BEXHILL SCHOOL FOR GIRLS, Assembly (10 page)

“Once more unto
the breach, dear friends!” announced Sally, crossing the
street.

“You and your
Dickens! Why can’t you just speak plain English?”

“And why can’t
I choose literate friends?” Sally pushed open the door of the café.
It was warm and full of people, so the two matrons didn’t notice
Linda and Sally making their way to a corner table.

“Why have you
brought us here?” asked Linda. “I don’t want to watch those two old
frumps stuffing their faces.” Tweedle Dee and her friend were
sharing a large slice of Madeira cake.

“Patience,”
said Sally, “you told me it’s a virtue.”

They each
ordered hot chocolate and blueberry muffins.

“I won’t be a
moment. Don’t be in a hurry when our things come.” To Linda’s
surprise, Sally slipped out of the restaurant again, returning a
few minutes’ later clutching a paper bag.

“How are
Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee doing?” she asked.

“It looks like
they’ve just ordered another cake and more tea.”

“Good. We need
the place to thin out a bit.”

“Why?”

“Curiosity,
Linda, unlike patience, is
not
a virtue.” Sally gave Linda a
fake scowl and then busied herself emptying something into her
glass of water, which she had lowered below the level of the table.
She stirred her hot chocolate and then used the spoon to mix
something into the glass. The two girls dawdled over their drinks
and muffins, and gradually customers began to leave the restaurant
until only half a dozen were left, including Lady Cordelia and
Tweedle Dee. Linda noticed that the two women had been glancing in
their direction and guessed that they had been recognised.

“Almost time
for the show,” said Sally. “Drink up and be ready to leave. Let’s
call for the bill.”

They attracted
the attention of the waitress and paid the account. Sally left a
more-than-generous tip. Linda raised a quizzical eyebrow at her
friend.

“She’ll earn
it,” was the laconic reply. “Ready?”

“For what?”

“The headline
may read: ‘Shocking Scenes of Depraved Conduct’”.

“Oh God! Why do
I even
know
you!” Linda frowned.

“Here we go
then. You take my shopping bag. When we leave the café, you turn
left and I’ll go right. Meet you at the bus station.”

“OK.”

Sally stood up,
half concealing the glass beneath her jacket. She clutched her
stomach.

“QUICK! Where’s
the toilet? I’m going to be ill!”

She lurched
towards Lady Cordelia and Tweedle Dee, retching graphically.

“The TOILET!
Where is it?” she shouted. “That chocolate drink: much too
rich!”

She floundered
from table to table, griping and groaning, getting ever closer to
her target.

“Too late! I
can’t hold it!” She was now right next to Lady Cordelia, who had
started to rise from her chair in alarm. Sally turned her back to
the two old dears, retched loudly, and deftly emptied the contents
of the glass over the neighbouring, unoccupied, table. She placed
the empty container discretely on one of the chairs. Linda, who had
been rooted to the ground by her friend’s performance, registered
that the contents to the glass - to the uninitiated - looked very
much like the real thing.

“Wait,” said
Sally, grabbing a spoon off the table. “Carrot! I love carrot:
shame to waste it!” She swept up a couple of orange discs which
floated amongst the general mess, and spooned them down her
throat.

Linda, now
galvanised, made towards the exit. Too late, she saw the manageress
dash to the door and block it.

“How
dare
you!” the rather formidable lady glared at the two
girls. “I saw you,” she directed her glare at Sally, “I saw you
furtively mixing up something in that glass of water. What was
it?”

Sally looked
completely deflated.

“Come here!”
she marched over to Sally and grabbed her elbow. “Show me what you
put in the glass!” Sally sheepishly produced an empty packet of
vegetable soup from her pocket.

“Right! I’m
calling the police. Come with me.” She started leading Sally
towards the back of the restaurant. “Maria, clean up the mess and
please offer all our guests here anything they would like, on the
house. Ladies,” the clientele was entirely female, “I apologise
profusely for this appalling incident. Please allow us offer you
anything you would like as some small compensation.” But the
clientele wasn’t having any of it. To a woman, they rose from their
seats, stony-faced, and started putting on their coats. The
manageress realised that the situation was beyond retrieval.
“Naturally, we’ll waive all bills. I am so sorry that your
enjoyment has been spoiled.”

