Spit and Polish
The cadet corp assembled every Saturday, and membership of the corp - like
everything else at Arlinghurst School - was compulsory. Consequently, as in any
army of conscripts, there were always more than a few unwilling soldiers in the
ranks. The most unwilling of them all was Anna Hargreaves. She was, by common
agreement, the very worst soldier in the entire corp. It was a title she had
held for two years, and it was the only military distinction she had ever
craved.
She stood at attention to receive a dressing-down from Corporal Taff. This
happened most weeks.
'You haven't touched your boots,' shouted the Corporal. 'Your skirt's a mess.
You've dirty fingernails...'
'The nail-brush went missing...'
'Don't talk back! Look at your boots! Go on, look at them!'
Anna peered at her boots. They were filmy and dull. She had held them under a
running tap before drill, thinking this would be easier than polishing them. It
was certainly easier, but it did nothing for the boots.
'I'm putting you on report, Hargreaves.'
'Thank you, Corporal.'
The Corporal took a little notebook and a pencil out of her pocket. She flicked
through the pages.
'You're already on report.'
'Am I?'
'This week...' (she turned a page) 'Next week...' (she turned another page) '...
And the week after. So this will take you into the New Year.'
'Thank you, Corporal.'
The Corporal turned yet another page, made a note, and put the notebook away.
Then she drew herself up and went back to the attack. She was only a year older
than Anna, and an inch shorter, and compensated for this with snarling
pugnacity.
'Tell me, Hargreaves, are you even aware what tomorrow is? Has it penetrated
your pea-sized brain, what we're rehearsing for this afternoon?'
'The parade, do you mean?'
'I'm amazed. You've actually heard about it, have you? And do you know - have
you grasped - who the guest of honour is?'
'Major-General Woolfson, Corporal.'
'Major-General Woolfson, Corporal. Now, listen very, very closely, Hargreaves.
If you turn up tomorrow with so much as a single speck of dust on your boots, if
I see just one hair out of place on that stupid head of yours ...'
Here the Corporal stopped talking, and stared in utter horror at Anna's head.
'Where ... the ... bloody ... hell ... is your cap-badge?' she hissed.
'Oh! I was going to tell you about that. I'm afraid it's in Afghanistan.'
There was a long and horrible pause, broken only by snorts of laughter from the
rear ranks.
'SILENCE!'
The Sergeant thrust her furious face into Anna's. 'You better make this bloody
good, Hargreaves.'
'I put it in the post to Afghanistan,' said Anna. 'To a place called Bala
Morghab. I've told you before about my cousin in the 45th Commandos, haven't I?
Well, he's stationed there, and I got an e-mail from him saying they're running
low of absolutely everything, including cap-badges, and could I send him mine? I
thought it was the least I could, in the war against terror. After all, seeing
as they're real soldiers and we're only pretend soldiers ...'
'You are a member of the British Armed Forces!' screamed the Sergeant.
'That's not actually true, though, is it? We're just a registered charity. I
only found that out yesterday, but it's interesting, isn't it?'
'Stand to attention, Hargreaves! Five paces forward! On the double, quick
march!'
Anna marched.
'Now drop and give me ten! Give me twenty!'
'I'm sorry, which?'
'Get on the ground! Give me twenty-five!'
This was how most of their conversations ended. Anna lay down and wearily
started doing her push-ups, counting them off each time her nose touched the
dust. She knew the drill well by now.
The Cadet Officer and the Sergeant watched from across the parade ground, where
they stood in splendid isolation. They were an awe-inspiring pair. The very
stripes on their shoulders told of their present importance, but between them
they also held the titles of School Prefect, House Prefect, Captain of Games,
Captain of Lacrosse, and Head of the Swimming Team. They were not yet eighteen,
and had reached heights of glory that a Field Marshal might envy.
'Do you know Anna Hargreaves?' asked the Cadet Officer. 'In civilian life, I
mean?'
'Not at all well. Do you?'
'Not much. But a fortnight ago I found her in the Prefect's Garden, all by
herself. I said, "I didn't know they'd made you a prefect," and she said, "Oh,
they haven't, but it's my birthday today and I hoped nobody would mind."'
