by Noël Cades
"Actually no, but it’s liver today." This time he raised his eyebrows fully, and for a moment she wondered if he would smile, but he didn’t.
"I haven’t yet experienced that delicacy."
"I hope you manage to enjoy it when you do," she said. He continued to look at her, his gaze inscrutable, and then - still unsmiling - he left.
* * *
"Where were you at lunch?" Charlotte demanded, as they went to the Maths classroom.
"I managed to get a note."
"You’re lucky you were looking pale before. It was even more of a struggle than usual, it really stank," Charlotte said.
"Actually Nurse guessed it was liver, but let me off anyway which was nice. She’s suggested going vegetarian."
"That’s still pretty awful you know. Very dull - grated cheddar one day, and a hard boiled egg the next. And you’d still be stuck with cabbage," Charlotte warned.
"At least I could eat that."
"If you did diabetes you could probably get off puddings too," said Margery. "But I think you’d need an actual doctor’s note for that."
"And syringes and things." It wasn’t a great idea.
* * *
The last lesson that day was Double Art - it was always two lessons back to back, due to the time taken setting up and clearing up. Margery hated art, but Charlotte and Laura regarded it more as fun than work.
Today they had to practice shading gradients with different hardnesses of pencil, then sketch a still life object from the art room. Laura chose a terracotta vase, made and abandoned by a long-ago sixth former. The Lower School didn’t get to use either of the pottery wheels.
Mr Lanaway was in despair trying to help Margery. He was a very thin, pale man and a brilliant sculptor. Margery simply had no sense of light and shade. The fact that she despised art, considering it a waste of time that could be spent more profitably on academic subjects, didn’t help either.
Having finished her sketch Laura wandered around the pottery room, looking at damp lumps of clay-in-progress under cloth on various trolleys. Classroom discipline was quite different in Art, they were encouraged to explore what other people had been making. She saw that one class - probably A-Level Ceramics - had been trying to sculpt human figures.
There was a huge block of clay on the table, ready for Mr Lanaway to cut up. It was solid, square and dark grey. Laura suddenly imagined pulling a form from it: sinewy shoulders, flat pectorals, a strong, well shaped neck. She wanted to make something she could touch.
"Sir, could you teach us how to sculpt this term?"
A lot of girls didn’t like ceramics because of the sticky, muddy feel of clay, and getting it stuck under their fingernails. Art in terms of drawing or painting was considered less messy and physical. So it was an unusual delight for the art teacher to get such a request. Mr Lanaway was also delighted to find interest shown in his own area of talent.
"By all means. We’ll start next week, those that are interested."
* * *
"Dear Diary, he stopped to talk to me today. Did he stay longer than he needed to? I feel like this must be all in my head, but it’s as if there is no one else in the world when he’s there. I have to get over this. There’s the whole of the sixth form before me."
5. Lost in translation
Charlotte was no fool. She knew she had put backs up through her new zeal for Latin and that it would be socially strategic to make amends.
She put her hand up in class. "Sir, I was wondering if it might help bring our Caesar text to life if we visited the Welchester Roman Museum one day? Perhaps on a Sunday afternoon?"
Seeing the Latin teacher’s expression start to open to the idea she fired the killer shot. "And of course it could be very useful to those of us thinking of doing Latin for A-Levels."
Fewer and fewer girls every year took Latin in the sixth form, much to Mr Tyrrell’s despair. The prospect of having Charlotte and some of these other bright girls in his class next year was the perfect carrot.
"I should think that would be a splendid idea!" he said. One of the girls in the back row muffled a snigger. Only Mr Tyrrell could get excited about a town museum.
What Mr Tyrrell didn’t know but what Charlotte and every other girl was keenly aware of was that St Duncan’s boys were taken to Welchester Museum nearly every weekend, as their school was in the same town. Even if there wasn’t a contingent at the museum itself that day, there was a good chance of seeing some of the sixth form boys down at the shops.
"I’ll see about getting the school coach for next weekend," he told them.
Charlotte’s crown of popularity was restored.
* * *
"If only we could wear mufti," Laura sighed. The days they were allowed out of school in regular clothes were extremely rare. Francis Hall’s school uniform, which was nearly head-to-toe maroon wool in the winter term, was not considered fetching by any of them.
"I’m going to borrow Mary Rudge’s skirt," said Charlotte. Mary Rudge was the shortest girl in Michaelmas house.
"But she’s half your height!" said Margery.
"Exactly. Her skirt will be above my knees, and if Gi-Gi or anyone else tries to get me to roll it down it won’t be possible. I’ll put it on it at the last minute so there’s no time to change." Rolling skirts up at the waist was a popular way to shorten them but you could get a demerit point if you were unlucky.
"We can manage some make up too, if we put it on in the coach," Laura said. "Depending on who’s coming to supervise, of course."
"It will probably be one of the teachers who can drive the coach if Jenkins is off," Margery pointed out. Jenkins was the school handyman who doubled up as a coach driver, but a few of the teaching staff also held bus licences.
