by Penny Birch
'Very well,' he said. 'I appreciate you might feel that this was improper, but—'
'Improper!?' Edna snapped. 'They were playing their dirty little games, they were, right there on the bed, spanking games. Isabelle, she was spanking Miss Moffat's bottom, she was, and if there's one thing I can't abide it's people who think that kind of thing is good for kicks, and I'm sorry if maybe I lost my temper, but that Isabelle—'
'Excuse me,' I put in before she could make some even worse revelation about my behaviour. 'I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding here.'
Edna would have carried on, but Dr Smith raised a hand and she went quiet, glaring at me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and began to speak.
'I didn't spend the night at Foxson, although I admit I sometimes do. Katie . . . Catherine West and I are lovers, and so when I came to visit her this morning and found Amy Jane . . . Miss Moffat in her bed I . . . I rather lost my temper. Then Mrs Jellaby came in and seems to have got the wrong idea, but I don't want to make an issue of what happened. In fact, I'd like to apologise to her for my behaviour, and to the rest of you.'
I stopped, unable to go on for the lump in my throat. My tears had started to come, and before I could stop myself I'd broken down, sobbing. Dr Smith drew a long sigh.
'Miss Moffat?' he asked.
'I . . . I came to see Katie yesterday,' Amy Jane stammered, 'and we went to the bar, and I didn't think I was safe to bicycle back to college, so I stayed. We didn't . . . we didn't, you know what, Isabelle, I promise, I really promise!'
She'd turned to me as she spoke, her voice breaking with emotion. Dr Smith shook his head and rested his face in one hand.
'That's true,' Katie confirmed. 'It was just a misunderstanding.'
There was a long silence before Dr Smith spoke again, and when he did it was brisk and stern.
'Very well. So long as neither Miss Moffat nor Miss Colraine wish to take this matter further I feel that it should be dealt with internally, at least insofar as that may be possible. However, I feel that I should make certain points clear. Foxson is a modern forward-looking college and we pride ourselves on our tolerant, liberal attitude. We realise that a proportion of our students will be homosexual, and we feel that it would be wrong to discriminate against those students. I am fully aware that you, Catherine, have been in a lesbian relationship with Miss Colraine for a . . .'
He carried on for some time, with both Katie and I growing gradually pinker and the Owl looking as if she was about to burst. But the final humiliation was reserved for the end.
'. . . Your choice of action in what you imagined was revenge for Miss Moffat's behaviour suggests an unhealthy obsession with corporal punishment as it pertains to the erotic, which is something I am not prepared to tolerate here at Foxson. In short, if the three of you wish to spank each other kindly do it elsewhere.'
My face was on fire by now and Katie's was the colour of beetroot, while Edna had begun to look smug. The Owl appeared to have passed beyond the ability to react.
'My decision is as follows,' Dr Smith continued. 'Mrs Jellaby, however moral you may feel your actions to have been I think you should be thankful that Miss Colraine does not intend to press charges for assault. You will therefore receive a written warning. Catherine, MissMoffat, while I feel that youmay have been foolish you clearly had only passive involvement with events and so I do not propose to take further action.Miss Colraine, on the other hand, has acted abominably and I find myself obliged to pass thematter on to the authorities at your own college. You are at St George's, I believe?'
'Yes,' I confirmed.
'And the Dean of Arts there is Dr Duncan Appledore, is it not?'
'Yes,' I repeated, and for all my overwhelming chagrin I was struggling to stop the corners of my mouth twitching up into a smile.
'I shall telephone him immediately,' Dr Smith finished. 'You may go.'
We went, hurrying from his study and downstairs in a state of embarrassed silence. Edna turned away without even bothering to thank me for not trying to make life more difficult for her, which I could very well have done, but I was in no mood to make an issue of it. Everybody seemed to be looking at us, and we couldn't get out of the building fast enough.
We'd reached the bicycle shed before the Owl finally spoke up, her voice thick with self-pity and recrimination.
'That hurt, Isabelle. And I didn't do anything with Katie.'
'I'm sorry,' I told her grudgingly. 'But . . . but what do you expect?'
'Well, not that!' she replied.
'And why not?' I demanded, my temper flaring up again. 'I'm sure you've got your reasons, but I am your friend and you could have come to me.'
