Fifth Year Friendships at Trebizon

by Anne Digby

  STRAW HAT

  First published by Penguin Group 1990

  This ebook edition first published by Straw Hat 2011

  Copyright © Anne Digby, 1990, 2008, 2011

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the above publisher, Straw Hat

  A Catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

  eISBN-13: 978-1-899587-27-8

  She'd leave school and turn professional this summer! She'd be playing tennis full time. Or would she?

  Rebecca can hardly wait to tell her friends the amazing news! But difficult choices lie ahead in the fifth at Trebizon School. Should she stick to tennis and become a professional or concentrate on exams and a place in the Sixth? What about the school trip to Paris and all her friends she'd be leaving behind? Especially Sue and Tish, Robbie and Cliff!

  As if her personal dilemmas were not enough, Rebecca is worried about little Naomi Cook in the First Year. She's convinced that Naomi can't possibly be a thief but nobody else is.

  There's mystery and a crisis for Rebecca in this, the twelfth of the unputdownable Trebizon books.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright & Permissions

  About this Book

  Chapter One Feeling Famous

  Chapter Two Robbie Remembers

  Chapter Three Something Pleasant ... and Something Amazing

  Chapter Four The Merest Glimpse

  Chapter Five The Mystery of the Missing Walkman

  Chapter Six A Bad Sign

  Chapter Seven Setting a Trap

  Chapter Eight Problems of her Own

  Chapter Nine The Pressure is on

  Chapter Ten Break Point

  Chapter Eleven An Airmail Packet

  Chapter Twelve Back to Naomi

  Chapter Thirteen Action Committee Triumph

  Chapter Fourteen Fifth Year Friendships

  The Trebizon Series in Reading Order

  More Anne Digby Titles

  And Some Other Favourites...

  Free Downloads, Facebook & Twitter

  ONE

  FEELING FAMOUS

  'Please can you have my what?' asked Rebecca Mason over the noise of the speeding coach. She stopped sucking the end of her biro and glanced up. She was in the middle of composing a letter to her French pen-friend. 'My scarf? What's the matter, Naomi? Cold?'

  'Your autograph,' repeated the First Year girl, slightly embarrassed now but refusing to be put off. A piece of paper appeared under Rebecca's nose. 'Please can you write something for me? I saw you on TV on Boxing Day. You were really good! It was like watching Wimbledon. You're famous now.'

  'Oh, the school film!' laughed Rebecca, startled. No one had ever asked her for an autograph before; well, not on this basis. Was this how it felt, feeling famous? (Was this how it might be one day, people asking for your autograph?)

  'I wish I were, Naomi!' she said. 'You should have seen how horribly I played in the Midland Indoor last week.'

  I was pathetic, she thought. And to think I won it last year! I got knocked out in the quarter finals. Call that famous?

  All the same, her scalp tingled quite pleasurably.

  'You'll soon be famous now your arm's better, now you've been on TV and people see how brilliant you really are,' said the younger girl confidently. 'I could tell you were good even with your other arm slung up in that sling. Last term. When Miss Willis made you play in those foursomes. That must have been difficult.'

  'I'll say,' agreed Rebecca. 'It was nice of you juniors to ball-girl for me sometimes.'

  'Miss Willis made us do it.'

  Rebecca laughed again. 'Well, that's honest!' She took the piece of paper from Naomi. She rested it on the pad on her knee and sucked the biro again, planning what to write. She thought of a little poem:

  HONESTLY SPEAKING

  I said 'thanks', expecting you

  To say: 'Oh, nothing to it.'

  I nearly died when you replied:

  'Miss Willis made us do it.'

  Best wishes to Naomi

  Rebecca Mason [V Alpha]

  Naomi took it back eagerly and read it. It was the first time Rebecca had seen her smile! 'That's really good. I'll cut it out and paste it in my autograph book.'

  Rebecca's eyes strayed back to her writing pad.

  'OK, then? Got to get on with this letter now.'

