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.

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.

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?

The Headmistress lived in Georgian splendour on Bridge Street, but only a discrete plaque by her porticoed front door announced who and what she was, for this was her private residence; her offices were elsewhere. Nevertheless the school prefects were encouraged to drop in for a chat on any weekday evening. If she were busy, Miss Ollenshaw told them, she would send them packing and no offence, but otherwise they would find a waiting armchair, and a glass of wine, and a confidential ear. Some of the prefects accepted her offer out of politeness; a few more came with matters too delicate for the prefects' meeting. Most were in awe of her, and saw no reason to bother her at all. Different from all these was Emma Green. She called frequently, made herself comfortable, and treated the headmistress like an old friend of the family.

'Miss Ollenshaw,' she said one evening in November, when the drinks had been poured and the fire encouraged with a poker. 'I have a confession to make. You're not going to like it.'

'Speak on.'

'You know you once said, that if you meet an unusual situation in life, to treat it in an unusual way?'

'I did.'

'I came across an unusual situation the other day … well, to be more specific I came across an unusual girl …'

'All girls are unusual,' said Miss Ollenshaw, 'If you look close enough.'

'Well … I suppose. Anyway, I treated this girl in an unusual way, as you said, and thought I'd been rather clever. Then she came back at me, in another unusual way. So I had another go at her, a bit more forceful-like, and … and I think I blew it, to be honest.'

'Oh?'

'Now she's rather got me over a barrel.'

'Hmm. I assume this is Miss Hargreaves you are talking about.'

'Oh dear,' said Emma.

'I have ears. Now tell me all. Start at the beginning and take your time.'

And so Emma told the story. She left out only her wager with Richie, which she regretted, and also what happened during the final act of both her 'sessions' with Anna; that was not suitable for adult ears.

Miss Ollenshaw sometimes smiled, sometimes frowned, and sometimes cleaned her spectacles. When the tale was over she said: 'Do you think she is serious about the photographs?'

'Until today I'd have said no. But I was taking Morning Parade …'

'Again? You seem to take it permanently.'

'I swapped it for my Saturday night duty.'

'Hmm. It's my own private opinion that you enjoy taking Morning Parade rather too much.'

'Well … it keeps me fit. So, Anna was on it, again…'

'I'm beginning to think she must enjoy it too.'

'No. I can safely say Anna doesn't.'

'What was she there for?'

'Swearing. You put her on.'

'I did? Ah yes. I did. It was a ripe one, too. Continue.'

'We're star-jumping away, and halfway through Anna just stops. She stands there looking at me, and there's such an expression on her face. I could tell exactly what she was thinking.'

'Ah.'

'I asked her to get to it again, and she did. But I didn't at all like that look …'

'And so you came to me.'

'Yes.'

'I'd have been very angry if you hadn't. Now, tell me, what is a star-jump, exactly?'

'It's, ah …' Emma put down her glass of wine, went to the centre of the room, and demonstrated the concept. The windows rattled.

'Thank you,' said Miss Ollenshaw, smiling. 'Yes, I remember doing them, a long time ago. I wasn't exactly fond of them, either.'

Emma returned to her seat.

'By the way, after break a few days ago,' continued the Head, 'I happened to hear, through an open door, and presumably from a recent victim of yours, the opinion that you are Hitler and the Marquis de Sade rolled into one.'

'I do everything they do,' said Emma primly.

'Oh, there's nothing wrong with pushing them a bit. That's what they're here for. But do remember that not everyone's an Amazon.'

She took of her glasses. Emma waited for judgement.

'Anna Hargreaves. Anna Hargreaves,' said Miss Ollenshaw, wiping. 'I had her in my class last year. Lazy. And tiresome. Usually late. Hair like a bird's nest. And then something would catch her imagination and she'd spend half the weekend in the library, judging by the essay she would turn in. I learnt a thing or two about Juvenal myself, from one of her pieces.'

'It's possible she invented them.'

No she didn't. That girl could do well if she pulled her finger out.'

'That's what I think. I want her for the Cadets.'

'And so you, er, laid about her with a wooden spoon. Ho! Ho! Interesting style of recruitment. I don't like girls doing such things to each other, Emma. In the case of Miss Hargreaves, I can't say I entirely blame you, either.'

'Except it didn't work.'

'Tch.' Miss Ollenshaw winked. 'When you meet a variation from the normal — this is the actual phrase, which you mangled — always meet him in an abnormal way.'

'I don't quite understand.'

'Anna doesn't strike me as a natural blackmailer. Does she you?'

'Not at all.'

'I'd expel her on the spot, if I thought she was. But these photographs were a defensive measure. That is forgivable. I'll bet you licked her some.'

'Yes.'