The Sergeant chuckled.
'I gave her detention for being a pain in the arse. Actually I rather liked
her.'
There were several ways in which Arlinghurst girls 'rather liked' each other.
The Sergeant waited for clarification.
'The funny thing is - and you'll laugh - I've a weird idea that she'd make a
pretty decent soldier, if she so wanted.'
The Sergeant did laugh, and hard, but the Cadet Officer continued: 'What I mean
is ... if she put as much effort into being a good soldier, as she now puts into
being a bad soldier, she could do well. She's intelligent, for a start, and God
knows we can do with some of that round here.'
They both looked over at Corporal Taff, who had placed a foot on Anna's back,
pinning her down, but was simultaneously barking at her to rise.
'True,' said the Sergeant. 'But Anna's been in the corp two years, and has never
shown an ounce of interest, as far as I know.'
'That's where you're wrong. She does. She takes no end of interest in the corp.
Just not in the right way. God, I wish Taff would be a bit more subtle
sometimes.'
The struggling figure had managed to rise a few inches off the ground, and hung
trembling. Now it collapsed dramatically into the dust. They laughed.
'I could do more with her in one hour than Taff's managed in a year,' said the
Cadet Officer. 'I could turn her around in a single afternoon.'
'Anna Hargreaves? I doubt that very much. With all respect.'
'Bet you I could. Bet you I could make a decent soldier out of her.' She looked
at Anna, who was getting to her feet while the Corporal clumsily mocked her.
Anna was covered in dust and made no attempt to brush it off.
'Better do it today then,' said the Sergeant dourly, 'Before she makes a fool of
us in front of the Major-General.'
'Hmm,' said the Cadet Officer. She tapped a foot, snapped her fingers, and her
eyes gleamed. 'Now that's an idea! Go and have a little chat with her this
evening. The two of us. What do you think?'
'Honestly? I think we'd be wasting our time.'
'A fiver says otherwise!'
'Why don't you excuse her from the parade altogether? Put her on truck-washing.'
'There's a cop-out. No. I think that, with a bit of persuasion - the right sort
of persuasion, not the Taffie sort - Cadet Hargreaves will come up shining.'
'I'll help,' said the Sergeant doubtfully, 'If you want. You generally are right
about people.'
'I'm always right!'
'Even so - I'll take you up on that fiver.'
They sealed the wager with a handshake, and gazed over the parade ground.
The various squads were drilling individually. They formed fours, marched,
wheeled, and countermarched, spurred on by the shrilling corporals. It was a
stirring sight. The Cadet Officer and Sergeant followed the progress of one
dusty little figure as it marched, turned, and marched again. On Corporal Taff's
'Squad - halt! Left - turn!' the figure turned, clicked one boot against the
other, and came to attention.
'See,' said the Cadet Officer, 'She knows how to do it, at least.'
The Corporal now addressed the squad. Cadet Hargreaves stood in the front row,
her head cocked as if listening to a church sermon, and she gave an interested
little nod at the end of every sentence. She looked as enthusiastic as any cadet
on the parade ground. She even raised her hand to ask a question. The effect was
immediate and two-fold. Firstly, the squad shook with laughter, and secondly,
the squat Corporal strode over to her and launched a volley of abuse into her
face.
'I'd say that fiver's mine,' said the Sergeant. 'So what's the plan?'
Saturday night, and Sussex Dorm was in no hurry to get to bed. Girls shouted,
laughed, brushed their hair, read from magazines, and bounced on beds. Anna
Hargreaves lay on her bed with a copy of Keats she had taken from the library.
She was so deeply lost in his mists and river-sallows (how different from grim
autumn term at Arlinghurst) that she didn't notice the sudden hush that fell on
the dormitory, or the reason for it.
'Hello Anna!'
She glanced up coolly, sat up in alarm, closed the book, and inwardly quailed.
When two such goddesses visited a mortal like her, they usually brought
retribution along with them. But then Anna was used to disgrace; she soon
composed herself.
The Cadet Officer took the book from her and looked at the cover.
'Keats,' she said. 'Ode to a Nightingale. Never really my cup of tea. You like
him, do you?'
