Spit And Polish

It was the new Senior Mistress who abolished detention, which she saw as soft and ineffective, and put in its place 'Morning Parade'. Under the new scheme, defaulters of the milder sort — general rule-breakers, persistent latecomers, swearers, and a few who simply needed to pull their socks up — were obliged to present themselves at school gym at the beginning of morning break; change into leotards and gym shoes (woe betide the foolish girl who forgot these); and perform a wearisome set of exercises for the full half-hour before fourth lesson. The innovation was greeted with outrage. It was a scandal, an affront, an abomination, said the girls, who saw morning break as an inalienable human right. This was music to the ears of the Senior Mistress. Morning Parade was deemed a success, trial became institution, and on any weekday morning that term, between five and forty girls spent a monotonous half hour stretching, twisting, bending, straining and jumping. Anna Hargreaves was often to be seen among the goose-fleshed ranks, squirming in shame. It was a very public disgrace, which was some of its appeal. The gym remained open to anyone who cared to use the free half of the floor, or who fancied settling down in the balcony with a bag of crisps, to watch the show.

'MP', as it soon became known, was taken by the school-prefects on a week-around basis, and the character of the punishment reflected the character of the supervisor. Sometimes it was a jovial affair, with plenty of back-chat. Sometimes it was quiet, and sometimes it was surly.

On a frosty Monday in November, fifteen girls, in three rows of five, old lags for the most part, stood with shivering knees and listened to the opening address of the week's instructress.

'Good morning to you all, and a very chilly morning it is, so I'll keep the talking to a minimum, but in the meantime I'd be glad if you could leave your arms alone and put your hands by your sides where they belong. Now. We've only half an hour at our disposal — yes, it's heart-breaking, isn't it? — so we're going to work double-hard, and I expect everyone to keep up. Anyone who doesn't will come back tomorrow. If you're already booked in for tomorrow, you will come back on Wednesday. Are we clear?'

There was a shuffling of feet and a subdued hissing, as the girls whispered certain opinions about this.

'Which brings us to point two. Silence will be observed in the ranks at all times, if you please. No talking, no whispering, no muttering, definitely no whimpering. Grunts of exertion will be excused. And point three is that smiling is both permitted and encouraged. What are all these sour faces for? There are women in London who'd pay a tenner a head for this class, and you're getting it for free. And thus concludes the speech. Let's start with a stretch! Arms .... up!'

Anna, painfully aware of her bare arms, stretched. She was in attendance because she had walked across, rather than around, a sacred patch of grass and mud; had been spotted by a thin-faced prefect; and had been unable to convince the girl that to forgive was divine. Ungenerous, small-minded Sarah Hartopp had no interest in forgiveness or divinity, and went away to put Anna's name in the Book. Anna had raged all weekend until her friends told her to bite the bullet, accept her fate without tears — and put a cork in it. On Sunday evening Anna finally bowed to Ananke, Goddess of Inevitability, ran a bath, and sullenly prepared herself with razor and soap, like the sacrificial victim she was. She woke on Monday with a scowl, stuffed her gym shoes and black leotard — a fistful of cloth — into her schoolbag, and sat distractedly through the first three lessons. At the bell her classmates gave her a cheery send-off, with fanfares and huzzas, and promised to come and watch her after they'd been for a fag. Anna briefly described the biblical torments she would visit upon them if they did, and sped to the gym. In the changing-room she wryly greeted various old acquaintances, put on her leotard and gym-shoes, and slipped her watch and chain necklace into her jacket pocket. She was the last to leave the room; she was late. Even so, on her way out she paused in front of the mirror, to see what she expected to see: a pale girl with thin arms and untidy hair. She rubbed her cheeks to put colour into them, but there was nothing she could do about her arms, and she liked her hair as it was. She pulled her Sid Vicious face, reminded herself that she would be re-clothed within the half hour, and went out to face the world.

The other offenders were already being ordered into ranks by a prefect in red lycra. When Anna saw who it was, she knew her punishment was complete.

She stretched. She stretched higher. She stretched higher yet. 'That's pathetic,' said Emma, addressing everyone. 'I meant stretch . I want another half-inch out of you all. Did you know that a good stretch each morning can add two inches to your height? Come on Gita. Come on Harriet. The taller you are, the more likely you are to be happy, rich and successful. That's a fact. Come on Claire. Touch the ceiling with your fingertips. Good. No — feet together, Kristin. Chin up, Maria. Good. And hold. And down we go!'