Lady Cordelia
regained her composure.

“I’ve seen
these two trouble-makers before. If it was up to me, they’d get a
damned good hiding. We should never have banned the birch - it’s
what they deserve. I suppose the police will just tell them to
stand in the corner for ten minutes. I don’t know what the
country’s come to.” With that, she and Tweedle Dee stalked out,
followed rapidly by the remainder of the patrons.

The manageress
twisted round the OPEN sign on the door and turned the key in the
lock. The establishment was closed. Maria had fetched a bucket and
had begun to swab down the table. Linda and Sally looked glumly at
each other.

“Come to my
office.” The manageress led the way.

“Close the
door.”

She sat behind
her desk. The two girls stood in front of it, reminiscent of the
many times they’d stood before Mr Masterson or Mrs Winchester.

“What on Earth
did you think you were doing?”

Sally shuffled
uncomfortably. “It was just a joke,” she mumbled.

“A
joke
?
Upsetting my clientele with such a ... such a
childish
prank
was a
joke
?”

“Sorry,
ma’am.”

“You’re
certainly going to be sorry when the police get here.” She picked
up the telephone.

“Please, ma’am,
please
don’t call the police.”

“Why shouldn’t
I? You’ve cost me a lot of money and, even worse, our good name.”
She was holding the receiver to her ear; her fingers were poised on
the dial.

“Please, ma’am,
if you call the police we’ll get taken to court. Then we’d have a
record against us. Pease don’t call them.”

Her finger
still hovered over the dial. “You don’t think I’m just going to let
you off, do you?”

“No, ma’am. But
maybe you could let our parents deal with it?”

The manageress
looked from Sally to Jenny. She didn’t really want to involve the
law. It might get into the papers.

“
Please
ma’am. My parents are very strict. They’ll punish us.”

She put the
receiver back on the cradle.

“What are your
names and what are your parents’ telephone numbers?”

Sally and Jenny
supplied the details.

“Your parents
live in town?” the manageress looked at Sally.

“Yes,
ma’am.”

“I’ll call them
first. When I’ve spoken to them, I’ll decide what to do.”

The girls
waited uncomfortably as the manageress dialled Sally’s house. They
could hear the telephone ringing, four or five times, and then a
click as someone - presumably Sally’s mother - answered. The
manageress explained what had happened. Sally and Linda could hear
the occasional shocked interjection at the end of the line.
Finally, Sally’s mother said something they couldn’t hear.

“So you’ll
speak to the other girl’s parents, will you? She’s called Linda.
You know her?”

There was a
short, metallic response.

“Very well,
I’ll wait for you here. You know where the cafe is? Halfway down
the High Street? Good. I’ll expect you in about twenty minutes.”
She rang off.

“While we’re
waiting, you two can do some work. Help Maria with the mess you
made, and then go to the kitchen. There’s a pile of washing
up.”

The girls crept
despondently out of the office. Sally whispered to Linda.

“Sorry. I’ve
really dropped you in it.”

“We’re in it
together, don’t apologise.” She smiled wanly at her friend.

It didn’t take
long for a Sally’s mother to arrive. She parked, illegally, right
outside the café and stormed in with a look like a
thundercloud.

“You must be
the manageress. Look, I’m so sorry about what has happened.
Naturally, I’ll pay for any expenses you’ve incurred.”

“Thank you, but
there’s no need. However, I hope that these two girls will get
properly punished. I still think I should have called the
police.”

“Believe me:
I’ll deal with them when I get them home. They know what to expect
when they get up to pranks like this.”

“Oh, so it’s
not the first time.”

“Regrettably,
no. They’re good girls but they
are
a handful. I try to keep
them on a tight rein, but you know how it is with teenagers.”

“I do indeed,
though thankfully mine have now grown up.”

“Well, my
apologies again. Now, where are the wretches?”

“They’re in the
kitchen, washing up. I’ll fetch them.”