Anna merely raised her eyebrows. She wasn't going to discuss Keats with the
military.
'Well, there it is.' The Cadet Officer dropped the book onto the bed. 'I expect
you're wondering what on earth we're doing here, so I'll get straight to the
point. We've bought you a present.'
'Thank you very much,' said Anna.
'Something for the parade tomorrow. Can you guess what it is?'
'Is it a Walkman?'
A giggle ran around the dormitory. The Cadet Officer ignored it and handed over
a paper bag. Anna unwrapped it, peered inside, and drew out a cap-badge.
'Oh. Thank you,' she said, with something like sincerity. 'I was going to buy a
new one from the quartermaster today, but - it's lucky I didn't, isn't it?'
'Very lucky. It'll need a polish though. You'll have time tomorrow, won't you?'
'I suppose I could do it before Chapel.'
'Even better, do it now. There's a few minutes before lights out.'
The Cadet Officer looked around the dormitory for a face she knew. 'Susan, do
you think you lay your hands on some polish and a cloth for Anna?'
Anna waited for Susan to leave, and then said apologetically, 'Polishing isn't
actually allowed in the dorm, I'm afraid.'
'I'll answer for it. Might as well get it shined up tonight. Speaking of which,
I've heard a rumour that your belt-buckle leaves something to be desired.'
'I've not heard that.'
'While don't you nip down and get it while we're waiting for the polish?'
'My belt?'
'You might as well bring up all your kit, in fact, while you're about it. See if
we can't sort you out a bit.'
So that was the game. Anna descended four floors in her pyjamas, collected her
kit from the changing-room, bundled it up in somebody's towel, and returned to
the dormitory to find it transformed. The table now stood in the centre of the
room, beneath the ceiling lamp, and it had been spread with newspaper. The
polish and some rags waited for her, and there was even a chair. As
chastisements went, this was almost flattering. She demurely sat down at the
table and began work on the cap-badge, while the Cadet Officer and Sergeant
stood over her, offering encouragement and advice. The other girls watched from
their beds, gleefully hugging their knees.
'Do you know,' said Anna, as she worked, 'There are two things that rot the
membrane of the nose, and they are cocaine, and the vapour from silver polish.'
'Just concentrate on the job.'
'Well, it's something you should know, if you're thinking of joining the army.'
'They don't do cocaine in the army!' cried the Sergeant.
'No ... no, I'm sure they don't.'
'All right, Sergeant,' said the Cadet Officer soothingly. The Sergeant's family
was military, and she was easy to rouse.
Anna finished the cap-badge. It was rejected by her superiors, who pointed out
any number of deficiencies. It was rejected twice more before they were
satisfied. The belt-buckle, being less intricate, was rejected only once.
'Now, Anna, what about those boots of yours?'
Anna was set to work on her boots, using polish fetched by Susan. The Cadet
Officer showed her the best way to do it, with plenty of spit and elbow grease.
Only after Anna had spat herself dry, and her right arm ached, were the boots
pronounced passable. Meanwhile Susan had been sent out a third time to fetch the
iron. Anna washed her hands and wearily set to work once more.
She had no great skill with an iron. It was many minutes before the skirt, and
then the shirt, were passed.
'Well,' said Anna. 'Unless you want me to press my knickers, I think I'm done.'
'Well done, Anna. Now let's see you put it on.'
'What, the shirt?'
'No, the whole uniform.'
Anna hadn't seen that coming. 'Why?'
'Because she told you to,' said the Sergeant.
'This isn't the parade ground. She can't tell me what to do.'
There was a puzzled silence at this.
'Except, I suppose, as a prefect,' conceded Anna.
'Come on Anna.'
Eleven girls looked on happily as Anna removed her pyjama bottoms. This was
nothing remarkable in itself. They did it themselves every morning, and the
timetable required them to change several more times throughout the day. But to
watch somebody put on cadet uniform late at night in the dormitory, presumably
only to take it off again, was rather amusing. Especially when it was Anna.
They had all seen her bare bum before, of course. It was nothing special, as
bums went. But to see it bared now, under military orders ... that too was
funny.
Anna got into uniform. First knickers, bra, and black stockings, then the shirt.
