Spit And Polish

They came with playing-field mud on their shoes, drizzle in their hair, and murder in their eyes. They stood side-by-side in the doorway, the very picture of cold vengeance — large, grim and freckled. Anna had already heard them on the gravel in front of the barracks, and on the wooden stairs; had already guessed that nothing good was coming to her, because nothing good ever came to her, while trouble visited her daily — sometimes metaphorically, and sometimes, as now, rather physically. So she wasn't surprised to see them in the doorway, and calmly watched as they strolled down the echoing barrack-room towards her.

'Fancy seeing you here,' she said.

She rested both hands on top of her broom, like an old man with a hoe pausing among his cabbages to greet neighbours.

'Hello, Anna,' said the Cadet Officer. 'We've come for a little chat.'

'Ah. Very nice of you,' said Anna. 'I wonder if you'd mind taking your boots off first. Barracks don't keep themselves clean, you know.'

The Cadet Officer nodded, as if she too had learnt this sad fact. But neither she nor the Sergeant bothered to comply with the polite request. The Cadet Officer approached Anna, hooked a chair with one finger, spun it around, and sat.

'Take a break, Anna,' she said. 'Let's talk.'

Anna considered this, and nodded.

'As a matter of fact', she said, 'There is something I want to say to you, Cadet Officer.'

'Good. Call me Emma.'

'Emma.'

Anna laid down her broom, sat down opposite the Cadet Officer, blew out her breath, and looked at her sorrowfully.

'Emma,' she said. 'I think you might be a lesbian.'

Up went Emma's light eyebrows.

'I'm not saying for sure, but it's possible that you are a lesbian.'

'I shouldn't bait her, Anna,' said the Sergeant. 'I really shouldn't. Not tonight.'

'I'm not,' said Anna. 'I just want to say that I personally don't have a problem with it. And I'm sure the army won't either, should you sign up.'

'You're a piece of work, Anna Hargreaves,' said the Cadet Officer. 'A really cutie-pie. And I don't mean that in a gay sense.'

The Sergeant shook her head sadly at Anna, and sucked her teeth. 'If only you knew what you've got coming...'

'And why shouldn't she?' said the Cadet Officer. 'No point hugging the lovely secret to ourselves.'

She took the wooden spoon from the waistband of her jeans, put it on the floor, and slid it towards Anna, who was sitting a few feet away. It came to rest between them.

Anna looked at it, then at the Cadet Officer, then at the spoon again.

'And what would that be for?'

'Guess.'

'You're going to make a salad?'

'Correct. On your arse.'

'A salad on my arse? Suddenly your libido takes an even more bizarre turn. Just as I thought I'd grasped the true extent of your, er...'

'Anna, let's get one thing straight,' said the Cadet Officer. 'I am going to beat you — here, tonight, and hard.'

Anna thought about this. 'Are you really?'

'Don't have any allusions.'

'Illusions,' said Anna. 'Or delusions. May I ask what for?'

'What for?' said the Cadet Officer. 'What for? Excellent question. Now I've forgotten myself. What am I going to beat her for, Richie?'

'Because you're exceedingly pissed off with her, Emma.'

'Because I'm exceedingly pissed off with you, Anna.'

'Did you guys ever consider going on telly?' said Anna. 'No? Well, it's the public's loss. So what shall we chat about? The abuse of prefectorial power? The definition of assault under English law?'

'How about sticky little brats who have it coming?' The Cadet Officer stood up, and Anna flinched. But the spoon remained on the floor.

'Let me tell you a story,' said the Cadet Officer. 'Once upon a time there was a girl who made a career out of … baiting , thank you Sergeant, the school corps, and all its good and noble officers. One morning she wakes up, and is horrified to remember certain events of the previous night — which by-the-by she found rather pleasant at the time, but never mind — so, filled with shame, and fearing for her reputation as class clown, she pulls a little stunt in front of the whole school…'

'And by the way, the whole school thinks you're a jerk,' said the Sergeant. 'Everyone.'

'Thank you, Sergeant. I'll do the talking. So this girl…'

'Cadet Officer, I've already cracked your ingenious code...'