  They were on the long-distance coach, returning to their boarding school, Trebizon, for the spring term. Rebecca's parents were in Saudi Arabia as usual, and she'd spent the Christmas holidays in Gloucestershire with her grandmother. Nobody else from Trebizon used this coach as a rule. Most of the girls returned to school via the train from London, or else were brought by car. Some of the girls in the Upper Sixth drove back themselves in their own cars.

  Earlier, Rebecca had grabbed a seat to herself and sprawled in luxury, text books and writing paper spread around her, as well as some GCSE history coursework that she hoped to complete on the journey. It was supposed to be handed in to Miss Maggs tomorrow morning, the first day of term. Maggy would kill them if it weren't finished! But first she was going to revise some French vocabulary and then try to write a brilliant letter to Emmanuelle, her French pen-friend. Trebizon was twinned with a school in Paris. There was going to be a French exchange this year!

  Sometime in the Easter holidays, the dates weren't quite fixed yet, a group of them from Trebizon's Fifth would be going to Paris. Rebecca would be staying with Emmanuelle, who looked very nice in her photo and sounded even nicer in her letters. Paris in the springtime. Everybody said it would be beautiful. The river . . . the chestnut trees out in blossom . . . and delicious things to eat and drink at pavement cafés. And she'd have to speak French all the time – that was the rule. Just as well, with her GCSE orals in May! She must get an A for French. It would be pathetic if she couldn't get an A for French, when she was supposed to be good at languages. It was fun learning languages. Perhaps she'd learn some more in the Sixth!

  In the summer, when her parents were home on leave and they were able to use their London house again, Emmanuelle would come and stay with her. It'd be like having a sister for a while. She'd show her Harrods and Buckingham Palace and Oxford Street and all the other things she said she wanted to see. And they'd try to get into the House of Commons and watch all the Members of Parliament shouting at each other! Why did they shout so much? They'd get into trouble at Trebizon if they behaved like that!

  Some of these thoughts Rebecca translated into fairly fluent French in her letter to Emmanuelle and was deeply engrossed when the coach pulled in somewhere to pick up more passengers. She glanced dreamily out of the window, unsure where they were, even. Somewhere off the motorway; somewhere around Bristol. Amongst the people waiting in parked cars, she recognized a familiar face pressed to the rear window of a rusted van, the expression on the face uncharacteristically sullen. She certainly remembered the new girl's face from last term as being rather withdrawn, but not sullen. Nevertheless –

  'Yes, it's Naomi Cook all right,' she decided when a diminutive girl in Trebizon blue cape, with fairish hair and pale freckled face, came into her line of vision. She was walking behind a blue-faced couple, the hoods of their shabby anoraks up against the biting January wind, who humped between them a newish-looking school trunk. The trio disappeared round the back of the coach with the rest of the throng to meet the coach driver,
who was now supervising the loading on of luggage.

  Naomi was almost the last person to board the coach – she seemed to forget something and had to run back to the van – but when she did, Rebecca stood up to greet her:

  'Hello! Good! We can share the taxi at the other end!'

  'Rebecca!'

  They both knelt on Rebecca's seat, noses pressed to the window, to wave to Naomi's parents.

  Mr and Mrs Cook stood in front of their van, chilly-looking, blank-faced, staring uncomprehendingly. The coach was already pulling away. Slowly it dawned on them that there was another Trebizon girl on the coach with Naomi, an older girl, and they waved back in relief.

  'I didn't think there'd be anyone else from school!' said Naomi with obvious pleasure, as she settled down in the seat across the gangway from Rebecca's. 'There wasn't last time.'

  'I came down by car from London,' Rebecca explained. 'That's where I go when my parents are home on leave. I use this coach the rest of the time.'

  She glanced at the girl, remembering the one time they'd spoken last term. It was after one of those tennis sessions, when Naomi had been a ball-girl. She knew that the new First Year was very clever and had won the top scholarship to Trebizon. But she'd looked homesick to Rebecca.

  'D'you like it here?' she'd asked.

  'It's all right, except everybody seems to have pots of money. Or at least their parents do.'

