Dance While You Can (2 page)

‘You always dramatise everything, Janice. OK, so I didn’t like him at first, but only because I hadn’t got to know him. That’s all.’

‘
That’s all!
You nearly left at Easter because of him, remember?’

‘I wish I’d never told you now. And I’m going back to Foxton’s at the beginning of next term, so you can forget about finding me another man, another job or another anything.’

‘Then all I can say is, don’t come crying to me when he gets over his schoolboy crush. Except he won’t, will he? Men never get over women like you. It’s just left for the likes of me to pick up the pieces.’

She flounced out, but I knew she’d be back. We’d quarrelled before and it usually ended with one or other of us storming off. It gave us time to reflect on who was right and who was wrong.

But of course, Janice was right: I was ignorant of the way I looked, the way I was. And if I’d left the school then, as she suggested, got away, who can calculate how much pain might have been avoided? But all that seemed important to me then was that Foxton’s, a school of just over two hundred boys, should remain the centre of my world. I couldn’t see what I might be doing to Alexander, or he to me. Naturally there were others there, like Miss Angrid the senior matron, whom I’d come to care for a great deal, but it was Alexander who’d made me feel . . .

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Things moved so fast, and so much happened that sometimes I have to think quite hard before I can remember how it all started. Then I laugh, because it is madness to think for one moment that I might really have forgotten.

– 2 –

It was just after lunch on a cold spring day when Miss Angrid, the senior matron, picked up her well-thumbed volume of Shelley and turned her chair to face the fire. ‘Well, at least that’s over for another six months,’ she said, referring to the medicals that had been going on for the past two and a half days. ‘Why don’t you treat yourself to the afternoon off, go and explore the village? There’s no point in hanging around here, unless you want me to read to you, that is.’

She peered up at me from under her whiskery eyebrows, knowing full well I’d do anything rather than sit through a recital of
Prometheus Unbound.
She laughed as I grabbed at my starched cap and shook out my hair. ‘Beautiful,’ she said. ‘Too beautiful. I wonder if I’ve done the right thing, taking you on. Still, wouldn’t be without you now, even if you do run at the mention of Shelley.’

I was on the point of making good my escape when Christopher Beadling, a spotty, skinny little thing from the second year, knocked and came in. ‘Left my blazer behind, Miss,’ he said, and looking at me he blushed and started to snigger – along with the boys who were huddled around the ‘grub’ cupboard outside.

‘Next door in Miss Sorrill’s surgery,’ Miss Angrid answered, then looked at me. ‘No idea what they’re planning?’ she said, after he’d closed the door behind him.

‘Not a clue.’ But they were up to something, that was clear. Some kind of initiation ceremony Miss Angrid had called it, when she’d warned me that the boys would be bound to take advantage of my first night duty alone. ‘Insufferable beasts!’ she said now, and went back to her book.

I’d been at the school almost two months by then, and was settling in quite well, although I still felt quite overawed by my surroundings sometimes, and had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. The whole place was much grander than I could have imagined, with its endless gilt script lists of honoured old boys and its portraits of Foxton’s achievers. The corridors were dark and dank and smelt of beeswax and boiled cabbage. The boys were such a contrast to their gloomy surroundings that I was still sometimes surprised when I heard them stamping around and shouting and laughing. And the way everyone spoke made me wish I could be rid of my rounded, half west country half London accent, and become one of them. But I was working away quietly on that, along with everything else. Ever since I’d arrived I’d felt a kind of excitement bubbling away inside me. It was as if I was waiting for something to happen; like a chrysalis almost ready to burst.

When I got outside, because the sun was shining and I’d seize on any excuse not to have the embarrassment of using Tonto, I decided to walk back to the cottage.

Tonto was the nickname the boys had given the golf-cart that Miss Angrid used to ferry herself to and from the cottage where both she and I lived, she on the bottom floor, I on the top. ‘Quite self-contained, quite separate,’ as she had told me when she’d first shown me round. It was on the edge of the school grounds, closing the only gap in the thick hedge on the south side of the field beyond the rugby pitch, and sandwiched between Foxton’s copse – five trees, some bushes and a pond – and the farmland behind. From my bedroom window I could see the statue of Arthur Foxton, the school’s founder, far in the distance, standing in the courtyard in front of the school like a general in front of his army.