'... So this girl , in all her wickedness, decides to ruin the day for a decent old man who gave up his Sunday…'

'Uh-uh. None of that,' said Anna, changing gear. 'No good appealing to conscience, you know. The Major-General's a legitimate target, same as you, same as Corporal Taffy…'

'Legitimate target?' said the Cadet Officer in annoyance. 'Who do you think you are, the IRA? Why couldn't you just leave him alone? Why can't you just leave Taff alone? Why do you have to be such a pain in the arse?'

'I'd love to leave the entire corps alone, you included,' said Anna reasonably, 'Only it won't leave me alone. Every Saturday I have dress up and turn out, to be shouted at by sadists, body fascists, social misfits, perverts, jumped-up nobodies…'

'Chat's over!' said the Cadet Officer. She spun angrily on her heel and picked up the spoon. Anna shot up from her chair and backed away. But she was trapped. There was nowhere for her to go. They were in the large upstairs room, and to reach the door she would have to get past the Captain of Games, the Captain of Hockey, and all the chairs and tables she had been too lazy to move aside to do her sweeping. So the Sergeant caught her easily by the arm, and Anna made only a token attempt to get away. She still didn't believe in the spoon.

'What are we going to do?' said the Sergeant to the Cadet Officer. 'On the table, or ... what?'

'Over my knee. Like the brat she is.'

'I must inform you, that if one stroke of that thing lands on my arse, I'll go straight to the Headmistress.'

'No you won't.'

'Yes, I will. You're looking at GBH ... criminal record ... prison ... I hear posh girls are very popular among some of the ... But you like that sort of thing anyway, so ... Ow!...'

As she spoke, Anna was being forced downwards by strong hands, the Cadet Officer simultaneously sitting and making a lap for her to lie on. Then the Sergeant, who was standing, clamped Anna's head between her legs, and held both of her wrists high in the air. Finally the Cadet Officer hooked one heavy leg over both of Anna's. She was theirs.

'I don't think you're taking me seriously,' said Anna, her voice now muffled.

'I wonder why, Anna?'

'But if one stroke of that…'

SMACK! said the spoon on her olive-green backside. It was very hard.

'Oh …. God!' said Anna, and gasped, as if she had just bitten on an unexpected chilli.

But only after another couple of seconds did the true pain announce itself. 'Oh …. my GOD!'

'That's the idea. Spot of religion always helps.'

SMACK!

The Cadet Officer was lifting the spoon high over her head; she was a strong girl, and she was angry. Anna's mouth opened wide, as if the chilli had now exploded on her tongue. Her breath was loud, hot and desperate. There was no wriggling or struggling. Rather, her entire body undulated slowly with pain. 'Oh … Christ!' she whispered.

The Cadet Officer waited with grim patience, and then...

SMACK!

Anna, catching up fast, gritted her teeth in anticipation of the pain, and when it arrived said 'nhff!-nhff!-nhff!' through her nose. Her neck went rigid and turned ugly with tendons. They heard her cursing under her breath.

SMACK!

'Quite different to last night, this, isn't it?' said the Cadet Officer. 'If only you'd paid attention then…'

'Oh God, oh God, oh God,' said Anna, trying to waggle her head, although it was imprisoned between the Sergeant's strong thighs. She was attempting, at each stroke, to find a way of dealing with the ever-increasing pain. But not for nothing did the Cadet Officer spend Monday and Thursday evenings at 'circuit training' in the school gym. She even did so voluntarily.

SMACK!

'I said, if only you'd learnt your lesson last night, you'd have saved us all a lot of bother today,' said the Cadet Officer, and looked in surprise as Anna's feet did an urgent semaphore, up-down-up-down, and her hands clenched and unclenched five or six times in rapid succession. She and the Sergeant smiled at each other, and waited to see if more was coming. When it didn't, up went the spoon...

SMACK! — it was a hard one.

'Oh fuck,' whispered Anna. 'Oh, fuck fuck fuck. Oh fuck!'

'Fuck indeed,' said the Cadet Officer. 'So, Anna… Now, I've got your attention, let me say...'

'Don't you dare talk to me!' hissed Anna.

SMACK! — also hard.

A pregnant pause as the pain swelled to its crescendo. 'Oh Jesus!' said Anna, drumming the floor with her toes.

'I beg your pardon?'

'I said, "Oh Jesus!"'

'Before that. Did I hear you say "Don't talk to me?"'

'Yes.'

'Why...'

(SMACK!)

