INTO THE FOURTH AT TREBIZON

by Anne Digby

  As for Ingrid's surprising interest in rugby, some of the others were not very charitable about it.

  They discussed it one Wednesday afternoon, very early in the term. It was over coffee in Fenners, at the top end of Trebizon High Street. Mara was with them, for once, with Curly – but Rebecca was having coaching with Miss Darling.

  'Ingrid's gone off with the Supporters' Club again then!' laughed Sue.

  'Did you see the shoes she was wearing when she got on the minibus?' said Mara. 'To wear such shoes on a dirty old rugby pitch!'

  'But you must admit she's easier to live with since she discovered rugby!' said Elf. 'I haven't heard her say "Sssh!" for a week. She's more relaxed, somehow.'

  'She goes Saturdays as well, instead of going to the ice rink,' observed Margot. She laughed. 'I wonder why?'

  'Not so many boys at the ice rink,' said Tish, halfway through a cream bun. 'I mean Ingrid's so peaceful and mysterious and we often wonder what she's thinking about. Well, I think she's thinking about boys.'

  'Oh, yes,' nodded Mara. 'She likes boys very much.'

  'You catty lot!' laughed Curly. 'What's wrong with that?'

  'Nothing – but I'm serious!' grinned Tish. 'I'm not sure if Ingrid actually likes boys – I'm not sure she likes anyone – but I'm sure she's looking for a boyfriend. It matters to her. Now she's going to the Garth rugby all the time she's bound to find one. She's feeling more relaxed about life already. Just deciding which one to pick, maybe.'

  'How long will it take?' asked Sue solemnly. 'Two weeks? Three weeks?'

  'At the most!' nodded Mara.

  They started to lay bets on it.

  But they were wrong.

  September, October, November came and went. The autumn leaves dropped, carpeting the school grounds, leaving a wintry landscape of bare, dark-brown trees.

  The first week of December arrived and with it a big and sudden freeze, turning all the little streams and lakes around Trebizon to ice.

  And in spite of all the bets Ingrid Larsson still hadn't bothered to acquire herself a boyfriend.

  THIRTEEN

  LAURA IS TROUBLED

  It was very sudden, the arctic spell. November went out with storms and high winds but as they entered December, everything became very still and the temperature plummeted. The west country was gripped by the freak cold, twenty degrees of frost and clear starlit skies by night, then a strange, hazy-orange sun by day that had no warmth in it.

  The countryside around became a lunar landscape. Fields that had flooded in the recent storms became solid sheets of ice, grassy hillsides lost their green lushness and became white and stiff with frost and along the narrow lanes the bushes rattled with tinkling icicles when cars brushed against them.

  At Trebizon, everything seemed to freeze up. The pipes in Norris House, the water butt outside Court's back door, the little lake by the Hilary Camberwell Music School. The hockey pitches were rock hard and dangerous to play on. The frost lifted the surface of the staff tennis court and Rebecca was forbidden to use it.

  Important hockey fixtures were cancelled and so were Rebecca's last two matches as a member of the county Under-14 tennis team.

  At both Trebizon and Garth College, the normal sports programme was brought to a standstill. In its place, a craze for ice-skating swept through both schools.

  At Garth one of the rugby pitches had flooded and frozen over and the Sixth Formers begged and borrowed ice skates from all over the place and got up two ice hockey teams. They played every day, using ordinary hockey sticks. Robbie had sometimes skated on frozen gravel pits near the Andersons' home, wearing an ancient pair of Canadian speed skates passed on to him by his father. He asked Helen to send them down by rail and soon became one of the stars of the ice hockey sessions. Twice Rebecca went over to Garth with Ingrid and Laura to watch. Laura was friendly with a boy in Robbie's form called Justin. The ice hockey players soon became very fast and skilful.

  'It's a pity we won't be wearing skates when we go to the sevens tournament,' Laura said hopelessly. 'If we go, that is.'

  Rebecca knew that Laura had a crisis on her hands as far as the seven-a-sides team was concerned. She'd gathered so from Tish, who was rather tight-lipped about it all.