And down they went. Anna touched the scuffed toes of her gym-shoes. She saw her dimpling knees up close. She could smell her own skin; a babyish smell. It was good to feel the blood going to her head. She grudgingly saw what those London women saw in it. Even so, ten pounds to throw away and London at their feet, and they did this ? Hadn't they heard about the chocolate shop in Piccadilly? The crepe suzettes to be had in Covent Garden? The food halls at Harrods?

'Bend from the hips and don't strain. Only go as far as is comfortable. Put your hands on your shins if you want. We don't want any slipped disks. Good. And hold. And up we go!'

Twice more Anna reached for the ceiling, and twice more she inspected her knees.

'Good,' said Emma. 'Now let's get you warmed up with some star-jumps. Ready? Off we go!'

Off they went. Anna hated star-jumps. They made her feel all the nakedness of her arms and legs, and she was a very self-conscious girl. Star-jumps, like Morning Parade as a whole and like Arlinghurst school itself, existed to insult her, to strip away her individuality, to reduce her to mere body. Star-jumps were insolent, mindless, repetitive, stupid. Star-jumps were the delight of philistines and body fascists, and Anna waged perpetual war on both.

After twenty, her breath was uneven, and she began to feel a warmness about her shoulder blades. She pulled a variety of ugly faces — her face being the only part of her anatomy still under her own control — and watched the tied-up hair of the girl in front bouncing up and down in a clownish manner. At forty Anna was getting tired and hoped it would stop soon. Her gaze dropped to the girl's buttocks, and she saw the leotard disappearing into them. Anna felt the same thing happening to hers. And still they jumped.

'Sixty!' said Emma.

'Oh that's enough,' hissed a girl beside Anna.

'Come on you lot! Come on Gita! This isn't hopscotch! Nice wide jumps!'

Anna felt the suggestion of sweat break out simultaneously over her entire body. Her calves were beginning to ache. Her breath was ragged and loud. She looked over her left shoulder and then her right, as if searching for relief. Still it went on. And on.

'Eighty,' said Emma. 'No flagging! There's always tomorrow, remember.'

I don't think I can do this for much longer, thought Anna. Her shoulders were aching, and her feet. But mostly it was her calves, where pain sat in a tight knot, as if something unpleasant had been injected into her muscles.

'A hundred,' said Emma. 'May I remind you that these are star-jumps. Wiggling your fingers in the air doesn't count, Harriet. Come on Claire. Come on Anna.'

The lycra'd tormentress had barely broken a sweat herself, although she was jumping as energetically as anyone. At a hundred and twenty she regarded them with a smile.

'Now let's have some fun...'

There were groans and gasps.

'We're going to clap on every fourth jump. That'll get your arms working. Ready? Clap, two, three, four, clap, two, three, four...'

It was hellish. It was indescribable. It was torture. Anna badly wanted it to end. She was tempted to stop on her own accord, put her hands on her knees and pant, lie on the floor, anything to give her calves a rest. Her mind wandered desperately. Random phrases started appearing in it. 'The New Model Army ... open to new ideas... irrelevancy of social class ... sung psalms before going into battle...' She saw them, the light cavalry, poised before Naseby. Getting shot, dying. What would that be like? (Clap!) Rather like this, probably. Oh God. She must rewrite her essay accordingly. It was drivel anyway. There were more interesting things about Cromwell. 'The New Model Army was a military forced based on ability, rather than ...' But here her attention returned to the pain in her calves. It now felt as though two small dogs had attached themselves there.

'Clap, two, three, four, clap ... and ... stop.'

They doubled up, gasped, rubbed their legs, and said 'Oaaaahhhwww!'.

'Quiet, please.'

Anna, panting, looked at the clock. Less than five minutes of the thirty had elapsed. Time and Emma were in league. As Anna watched she saw the second hand, which had obligingly slowed almost to a standstill during the exercise, now resume its traditional pace.

