‘OK, yes of course. But they don’t bite, do they?’
‘No, that’s the good thing about them.’ She opened the front and carefully removed one of the guinea-pigs and placed it in Tom’s hands.
‘He’s gorgeous.’
‘She, they are both females.’
‘What about if we are away?’
‘I’ve asked Bob next door. He only needs to give them a carrot in the morning and check they’ve got water. Besides, we don’t go away that much.’
‘Well, I’m pleased for you. I must say you have a sort of renewed vigour. I’ve noticed a difference.’ He put the guinea-pig back in the hutch and picked up his bottle of lager.
‘Caring for a pet is therapeutic, you know. Also, this is the bit you’ll like best. I’ve ordered a moveable pen for the lawn, and they will keep the grass down! Less mowing.’
‘Now you’re talking!’ said Tom. ‘They won’t kill off the lawn though if they pee on it, will they?’
Trish shrugged. ‘I don’t remember that happening, I’m sure my Dad would have objected, you know what he was like about his garden.’
‘You have said he was rather obsessed with it. So, what are their names?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure. I’ve not had time to think about that.’
‘Pinky and Perky!’ laughed Tom.
‘How original,’ said Trish. ‘I’ll think of some names and let you know.’
‘Come here!’ Tom, reached for his wife and hugged her. ‘I was so frightened when you had that funny episode. Yet, now you seem so well, it’s such a relief.’
‘Thank the pharmaceutical companies for that,’ she replied.
‘It’s not just that, although I know they are helping. You just seem more focused and interested in things, like you are on a mission.’
‘Really? Well, I don’t know about that, but I am trying to get better. Believe me. I want to take control. It’s about time.’
‘So, you want to control me, is that it? Turning into a dominatrix, I like it!’
Trish slapped her husband playfully. ‘Time for dinner, I think.’
‘Don’t tell me, roast guinea-pig, there were four in there earlier today.’
Trish laughed and headed off into the kitchen. It was true, she did feel a huge amount better than she had recently, and only she knew the real reason.
Part 2
Stourford School for Girls
1980
Chapter 25
‘Girls! Settle down, please!’
The chattering subsided and the girls turned their attention to their chemistry teacher, thirty-five-year-old, Miss Maynard, whose face was characteristically flushed, as she struggled to cope with this particular Upper 4th form group. At barely five feet three inches, she felt dominated by classes of girls who were beginning to reach and in some cases surpass her small stature. It was harder to show authority without a height advantage. Some of the sixth form girls now towered over her, and her waif-like stature didn’t help either. That weekend she’d had to move the buttons on a couple of her skirts as the loose waists made it difficult to keep her blouses tucked in and tidy. However much she ate, seemed to make no difference and that was probably because she was burning off so many calories in nervous energy. Perhaps those struggling with weight management should be encouraged to take up teaching, she mused, in a few months they might see the excess pounds fall away.
Whilst waiting for the hubbub to cease completely, she fiddled with a few strands of hair which had escaped from their fastening after her hairdresser had over enthusiastically cut her flyaway hair rather shorter than usual. Her armpits were perspiring, was she imagining a faint trace of body odour rising from them? Fortunately, her lab coat covered her embarrassment.
‘Now, put on your science overalls and gather around the front bench,’ she commanded.
A clattering noise rang out, as a metal stool fell over and a girl stumbled forwards knocking a folder and pencil case off one of the benches.
‘Patsy! What are you doing? Please be more careful, this is a laboratory and you might cause an accident.’
‘Sorry, Miss,’ replied Patsy, clambering to her feet and picking up the items which lay distributed over the floor. She glared at the two girls behind her and lashed out with her foot towards the shin of her principal tormentor.
‘Ow! My leg!’ howled Eugenia, bending over and rubbing her shin dramatically. ‘She kicked me! Ow, it hurts, I think it’s bleeding.’