"That’s ok then, it’s all the gimpy ones that do that. They never notice stuff like that. Nor will Tyrrell."
* * *
They had Double German that day which Laura had been waiting for all week. She had obsessed about her perfecting her homework while trying to conceal her efforts from the others. Mr Rydell was wearing a tie with grey stripes today that matched his eyes.
Laura had long ago learnt to suppress laughter by digging her nails into her thumbs. Getting a fit of the giggles in certain situations was a lethal route to detentions and other punishments, but sometimes it was hard to help it. Particularly when the choirmaster’s toupée slipped while conducting a particularly vigorous anthem in chapel.
Now she used her nails to try and control her lurching stomach and the blushes she was certain kept coming to her face whenever she caught his eye. Which she was sure was more than normal, but was it because she kept looking at him too much? She tried to concentrate on staring down at her textbook.
Teresa Hubert had tried quite a different homework strategy to Laura. She had deliberately messed hers up so she could beg Mr Rydell for extra help. This met with short shrift.
"If you require more study time I can arrange it with your housemistress for Saturday afternoon, and you can redo this week’s exercises and give them to me on Monday," he told her.
Teresa looked horrified. This was practically a voluntary detention.
"No, I won’t need that, I have enough time in the evenings," she said.
"Be sure you use it."
He turned away from her and started on the subject of German’s compound nouns. The textbook gave some examples, and Mr Rydell wrote another couple of unfeasibly long examples on the blackboard which he assured them were genuine words.
Laura looked up. "Are they like Old English words?" she said.
He was surprised by this. "Are you studying Old English?"
"Mr Peters showed us some Anglo-Saxon verse at the end of last term."
"Those tend to be called kennings, they’re used in a more figurative, poetic sense, but yes. German shares certain features with older forms of English than it does with more modern English." He smiled at her. It was the first time she had ever seen him smile, certain
ly at her, and it dazzled her. To keep herself focused she dug her nails into her thumbs so hard they nearly bled.
* * *
The Geography teacher Mrs Ayers loathed Michaelmas girls. Some years ago she had applied to be housemistress of what was considered to be the best house in the choicest location but had been turned down. She had later managed to secure the equivalent position at the smaller Whitsun House, but the rejection still rankled.
Woe betide any Michaelmas girls with lost garters or untidy hair around Mrs Ayers. Whilst she might show leniency towards Advent or Lammas girls and always turned the blindest of eyes to her own Whitsun inmates, anyone under Grace Grant’s care could expect the full force of her venom in a slew of demerits. No wonder she was nicknamed "The Axe".
"Your socks are down - both of them. Double demerits!" she snapped at Charlotte when she passed them in the courtyard.
"Oh come on, that’s unfair, it’s never more than one for both, they’re not separate offences," Charlotte protested.
"Would you like a third demerit point for answering back?"
Charlotte had no choice but to bite her tongue. Three demerit points meant Saturday detention, which meant no hockey matches. Which was not only disappointing but would bring the wrath of Miss Partridge upon her as well.
When the Geography teacher had finally gone the others offered their sympathy. "I’m almost surprised she didn’t just give you the third," Laura said.
"I’m not. Giving someone three points in a single day, so that they get detention, might be scrutinised. It’s pretty harsh. Gi-Gi might even protest it," Margery said.
"Still not worth the risk though. I absolutely have to play in the match against Everleigh College or Hubert will get my position as right wing and even keep it if she sucks up enough."
* * *
Laura had written to her parents but it would be a wait until their permission slip for her dietary change came through. Until then she was doomed to force down the foul school chow, doing her best to slip what she could to Charlotte. She had tried secreting something awful in her blazer pocket the other day which she had pre-lined with A4 paper.
But it leaked everywhere and she got a scolding from Matron, who ironically thought she was smuggling out extra food to eat later. "You finish your meal at the table and nowhere else. Snacking only makes girls fat."
Thank God for her tuckbox. Maybe she could try to replenish its stores in Welchester. She hoped a diet of predominantly Mars Bars wouldn’t make her break out in acne.
* * *
"Dear Diary, he smiled at me today. Me and only me. It felt like the sun came out. Oh I wish we had German every day. I wish every single lesson was German. Why can’t I be in the sixth form already, doing German for A-Levels? They get to see him daily, sometimes twice. Whereas I’m languishing on starvation rations."
6. In the rain
It poured that afternoon: wet and grey and grim under a leaden sky. One of the staff had asked Laura to fetch a pile of books from one of the English classrooms at break-time, not realising it was raining so heavily. Laura obliged as you often got bonus points this way. These would help offset Mrs Ayers’ endless demerits towards the overall House total.
As good luck or ill Fate would have it - she wasn’t sure which, afterwards - she came back up around the corner to collide straight with The Axe. It was a pure accident - not helped by the rain in her hair and eyes - and Laura slipped up on the wet path and fell, with the books scattering. The dumpy Geography teacher maintained her own balance quite well. Less so her temper.