No time for frighted peace to pant. They stood with legs wide apart and arms out; bent sideways; touched fingertips to knees, and pointed the opposite arm to the ceiling, straight as a ruler as requested. They repeated this on the other side. Then they came upright, and bent forward and over, touched the left shoe, and then the right. Then they repeated the entire routine.

The second time around, when Anna was bent over and the world was upside down, she saw through her own legs three other pairs of legs come into the gym: a girl's, in school skirt and stockings, a woman's in a tweed skirt, and a man's in a suit. Someone's parents; or perhaps 'prospectives' being shown around by a volunteer. Terrific, thought Anna, pulling a face at the truncated legs. Invite the whole world in!

'And slowly up! And arms out. To the left, and hold. And up, and hold. And to the right, and hold. And up.' (Imagine this speech punctuated with long and wearying pauses.) 'And down we go again. Don't force!'

Anna dutifully bent. She looked through her own legs again. The trio had come closer, the girl presumably explaining the punitory nature of the exercise. Anna heard the man's soft voice asking a question, and the girl's cheerful reply. The visitors seemed to be impertinently interested in the whole affair. Anna tried to imagine what they must look like from the back. All legs and bums. And remembered she had forgotten to pull the bottom of her leotard from ... Too late now. She wished they would simply bugger off!

Up they came for more side-stretches. Down they went to touch their toes. Just as she was descending, Anna saw the girl going to speak to Emma.

Emma listened, then walked around the edge of the squad, saying 'Keep going in your own time, left and right.' Anna dutifully touched her left shoe, and hoped these visitors detained Emma for a very long time. Through her legs she saw Emma's legs in their lycra shorts appear and approach the couple, heard the murmur of voices, and Emma laughing politely. Then Emma came towards the group — toward Anna, strangely — was she doing something wrong? — and said in a quiet, amused voice. 'Anna?'

Anna stood up and turned around. She saw Emma's smiling face. She saw the adults, who were also smiling at her. This was because they were her parents.

A lurch of shame and anger, as if the wooden floor-boards had suddenly given way beneath her. How dare they! How dare they come and ... watch!

She was aware of several things simultaneously — her bare knees and elbows, of which she was self-conscious at the best of times; the awful realisation of how much of her they must have seen, when she was bent over; the fact that her cold nipples had raised her leotard like a marquee; and the crimson blush she could feel spreading in her cheeks, in her neck, in her shoulders, and in her arms.

'Hello Anna,' said her mother. Her father gave her a wink, and then turned to inspect the gym horse. Anna's face twisted in rage. She tugged the bottom of her leotard down, crossed her arms over her breasts, and scowled.

'Well ... say hello then, Anna!' said Emma.

'We're just on our way to Oxford,' said her mother, 'And thought we'd pop in on the off-chance. But it looks like we've come at an awkward time.'

'Not in the slightest!' cried Emma. 'Keeping her fit, that's all.'

'Hmm. And what has she been up to?'

'I believe it was ... What was it, Anna?'

Anna glared at the floor. There was a lump in her throat, and angry tears were starting to come in her eyes.

'Really, Anna!' said her mother. 'Stop being such a goose! Come and give your father and I a kiss, then we'll be on our way, and you can get back to your...'

'Oh, no!' said Emma. 'I wouldn't dream of it. You have her today, and I'll have her tomorrow.'

'Well, we don't want to ... And especially not if she's going to be like this .'

They all glanced at Anna.

'Go on Anna,' said Emma. 'Run along and get changed, and I'll put you down for tomorrow instead.'

'Now, are you absolutely sure...?'

'Absolutely sure!'

'Really, that is extremely kind of you,' said Anna's mother. 'Oh do snap out of it, Anna!'

They took her to the tea shop on the high street, which was full of girls drinking hot Ribena. They ordered a pot of tea and some food, asking the waitress if she'd be so kind as to bring it as soon as possible. Fourth period would begin in only a few minutes. Anna hadn't exactly hurried to get changed. On first entering the changing-room she had done nothing but repeatedly kick the tiled wall in rage. Her toe still throbbed.

Now she sat in a massive sulk. The fact that she knew she was being juvenile and petulant did nothing to prevent this.

'I do wish you'd act your age,' said her mother. 'I felt so embarrassed in front of that girl, the way you behaved. She's a prefect, isn't she?'

Anna grunted.