'I shouldn't think she'd like to use them. She has a sense of honour, I believe, and of … proportion. Unfortunately, we're nearing the end of a long term. Everyone's tired. I'm tired. You're tired. And I'll bet you anything you like that Anna Hargreaves is tired, after cleaning the barracks every day, and star-jumping, and getting whacked with spoons, and whatnot. If we push her too far, who knows what she'll do.'

'So we should just leave her alone? Hope for the best?'

'No. As long as she thinks she has the jump on us, there's nothing we can do for her. We'll have to smoke her out.'

'How?'

'By not leaving her alone.' Miss Ollenshaw's eyes twinkled. 'And that'll be interesting. Let's see what Anna Hargreaves does, when we do push her too far. Now listen and attend, Emma Green. This is your project. You've started it, you're going to see it through. I've not been entirely critical of your techniques to date — and I know you've done more things to her than you've confessed to me . That's all right. But try mixing in a bit of official, er, chastisement, with your own private methods. Don't use my name, though. I know nothing about this. Understand? Good. Let us see what happens. Off you go. Come back and make a report in a few days' time. Well … goodnight. You can let yourself out.'

*

Few prefects can have left a headmistress's house with instructions like these. Emma walked slowly through the streets, aware of the trust that had been put in her. She had been forgiven, and told to try again, and try she would. But how?

She took a pensive route, and found herself, without meaning to, outside Anna's house. Here all was quiet and studious. Prep was in progress. Emma stood on the path, looking up at the rows of windows. In each lighted square a head showed, bent over a desk. Emma's travelling eye saw blonde heads, and brown heads, and black heads; she saw hair still in pigtails and ponytails and Alice bands, or fluffed and towelled after a shower. But she didn't see Anna's untidy mop. Presumably Anna had a study, she thought. And presumably the study had a window. Emma walked around the house, hopping over a wall and skirting an oil-tank, and came to the new extension. She walked around this, checking every window. And there, on the ground floor at the far end, was Anna.

She was wearing an enormous pair of headphones which made her look like a monkey. She sat motionless, gazing blankly out the window, and seemed to be listening to the music not only with her ears but also with her eyes, which were swivelled upwards and to the left. Suddenly her lips moved percussively, her head waggled, and her hands beat a rhythm on the desk. It was like seeing a tin toy activated: a drumming monkey. Emma smiled. The sedentary dance lasted for several seconds, and then whatever had provoked it came to an end. (The chorus of a pop song? The climax of a symphony? Emma realised how little she knew about Anna.)

Anna glanced down at the homework in front of her, meanwhile reaching for an enormous bottle of coke. She took a swig while still trying to read, and plenty of it went down her shirt. She looked down, pulled a face, wiped herself with a hand, and said what was clearly 'fuck'. Emma laughed. Anna had such a strange mouth. Its wide-parted lips and too-large front teeth gave her an extraordinary facility with expletives. Emma remembered the string of curses that erupted as Anna had wriggled on her knee.

This brought Emma back to the business in hand: what to do next?

She could spank her again, and properly. Skirt up and knickers down. Anna would almost certainly use the photographs then. Why shouldn't she? This didn't strike Emma as very satisfactory. Something more subtle was required. Something more stalky. But what?

Anna took another swig of coke, and managed to get more of it on her white shirt. She made an exasperated gesture at own clumsiness, and shook her head in disbelief. What a klutz! she seemed to be saying. What a ditz! She rolled her eyes.

And this set Emma's mind on an entirely different line of thought. She lurked a while longer, saw Anna open a packet of crisps and absent-mindedly eat them as she frowned over her homework. Finally, with a large sigh, Anna uncapped her pen and started writing. The pen had a rubber monster on the end, and its arms wobbled and gesticulated as she wrote.

Emma went away to do some homework of her own.

*

Tuesday and Wednesday went by, and nothing extraordinary happened at Arlinghurst. Three girls were caught smoking. A physics teacher handed in his resignation. Moles pockmarked the second XI pitch. The Language Lab roof sprang a leak. And Sussex dormitory in New House was puzzled by a smell.

It was an elusive odour, difficult to categorise. It was mice, said one girl. It was armpits, said another. It was a junior, said Anna, who had crept under a bed and died. They opened the windows. The air in the dormitory freshened and sparkled and froze. After a few minutes, the windows were reduced to their customary two-inch gap. The girls got into bed, the lights were turned out, and soon the dormitory slept.

But in the morning the smell was back. Several girls complained of headaches, and the windows were flung up again while theories and accusations flew. But there was not much time before breakfast. The topic was soon forgotten again.