  At Trebizon, it was figure skating that was all the rage. There were several good skaters in the school, but there was no doubt that it was Ingrid who had inspired this craze. She had brought no less than three skating outfits with her to Trebizon, each of them lovely, and every day she would perform dazzlingly on the small frozen lake in front of the Hilary Camberwell, watched by an admiring crowd.

  Rebecca longed to try her hand at skating again, but ice skates were at a premium. She'd got hold of an old brown pair that fitted her – Mrs Barrington had found them in the attic – but they had to be repaired first. Rebecca had begged the shoemender to make the repair quickly, before a thaw came and all the ice disappeared.

  But there was no sign of a thaw. The big freeze looked set in – and that was what brought Laura's problems to a head.

  'It's hopeless having to practise indoors – this floor kills your feet!' scowled Roberta, on the Saturday, the fifth day of frozen hockey pitches. They were standing in the Sports hall. They'd just had an exhausting indoor practice match against one of the groups of senior girls who gave them regular games. 'This weather is just about all we need!'

  'I don't notice you running about much, wherever we practise, Robert,' said Laura sharply.

  'You must admit, Laura,' said Joanna Thompson crossly, 'it's been just one thing after another.'

  Tish kept silent. She always did when these quarrels blew up.

  It was quite true what Jo was saying.

  Things had kept on going wrong for Laura.

  When she'd first posted up her names for the seven-a-sides team, a great cheer had gone up.

  There was Joss Vining, of course, and naturally Laura herself and Tish Anderson, both Second Eleven players. She'd then simply added the Third Eleven's outstanding defence combination – Jenny, Roberta and Joanna – in their customary positions. She'd completed the forward line with Marjorie Spar, the Third Elwen's best goal-scorer. As Sue had turned down the chance to be a substitute, Laura had decided to make do with just two. So she'd named the best all-round attack and the best all–round defence players from the Third Eleven: Judy Sharp and Verity Williams.

  Her announcement looked like this:

  'It's brilliant!' Tara Snell had proclaimed.

  A lot of people had congratulated Laura for being so dynamic and decisive – she'd chosen her squad within an hour of being elected head of games and posted the announcement first thing on Monday morning.

  'Good old Laura,' someone had said. 'Tish Anderson's favouritism left a nasty taste in the mouth – and now this has washed it clean away.'

  It certainly looked good on paper – the best nine players there were, in the Under-15 age group, if you took them position by position. Anyway, certainly the best of the bunch who played regularly. Except for Joss, in the States at present, they were all in the school Elevens!

  On top of that, all the Houses were represented, apart from Sterndale – and so was the Third Year. With Marjorie Spar on the list, they couldn't complain.

  Finally, except for Verity, nobody there was a special friend of Laura's, or even in the same House.

  'One thing you can say about Laura, she's completely fair,' Anne Brett had commented. 'Not like Tish Anderson!'

  It looked good in theory, but it wasn't working out in practice – in the practices, in fact!

  Roberta and Joanna weren't fast enough for sevens, out of their depth trying to play the open game demanded of them. Just as Tish had predicted. They tended to get exhausted and fed up. But Laura just closed her eyes to the problem. This was her team and she had to make it work!

  It was also a mistake having only two substitutes. Judy Sharp took Joss Vining's place at centre forward for most of the term, but when November came she had
to rest her ankle. She was a brilliant forward, with the one weakness that her right ankle tended to strain easily. This meant that Tish had to move to centre forward so that Verity could come in at centre half. Verity's stick work was good but she couldn't move and turn fast enough to cover the ground.

  Finally, as if things weren't bad enough, just before the big freeze up Marjorie Spar announced that she couldn't come to any more practices until after the Christmas concert. She was quite tearful about it, although it had been obvious to Sue for a long time that Marjorie was trying to do too much. Mr Barrington had finally put his foot down.

  So now they were trying to struggle on with only six players, the icy weather had arrived, and morale was as low as it could possibly be. The Sixth Formers had run rings round them today. A bust-up was inevitable.

  'If you ask me, Laura,' said Verity, 'I think the whole thing's a waste of time. It's a silly game, anyway. Proper hockey is much more fun. And anyway, I'd rather be out skating than tearing around inside this sweaty hall.'