Miss Maynard bustled over to inspect the damage, tutting audibly, her mind silently issuing a stream of expletives. She enjoyed teaching but often felt overwhelmed by discipline issues. The incident had taken place amongst a huddle of girls, below bench level and even from her elevated front platform, it had been impossible to continually observe the actions of the whole class. She quickly checked Eugenia’s leg and saw there was a dirty scuff mark on her white summer socks, suggesting she had been kicked at some point, but there was no sign of blood.
‘It’s not bleeding so come along and stop wasting time,’ she said to Eugenia.
‘But she kicked me! I didn’t do anything.’
‘Look, that is the end of the matter. I am not going to stand here debating with you,’ she said sternly, her face flushing even more markedly. Her right eye had begun to twitch as it often did in stressful situations and she quickly donned her safety glasses to disguise her nervous affliction.
As she checked the items for the demonstration, inwardly Miss Maynard sighed and kept her eyes firmly on the bench. Doubtless, the girl she had admonished would be pulling faces at her, but she just couldn’t face another intervention. It was yet another incident in the long-running feud between the two girls. The episodes in the class were never serious, but it was clear from talking to the other staff that there were numerous examples of low-level bullying in the school and this pair was probably the worst of the offenders. Patsy had been spoken to but had refused to disclose what was really happening and hadn’t levelled any specific accusations against Eugenia, so for the moment, the situation was being monitored.
‘Gather round, now, we need to press on,’ said Miss Maynard surveying the class before her. Some girls were seated and the others, including Patsy, remained standing to get a better view.
‘Today we are going to learn about indicators. Who can tell me what an indicator does?’
She scanned the room, as she decided who to choose from the collection of raised hands.’
‘Yes, Bronwyn?’
‘It’s something which undergoes a visible change in colour in a solution.’
‘Very good. It’s a substance which gives a visible sign, usually a colour change when the conditions in the solution change. We are going to learn how indicators show the acidity of solutions. Then you will return to your benches and perform experiments on the solutions supplied to you.’
She paused as one girl stood out from the rest, her blue and white checked summer dress visible amongst a sea of green science overalls. It looked like the book, “Where’s Wally,” where you had to spot the character in an intricately drawn picture. However, the scene before her was an easy test for anyone, even those with poor forensic skills.
‘Patsy, where is your overall?’
‘I can’t find it, Miss,’ she replied.
‘Well, after I’ve finished my demonstration go and ask Mrs Phillips in the Prep Room if you can borrow one.’
Patsy nodded. Her overall had been stolen, and she had a good idea who had taken it from her bag. Eugenia had been waging a campaign of intimidation together with her side-kicks Sophie and Harriet, since the start of the autumn term and there was no sign of them losing interest in her. For the first two years at the school, she had escaped victimisation, but for some reason, she was now the focus of their attention. Thinking back over past events, she had been unable to identify the turning point when she had suddenly become visible to them as predators. Why had they turned all their attention towards her? What had driv
en them to spend every spare moment they could hell-bent on making her life miserable?
At first, Patsy had ignored their taunts as she thought it was the best policy, but that approach had failed miserably and now the incidents seemed to be ratcheting up in intensity. Patsy’s friend, Susan, had urged her to speak to the teachers but as Eugenia’s father was Chairman of the Governors and well-known benefactor to the school Patsy felt that the staff would always side with the philanthropic family, rather than the scholarship girl from a working-class background. For the time being, she tried to tell herself that she could cope with the incidents, rather than suffer the embarrassment of having to report them. On one occasion she had told her mother that some of the girls had been picking on her and her mother had been sympathetic but her father had dismissed it as a lesson in life and that she needed to learn to look after herself. Her mother’s offer to come into school and speak to the staff had immediately been swatted away by her father who accused Patsy of exaggerating and refusing to accept that it was all part of growing up.