She threaded the belt into the skirt, stepped into it and did it up, and then
pulled on the sweater. She put on her boots, soft and warm with polish. Her hair
was swept back by the Sergeant and put in a grip. Finally, the cap went on. The
cap-badge winked merrily at the spectators, joining in the sport.
The Cadet Officer made a few minor adjustments, and stepped back.
'Ladies,' she said to the dormitory. 'Cadet Hargreaves!' There was a round of
applause. Anna curtsied neatly.
'Should have been a salute,' said the Sergeant. 'You're in uniform.'
'Let's see your salute,' said the Cadet Officer.
Anna saluted, the way jocular men do when leaving the pub.
'Rubbish,' said the Sergeant.
'Rubbish,' said the Cadet Officer. 'Sergeant, bring the cadet to attention, if
you would be so kind.'
'Cadet Hargreaves - atten-tion!'
'No ... I was doing that all afternoon...'
'That's an order!' barked the Sergeant.
'Come off it - this isn't Sandhurst!'
'I thought you'd put your foot down, sooner or later,' said the Cadet Officer,
pleased at her own sagacity. She looked around the dormitory. 'I need
volunteers. You - you - you - and you,' she said to the four most eager faces,
'Would you lend a hand?'
They swept the dirty newspaper away, and hauled Anna onto the table, each
volunteer taking a wrist or ankle. Anna struggled, furious and laughing. But she
wasn't very strong. She had spent a great deal of ingenuity getting out of gym,
over the years, and it told.
'Are you ticklish, I wonder, Anna?'
'Not in the slightest.'
A finger poked into her ribs. Anna wriggled like a snake.
'Oh, I bet you are.'
They tickled her up and down without relent, the Cadet Officer working her right
side and the Sergeant her left. There was nothing sentimental about the
exercise.
'This is army-style tickling, you know,' said the Cadet Officer, as she dug a
strong finger under Anna's lower rib, sending her into a furious wriggle. 'You
ought to be grateful. Notice how methodical we are? See, the civilian way of
tickling is instinctive-like. There's nothing wrong with that, but it isn't
methodical. The army way, on the other hand...' (she moved on to the next rib
and kneaded it with a knuckle) '... The army way is entirely methodical. "Strict
attention to dooty", as they say in Kipling. Ever read Kipling at all, Anna?'
'Oh please stop it!' gasped Anna.
'More fun than Keats, in my humble opinion. Strict attention to dooty!'
Anna twisted left and right in her desperate attempt to escape those knuckles.
Her spine bucked, and her backside thumped the table. But the volunteers held
her tightly spread-eagled. Only her head was free to express, with violent
thrashing, some of the agony she was feeling. Half-laughs, little giggles, and
strange oaths poured from her mouth.
The rest of the dormitory knelt on their beds to watch. They all liked Anna, of
course. Still, fun was fun.
At last the Cadet Officer and Sergeant straightened from their task. Anna lay,
half-crying and half-laughing.
'Remain at your posts, please,' the Cadet Officer told the four volunteers.
'Now, Sergeant ... where, would you say, is Cadet Hargreaves most, er ... open
to persuasion?'
'Here, here and here,' said the Sergeant, digging a finger in turn into Anna's
hip-bone, lower rib, and armpit. Anna convulsed at each prod.
'Precisely my opinion! Good work, Sergeant. Now, we need a timekeeper...'
'NO!' cried Anna. 'This stops right here...!'
'Susan, does your watch have a second hand? Good. Three minutes, please, but
tell us when each minute is up.'
It was the longest three minutes of Anna's life. They spent the first torturing
her just above her hip, digging knuckles and fingers into her waist, exploring
behind the bone, making her shout with angry laughter. When Susan called time,
they removed Anna's newly-ironed skirt because it was getting creased, and
started on her lower ribs. They pinched skin against bone, all the way from
sternum to back, and rolled the joints of their knuckles deep into the flesh. At
the end of the minute she was begging them to stop. 'I'll stand to attention,
then, if that's what you want!' she yelled.