As I passed the sixth form common room Godfrey Barnes opened a window, gave a long wolf-whistle and asked if I’d like to go in for tea. I said I might pop back later, provided they didn’t make me take part in another debate on the economic and trade whatsits of Britain joining Europe. Last time, I’d said I thought England was already in Europe, and they’d all laughed so much that I’d had to get out the atlas next day to reassure myself that I was right.

‘How about telling us what you thought of
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
,’ Richard Lock called out. ‘You have read it, I take it?’

‘Bits of it,’ I admitted.

‘No prizes for guessing which bits. Did you know there are thirty fucks or fuckings, fourteen . . .’

Time to walk on, I thought, suppressing a giggle. I’d got as far as the front entrance when the main door opened.

‘Miss!’

‘Yes, what is it?’ I said, trying out my haughtiest voice. I was never like that with anyone else, but for some reason with Alexander Belmayne I couldn’t help myself. He was in the fifth form, one of the most popular boys at the school, and without a doubt the best looking.

‘Er, it’s nothing, Miss, only that, well . . .’ He looked up at the sky as he sauntered towards me. ‘Isn’t it good to see the sun, Miss? Been jolly beastly weather lately, it’s much better here in the summer. Can get outdoors more.’

I looked at him, knowing I was blushing, and unable to think of anything to say.

‘I was just wondering, Miss.’ He was looking straight into my eyes. ‘If you’re not intending to take Tonto back to the cottage, then me and a couple of the others were thinking about taking in a few holes on the golf course. Miss Angrid would never know, she’d think Tonto was with you. We’d take good care of it.’

I took a step back, shaking my head. ‘I’m sorry, if it was mine it might be different, but . . .’

He held up his hands for me to stop. ‘It’s OK, Miss, I understand. I shouldn’t even have asked.’ Then, smiling to himself, he turned back inside.

I was glad he’d given in so easily as I didn’t know how long I could have held out against him, and it wasn’t until I started back down the drive that it suddenly dawned on me: there was nothing to stop them taking the cart anyway. And if it got damaged . . . It would be better all round if I took Tonto with me, and at the same time I’d show Alexander Belmayne I wasn’t quite the idiot he took me for.

Reversing Tonto out of its space, I flicked the switch that shot out the little orange indicator arms at the side. The third form had installed them about a month ago, but unfortunately they either came out together or not at all. I shifted the gear lever to go forward. It must have been two or three seconds before I realised I was still going backwards. I pressed my foot on the brake. Nothing happened. I turned round to see if anything was in my path only just in time to avoid a collision with the Headmaster’s brand new Rover. It was a narrow miss, and I was still on the move. Then suddenly the machine roared and I was hurtling round the car park.

Just missing the ha-ha, I shot round – and to my horror saw Mr Lear’s red Ford Popular coming towards me. I yanked the wheel but it was too late. Tonto gouged itself right along the wing of the car. After that, things happened so fast I didn’t know where I was until I shot out of the seat and skidded across the gravel, tearing my stockings and scattering the contents of my bag. Tonto, tipping on its side, groaned to a stop. I covered my face with my hands, taking deep breaths to try and steady myself.

A loud tapping brought me to my senses. Two floors up a cluster of faces was pressed against a window, every one of them laughing fit to burst. Someone waved, and suddenly I was so angry I wanted to scream.

As I ran into the school, tears streaming down my face, I bumped straight into Alexander Belmayne. ‘You!’ I screeched. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You didn’t want to borrow the cart at all, you just wanted to make a fool of me. Well, you’re going to pay for this. Now get out of my way!’

‘Look . . .’

‘Don’t touch me! It’s too late for apologies.’

Miss Angrid’s face turned white with anger when I told her what had happened, and how I had been tricked into using the golf-cart. ‘Yes, that’s Belmayne’s style all right. Come with me,’ she barked and marched me straight off to the Headmaster.

Mr Lorimer’s first concern was for his Rover. When he found I’d managed to avoid it, he was sympathy itself – at least, as far as I was concerned. ‘Get Belmayne here,’ he snapped. Miss Angrid bustled out of the study, and all of a sudden I felt hot and dizzy, and started to shake.

