Influence (3 page)

The squeak
from Lizzie’s boots echoed down the empty corridor as she half walked, half
jogged to class, late and getting later with every passing second. It was an
eerie feeling walking the school corridors while classes were in session. The
heavy doors of the classrooms kept all but the loudest noise incarcerated and
now and again the mousy receptionist would be seen gliding around like a
restless spirit occasionally accompanied by orchestral music drifting through the
corridors like a ghostly soundtrack when the music room, which had always been
a music room, long before the building had become a school, was in use. Lizzie
was an appreciator of music, but she had long since come to terms with her own
lack of aptitude with any instrument, so she was slightly in awe of whomever
the skilled students were behind the strings, piano and brass she often heard.

   Lizzie
was inches from the door handle when
her name, her Sunday name, chased
her down the corridor.

‘Elizabeth’
Mr Pallister’s voice caught her and summoned her back. She hadn’t noticed that
the Headmaster’s door had been open as she passed. Lizzie backed up and peered
round the door.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes,
Elizabeth, do you have a moment?’

‘Actually
Sir, I’m really late for class,’ said Lizzie, reluctant to cross the threshold.

‘That’s
careless, which class are you late for?’

‘Philosophy.’

‘With Dr
Sullivan? I can write you a note, he’ll understand. Please, come in, I shan’t
keep you long.’

Shit,
thought Lizzie, her heart sinking. With the imminent start of the exams she
thought, or hoped, she might have been able to dodge this altogether. She
closed the door behind her and took the seat facing his, much-too-large-for-such-a-small-office,
desk.

‘I was
beginning to think you were avoiding me Elizabeth, what with the last two
cancelations.’

‘Yes, I’m
sorry about that Sir, the last time was due to... women’s troubles,’ she lied.
It had the desired effect, Pallister squirmed awkwardly in his chair. He
removed his silver framed glasses, wiping them with a cloth and then dabbed his
considerable forehead with the same rag.

‘Well, yes,
no matter, you’re here now. As you know I like to have a sit down with all of
our sixth formers. You’re reaching a pivotal and monumental stage in your adult
development and it would be remiss of me not to establish you were, well, all
set?’ Pallister leaned forward in his chair awaiting a response.

‘I think so
Sir,’

‘You’re
moving onto university next year I trust?’

‘I think
so, I certainly hope-’

‘And to
which institutions have you applied?’ Pallister cut in.

‘Well I
have a few applications in Sir, I thought it would be best-’

‘Very wise,
very wise, but specifically?’

‘Well
Oxford for one.’ Pallister sucked air through his teeth and gently shook his
head from side to side.

‘I respect
your ambition Elizabeth, I really do, but I trust you have some more, um,
realistic options?’ Pallister rose from his chair and straightened the jacket
of his rather dated brown suit. His comment cut deep and Lizzie left his
question unanswered. He searched through a line of files on his book shelf
muttering Lizzie’s surname.

‘Ah,’ he
said eventually, ‘Elizabeth Dean.’ He took his seat once more and opened her
file.

‘As I
understand it Elizabeth, you’re a bright girl, and you did well at your last
school, that is until, well until things got difficult.’ He scanned a page of
the file with his finger. ‘Currently your marks are improving, and you’re a
talented writer, according to Miss Abrahams. But my fear is the progress may
have come a bit late in the day. Your prelim results were not at all good were
they?’

‘As you say
Headmaster, it took a while to find my feet when I first arrived. Back in
Scotland I was studying Highers, and they’re a bit different to the A levels
here, and I’m trying to cram them into a single year, but things have been
getting better.’ Lizzie heard herself becoming defensive and began chewing on a
ragged nail.

‘Well, good
Elizabeth, and no-one would be happier than I if you achieved the results you
need. But keep your options open, that’s my advice to you.’

‘Will do,’
said Lizzie getting to her feet.

‘Oh we’re
just getting started Elizabeth, I have a few things here to get through.’
Pallister patted the air instructing her to sit. He flicked a few pages in the
file. ‘You live with your aunt?’ he peered over the top of the file, Lizzie
nodded. ‘And everything’s well at home?’

‘Just fine,
thanks,’ Lizzie furrowed her brow, Pallister spotted her confusion.

‘Oh we like
to keep tabs on our students Elizabeth, you’re probably not used to the
personal attention we pride ourselves on here. I don’t suppose your last
headmaster would sit you down like this?’

‘Headmistress,’
Lizzie corrected, ‘and no. There were over a thousand pupils, compared to the
what, few hundred here? So it would have been impossible.’

‘One
hundred and forty one. And you’ve enjoyed your year here?’ Pallister raised his
bushy grey eyebrows in anticipation.

‘Very much
Headmaster,’ Lizzie lied again, or at least exaggerated.

‘And how
have you found Oxfordshire? Do you feel at home here?’

‘I do, I
love it. I miss Scotland sometimes, but I’m really happy here.’ Lizzie was
relieved she was able to answer a question truthfully.

‘I’m glad.
You don’t get a hard time about your accent here do you?’

‘No, it’s
never come up,’ Lizzie could have told him there were any number of other
reasons she got a hard time, but what was the point? She could hold her own.
She had been surprised herself, though, that her heritage had never been a
focus for abuse.

‘Good,
good,’ he said closing over her file, ‘won’t stand for that sort of thing, half
Scottish on my mother’s side myself.’ Lizzie smiled and nodded, pretending to
care. She stood once more hoping the closing of the file represented the same
for this conversation.

‘There was
just one more thing Elizabeth, and I hate to sound like a stuck record.’

Here it
comes, she thought. She sat again wringing the strap of her bag in her hands.