  'Mine don't. Lots don't, you'd be surprised. My dad's company has to pay all my school fees.'

  'I just wonder sometimes if I'm going to fit in,' Naomi had said in a rush.

  'That's just how I felt at first. It doesn't last.'

  Or at least, it hadn't lasted for Rebecca. But seeing Naomi around at the end of last term, the sweet, slightly withdrawn expression had still been there. As though she were still ill at ease, being at Trebizon.

  However, studying the girl's face now, on the coach, Rebecca decided that the sullen expression earlier must have been a figment of her imagination: she was definitely looking more peaceful.

  'I shan't be coming on this coach any more!' she blurted out.

  'You won't?'

  'Mum's managed to get an exchange!'

  'How do you mean?'

  'A council house exchange. They're moving next week! Near Trebizon.'

  'Oh, you mean you won't be boarding any more? You'll be a day-girl?'

  'Oh, no! I'll still be boarding. It's too far to walk. And Dad's van's about to pack up any minute. Besides, they've bought the night-clothes and the trunk and that now and everything else is, well, free. It's just that . . . well, it'll be better, won't it?'

  Rebecca wasn't too sure about that. Would it really help someone to settle down, having their family so close? Did she think she'd see a lot of them now? Juniors had to stay strictly within bounds! They weren't allowed downtown. She certainly wouldn't be allowed to pop home when she felt like it; she'd have to stick to the rules like all the other young boarders in Juniper House. It didn't really solve the problem of whether Naomi was going to like being at Trebizon or not.

  But of course she said none of this.

  She returned to writing her letter until, a few minutes later, back on the motorway again, Naomi leaned across and asked for that autograph.

  And Rebecca had her taste of feeling famous.

  TWO

  ROBBIE REMEMBERS

  Rebecca craned forward in the taxi as it scrunched across the gravel forecourt of Court House. She could see her friends! Their faces were pressed against the window of the ground-floor common room at the front of the building as they waved and gesticulated. They were all in there to watch TV; Rebecca could see the screen's flickering colours through the window. They must have heard the taxi arrive!

  There were Tish Anderson and Sue Murdoch, her two closest friends. And Margot Lawrence, Mara Leonodis and Sally Elphinstone, otherwise known as Elf. As they all spilled out of the front door, she wound down the window of the taxi, letting in a blast of wintry air.

  'Hi!' she shrieked.

  'Rebecca, hurry!'

  'We're running the film!'

  'Tish brought the video!'

  As the taxi juddered to a halt, Naomi Cook, who'd sat alongside her in silence during the brief journey from the bus station, tugged urgently at Rebecca's cape.

  'Please –'

  'What's the matter?'

  'You know I said about being ball-girl? I said Miss Willis made us do it. Well, she did make us do it, but –'

  'Yes?'

  'I don't want you to think I didn't want to! I liked it. I know your arm's OK now but I'd still like to come and be ball-girl sometimes, whenever you want in fact.'

  'Thanks, Naomi. Lovely! I'll hold you to that!' replied Rebecca with a quick smile. She was already getting out of the taxi, her friends swarming towards her. 'Elf, you've had your hair cut! It suits you!' she shouted.

  The cab driver unloaded her luggage from the boot and she paid him off. 'Can you take the other passenger on to Juniper, please?' she asked him. 'Tell her I've paid.'

  All juniors spent their first two years at Trebizon in Juniper House, a huge red brick building at the back of main school. The rules were strict in there; they didn't have the same freedom as the middle school pupils, who lived in smaller boarding houses around the grounds, like Court.

  And then she was being swept along by her friends, all helping with the luggage, towards the front door.

  'We'll leave it in the porch!'

  'We can take it up later!'

  'Come on, Rebecca, you're missing the video.'

  A scrunching noise behind reminded Rebecca that the taxi was leaving and, as an afterthought, she turned to wave. But Naomi had already shrunk back into her seat, her face a pale triangle of light in the vehicle's dark interior.

  'Good Christmas, Tish?' Rebecca asked, as they followed the others indoors.