'...May I ask?'

Anna took a deep, shuddering breath, waited, and said: 'Because I find you incredibly… Oh bugger this hurts... '

'Incredibly what? ... Anna? … Incredibly what ...?'

SMACK!

'Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! … Incredibly tedious!'

The Cadet Officer and the Sergeant looked at each other, shrugged and smiled.

'Just spanking, then?'

'That would be … oh fuck ! …. nice!' said Anna.

SMACK!

Something rattled onto the floor. Richie stooped to pick it up. It was a piece of wood. She examined it and laughed — 'Look at the spoon!'

The spoon, which was indeed meant for salad, had two slits in its shallow bowl, through which, on happier occasions, excess vinaigrette might drain. These slits were its weak points, especially when abused in such a manner, and one third of the spoon was now in Richie's hand.

'Oh my God. Anna, you've broken the spoon.'

'We'd better stop, then.'

'No, there's still enough of it to…'

SMACK! (very hard)

'…do the job.'

'Herherherherher!' said Anna, when the pain came. 'Haa-haa-haa-haa-haa. Oh-hoooooooo!'

SMACK!

'Perfectly functionable, you see?'

'DAAA-HAAAAAAAR!!' said Anna. 'Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!'

'You might apologise to Richie though, whose spoon it is...'

There was a sharp crunch of gravel outside. They froze and listened, the spoon hovering. Then the door downstairs opened, and banged. The Quartermaster had returned.

The Sergeant at once released Anna, and the Cadet Officer tapped her on the shoulder. Anna slumped onto her knees, cursed several times, and stood up stiffly. She walked a few steps and put her hands to her backside, rubbing it. Her face was a gargoyle of pain — somewhat exaggerated. Her eyes were damp, but there were no tears. Nevertheless she turned away from the door. The Cadet Officer put the wooden spoon under her chair, and waited.

The Quartermaster came up the stairs and into the room.

'Ah, Emma,' she said. 'And ... Richie. Both of you here, are you?'

'We're just having a little chat with Anna,' said Emma, rising from her seat in a semblance of respect.

'Talking some sense into her, are you?' said the Quartermaster. 'How are you getting along, Anna?'

'Fine...' said Anna.

'Well ... turn around when you're speaking to me, then...'

Anna turned. The Quartermaster, who also taught Anna maths during the week, or tried to, saw her face and was troubled.

'I thought I heard singing just now,' she said. 'Was somebody singing, Emma?'

'Just talking,' said the Cadet Officer. 'And Anna here was laughing.'

'Funny — it sounded rather like singing ... or something. Anyway. I think perhaps Anna had better go home. She's done quite enough for the day.'

'I sort of told her to knock off already,' said Emma, acknowledging the presumptuousness of this with a little wince. 'I do hope you don't mind. She's coming in all of next week, after lessons, so the barracks will be gleaming by the end of it.'

'Yes, I know.'

'Now we're just having a little chat ... aren't we, Anna?'

Anna conceded a nod.

'I wonder....' said Emma, looking at the Quartermaster with a great deal of politeness. 'I wonder, would you mind very much if we locked up and brought you the key? I know where all the switches are. We're having a bit of a talk, you see. Sorting a few things out ... Me and Richie and Anna...'

The Quartermaster was uncomfortable. She was aware that something was going on. But perhaps it was really was a heart-to-heart, in which case she'd be the last to break it up. But it was so difficult to tell anything with girls, especially this pair of girls. They were watching her even now, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to go.

If on the other hand they were bullying Anna, or something, then Anna would surely have appealed for help, wouldn't she?

And so the Quartermaster unhooked the bundle of keys from her waistband, explained various of them to the Cadet Officer, and told them they had better be back in their houses in time for Lights Out.

'I'll make sure of it,' said the Cadet Officer. 'Thank you, Quartermaster.'

The Quartermaster left, with one last glance at Anna. They heard her footsteps on the gravel outside again. The Cadet Officer went to the window to watch her go.

'Incompetence. Oh my God! Absolute bloody incompetence. Richie, if I am like that when I'm forty, will you please shoot me?'

'I'll do it,' said Anna. 'With pleasure.'

The Cadet Officer returned from the window, and smiled at them both. She fell into a chair.

'Phew! I'm tired. Let's take a break! Everyone sit! Anna, sit!'