He constantly reminded her how lucky she was to have been given, not earned as he always said, a place at such a good school. Using a well-practised technique whereby he managed to twist arguments so as to paint Patsy as the protagonist, he had even suggested it was all part of a covert plot of hers to leave the school and rejoin her Primary School friends at the local High School. In some of his more expansive speeches inflicted upon her, he emphasised how he’d not been given the opportunities she had and had accused her of being ungrateful.
Patsy had drifted off into her own closeted world, replaying her paternal lectures when she was conscious of Miss Maynard falling silent and faces focusing their attention on her. She had no idea of the question.
‘We are waiting, what colour would we see?’
Susan dropped her exercise book on the floor and as she picked it up, pointed to the cover.
‘Blue,’ replied, Patsy.
‘Correct, thank you,’ said the teacher. ‘Now, go back to your benches and work in pairs on the experiment. You have fifteen minutes. Then I will explain what I want you to do for homework.’
The group dispersed back to their places, and the teacher nodded at Patsy who left the room to find Mrs Phillips and hopefully a spare overall. How she longed to leave the building and escape from the stifling atmosphere. She was academically very able, but her grades had slipped somewhat in recent months. Her mind was unable to concentrate fully, as she was always waiting for the next onslaught from Eugenia and company. She kicked out at the wall in frustration, making a black mark on the neutral plasterwork and the action helped to relieve some of her pent-up anger. As she reached Mrs Phillips’ room, she lingered and gazed through the window, wrestling her inner frustration and clasping her hands together to prevent herself from punching her fist right through the pane of glass.
Without warning, the force within won out, and she grasped a few strands of hair, pulling at them violently, separating them from her scalp which throbbed as it mourned the loss from its follicles. Tentatively she felt at her head but disappointingly, there was no blood. Perhaps if there had been, some of her pain would flow away. Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the door opening and spinning around on the spot she saw the friendly Mrs Phillips.
‘Patsy? Are you OK, love, you look worried.’
Patsy held the clump of hairs behind her back and opened her fingers, hoping that the hairs would fall to the floor. ‘I’m OK, thanks but I need to borrow a science overall. Do you have a spare one?’
‘I think so, come in.’
The girl followed the technician, shaking her hand to dislodge an annoying hair. She wondered whether Mrs Phillips would be the staff member to approach but she would have to raise the problem with the teaching staff, so it all came back to the same thing. Eugenia would label her a snitch, a tell-tale, a cry-baby and thus have even more grounds to taunt her. Did she really want that? It was inconceivable that Eugenia or any of her group would be punished or asked to leave the school.
‘Here you are, love,’ said Mrs Phillips, handing her an overall. ‘I’ll just make a note that you’ve borrowed it. Bring it back when you’ve found yours.’
‘Thank you, I will,’ said Patsy as she shook it out and put it on. She walked back to rejoin her class, hoping she’d not missed too much. Her current problem was solved in a few seconds, however the other issues remained and no matter how many times she chewed over them in her mind there was no easy resolution in sight.
Chapter 26
Eugenia arrived home just before half-past four as Harriet’s mother had given her and Sophie a lift. She let herself into the large detached house on the outskirts of Canterbury and dropped her bag and blazer carelessly on the floor in the hallway. She could see her mother outside in the garden, reclining on a sun-lounger, a glass and ashtray next to her on the table.
As Eugenia flopped down on a lounger, the springs creaked, causing her mother to awake with a start.
‘Oh, Eugenia, you gave me a fright!’ she exclaimed. ‘You should call out instead of creeping up on me.’
‘I didn’t creep up on you, God, you are always criticising me. Perhaps I’ll get a megaphone, then I can shout, “Hello, Mummy! I’m back now!”’ she bellowed at the top of her voice.
Her mother sighed, ‘Be quiet, the neighbours will hear you. How was school today?’
‘Boring as ever. I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, I’ll get ready to go and see Peanut, I hope Daddy’s not going to be late.’
‘He is, I’m afraid so you will have to wait until Saturday.’