"You stupid girl!" she shrieked. "Why can’t you look where you’re going? You’ve bruised me and damaged all those books. A triple demerit and detention this Saturday!"
Laura, whose knee was throbbing with pain, could only look up at her in misery.
"I think that may be unfairly harsh, it’s wet and slippery and she was carrying a large load." It was Mr Rydell. Amid her shock, Laura braced herself for The Axe’s fury. She would never suffer to be corrected by a newer and thus junior member of staff.
"She should look where she’s going when carrying valuable school property. She crashed into me quite deliberately! These Michaelmas girls have no consideration or discipline."
"With respect, I witnessed what happened and it was a clear accident. I would be happy to make a report as such to the Head," he told her. He had lowered his voice as though he was only addressing the other teacher, but Laura could still hear. Realising her defeat, Mrs Ayers stormed off. "Now let’s get out of the rain. Are you hurt?" he asked, turning to Laura.
"I’m fine." She clearly wasn’t, her knee was grazed and bleeding. Her blood was mixing with the rain, streaking down her leg and making it look worse than it was.
"I expect you’ll need to see the nurse for that. I’ll carry the books for you. Where were you taking them?" Laura told him. "Very well." They picked them up together.
She turned to head towards the nurse’s room, which was back in the direction of the English rooms.
Then he called after her.
"Laura?"
She turned back. "Yes sir?"
"I’d like to see you in my classroom after lessons finish, if you have time before prep."
There was usually a break of around twenty minutes between classes and first prep, when they did an hour of homework before supper.
"Of course." Her mind was racing in anticipation. She wished he hadn’t seen her like this, her hair a bedraggled mess, sprawled clumsily on the ground. And what did he want to speak with her about?
* * *
Laura could not concentrate at all in the final two classes that day. The first was Maths, to which she was late anyway due to visiting the nurse’s room. Fortunately you always got a note and there was a large bandage on her knee to bear additional witness. Teresa Hubert muttered something about "clumsy clot" and sniggered with her friends, but it washed off Laura entirely.
Finally it was History and she felt bad when Mr Poynter twice asked her something and she hadn’t heard what she said. He was such a nice, earnest man. "I am sorry, sir, I think I’m a bit distracted by my knee." He was all kindness when she pointed out her bandage though Teresa rolled her eyes.
Charlotte and Margery were dying to find out what was up with her, but she didn’t have time to tell them. She also didn’t have time to fix her appearance. Laura was the unofficial beautician of the three: she could manage quite spectacular feats with talcum powder, charcoal smuggled from the art room and even fountain pen ink, since actual make up was banned at Francis Hall.
But today she had no choice but to rush off, with her bedraggled-now-dried hair and undecorative bandage.
* * *
The modern languages classrooms were in a newer block behind and below the dining hall. Each classroom opened from the exterior wall, which was glass paned from ceiling to floor, giving them plenty of natural light but creating rather a goldfish bowl effect. It was easy to be distracted in class by other people walking outside, though no one should be around at this hour.
Mr Rydell was behind his desk arranging some stacks of exercise books. The door was open so she couldn’t knock but she didn’t want to walk right in. She hovered momentarily, but fortunately he looked up almost immediately and told her to come in.
"Have a seat," he said, indicating one of the desks in the front row.
"I wanted to speak with you because I was concerned about what I saw this afternoon," he said, getting straight to the point. "Is there any reason that Mrs Ayers would be so angered with you?"
"It’s not me in particular," Laura said. She noticed that the rain had also left his hair more dishevelled. It fell over his forehead slightly, making him look younger. She wondered how old he really was.
"Is she always like that?"
Laura didn’t want to come across as sneaky or whiny, but neither could she lie. No one else in the school would paint The Axe in a flattering light if he asked them.
"I think so
metimes things can get competitive with House points," she said.
"House points?"
"She runs a different house and sometimes there’s rivalry over points." She hoped it didn’t sound as stupid to him as it did to her. The sad fact was that it was actually true.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. She felt pressured to continue.
"I know it sounds petty, but things get like that here. It’s her whole life, here." As she said it she felt a touch of empathy with The Axe for the first time, and a kind of shuddering dread at a life that would turn someone to be that way. "You know what school is like. People get… institutionalised." It was a word she had heard her father use to describe the prison service but she thought it fitted here too.
Mr Rydell raised his eyebrows.
"Oh I didn’t mean you!" Laura said in horror. "Not everyone. Just some people, some teachers. Especially with it being a boarding school and so… closed in."
"It’s all right," he told her. "I do know what you mean, it’s easy for teaching staff to get that way. And quite remarkable how well you understand."
He had called her remarkable. It gave her courage. "Why did you become a teacher then?"
He looked at her, and for the second time ever that she could remember, he smiled. It made her feel warm inside. "Truthfully? For the holidays."
"The holidays?"
"Don’t mistake me, I enjoy teaching and find it extremely rewarding. But I wanted a career where I would have plenty of time to myself. An office job with four weeks a year doesn’t allow for much travel, or taking sabbaticals for research."