'Well, I felt quite ashamed of you. And are you going to tell us what you're being punished for?'

'There's a little patch of grass,' said Anna. 'And I walked across it.'

'And you're not supposed to?'

'Exactly. It contains sacred dog-shit.'

'You will not speak like that, Anna!'

'Dogs are allowed to walk across it, but we're not.'

'I'm sure there's a good reason.'

'It's called being petty.'

'You're being very childish.'

'If I'm being childish it's because I get treated like a child.'

'Which is what you are.'

'Then why shouldn't I be childish?'

'Stop it Anna,' said her father.

'Anyway, I'm not a child.'

'You're behaving like one,' hissed her mother. 'And you're lucky at this moment you're too old to go over my knee, because right now...'

'You and everyone. Join the queue.'

'If you're going to be like this I don't think we'll bother coming at all, next time.'

'Then don't.'

'Nor will we, if you behave in this silly way ... Oh, where is our tea?'

'Go and chivvy them, love,' said Anna's father.

Anna's mother went to find a waitress to scold, and Anna's father leaned across the table and said in an low, urgent voice, 'Anna, what on earth's going on?'

'Nothing.'

'Exactly who has been, er, putting you over their knee?'

'Uh?'

'Final-stage ecchymosis. I saw it on your backside. I'd say a few days ago someone gave you more than a light tap down there.'

'Then don't bloody look at my backside!' growled Anna, balling her fists, and her eyes dampened with anger. One or two girls looked over at their table.

'Don't be like that. I am still your doctor. Officially.'

'Then I'll get a new one.'

'Yes, you should, but that doesn't solve our problem. Who hit you? I don't think it was a teacher because they're not allowed to. Was it a girl?'

'I fell downstairs.'

'No, or you'd have said that first.'

She fiddled with a knife, and felt her father's eyes on her. At last he said 'Piglet, we'll have to talk to Miss Dyer about this.'

Anna shook her head vigourously.

'Something's making you very unhappy. Some body .'

Now that the situation was critical, Anna's bad mood unexpectedly evaporated.

'I'm not at all unhappy,' she said, and realised this was true. 'Not at all. Of course, having to prance about in a leotard in a freezing gym, and then having your Mum and Dad show up in the middle of it ... you can see why I'm not exactly grinning, can't you?'

'Yes, I can. Go on.'

She blew out her breath, as if to expel her sulk. 'You would not believe the morning I've had. I think it must have been planned by some evil committee. I mean, it can't have been this embarrassing by accident ... And it probably isn't over. When I wave goodbye to you, I expect my skirt to fall down. At the very least.'

She was relieved to see the beginning of a smile in his eyes.

She glanced at the back room, and said conspiratorially, 'Listen Daddy. About the ... It was just a game, and it got a bit out of hand . ..'

'What sort of game?'

'Well — rather a fun one, actually. But it's all over now.'

'Strange idea of fun you have. Who on earth did it to you?'

'I can't tell you, Daddy.'

'You can't let people hit you, Anna. Game or no game.'

'They won't. Not any more. You see, I won.'

'That wasn't done with a hand.'

'No, a salad spoon. Here's Mum. Daddy ... please ?'

Father and daughter looked at each other. He was unhappy. She tried to reassure him with her eyes. And then the third member of the party reseated herself.

'On its way,' she said. She looked at her husband, then at Anna, and brightened. 'Ah! Now this looks more like it.'

'Yes,' said Anna. 'As a matter of fact, when my meringues arrive, I even plan to smile.'

She leant over and kissed her mother.

'Sorry,' she said. 'You see, the very worst thing about Morning Parade is that you don't get a bite to eat between breakfast and lunch. Unless rescued by one's parents, one starves.'

'Better stock up for tomorrow,' said her father.

'Oh God. But isn't that a twee name? Morning Parade. The first time I was on it, I was expecting a brass band.'

'How often are you on it, darling?'

'Oh, always.'

'Well, you needn't boast. So who was that nice girl we spoke to? Does she always take it?'

'Tries to. Sadist.'

'She's very self-possessed, isn't she? How old is she?'

Anna shrugged. 'Eighteen?'

'I think you should try and be more like her, poppet. I don't imagine she sulks when her parents turn up.'