‘But he promised! I was looking forward to riding Peanut, it’s such a lovely evening.’
‘He’s got a lot of work on at the moment, they are a person short since Felix left the business.’
‘But he’s always at work,’ whined Eugenia. ‘We never see him.’
‘He has to work to earn the money to pay for your treats. Who do you think pays for your pony and your summer holiday at that expensive camp?’
‘I know, but he promised.’
‘Stop being so melodramatic. You’ve no idea how lucky you are. We’ve just got you a television for your room, new summer clothes and you are still complaining.’
‘Other girls have those things too. Harriet is going to America for her summer holiday.’
Her mother ignored her protestations and lit another cigarette.
‘Ugh, you are covering me with smoke,’ said Eugenia, flapping her hands.
‘Go inside if you don’t like it. Which reminds me, you can spend some time tidying your room. I got such a shock when I saw it this morning.’
‘But that’s Freda’s job, not mine. You pay her to clean.’
‘That’s right. I pay her to clean, and she can’t do that if you leave all your stuff everywhere. There was dirty laundry all over the floor, glasses and plates from the kitchen. It was a sight.’
Eugenia remained silent, picking at her nails.
‘It’s too hot for tidying up, I’ll do it when it’s cooler.’
‘If your room doesn’t look spick and span by this evening then you will have no pocket money for the next two weeks. It’s your choice.’
Eugenia realised that she was beaten. Her parents gave her a very generous allowance, and she had nothing left from this week’s money. Borrowing from her friends would be too embarrassing, perhaps she would have to toe the line for once.
‘OK, you win. But if I tidy it up before seven, can I go around to Harriet’s?’
‘I suppose so, but how will you get there?’
‘I’ll see whether Harriet’s mum will come and get me. Is that OK?’
‘I suppose so but you are to be back at half past nine. Otherwise, no pocket money.’
‘Love you Mummy!’ said Eugenia, jumping up and flinging her arms around her mother before skipping off inside.
**
Patsy let herself into the house in Princes Avenue and
slammed the front door so hard that the letterbox rattled noisily. She was in a foul mood. A maelstrom of hurt and anger swirled through her head making her want to lash out at everything and everyone. Her parents had moved to the post-war semi-detached house shortly after Patsy was born and had used their savings to gradually renovate it to a comfortable standard. The interior had been allowed to deteriorate by the previous elderly occupant, and her parents’ improvements had increased the value considerably.
‘Hey, Pattie,’ said her mother, Angela. ‘You’ll break the glass if you slam it like that.’
‘Who cares?’ she replied petulantly.
‘Well, I do as it will have to be paid for and if you break it, then you will be the one paying, not us. Understand?’
Patsy ignored her mother.
‘Don’t ignore me and walk off you little madam,’ shouted her mother. ‘Come back!’
Patsy kicked off her shoes and opening the door, threw them into the porch. This time she closed the door gently. She went over to her mother. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s better. I don’t know what’s got into you recently,’ she said. ‘What’s going on at school? You’re late as well, I was beginning to get worried.’
‘Oh, I went to the park with Susan, she wanted to talk to me.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘Her Mum might have breast cancer. She’s having some tests on a lump.’
‘Oh, no, that’s awful. Do you think I should phone her?’
‘No, don’t do that. I’m not supposed to know, Susan shouldn’t really have told me.’
‘OK, but it’s you I’m really worried about. Has something happened in class?’
‘We don’t call it a class, it’s a form,’ she replied.
‘You know what I mean and don’t be so pernickety. Are you feeling ill? Is something the matter?’
‘Nothing. I’m just fed up. I want the school holidays to start.’
‘Well, there’s not long to go now. Come here a minute.’ Angela felt at her daughter’s forehead. ‘You’re all hot and clammy, your hair is sticking to your neck, go and get some fresh air out in the garden. Your Dad’s busy gardening as usual.’
A Form of Justice Page 14