'Pleased to hear it,' said the Cadet Officer, and they turned their attention to
her armpits. They took her sweater off to make a proper job of it, and
discovered that her shirt had damp patches under the arms, so they took this off
too. She was laid down in bra, stockings and boots (her cap had long since
fallen off) and tickled under the arms for a minute. Normally she would have
squirmed in shame at the exposure of her sweaty and unshaven armpits. She was
too busy squirming in torment.
When the minute was up she lay gasping.
'Very good,' said the Cadet Officer. 'Now, Anna. What happens now is a little
drill practice.'
'Oh please leave me alone,' cried Anna.
'Doesn't sound very keen,' said the Sergeant.
'That doesn't sound very keen, you're right. Let's do her feet.'
'Don't you dare touch my feet!' growled Anna.
It was quite the wrong thing to say. They took off her boots and her stockings,
and applied themselves to the soles of her feet, for a full minute by Susan's
watch.
'I need my head examined, forgetting the feet,' said the Cadet Officer. 'Should
have done them first.' She ran her fingernails slowly up and down Anna's sole.
Thump! Thump! Thump! went Anna's backside on the table. 'Shockin' dereliction of
dooty. Damnable! Damnable! Don't attempt to deny it. It is!'
Susan announced the minute. Anna begged for drill. She would be very pleased to
do drill, she told them.
'Perhaps another minute, and then we'll see. Another minute, if you please,
Susan.'
Anna gave a wail of despair. While the Sergeant worked on her, the Cadet Officer
came around the table to sit by Anna's head.
'Thing is, if we stop now, you might go and forget again.'
'I won't! I won't! Oh please ask her to stop. Oh gosh!'
'Well ... not just yet, anyway.'
'Oh please. Oh please. I'll do everything you say!'
'What - you? Obey orders?'
'Oh yes!'
'And the Sergeant's?'
'Oh yes!'
'And Corporal Taff?'
'Everyone's!'
'You've a lot of respect for old Taffie, haven't you?'
'Oh yes!'
'Excellent soldier, ain't she?'
'The best!'
'Good. Ready for a spot of drill?'
'Oh yes please! Thank you!'
'All right Sergeant. That'll do - for now, anyway. Depending on how she does at
drill. On your feet, please, cadet.'
Anna was released, and she slid off the table.
'Very good. Let's make some space.'
They pushed the table to the wall, creating a private parade ground for Anna,
five paces wide.
'Now then...' cried the Cadet Officer.
'Could I at least put my clothes back on?' said Anna.
'No.'
'Could I put a dressing-gown on?'
'Silence on parade!'
'Only it's rather cold.'
The Cadet Officer and Sergeant looked at each other, shaking their heads in
disbelief.
'Volunteers, please!' called the Cadet Officer.
'NO!' cried Anna, and streaked for the door.
They caught her and dragged her back by the wrists. The four volunteers pinned
her to the floor. Four more girls were drafted in to help with this new round of
chastisement. A mass of pyjama'd bodies gleefully closed in on her.
'Two minutes, please, Susan.'
Twelve hands at once began kneading, drilling, burrowing, and pinching. Anna
sobbed and promised. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. She got the full two
minutes, and was hoarse by the end of them.
'That's all very well,' said the Cadet Officer, listening to her tearful
penitence, when it was over. 'Don't believe you, though. Two more minutes,
please Susan.'
They began again, jostling around her like piglets. The exercise was less
scientific now, and somewhat rougher. Amid the confusion Anna's bra was
dislodged to reveal one breast. It was probably accidental, but who could say
for sure? Nobody stopped to pull it back up, however, and Anna, writhing in
agony, didn't even notice. Soon somebody discovered - by accident - that the
tops of her breasts were sensitive to a little kneading. Fingers crept onto the
forbidden ground, caressing and pinching. At last a nipple was lightly skimmed -
perhaps even by the Cadet Officer herself. (This was a subject of debate for
months afterwards). Only then did Anna realise. She looked down and saw her
sorry plight. 'Oh no, not that!' she cried. 'Put my bloody bra back on!'
In reply a thumb now touched the nipple, lightly stroking it. Inspired, somebody
on the other side tugged down Anna's bra to reveal her other breast, and gently
began rolling the nipple between finger and thumb.