'I think I'll stand,' said Anna.

'Sit, Anna!'

'No, I think I'll stand.'

'Ah — I see your point. But I don't want you standing. Why don't you kneel?'

She pointed at the floor in front of her.

'I love to help you with your little fantasies, Emma. But you're pushing it.'

She sat on a table instead, her hands under her thighs to lift her backside clear of it. In fact there was no pain now. It had gone as quickly as it had come. All that remained was a pleasant warmth, and Anna was disappointed. It was as if the crime scene had already been wiped clean of evidence. Her arse had betrayed her. She hoped there would still be marks.

The Cadet Officer luxuriantly put her hands behind her head and stretched. 'Well!' she said. 'Well! I'm feeling pretty damn good, all of a sudden. I tell you, when I first arrived I was in a fair old strop. Now I wouldn't call the Pope my uncle. Wonder why?'

'I'm so glad this is therapeutic for you,' said Anna.

'And for you, Anna. And for you.'

'Oh, I'm sure. Well — if you are truly feeling better now, Emma, perhaps I will toddle along, as the Quartermaster said.'

'Oh, you're not going anywhere!' sang Emma. 'It's only half-time!'

Anna shut her eyes in exasperation. — 'Cadet Officer,' she said. 'I've played along, haven't I? I've let you make your point, in your own brutish Medieval way. I'm even willing to concede that I deserved a bit of it. Now — can we call it quits?'

'Quits? So you think this is payback for this morning, do you?'

'Isn't it?' said the Sergeant.

'Isn't it?' said Anna.

'Tch! I pity you both. I thought you cleverer.'

'Well ... I'd like to think you were hitting me for some reason.'

'The finest reason in the world!'

'What?'

'Education.'

'Ah,' said Anna. 'Education.'

'I'm educating you, see?'

'I see.'

'With a spoon.'

'Yes, I've followed the plot.'

'I thought you would. — Now, here's the point. I don't often admit to mistakes, because I don't often make them. Do I, Richie?'

The Sergeant merely grunted.

'Last night, I'm big enough to say, I made a mistake. I charged in, horse and foot, all guns blazing, and I got slaughtered. Should have been cannier. Should have realised the old slap and tickle mightn't work with you. It does with most girls.'

'Does it?' said Anna, interested despite herself. 'Who?'

'Never you mind — Let's just say that Cadet Camp gets interesting at night.'

'Ah.'

'... As you'll find out next summer.'

Here Anna merely snorted. The absurd idea didn't even deserve words.

'Anyway. I don't know you very well, Anna Hargreaves. Not yet. Despite our intimate little moment last night.' (Here Anna curled her lip in disgust.) 'One thing I have learnt about you, however, is that you're as slippery as an eel. You say one thing, and do the opposite. I admire that. Makes educating you difficult, though. I can beat you on the bum 'til you look like a baboon, and you'll promise, and promise, and promise, and next day you'll piss in the soup again. So here's my cunning plan. Are you listening? We are going to see each other every week. No — twice a week. You, me and the spoon. And you can promise me the world or curse me to hell, as you wish, and it won't make the slightest bit of difference, because you'll get it anyway. Simple, huh? Shall we say, Sundays and Wednesdays?'

'Why me ?' said Anna.

Her voice was suddenly stripped of all its gaiety. She too was feeling tired. 'Can't you find someone else to play with?'

The Cadet Officer looked genuinely hurt. 'I chose you , Anna. It's you I want to be friends with.'

'Well, I don't want to be your friend.'

'You ungrateful brat. Why on earth not?'

'I don't like your idea of friendship. It seems a little skewed, somehow.'

'Give it time. I don't mean to sound rude, but I reckon you could use a friend or two.'

'I've plenty of friends.'

'Really? Who?'

'None of your business.'

'How many of them came to see you today?'

'What? ... Why should they?' (In fact Anna was a little sore about this.)

'I would, if I had a friend on barrack-bashing all Sunday. I'd certainly pop round, cheer her up a bit. It's rather sad that none of yours thought of it.'

'Except us,' said the Sergeant.

'Exactly. Except us.'

'Oh, you guys have cheered me up no end,' said Anna.

The Cadet Officer smiled and looked at her watch. 'Well then, we'd better get cracking. Round Two of the Cheering-up of Anna. Do you want the Sergeant to do her nutcracker act again, or shall we operate a 'trust' system?'