  She'd been curious that neither Tish nor her brother Robbie had phoned her these holidays. Maybe she should have phoned them. Robbie Anderson was in his last year at Garth College, a school near Trebizon.

  'Awful,' grinned Tish. 'Robbie was depressed. Dad was in a foul temper. They rowed all the time. Happy Christmas!'

  'Oh.'

  'He's written to you. Robbie. I've got the letter in my trunk. I'll give you it later.' A letter? Good! thought Rebecca. 'And at least he remembered to tape the film for you. He promised, didn't he.'

  'Robbie remembered!' laughed Rebecca. 'Good. Now I've got my own copy. Gran taped it too but she's locked it away in a cupboard for Mum and Dad when they come home. But how about you?'

  'Robbie had a copy made.'

  'Shut up, you two!' said Margot. "Come in and shut the door. This is my big moment coming up!'

  Rebecca perched on the arm of the sofa and watched the black-skinned, white swimsuited Margot catch a gigantic wave on her surfboard in the shining turquoise sea. It was a glorious scene from last summer and a definite contrast to the grey winter skies outside.

  They had great fun with the video: running backwards and forwards, re-running their favourite bits, picking up fresh things to comment on.

  'Surely I don't look like that when I run?' exclaimed Tish.

  'I look so fat,' wailed Elf. 'I'm going on a diet this term.'

  'What again?' they all chorused.

  But the six of them agreed that the documentary about life at Trebizon, made by a small film company the previous summer, had turned out brilliantly (which had not been the intention of the film company in the first place!).

  And the match between Rebecca and Joss Vining, showing Rebecca winning the final of the County Closed, made a stunning climax.

  Rebecca stared at the screen, mesmerized by the way she'd played last summer! Those were probably the four best games of tennis she'd ever played in her life, captured on film for ever. The tape would be an inspiration to her.

  She wouldn't rest, she told herself, until she always played like that. She must get back on top form – an
d stay there!

  The very same day, somewhere in London, two men were watching the very same sequence.

  'Interesting. How d'you pick this up, Wayne?'

  'Fluke! I programmed the video to get something else – you know, Tennis Highlights of the Year, on Boxing Day. The schedule was running a few minutes late, so the tape picked up the end of this programme about life at a girls' boarding school.'

  'She's still at school then?'

  'Yes. But there's star quality lurking there, I'd say.'

  'Find out about her, Wayne. What's her name? Is she on the computer?'

  'Rebecca Mason. She played at Eastbourne last summer. Brenda was at Eastbourne, she'll know more about her.'

  'OK, that's a start. Run it through again, Wayne. Let's take another look.'

  'Well, I've got your tennis schedule for the term, Rebecca,' said Mrs. Ericson after tea, 'and plenty of it, too.'

  The county tennis coach had lost no time in driving over to Trebizon. Her most promising junior was back in the West Country! The meeting took place in Miss Willis's office, in Trebizon's sports centre. Miss Willis was out but Miss Greta Darling, Rebecca's coach at school, took her place.

  Mrs Ericson hadn't come to congratulate Rebecca for her starring 'performance' in the Trebizon film, which she neither knew nor cared about, but to upbraid her gently about the Midland 16-and-under Indoor tournament.

  'I know it was your first bash since recovering from your injury, Rebecca,' she said, 'but you won it last year, so this year you should have been able to win it with the proverbial hand tied behind the back. All the older girls have moved up!'

  'I know,' sighed Rebecca. 'I never really got going. If only I'd had some tough matches in the opening rounds, to get me going. I know I could have got my form back. But the first round was a walkover. The girl didn't show up. The second round showed up but she needn't have bothered! It was 6-0, 6-0. She'd just turned fourteen on New Year's Eve. What bad luck!' Rebecca added charitably.

  They laughed.

  Age classification rules in junior tennis were simple and clear-cut. Whatever your age on 1 January, that became your official age for the rest of the calendar year. So if Rebecca's second-round opponent had been born a day or two later, she'd have been playing in 14-and-under tournaments for another whole year, instead of having to play the likes of Rebecca in the 16-Us.