'But I didn't do anything!'
'I'm not talking about spending the night here, Amy Jane, as you perfectly well know. I don't mind what you did or didn't do with Katie. In fact, I hope you had a really good time together. But I do care about you spying on me and telling Stan Tierney about everything I do, and—'
'Who's Stan Tierney?'
'Oh come on, Amy Jane, there's no point in lying now. If you don't know Tierney, how did my bike get there?'
I pointed at the bike, expecting at least a flicker of guilt. The Owl shrugged, looking completely blank. I was on the edge of losing my temper again, but Katie had put a consoling hand on my shoulder and I managed to bite back my anger before I could say too much. If the Owl wasn't prepared to admit to what she'd done there was nothing I could do about it, bike or no bike. But I was determined to have one last try.
'My bike was stolen on Saturday night, in Bicester,' I explained. 'Because my bike was stolen I had to come back to Oxford in a minibus, which is why . . .'
I trailed off, realising that I could hardly admit to what had happened in the minibus.
'I've never even been to Bicester,' the Owl told me. 'And I couldn't have brought your bike here anyway, because I came on my own.'
She sounded as if she was about to start crying, and as she walked over to place a hand on the saddle of the old yellow bicycle she rode a terrible weight of guilt began to grow inside me.
'Oh,' I said. 'But then . . .'
At that moment a porter emerged from the lodge, not the man I'd spoken to before but the one who was usually on duty when I came to visit Katie.
'You got your bike, then?' he asked, gesturing to it.
'Yes, thank you,' I answered. 'But who brought it?'
'Mr Jellaby, Edna's hubby,' he told me. 'Some bloke called Osman found it, he said, chained up where you'd left it.'
'No, it wasn't,' I retorted. But a seed of doubt had already begun to grow in my mind. 'Um . . . thank you, anyway.'
The porter gave me a friendly nod and went back into the lodge, leaving me wondering if I had really been so drunk, and so silly, that I'd gone to the wrong lamp-post. It didn't seem likely, especially as Osman and his friends had gone out to look for it, but perhaps a car had been in the way? In any event I now had it, and I'd just falsely accused the Owl.
'I'm sorry, Amy Jane,' I said.
'I have to go,' Katie put in. 'Let's talk again when we're not so upset.'
I nodded, kissed her and went to get my bike. My emotions were more confused than ever, and I was astonished at myself for losing my temper so badly. I knew why, though: what Amy Jane had done, or what I thought she'd done, had forced me to come face to face with something inside myself that I'd been trying very hard to bury, and in the minibus I had let it out with a vengeance. Now it looked as if she might be innocent after all, which made me feel awful.She fell into step with me as we left Foxson, both of us wheeling our bikes. I didn't know what to say, and just riding off seemed impossibly rude. In the end she spoke first.
'Your club isn't really anything to do with James Malcolm Rymer, is it?'
We were well clear of the gates of Foxson, walking between rows of red-brick houses with nobody in hearing range, but her question wasn't at all what I'd been expecting. I had no idea what to say, because if she was in leag
ue with Tierney she presumably knew anyway, and if she wasn't and I admitted it I'd be lining myself up for another punishment from the Rattaners. As a car passed us I found myself glancing guiltily at the driver, half expecting it to be Eliza or Sarah. The Owl spoke again.
'It's some sort of private lesbian society, isn't it?'
'What makes you think that?' I asked, trying to sound surprised and failing miserably.
'For a start you hardly know anything about him,' she responded, 'and all the members are women, and I know you and Katie are a couple in an open relationship, and Portia Anson-Jones was on the UOLS stall at the Freshers' Fair. You can tell me, Isabelle.'
The Owl sounded hurt, as no doubt she felt she had every right to be. I bit my lip, not wanting to lie but very sure that I shouldn't admit to the sort of things we got up to at Rattaners parties. I decided to compromise.
'You're right, in a way,' I admitted. 'We keep it secret because we don't feel we fit in at UOLS, and you know what student politics are like.'
'But isn't Portia the treasurer of UOLS?'
'Exactly.'
'I don't understand.'
'We're . . . we're just rather old-fashioned. Yes, old-fashioned.'