'I'd have to think about that,' said Anna. 'Would you just give me a minute, please?'

'Make it a quick one.'

Anna formed a steeple with her fingers and pressed her lips into it. She looked at the Cadet Officer, as if calculating what cards the Cadet Officer held, and what cards she, Anna, might play in turn. The Cadet Officer watched her.

Finally Anna said, 'Is there a get-out clause?'

'None.'

'And there's nothing I can say to...'

'Not a thing!'

'Hmm. Wednesday and Sunday?'

'If that's convenient to you.'

'Very well,' said Anna. She got up, shrugged, smiled coyly, and approached. 'Yes — I can do without the Sergeant, I think.'

Her gaiety seemed to have returned to her, even as she began awkwardly laying herself across Emma's lap.

'Richie, bung the spoon over, would you?' said Emma. '... Ta very much. Perhaps you might keep an eye out at the window, in case Miss Whatsit comes creeping back. Thank you. Ready, Anna?'

Anna was ready. The Cadet Officer began the exercise again, rather unfairly targeting the same spot. Within seconds Anna was hissing, sighing, and cursing.

'This doesn't ... fuck ... get easier,' she said, after three strokes had fallen. 'Howhowhowhow! .... I hoped it would ... '

'You're not obliged to make conversation, you know.'

'I'm just passing the time ... Tsssssss! .... But I'll bring a magazine next time ... if you don't want me to ... Oh fuck this! ... Talk!'

She lay, fingers splayed on the wooden floor, and accepted her pain as due. Her noble self-discipline survived for a number of strokes, and then she was suddenly curled-up on the floor, and the Sergeant had to be called in. They continued as before, with Anna trussed and wedged. After a while the desire to talk left her. All her energy — vocal and otherwise — was concentrated on defending herself again the pain, even as it breached her borders and overrun her. Soon she was pleading, not with the Cadet Officer, but with Pain itself, to go away and leave her alone. Some preliminary gulps came, indicating the arrival of sobbing.

The Cadet Officer and Sergeant looked at each other. The Sergeant silently suggested that her friend might now call it a day.

'The Sergeant thinks that's enough,' said Emma. 'I'm inclined to agree with her. What about you?'

At first there was no reply. And then a pathetic 'yes' came from between the Sergeant's legs. So Emma laid down her spoon, and rested a hand — so tender, suddenly — on Anna's burning backside.

'Does this hurt?' she said. 'It's not meant to.'

She stroked the olive-clad mound with the lightest of touches. Then she pulled Anna's skirt up, used it as a fan, and gently caressed Anna on the seat of her stockings. It was plain that Anna wasn't wearing knickers. Emma's hand — how soft it was! — quietly went between her thighs, parting her legs, and working its way up them in spirals and arabesques. Anna, still pinioned head and hands by the Sergeant, could only lie still and feel. The hand went beneath her, and found her out. Anna sighed. The fingers began playing with her through the material, slowly rubbing it against her, pressing themselves through it, and giving gentle little pinches in the most sensitive place. The rough black wool was most stimulating.

'I think you can let her go, Richie.'

Anna felt the Sergeant release her. She had vowed to get up and leave at this moment. Now she found she couldn't, and despised herself, even as her breath grew longer. The wool slid over her, slowly up and slowly down, and her skin prickled and blushed. She lay and heard her own little groans and grunts, and the breath in her nose. Her feet wiggled, her back arched backwards. When she came, there were tears in her eyes.

' Now I should get up,' she told herself. But she was helpless to do so, for another, invisible hand — far stronger than the Sergeant's — had gripped her, was keeping her pinned down in that humiliating lap. Anna could only submit again, and let Emma's fingers do their work, softly, softly, and deep into the night.

'What a clever Toad I am!' cried the Cadet Officer, kicking her legs. 'Poop poop! Toad on top!'

'You look like one,' said the Sergeant.

'Why shouldn't I? You tell me that!'

'Well, anyway, you do.'

'Oh, did you see how obedient she was! Sunday and Wednesday, I go, and there's nothing you can do about it, and she has a little think, and she goes, "Okay then!"'

The Cadet Officer rolled on her bed, grinning at the Sergeant. It was now Monday evening, and she had been obnoxious all day. But the Sergeant had steadfastly refused to hand over the thirty pounds.

