jason’s mum.

Her voice sounded cold and tearful.

“I’ve got bad news for you Jacqui,” she said.

I did not understand what it could have been. Jason was fine. He was upstairs in bed.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Diana, she’s dead, switch on the TV.” She told me.

I pressed the standby button on the remote control beside me. The news was on telling me of Diana’s tragic death.

It was hours before I realised I was still holding the receiver in my hand. The tears rolling down my cheeks.

Dedicated to the memory of Jacqueline Ann Pettigrew 21st February 1965 to 1st June 2005.

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