' Peggy ...!' said her husband, reprovingly.

'Oh well. I don't imagine she does, though.'

'Actually I know Emma a bit. She was a sort of friend for a while. Fearful temper, and a Napoleon complex. She's gay, too.'

'I presume you don't mean in the old-fashioned sense.'

'No, the new-fashioned sense. But then most of the prefects are, so ... Oh, here come the meringues! Yes, over here! All for me! Thank you!'

She devoured the first meringue in three enormous bites, washed it down with a gulp of tea, and then started on a second. Her father, watching his sticky-fingered daughter, knew this was something of an act for his benefit. But as far as he could tell she was happy. He fell to wondering what sort of game might involve her being spanked with a salad spoon. He pondered this, while his wife talked and his daughter ate. Now and then Anna caught his eye, gave him a meringue-filled grin, and applied herself to more. A very strange game , was the best he could come up with. He decided to leave it at that for now.

*

'How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale?

How chance the roses there do fade so fast?'

... said Anna with great tenderness, as she inspected her arse in the bathroom mirror. The roses put there by the Cadet Officer a week ago had indeed faded. Under the dim, steamy bathroom lights Anna saw nothing but pale cheek. But her father had seen something else, a last whisper of yellow. Ecchymosis. So after football that afternoon Anna had boycotted the communal shower-room yet again, went smelly to afternoon lessons and supper, and was now running herself a bath in the deserted upstairs bathroom. It was a pleasingly spartan place of tile, china, and enamel.

The wooden stiffness in her calves also made a hot bath desirable. She could barely flex her ankles. All this from three minute's worth of star-jumps — and she'd be doing them again tomorrow. At lunch Anna had button-holed a girl in her house, who had also laboured under the Cadet Officer's hand that morning, and demanded to know what other tortures had followed. 'Agony,' said the girl, rolling her eyes. 'Excruciating pain. I thought I was going to die. I wish my parents had come and taken me away.'

Anna set her straight. 'Imagine this,' she said. 'You're touching your toes, your leotard is up your bum-crack, your whole arse is exposed, and God knows what else — and you discover your parents have been watching you for the last five minutes. Now, do you think that's the better option?'

The girl thought about this. 'Yes,' she said.

'Oh Jesus,' said Anna, feeling her calves.

Of course any other prefect would simply have let her off. But the Cadet Officer wasn't any other prefect. Anna had seen the sadistic glint in her eye, as she had charmed Anna's parents while simultaneously condemning their daughter to a second morning of leotard and gym shoes.

She'd have to try and think of some way of baiting her. After all, Anna was more or less untouchable now. She had the photographs. Nothing extreme; just a way of winding her up tomorrow.

She lay in a bath of bubbles and lavender, thinking about this. All but her head was submerged, for these were antique baths of cast iron, large enough for five such girls (as had once been proved; but that's another story). The upper floors were deserted, the door was closed, and Anna lay in the furthest of the three baths under a layer of foam. This was privacy indeed, a rare commodity at Arlinghurst. Soon she forgot the Cadet Officer. After a while her hands began to get a little busy. She touched her belly, her hip, her thigh. Then a finger reached the outer part of her sex and slowly stroked, sometimes edging inwards, sometimes retreating. A thumb, a little higher up, started to make tiny spirals. Meanwhile a breast was caressed with the lightest of fingernails, which neared and circled the epicentre without encroaching upon it — that was for later. Silently and secretly she played with herself, softly breathing, quietly whimpering, and keeping an ear open for approaching footsteps. All boarding-school girls learn this skill, although it is never mentioned in the prospectus.

Her mind meanwhile was no less busy. Anna had a rich store of fantasies, some polished and reliable, some new and uncertain. All of them took her far, far away from dismal Arlinghurst.

She was naked on horseback and her hands were tied behind her as she thundered towards Samarkand. She was not on the saddle but behind it, her legs parted, the horse-hair rough on her thighs. Her abductor was in front of her, and she could smell his sweat. Sometimes he glanced back at her with one sloe-black eye, and cursed her in his strange tongue, or gave her a tap with his whip to stop her falling asleep. The desert flashed by. She saw oases, and camel-trains, and villages where the people would pause from their labours to stare at the cruel thief and his naked English girl.