'That sounds fun. Do you dress up?'
'Yes, sometimes.'
The Owl didn't answer, and we continued to walk. Slowly I began to feel that I might have got away with it, or at least not dug myself any deeper into the ground, until she spoke again.
'Would you mind if I came along? I wouldn't be any trouble, I promise.'
'It . . . it's not really suitable,' I said hastily. 'Why would you want to come, anyway? Wouldn't you feel uncomfortable?'
'OK,' she said, 'I understand. You don't want me there.'
Her voice had begun to break towards tears, making me feel even worse.
'It's not that!' I promised her. 'It's just that the society wouldn't suit you. We . . . we play games and things, sexual games, and everybody has to join in, because spectators make us feel awkward . . .'
I'd said far too much, and my voice trailed off. I was desperately searching my mind for some way to put her off without hurting her. She had stopped, and so did I.
'Wouldn't it be better to find somebody to go out with?' I suggested. 'A man, I mean. There are lots of very attractive men in your college.'
'Do you think anybody would want me?' Amy Jane demanded as a tear began to form in one huge brown eye. 'I look like a bloody owl!'
'I wouldn't say that,' I lied, having done so several hundred times. 'Actually, I think you're pretty.'
'No, you don't,' she sniffed. 'You think I'm short and fat and frumpy. You wouldn't want me, would you? Katie spent all night with me and we didn't do a thing!'
'Come on, Amy Jane,' I protested. 'It's just that it would have been wrong for her to do that. You're not a lesbian.'
'I'm not anything!' she protested. 'I've never had sex, never! You smacking my bottom was the only vaguely sexual thing that anybody's ever done to me! I wouldn't mind what you did, I wouldn't even mind joining in. I just want somebody to like me.'
'I like you.'
'Not like that – properly!'
Amy Jane burst into tears, bawling her eyes out as her body shook with powerful sobs. There was a huge lump in my own throat, and I was horribly ashamed of my own behaviour. I put my arms around her as best I could with her bicycle between us, leaving my own to clatter to the pavement.
'Don't cry, please,' I urged. 'Look, um . . . it's not even that simple. I'd have to propose you to the society, and two of the others would have to . . . to interview you. But, Amy Jane, you do need to actually enjoy sex with other women!'
'I might,' she snivelled.
I held on to her, genuinely wanting to give her some comfort, although my head was full of visions of Portia or Jasmine giving her a playful spanking and Amy Jane running straight to the university authorities with tales of perversion and sexual abuse. Eventually I would have to tell her that if she wanted to join the Rattaners she have to accept being spanked, but with her crying her eyes out against my chest it didn't seem a good time to bring up the subject. Besides, I was the one who needed spanking, both for my appalling behaviour and for my stupidity.
Nor was that all. Having finally managed to drop Amy Jane off at Newman I started back towards St George's with my head full of conflicting emotions and the most inappropriate thought imaginable trying to force itself to the front of my mind. Edna Jellaby had spanked me, panties down and bare bottom, the way it ought to be done, and she had spanked me to teach me a lesson, as a genuine punishment. It was immensely arousing.
I knew full well what I'd end up doing if I went back to my room, but to avoid St George's meant avoiding Duncan, who would undoubtedly want to speak to me. He was going to be genuinely angry as well, although at least I didn't have to worry about being hauled up in front of the disciplinary committee and rusticated or even sent down. With luck he'd simply lecture me and then use the situation as an excuse to put me across his knee, to which he'd be very welcome.
When I got to college there was a note in my pigeonhole asking me to come and see him at two o'clock, more than four hours away. The wait was agony, with my feelings swinging wildly between genuine worry for what he might say and arousal at the thought of the predicament I'd put myself in, along with a jumble of other worries about Katie, the Owl, Tierney, Edna and a dozen more. By the time the college bells struck half past one I could wait no longer.
I went to Duncan's room, only to find that he wasn't there at all. I was forced to stand outside like a naughty schoolgirl waiting for admission to the headmistress's study, an image both terrifying and appealing. When he finally rolled up he took one look at me and laughed, which had me pushing my lower lip out in sulky resentment.
'You look quite the picture, Isabelle,' he chuckled, opening the door. 'Come in. Now, what's all this that old Peter Smith has been telling me?'