  'Why don't we just chuck it all in?' said Roberta. 'We've never played sevens before. Miss Willis never even asked us if we wanted to enter. We can just scratch!'

  Jenny Brook-Hayes, the goalkeeper, usually so good-natured, suddenly snapped.

  'It's all we can do, isn't it! Honestly, what a waste of time it's all been – all these practices, everything.' She turned towards Laura. The realization had been dawning on her for some time now. She didn't mean to blurt it out, but she couldn't help herself: 'If you ask me, Tish was right! We should have had a few athletes in the team! Rebecca – and Aba – and Eleanor Keating, she's a fantastic little runner!'

  'Oh, we should, should we?' said Roberta.

  'Yes, but it's a bit late now!' said Jenny.

  Tish bit her lip.

  Laura had suddenly gone pale and the other three all leapt to her defence, angrily.

  'You would say that, you're in Court!' said Verity. 'You all think you're so marvellous. Tish's team wouldn't have been any better than Laura's!'

  'Rebecca's opted for netball this term!' Joanna pointed out. 'And anyway the only thing she really cares about is tennis!'

  'And Aba isn't even in the Third Eleven,' added Roberta.

  Jenny was about to argue but Tish said sharply: 'Oh, let's drop it.'

  'Yes, let's,' said Laura, turning on her heel. She looked troubled.

  'Well, what d'you think we should do?' asked Verity, starting to follow her as she walked away. 'Do you think we should scratch?'

  'Look, shut up about it,' said Laura. 'We're not going to scratch. We can't! Not when we've got Joss coming back to play.'

  Then she stopped dead and turned to face them. Tish was surprised to see her so angry.

  'You've all got to start playing properly, that's what. We may not be able to win, but at least we're going to enter! You lot got me into this, so you can get me out!'

  It was Verity she was looking at mainly.

  While Tish had been over at the sports centre, Rebecca had rushed down to the town on her bike.

  She had just come back and her wheels were crunching over the frosty gravel in front of Court House, when she caught sight of a track-suited Tish coming round the corner, deep in thought after what had taken place.

  'Tish!' Rebecca cried joyfully. She was in her thick school cloak, with the hood up. The pair of brown skating boots was slung round her neck. 'I've got them! They're mended.'

  She dismounted and scooted over to Tish.

  'Robbie's phoned! The boys are going to have a skating party, on the common. The river's frozen all the way along! There'll be music and hot dogs and they're going to rig up some fairy lights for when it gets dark. Mrs Barry says we can go –What's the matter, Tish?'

  'Nothing.'

  'Oh, Tish – you must come!'

  'You know I can't skate, Rebeck!'

  'Well, neither can I!' laughed Rebecca. 'We can fall over together. Look, we've got to find some more skates from somewhere. You've got to come –'

  'No, honestly, Rebeck. It doesn't matter.' Tish simply wasn't in the mood. But she managed to summon up a smile. 'Glad you got the skates back in time! Just make sure you bring me back a hot dog. And mind you don't fall over too many times!'

  'Ingrid's asked if she can come!' said Rebecca. 'She says she wants to look after me, so I ought to be all right!'

  FOURTEEN

  THE ICE QUEEN

  But how much longer was Ingrid going to take to get ready, wondered Rebecca. What was she doing up there? Mrs Barry would be getting the car out in a minute and then it would be time to go!

  Rebecca herself had been ready for some time. She was getting uncomfortably hot sitting in the big common room downstairs, waiting for Ingrid. She'd put on her warmest clothes, all prepared for the skating party . . . thick sweaters, tweed skirt, woollen tights and fur boots, long knitted scarf wound round her neck. The brown skating boots were slung over her shoulder.

  It seemed hours now since Ingrid had disappeared into the bathroom upstairs, with armfuls of clothes, her two hairbrushes, her combs . . . various little jars and an aerosol can of hair spray.

  Suddenly Rebecca heard the car's engine outside. Mrs Barry was ready! She rushed out of the room and ran up the stairs in a slight panic, calling: 'Ingrid! Ingrid! Come on!'

  When she got to the bathroom the door was swinging open and all that was left in the empty room were the mingled scents of talcum powder, bath oil and hair spray.