'You should have been there this morning!' said Emma, 'All I had to say was "Wednesday, nine, my room," and she practically curtsied to me. Bang-slap in the middle of the quad.'

'Yes, so you've said.'

'She's mine! All mine! Putty in my hands! Am I not a genius?'

'You're a fool, that's what you are, if you're thinking of doing it here. What if Tina comes?' ('Tina' was Emma's house-mistress.)

'Oh, Tina never comes up here. And the door will be locked.' A door key was a prefect's privilege. 'Anyway, she's amazingly quiet, isn't she, Anna? I was expecting screams and yelps. Not our girl. Takes it like a man, does Anna. What a soldier!'

'Emma, seriously, listen to me. How much longer are you going to ... you know...?'

'Go on spanking her? For ever and ever!' gurgled Emma.

'Be serious! You're getting as bad as her.'

Emma sat up. 'What do you think, then?'

'I'm asking you.'

'I'll play it by ear, I suppose. As I've had reason to remark before, Anna Hargreaves is as slippery as an eel. It would be doing her a grave disservice to let her off early. Can't have her sloping off into old habits.'

'I know that, but ... go easy on her, Emma. She's not a bad kid.'

'Not a bad kid? She's a lovely kid! That's why we're going to all this trouble in the first place, isn't it? Can you make Wednesday?'

'Ah — no, I was going to say. There's a hockey get-together. I can't get out of it.'

'Never mind.'

'I can do Thursday.'

'No, never mind. I'll attend to Miss Hargreaves by myself. Just the two of us. A cosy tête-à-tête. Boy do I wish it was Wednesday already!'

'Well, just go easy on her, that's all. So ... did you see my team list for tomorrow? What do you think? I'm still doubtful about Suzy...' And so the conversation turned to hockey, and Emma, as her friend had intended, was forced to remember that there was more to life than Anna Hargreaves.

Wednesday came and Anna was punctual, announcing nine o'clock on Emma's door with a fusillade of knocks. Emma opened it.

'Don't do that!' she said.

'Sorry.'

'I hate that.'

'Sorry.'

Anna came happily into the room, and looked around her. 'Is this all a school prefect gets? I was expecting marble. Mirrors. Maybe a butler.'

The Cadet Sergeant locked the door and put the key in her pocket.

'Now, the first thing we might, er ... talk about, Anna,' she said, 'Is your habit of making such absurd comments.'

'Straight to business, huh?' said Anna. She spotted the wooden spoon on the table.

'Straight to business.'

'No drinks, or anything? Actually it's funny, because when you said "My room at nine", I visualised you mixing martinis, and the two of us drinking them out on the balcony — I thought you'd have a balcony — and talking about Brancusi and stuff, and generally being all sophisticated, before ... getting down to business. I thought that would be rather classy, like in a film. Don't you?'

The Cadet Officer picked up the spoon.

'Obviously not,' sighed Anna.

'You're giving me something to work towards, however,' said Emma, and drew two hypothetical Annas in the air. 'Before: Babbling Anna ... After: Nice quiet Anna.'

She approached Anna, meaning to steer her to the place of execution: the bed.

Anna held up a finger. 'I'm not finished yet.'

'Make it good, then.'

'Oh, this is very good.'

Anna took a polaroid from her shirt pocket, and gave it to the Cadet Officer.

Emma wasn't particularly surprised by what it showed: Anna standing naked, her back to the camera and her head turned in profile. It was most probably taken on Sunday night, because Anna's backside was a nebula of red, purple and black

'I thought you could frame it,' said Anna.

Emma took the photograph to the desk, put it under the desk-lamp, and inspected it. The bruising — if it was bruising — was surprising lurid.

'I can give you one of the close-ups too, if you like. And they're really something.'

'Very nice' said Emma. 'Thank you.' She left the photo on the desk and returned. 'Ready?'

'No.'

'Don't be boring, Anna.'

'Don't you want to hear more about the photos? They're all in a sealed envelope. I didn't want anyone to see them, because they're just too embarrassing. Think how awful it would be, if they fell into the wrong hands. I'd be highly embarrassed, and you might be a bit embarrassed, too.'

'No more television for you, as of today.'