'It's all rather complicated,' I told him. 'But, basically, I lost my temper with Amy Jane, the girl we call the Owl. I spanked her.'
'Ah ha. And she is a candidate for the Rattaners, this Amy Jane?'
'No! Yes . . . in a sense. That's half the problem . . . well, part of it, anyway. As far as I know she's completely innocent, but she says she wants to join. You know who I mean, don't you? The small, rather round girl you've seen me around college with occasionally.'
'Absolutely, and your description of her as an owl is certainly apt, if rather unkind. Peter tells me you caught her in bed with Katie, which sounds less than entirely innocent, but I don't see why you were angry. I've always understood that you and Katie have an open relationship?'
'Yes. That wasn't why I spanked the Owl . . . Amy Jane . . . and I don't think she did anything with Katie.'
'So she's not even a lesbian? Not that it excuses your conduct. Good God, Isabelle, do you have any idea what the consequences would be if what we do became public knowledge? First you indulge yourselves in spanking games in the Bodleian Library, and now this!'
'I know . . . sorry. Anyway, this woman, Edna Jellaby, who's a scout at Foxson, came in and thought we were . . . were having spanking sex, so she did me – to teach me a lesson, she said.'
'A college scout spanked you? And is she a candidate for the Rattaners?'
'No, far from it, but you see . . . actually I'd rather not explain, if you don't mind, but I realise I shouldn't have done it . . .'
'I'm sorry, Isabelle, but I'm afraid you're going to have to explain. So, first you chose to spank some entirely innocent first-year, and while you were doing this a college scout entered the room and began to spank you in reprisal, as a genuine punishment rather than for pleasure? She must have had some reason to do so, surely? College scouts are not normally in the habit of spanking students, after all.'
'Yes, in a sense,' I admitted miserably, and realised that I was going to have to tell him everything. 'The thing is . . . is that last Saturday I was playing for a pub darts te
am in Bicester . . .'
'A pub darts team in Bicester? This has something to do with Mr Tierney and the Red Ox, doesn't it?'
'Yes. Sorry.'
'Do go on.'
'He was there, and so was Edna Jellaby, who's in the team as well. They got me drunk . . . no, I got myself drunk, mainly because my bike had been stolen so I had to go back in the minibus, and . . . and Tierney took advantage of me . . . sort of . . . not at all really, but I ended up being very silly, and doing things . . . and Edna didn't like it at all so I suggested she spank me, several times. Then she caught me with Katie and the Owl, and I think she wanted to teach me what a real spanking is like. That's all.'
Duncan was staring at me, apparently struck dumb by the enormity of my behaviour, which seemed a little unfair after all the Rattaners parties he'd attended.
'You know how it is,' I said weakly.
'I'm not at all sure that I do,' he replied, shaking his head. 'It is one thing to enjoy one's sexuality, Isabelle, and I trust that nobody could justifiably call me a prude, but there is such a thing as discretion. Oh dear, oh dear, what is to be done with you?'
Again he shook his head, as if in despair, but this time he turned to look out of the window, contemplating my fate. I waited a full minute before speaking.
'Couldn't you just spank me?'
'I could,' Duncan replied, 'and I am certainly tempted, if only to assuage my feelings. However, I cannot help but think that to do so would be somewhat akin to punishing a car thief by giving him the latest model from Mercedes-Benz. No, when it comes to your personal discipline I shall leave the matter to Eliza, who understands these things so much better than I.'
'Eliza? Surely it would be better not to tell Eliza?'
'On the contrary. This is not a matter that can simply be swept under the carpet, Isabelle. The incident occurred in Katie's room at Foxson, did it not?'
'The curtains were shut. Are you sure you don't want to spank me?'
'How many people do you suppose know about it?' Duncan demanded, ignoring my question.
'Nobody actually saw – at least, not when I was spanking the Owl, or when Edna did me, because she shut the door, but I suppose it was rather noisy, and there were a few people behind Dr Smith when he came in, and . . . look, Duncan, I really do think that a bare-bottom spanking would do me the world of good . . . oh, and speaking of bare-bottom, I was bare for Edna, and so was the Owl for me. A lot of people saw us go to Dr Smith's study.'