‘Sit down, Miss Sorrill.’ He waved me to the brown leather Chesterfield. ‘It must have been quite a shock for you. Can I get you something:’

‘No, no,’ I muttered, trying to pull my skirt down over my grazed knees and cover the holes in my stockings.

He picked up the phone and buzzed through to his secretary. ‘Find Mr Lear and have him come to my study as soon as he can. He should be sitting prep for the fourth form.’

We waited in silence. Mr Lorimer, in his gown and grey suit, stood with his back to me, staring out of the window. I was acutely aware that my hair was loose around my shoulders, and tried to tuck it into the collar of my coat.

At last Miss Angrid came in with Alexander Belmayne.

‘Thank you, Miss Angrid,’ Mr Lorimer said, walking around his desk, ‘that will be all.’ Miss Angrid looked disappointed, but no one argued with the Head, so she turned and closed the door behind her.

‘Belmayne,’ Mr Lorimer looked the boy straight in the eye, ‘you know why you have been summoned here?’

Alexander’s face was white. ‘No, sir.’

‘Were you responsible for Miss Sorrill’s mishap in the golf-cart, Belmayne?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Miss Sorrill seems to think you were.’

Alexander’s eyes were fixed on the floor.

‘As a prefect of this school you don’t need me to tell you that the punishment for this irresponsible display and the resulting damage could be expulsion?’

I gasped, and Alexander’s head snapped up. He dashed the dark curls out of his eyes and glared back at the Head. The threat had only roused him. I could see that the Head would have no easy victory.

And so it proved. Alexander was ordered to name names, but he refused, and consistently denied he’d had anything to do with the golf-cart. It was clear the Head didn’t believe him, and the interrogation started all over again when Mr Lear came in. All the time my eyes were riveted on Alexander’s face. He didn’t look at me once as his grey eyes flashed and the shadow on his chin seemed to get darker as he fought to control his temper.

I don’t know how long we were in there, but it felt like hours. Alexander handed over his prefect’s badge and Mr Lear laid a cane on the desk. In their eyes Alexander might be just a boy, but he was taller than both of them, and already filling out into the man he would soon become. My heart went out to him as I realised what this was doing to his pride.

In the end Mr Lorimer drove me back to the cottage. ‘I shall speak to Lord Belmayne before I make a decision about what to do with the boy,’ he said, when I asked what would happen to Alexander. ‘In the meantime Mr Lear will take charge.’

The next time I saw Alexander he was on his way to bed with the rest of the fifth form. I stood on the surgery landing watching them pass. He didn’t look at me, and neither did anyone else.

‘Pity it had to be Belmayne,’ Mrs Jenkins said, as she turned over a page of the newspaper.

I looked up from the crossword puzzle I was doing. The Latin teacher was between lessons and had come to my surgery for a cup of tea. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘I’d say it’s a pity it had to be anyone at all. I mean, it
was
dangerous.’

‘True, but more of a pity it was Belmayne.’ She pushed her empty cup across the table. ‘Of course, it’s your own fault. All this silent treatment, I mean. You let the boys think you were their friend, didn’t you? Shouldn’t wonder if you don’t actually encourage them to misbehave sometimes – what about that snowball fight you became embroiled in three weeks ago, most undignified. I know you’re young, Elizabeth, but you have a position to maintain – and buying the boys Brylcream when you go to the village so’s they can look like Elvis Presley is ridiculous. Lucky Miss Angrid put a stop to it before Mr Lorimer found out. You can’t pretend to be one of them and then go and report the very one they all idolise. They’ll never forgive you, you know, at least, not until Alexander does. I saw him earlier, on his way out to the rugby pitch. Must have been quite a thrashing Mr Lear gave him, I could still see the marks.’

‘But it was almost a week ago!’ I said.

‘Precisely. Mr Lear is very fond of that car of his. Unfortunately the Lord Chief Justice seems to have rather a lot on his plate right now, if this article is anything to go by,’ she went on.

‘What’s the Lord Chief Justice got to do with it?’

She looked down her nose at me. ‘Surely you know the Lord Chief Justice is Alexander’s father.’ She went back to the paper. ‘Those damned gypsy types! Here,’ she passed the newspaper as she got to her feet, ‘read that. It might give you some insight into what kind of man Lord Belmayne is – and his son is going to be.’