Anna cursed them all and wriggled like mad, her eyes wild, but whichever way she
twisted there were fingers waiting for her. Her breasts were now the playthings
of her dormitory-mates. She gave up and lay still and angry. And then she took a
long deep breath. 'Oh!' she whispered. 'Oh!'
Every bed was now empty. Everybody wanted to lend a hand. Anonymous fingers and
thumbs - for who could tell what belonged to who? - stroked her legs, massaged
her arms, fondled her earlobes, played with her toes, found their way into her
mouth. Hands ran up and down her thighs, and fingernails made spirals on her
breasts. A queue of hands also waited impatiently to play with her nipples.
Anna moaned out loud. Her mouth was hot and red. Her urge to escape had
strangely left her, and when her hips writhed now, it was in pure pleasure.
Her back arched up, her backside left the table - and her knickers were abruptly
slid down her thighs. Fingers approached, stroking first the purlieus of her
bush, then working their way in, like Victorian explorers entering a jungle,
groping blindly through the vegetation, blundering towards the dark interior. It
was rather a damp jungle.
'Oh yes!' gasped Anna. 'Yes please!'
Her face grew red. The redness spread to her chin, and her throat and her chest,
and a long guttural groan escaped from her mouth. Her breath started to come
very quickly, and then...
Clap! clap! clap!
'Thank you, ladies,' said the Cadet Officer, now on her feet. Everybody looked
up at her.
'That will do,' she said. 'Back to bed, please. At the double!'
The girls sadly returned to their beds.
'Stand up.'
Anna stood up, hugely disappointed. But then the Cadet Officer approached, put a
hand over Anna's bush, and did something that nobody could see. Anna vibrated
with pleasure.
'You'd like a little drill now, wouldn't you?'
'No!' said Anna, with a last attempt at defiance; and gasped.
'Just a taste, eh?'
'No!' said Anna, shutting her eyes and wriggling her hips.
'Because when you're finished, I'll do this...!'
Anna moaned, a long low animal moan.
'Yes?'
'Yes,' whispered Anna in shame.
'Atten-tion!'
Naked and wet, Anna stood to attention. Her shoulders went back, her breasts
thrust out, and her long nipples pointed accusingly at two of the culprits who
had made them so. Which was unfair, because everybody in the room was guilty of
the charge.
'Stomach in, if you please. Very good. Very good. Sergeant, over to you!'
The Sergeant drilled Anna for a full ten minutes. In her little parade ground
Anna was marched back and forth, wheeled around, faced about, made to execute
left turns, right turns, and half turns. She slow marched, marked time, turned
eyes to the right, and faced the front. She was stood at ease and brought
smartly to attention again. Finally, she saluted the Cadet Officer. The Cadet
Officer solemnly returned the salute, and approached.
'Good work, Cadet,' she said. 'You can do it when you want to, can't you?'
'Yes,' said Anna, and gasped. She gasped because the Cadet Officer's hand was on
her bush, doing that wonderful thing again with practised fingers. Then she felt
three of the Cadet Officer's fingers inside her too, sliding slowly in and out.
Anna, although at attention, gratefully pressed her hips forward, feeding
hungrily off the fingers, sucking heavenly pleasure from them, and heading for
the blissful release that her poor body had needed for so long - not just that
evening, but for many months.
Three times the Cadet Officer made her come, working her with military
efficiency, and each time Anna blushed deeply, and thanked her. Her eyes were as
soft as violets.
At suddenly it was over. Anna, still under orders, hung up her uniform and was
put to bed. The Cadet Officer and Sergeant wished the dormitory goodnight,
apologised for keeping them up so late, turned off the lights, and went.
The dormitory lay still. It was long past midnight, and tomorrow was a big day.
Nobody spoke. But after a few minutes, from every side of the room, came little
rustlings, and whimpers, and furtive cries, as if the darkness was now inhabited
by secretive nocturnal creatures.
Anna, meanwhile, was sound asleep, in a dark and dreamless land of bliss.
The parade went off perfectly. They were a credit to their school and their
country, boomed Major-General Woolfson, VC, DSC, over the loudspeakers. Three
hundred soldiers stood to attention and listened, their faces pink with
satisfaction. The flags snapped in the breeze. Even the cloud at last began to
break, to reveal medallions of palest blue.