‘It’s
concerning your appearance Elizabeth. And it’s no accident that I use the word
concerning, and yes, before you start I know we’ve been over this, and you have
quite rightly stated your case by highlighting the ambiguity in our school
rules. But I would be neglecting my duty as head of this school if I did not
attempt to appeal to your sense of reason Elizabeth; to your more mature
sensibilities, and ask you to see the matter from my point of view, after all
we have prospective new students visiting Queen’s Grove House over the next few
weeks.’

 Lizzie
heard no question in Pallister’s pompous monologue, she sat and folded her arms
waiting for a direct address that would require answering.

They had
butted heads over this issue a number of times, and now that the school year
was almost over, she thought he had given up on it. The school rules covered
what
uniform should be worn, not
how
it should be worn, and this was the
impasse. Lizzie complied only as far as she felt she had to, the result, today
for example, was a Sonic Youth T-shirt worn under her open school chequered
blouse and cherry coloured Doc Martin boots worn over red and black striped
tights under the mandatory black skirt.

Silence.
Pallister mirrored Lizzie’s folded arm posture. The tension in the room rose
like mercury in a thermometer.

Pallister
sat there looking at her over the top of his thin framed glasses. He was
largely bald, except for the sides of his head where billowing clouds of
white-grey hair valiantly tried to make up for the absence elsewhere. He
patiently awaited Lizzie’s response.

She looked
into his unflinching face and shifted in her chair, herself waiting.

Silence.

Damn it, he
did this, he’d done it before and it had struck Lizzie only later what exactly
had happened. He allowed an excruciating pause to settle in the room often at
moments where you weren’t quite sure what side of the court the ball was in.
She had no idea where he had learned to do this, but it was one of the most
uncomfortable things she had ever experienced. There is something about the
nature of people, she realised, that they are desperate to fill a silence in a
conversation. It is torture to leave it there, like something awful will happen
if it is allowed to remain.

‘I
understand your concerns Headmaster,’ Lizzie was determined to only give him
that much.

Silence.

Lizzie
could feel her shoulders begin to ache; she was physically in pain from the
awkwardness.

‘I’ll give
it some thought,’ she said hating herself a little.

‘That is
all I ask Elizabeth,’ Mr Pallister said without even the briefest hesitation.
His hand extended towards the door inviting Lizzie to leave. Lizzie closed the
door behind her a little too hard, berating herself for once again falling for
this hateful tactic of his. Perhaps headmasters attend some special class along
with police interrogators and war criminals?

It was odd
that Lizzie could hear the noise from her Philosophy class from the corridor.
She turned the handle slowly, hoping she might be able to slip into class with
the minimum of fuss.

   ‘Ah Lizzie,
so nice of you to join us.’ The tall teacher smiled down at her as she was
spotted trying to close the door without a sound.

‘Sorry
Doctor Sullivan, lost track.’

‘Elizabeth?’
Sully used her full name, which she hated, to make the point that she had
addressed him too formally.

‘Sorry
Sully,’ she said and took her seat next to Robe, who was on his feet, his face,
Lizzie noted, was severe and his arms were folded across his body. He was a
pouted lip away from a decent grumpy toddler impression. The classroom was altered
in the usual way. The other three students sat at their places in a small
semi-circle facing Sully’s chair which sat in front of the teacher’s desk
rather than behind it. Sully insisted on a more relaxed atmosphere in his
class. It was designed to encourage a free exchange of ideas and to promote
conversation.

‘We were
just discussing Nietzsche. Robert here had some points he wanted to voice on
Nietzsche’s concept of Will to Power.’ Sully’s open hand was extended to Robe
inviting him to continue whatever conversation Lizzie had interrupted.

‘As I was
saying, why do you insist on bringing society into it? It doesn’t serve as an
argument to the contrary. It is, at best, an excuse not to discuss the issue of
Will to Power; it’s a coward’s way out.’ Lizzie instantly felt uncomfortable;
clearly the conversation had been a heated one. Robe stood face to face with
Sully, his hands in fists by his side.

‘Okay Robert,’
said Sully anticipating the debate spilling over, ‘I’m simply trying to explain
that the concept, although complete in and of itself, is fundamentally flawed
in practice, not in theory, due to the civilised world we live in.’ Sully’s
gestures were open and passive, trying to calm the situation.

‘There you
go again,’ said Robe throwing his hands in the air and walking away before
turning again to face Sully, ‘congesting a perfectly logical and dispassionate
debate with moot and redundant factors. I am simply proposing Nietzsche’s idea
on the matter as a perfectly plausible concept, and its practical application
is one that we all, in your “civilised world” demonstrate on a daily basis,’ he
framed Sully’s words with exaggerated finger quotations. ‘Whether we like to
admit it or not we all strive for power - over ourselves, over our surroundings
and over each other, it’s human nature, and to deny it will inevitably cause
internal disharmony.’

‘Actually,
what I have a problem with Robert, is not the idea of Will to Power as an
explanation of human behaviour, it is true that many of our less flattering
qualities as humans fall within this proposed framework, at least in accordance
to one interpretation of it, but rather it was your conjecture on submitting to
the principle completely. To accept that we, as humans, will always strive for
power, and to curb this inherent quality is to deny what it is that makes us
human, as you put it, is slightly dangerous territory. There have been some
infamous examples of the misinterpretation of Nietzsche’s work and you need to
understand that your thoughts on the principle are, in fact, a very slim view
on a much larger philosophical idea, it needs to be tempered with the bigger
picture, with context.’

‘All I am
saying,’ said Robe, his face now turned an unsettling shade of red, ‘is, in
theory, the concept is sound as long as someone commits to the principle, that
they abandon compassion and sympathy and strive to take control of themselves
and their surroundings. Doing so would be to truly accept the overriding human
drive and tap into a fuller potential, what the hell is wrong with talking
about these things?’