'I'm not sure you're not taking me seriously, Emma.'

'Anna, nobody takes you seriously.'

'Do you honestly imagine I came here tonight to let you do that ,' she gestured towards the photo, 'To me, again?'

Emma got off the bed and went up to Anna. Anna stood her ground. Emma put her hands on Anna's shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes. Anna gazed back steadily.

'Cheap little weasel,' said Emma slowly. 'You really do mean it, don't you?'

'You see how low you've made me sink? Last week I was an innocent schoolgirl. This week ...'

'You're a filthy little blackmailer.'

'And you'll be able to say, I did that to her! I made her what she is!'

'Tricky stuff, though, blackmail.'

'Remarkably easy.'

'Hope you know what you're doing.'

'Don't you worry.'

'They expel people for that sort of thing.'

'I've been trying to get expelled for years. There's a little Sixth Form College in Sevenoaks I've got my eye on.'

'Full of other blackmailers, I expect.'

'I shan't mind. For you, on the other hand, getting chucked out of here would be like getting chucked out of Paradise. Here, you're ever so important. In the real world ... well, enough said.'

Emma shook her head sadly.

'I was expecting something better than this, at least.'

'Sorry to disappoint.'

'You do. I thought there was a backbone under there. When the Quartermaster showed up the other night, and you played along like a trooper, I said to myself, there's a girl with backbone. Hargreaves won't sneak. Some might. Not Hargreaves. How wrong I was!'

'I haven't sneaked!' cried Anna, for to be called a blackmailer was one thing, but to be called a sneak was quite another. 'Nor am I going to. This, Cadet Officer, is the desperate act of a desperate girl. Abused, assaulted, beaten ... raped nightly...'

Emma smiled, put her hand under Anna's chin and raised it. They looked into each other's eyes. Emma's, light blue, had an angry white spark in them. Anna's, dark blue, were serene.

Emma had a stab of realisation: 'So this is why you suddenly became all docile, isn't it? On Sunday. And I thought ... damn!'

Anna acknowledged this with a waggle of the head.

'My God, Hargreaves, I'm going to make you pay for this.'

Her thumb stroked Anna's cheek.

'There's still time to change your mind, you know. I'll give you hell, but not half as much hell as you're going to get otherwise.'

'I'd say,' said Anna, 'That one of us got well and truly beaten tonight after all, and hasn't the grace to admit it. Can you let go of my face now, please? I'd like to go home.'

So Emma unlocked the door and held it open for Anna. Anna walked through the doorway and turned with a shrug. 'I guess some friendships just don't work out, huh?' she said.

'Ours has just begun,' said Emma.

Anna was about to reply, then thought better of it and disappeared into the dark corridor. Emma heard the fire-door hiss. Anna was gone. Emma shut her door, turned, kicked it, paced up and down the room, and when she had dizzied herself doing this, sat down heavily on her swivel chair. She turned her attention back to the photograph. The splotches of red and purple probably were genuine, after all. Emma marvelled that she had made them herself, through a thick army skirt and with a spoon. She felt stirrings of pity, guilt, and even fear — emotions she was rarely troubled by. She turned her attention to Anna's face. The angle of the shot exaggerated the slightly protuberant teeth which gave Anna a continual mocking, joyful look — even when she was posing as a victim. Emma noticed how short the nose was, and how small and round the ears. The neck, twisted sideways, had two diagonal creases. Emma's gaze travelled downwards, taking in the unmuscular arms, the rather sweet shoulder blades, the curve of the waist. It suddenly struck her as odd that Anna should had brought a nude photo of herself.

Emma thought about this, and smiled. She jumped off the sofa, crossed to the chest of drawers, and surveyed the framed photographs crowded on its top. She selected one, turned it over, extracted the photo (it was of her and a friend, on a sea ferry) and put Anna's polaroid in its place. She clipped it in, admired it, and put it back among the others. Finally she spent some time rearranging the huddle of photographs, until at last she was satisfied that even the politest eye would grow weary of the humdrum subjects — parents, siblings, a lunch-party, a school trip, a baby, a dog on a lawn — and wander away, without noticing the more interesting figure lurking at the back.

At last Emma remembered that she had other demands on her time. She glanced once more at Anna's face, smiled in anticipation of the fun they were going to have, and went down into the house to see if it was still behaving itself.