As Sally and
Linda set eyes on Sally’s mother, they could see that she was
furious.

“Sorry, Mum,”
Sally muttered. “So’s Linda.”

“You’ll be
sorry all right when we get home. Now apologise properly to the
manageress.”

“We’re very
sorry, ma’am. We’ll never do anything like that again.”

“I should hope
not. Now, I never want to see you in my café again.”

“Get into the
car, sit in the back and not a sound from either of you.”

The drive back
was conducted in tense silence. Linda and Sally occasionally
exchanged nervous glances. They twisted and untwisted their
fingers. They knew that the immediate future didn’t look too
bright.

Sally’s mother
parked the car in the drive and led them into the house.

“Go into the
sitting room and wait for me there.”

The girls did
as they were told, shuffling unhappily on the carpet.

“What do you
think she’s going to do?” Linda whispered.

“Thrash us, of
course.”

“Oh crikey!
What with?”

“She normally
uses a strap, but Dad’s got hold of a cane from somewhere. He beat
my brother with it the other day and he still can’t sit down. I
hope she’s not going to try it out on us.”

They could hear
her mother’s footsteps approaching. When she entered the room, she
was holding a heavy, brown leather strap. It was at least two
inches wide and split down the centre rather like a tawse.

“Right, stand
here,” she indicated the sofa, “take your jeans and panties down,
right down to your ankles. Then bend over the back of the sofa and
put your hands on the seat cushions.”

The girls
unzipped their jeans and pulled them down. In passing, Linda noted
that Sally did, in fact, wear knickers: fairly skimpy blue ones.
When the girls had got into position, Sally’s mother ran the strap
across gently across both their bottoms in turn. Linda flinched at
the touch of the thick leather.

“Linda, you’re
to stay completely still. I spoke to your mother before I came to
fetch you and told her what had happened and what I was going to do
with Sally. She told me to treat you in exactly the same way and
then take you home.”

She tightened
her grip on the strap.

“I’m appalled,
simply
appalled
, at what you got up to in that café. It was
the height of stupid, juvenile behaviour and you’re both very lucky
not to be down at the police station at this very moment. You’re
extremely fortunate to be getting off with a thrashing rather than
a police record. Now brace yourselves and don’t move until I tell
you to get up.”

Sally was on
the left and Linda beside her on the right. They tightened their
grip on the cushions and clenched their teeth. Sally’s mother laid
the strap across her daughter’s pale bottom, raised it high above
her head and brought it arcing down to land with a loud crack
across the width of her cheeks. Sally gasped. A stripe immediately
began to redden where the strap had bitten in to the taut muscle. A
short pause and the strap whacked down again. A purple band
appeared where the second stripe overlaid the first. Sally uttered
a shrill cry.

Her mother
moved a little to the right, placed the strap on the centre of
Linda’s backside and a moment later a report like a starting pistol
announced the arrival of the first stroke. Linda’s right leg kicked
in involuntary response. A second later, the next lash arrived.
Linda threw her head back and wailed “Ooooww!” Sally’s mother
returned to her position beside her daughter and administered the
next two swats to yelps from the squirming girl. Then it was
Linda’s turn again.

Linda was used
to corporal punishment. For as long as she could recall,
misbehaviour by either her or her sister had resulted in them being
put across their mother’s knee and spanked with a hairbrush or
slipper. Their father dealt with more serious offences, removing
his belt as they bent fearfully over their beds. Then she’d gone to
Bexhill and had soon experienced the whole gamut of implements
there: ‘Stinger’ the awesome hairbrush, the paddle, the tawse, and
- by no means least - a variety of canes. But Sally’s mother’s
strap was right up there with the worst of them. The woman was only
of medium build, but that belied the ferocity with which she
delivered each lash.

Soon, both
girls were squealing with pain as their backsides changed from pink
to red to mauve to dark blue. Linda wasn’t counting but later Sally
said she thought they’d each received thirty strokes. Whatever, by
the time Sally’s mother told them they could get up, they were both
howling. They rubbed their blazing posteriors, but nothing seemed
to relieve the scorching sting. They eased their jeans back up as
gently as they could.