All that remained was the inspection. The cadets watched, from the corners of
their eyes, the shuffling figure of the great man himself as he came along the
ranks. It was slow progress, as the Major-General made frequent stops - to talk
to an individual cadet, to straighten a collar, or to brush a loose strand of
hair from a young cheek.
One soldier in particular caught his attention, a fair-haired girl with very
bright eyes. She was impeccably turned out, from her winking cap-badge to the
deep oil-shine of her boots.
'A-ha! Now here's a soldier who does you proud!' he said to the Cadet Officer,
who beamed with pleasure.
'Thank you, Sir.'
'No, no, don't thank me, thank her.'
The Major-General turned to the cadet. 'And what is your name?
'Marina Xenophanakis, Sir,' said the girl.
Behind the Major-General, the Cadet Officer's face slowly froze.
'Now there's a mouthful,' said the Major-General. 'Is that Greek?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'From your face I wouldn't have guessed you're from that part of the world.'
'My family left Greece in 1945, Sir, after their village was destroyed by the
British Army.'
'The British Army?' blared the Major-General.
'Yes, Sir. The Royal Norfolks. It was done on Churchill's orders. My family is
Jewish, you see, and so was most of the village. They shot my grandfather and
two great uncles, but my grandmother escaped with my father in a pillow-case...'
The Major-General turned a violent red. He spun on his heel and gallumphed off
down the line, like a shot scrub bull.
The Cadet Officer had only a brief second to stand over the cadet, and her eyes
were two olives of rage. She leant forward and gave the sweatered shoulder a
little squeeze, full of the most horrible menace. The cadet stood stiffly to
attention. Nothing moved on her face.
Then the Cadet Officer hurried away after the Major-General, who could be heard
bellowing and snorting at the other end of the parade ground. The inspection was
abruptly over.
'She humiliated me in front of everyone! That two-faced, snot-nosed little
slut!'
'I know she did.'
'After what I did for her! Revolting little maggot! Ugh!'
'You humiliated her in front of everyone too.'
(The Sergeant, when not on corp business - official or otherwise - tended to be
rather more frank with her friend.)
'She didn't seem to mind that last night, did she?'
'I bet she did when she woke up, though.'
'You're so very wise all of a sudden, aren't you?'
'I said it wouldn't work from the start, didn't I? And where's that fiver?'
'I'm not finished yet. The little brat is going to rue the day she was born.
Mind if I borrow this?'
She began taking a long, ornamental wooden spoon off the wall.
'What on earth for?'
'It's obvious, isn't it? This morning on the parade ground, she was simply
asking for more. Much more. And I intend to give it to her.' She tested the
spoon on her hand.
'What are you going to ...? We're not allowed to do that! Not even you!'
'She won't squeal, will she? I mean, not in that sense. She will in every other
way, because her arse officially belongs to me now. I'm going to make it my
private parade ground. I'm going to beat a tattoo upon it morning and night.
I'll count the hour lost that she doesn't spend weeping...'
'You've gone absolutely mad, haven't you?'
'I'm going to turn Anna Hargreaves into a soldier if it kills me.'
'Or kills her. Why don't you leave her alone? And give me my fiver.'
'Double or quits then. A tenner says she puts in for promotion before
Christmas.'
'Now you are just ranting, my dear.'
'Fifteen.'
'Stark raving bonkers...'
'Twenty.'
'Make it thirty. I need some dosh for the hols.'
They shook on it. Then the Sergeant put on her jacket, and they left together.
'I'll feel guilty, using Anna Hargreave's arse to buy Christmas presents with,'
said the Sergeant, as they went downstairs. 'Still, I'm sure it won't do her any
harm, in the long run.'
They went out into the November night, left the glare of the school buildings,
and crossed several acres of playing-fields, making for the lonely barracks
which stood among pine trees at the edge of school property. As they drew near,
they could see through a window a solitary figure sweeping the floor, her head
bowed. They saw her pause, look tiredly up at the window, and then turn again to
her dreary chore - still ignorant, for a few seconds more, of the far more
dreadful fate coming to her through the darkness.