  'She's gone!' said Tish, when Rebecca looked into the room. Tish was kneeling on her bed, elbows on the sill, gazing through the window, which looked across to Norris House. She seemed to have been deep in thought. 'She went about ten minutes ago. Didn't you know? She got on the minibus with a crowd from Norris.'

  'She's gone with Mr Douglas?' exclaimed Rebecca in surprise. 'Oh, I've been waiting for her!'

  She hurried downstairs and got into Mrs Barrington's car.

  'We'll have to drive slowly, Rebecca. The roads are icing up again as fast as they grit them.'

  When the housemistress dropped her on the common, the scene took Rebecca's breath away.

  Figures were skating on the frozen river, against a pink winter sky and a great hazy-orange sun. It was sinking fast. Some of the boys had set up a barbecue on the bank and there was the faint smell of wood smoke and sausages frying. Justin Thomas was skating slowly along at the edge of the ice, playing an accordion, a rather melancholy, haunting little tune. Somebody had just turned on the fairy lights which were strung out between a row of bent little willow trees along the river.

  It was a romantic sight and stirred Rebecca deeply.

  She drew nearer, crunching over the frosty grass, scanning all the skaters and looking for Robbie. It was high up on the common. The air itself was like cold ice as she inhaled it. When she exhaled her own warm breath condensed like a great cloud of cigarette smoke in front of her.

  She couldn't see Robbie, but she wasn't too surprised. She'd arrived late and he loved those old speed skates. The winding course of the frozen river, wending its way mistily through the trees into the distance, would be irresistible to him. He would probably be hurtling along it right now, as fast as he could go, coming back to look for her from time to time.

  She sat on a log underneath the fairy lights and started to put her skating boots on. She had just finished tightening the laces when suddenly she saw Ingrid.

  It was the laugh she heard first, high and tinkling, gently teasing somebody. Then Rebecca heard the rustle of branches, just a little way along the river bank from where she sat, and saw a figure come skating out from beneath a cluster of overhanging bushes, leaning backwards into a figure of eight. Her hands were locked together in a big white fur muff.

  Rebecca caught just a glimpse of the mysterious smile and the flash of cold blue eyes beneath the crown of coiled hair, which tonight seemed to throw off the silvery glitter of the ice itself.

  Then she turned and headed away up river
. Her school cloak was somehow transformed; now a queenly robe, rippling behind her as she floated off into the distance.

  Rebecca suddenly remembered what Tish had called Ingrid.

  The Ice Queen!

  A sudden little chill ran through her as she heard a voice in the bushes shout –

  'Coming!'

  There was a crashing of branches and then Robbie shot out on to the ice, braked his speed skates, turned, then headed off up river in pursuit of Ingrid.

  Rebecca stood up carefully on her skates and then walked gingerly on to the ice. 'Robbie!' she called out anxiously. 'Robbie! It's me – Rebecca.'

  Heads turned and people were looking at her. But Robbie didn't seem to hear. He was almost bent double now, head low like a charging bull, accelerating in pursuit of Ingrid who had already disappeared round the first bend in the river.

  'Robbie!'

  Rebecca started to move forward on the skates, flailing her arms to keep her balance. She must remember not to lean backwards, or she would fall. Push her weight forward, first with the right foot, then with the left. 'Robbie! Come back!' People were still looking at her but she didn't care.

  She must catch up with Robbie!

  He had vanished round the bend.

  She was going fast now, faster and faster, veering crazily to the right and then crazily to the left. She was frightened. It was so different from the ice rink, enclosed and safe. There was nothing to grab hold of – no handrail! – nothing to make her feel secure. She was going fast and she didn't know how to stop!

  She streaked round the bend and saw that they'd both disappeared. She was hurtling along the straight when she saw, too late, the trailing branches ahead, half buried in ice. She tried to avoid them – and crashed into a steep wall of river bank. The force of the impact knocked all the breath from her body. She sprawled, winded, her face against a frosty tussock.

  Then from over the top of the bank she heard the faint sound of laughter again.

  She pulled herself up the bank and looked through a screen of frozen fronds. They'd skated round into a backwater that doubled back behind the river, a frozen little wasteland of ice that ran amongst bare trees. She could see them beyond the trees.