A fingertip inside her now. Just a little ... as they galloped through the turquoise gates of Samarkand, thudded through the square and the bazaar — how the merchants leered! — and drew up with a clatter of hooves outside his house. She dismounted, and was led inside. He barked instructions to his women, who led Anna to their quarters, untied her hands (tutting and shaking their heads) and made a fuss of her. She knelt as they poured water over her — delightfully cold — from jars, washing the sand of the desert from her skin and hair. They rubbed oil into her, soothing it into every last crease of her body, making her gleam. The chafed and tender parts of her were anointed with unction, and this too was soothed in. Her hair was woven and arranged — the women sang as they worked — and a desert flower put in it. Finally she was led, still naked (Anna's breath was now loud with anticipation) through courtyards filled with palms and figs, and fountains, and dusky gardeners, into a sumptuous bedroom, where on the bed (Anna whimpered), lying on a coverlet of Indian brocade, eyebrows raised superciliously, was the Cadet Officer.

'Arms up!' she said. 'And stretch!'

Anna's dream collapsed. Her eyes popped open. She saw bare light bulbs and a flaking ceiling.

'Bitch!' she said, furious. 'How dare she! How dare she.'

She gritted her teeth and ejected the Cadet Officer from Samarkand. She summoned up her thief again — scourge of three desert kingdoms — put him firmly back on the bed and gave him a beard for good measure. Her fingers started to move again. She cautiously touched a nipple with the soft pad of one finger. The thief was still there, snarling at her like a lion. Encouraged, she touched herself with her other hand, gently between her legs, and took a deep breath, and let it out again with a moan. She was back in business. She watched herself get onto the bed and kneel before her master, as ordered. He fed her grapes and plums with his fingers. He put a hand on her lip, then her cheek, then her breast. A calloused thumb found her nipple. He parted her legs with his other hand, ran it up her thighs. Two of his fingers were inside her, cruel and yet tender, and he looked into her eyes and said, 'I am going to spank you, Hargreaves.'

A great whoosh of water as Anna sat up cursing. She shook her head violently to clear it of the Cadet Officer again, scowled at the bath-taps, and angrily sunk down into her bubbles.

A change of scene was needed ... Anna quickly thought, and unwrapped another fantasy, which took place in the tea-room of the Ritz, and involved a film-star (never mind who) realising he could not wait even to get her upstairs to his suite. He must have her, right here and right now. The waiters didn't object, and neither did the patrons — so long as they were allowed to watch. And watch they did, as Anna lay back on the table among the meringues and lemon-cake, her clothes in a heap on the floor, and the film-star looked deep into her eyes, told her he loved her more than the world itself. 'I love you too,' mumbled Anna, as she felt him inside her. 'Take me to Hollywood!'

It was coming. She panted. Her eyes rolled. She moaned heavily. She looked into his eyes. They were very light blue. A white spark danced in them. The Cadet Officer! Too late. Anna saw fair hair and mocking eyebrows as she began her orgasm. 'Oh gosh!' she moaned. 'Yes yes yes!' 'No need to make conversation, you know,' said the Cadet Officer. 'Just come, for me,' 'Yes,' said Anna. 'I'm coming. For you.' 'And a spanking afterwards.' 'Yes,' said Anna. 'Why?' said the Cadet Officer. 'Because I'm a brat!' 'Brats need a spanking, don't they?' 'Oh! We do! We do!' cried Anna. 'Over my knee, then! At the double!' 'Oh yes,' said Anna. 'Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!'

She convulsed long and hard at the bottom of the bath. And then it was over.

'Is it over?' said the Cadet Officer.

'Yes.'

'Do it again.'

'No I won't. Go away.'

'Do it again.'

'No, I won't.'

'Do it again, Anna.'

'No I won't!' said Anna, but her hand was already moving between her legs. She lay under her bubbles, moaning, as the phantom Cadet Officer made her come again, and again, and again.

Finally it was over. Anna lay exhausted. The Cadet Officer looked down at her with smiling blue eyes.

'Cheap little weasel!' she said, and disappeared with a pop.

*

Ten minutes later Anna sat huddled in the bicycle shed and furiously smoked two cigarettes in a row, utterly disgusted with herself.

Was that hateful girl ever going to leave her alone?