It was worse by bedtime. Anna Hargreaves clung to her theory that somebody had died. She instigated a search under the beds. More practical-minded girls were smelling their shoes, their clothes, their mattresses. The search was long and fruitless. A prefect came in to demand why the lights weren't off … and what was that smell? They told her as much as they knew, which was nothing, and the prefect officially took over the investigation. No good sniffing your own stuff, she told them. You can't smell yourself. She paired them off. Anna's neighbour, a girl of impeccable hygiene, pronounced Anna passable, and her bed passable, and her shoes borderline. But when she opened Anna's wardrobe she actually shrieked. The search was at an end.

Shamefaced Anna sat on her bed while the contents of her wardrobe were piled onto the floor. Nothing could be found to excuse the smell, no dead rat, no forgotten, mouldering chicken leg. The prefect cautiously put her nose close to a pair of Anna's stockings, and winced. It was the clothes themselves. It was Anna. When , they asked her, did she last do any washing?

Anna, in a very small voice, confessed it had been a while. She had been three years at Arlinghurst but the washing system still baffled her. There were different baskets, and different days of the week, for whites, and coloureds, and synthetics, and delicates. To her it was as incomprehensible as algebra. Even so, she said, she was sure her wardrobe hadn't smelt like that in the morning . Here she was sharply reminded that it had.

The head of house arrived, was appraised of the situation, and took charge. Every unwashed item of Anna's clothing was put into plastic bags and sealed. This included most of her school uniform and all of her informal clothes. Nothing was spared except for a few clean items which lay, still folded, on the shelves. It was a very barren wardrobe by the time they had finished. Just enough to go to class in, and not much more.

But there was worse to come. For the head of house, after supervising the tying of the bags, turned and said:

'I'm sorry, Anna, but I'm putting you on Inspection.'

It took a second or two for the dread words to sink in.

'What!' cried Anna. 'You can't do that!'

'Yes I can.'

'I'm not a Junior! You can't make me!'

'You can appeal to the housemistress if you like. Shall we go and see her now?'

Anna went red to the roots of her hair. She stamped her foot. Her mouth moved soundlessly. She glared at the floor.

'Listen, Lou…' she said.

There was a tut from a neighbouring bed, and a voice across the room said, 'Just do it, Anna.' Murmurs of agreement came from all around. They were out of sympathy with Anna.

'It's for everyone's benefit,' said Lou, consolidating her popularity. 'I'll put you down for a week…'

Anna groaned and buried her head in her hands.

'…And then we'll see. Half past six, in case you've forgotten. I'll tell Sharnaz to expect you.'

'To inspect you,' snickered a voice.

'I'm sorry Anna. Get into bed now!'

Anna miserably got into bed. Lou wished them all goodnight, turned out the lights, and left with the other prefect. They took Anna's clothes with them in two black plastic bags.

Now that Anna was inoffensive again, and facing chastisement of a most cruel nature, her dormitory-mates relented. Inspection wasn't that bad, they said. Sharnaz was a softie. It was only a week! She'd get her clothes back from the laundry soon. Was she mad at them? Anna? Anna?

Anna lay in the darkness, silently cursing them all, and trying not to cry. Only when everybody was asleep did she reach for her alarm clock and set it, by the light of her torch, for twenty past six.

*

It shrilled in the darkness. Anna woke immediately, hit it on the head, and wondered what essay she had to finish. She lay puzzled, thinking. And then the world gave a lurch, as if it had slipped off its bearings. Anna shut her eyes and groaned aloud.

She was on Inspection.

When girls arrived at Arlinghurst at a tender young age, most knew how to wash themselves, and were trusted to do so. A few, however, did not, or couldn't be bothered. It was for these that Inspection principally existed, but more senior girls were sometimes put on it. It was not quite a punishment and not quite a lesson in hygiene, but somewhere in between. Matron was meant to take it, but Matron liked her late nights, and this year the task generally fell to a motherly girl called Sharnaz, who relished it. Nursing College bound, and eager to get started, Sharnaz was the unofficial, and better loved, matron to the house. Still, she could be strict.

Miserable Anna put on her dressing-gown and descended through the pre-dawn gloom to the junior changing-rooms, thinking that of all the ways to start a day, none could be worse than this. The neon lights in the long downstairs corridor had been switched on, and she blinked in the glare and hum. From the changing-rooms came noise; the squeak of young voices, Sharnaz's low voice giving an order, and then a shower coming to life.

Anna paused, and went in.

There were eight girls, already naked, and Sharnaz in jeans and T-shirt. She looked up as Anna came in.

'Late, Miss Hargreaves!' she sang, with a friendly smile. 'I'll forgive you this once. Come on you lot. Stop staring. Never seen Anna before?'

'Never in here,' said one.

'Go and stand by the showers! All of you.'

'It's freezing.'

'I don't care. Off you hop!'

She sent them off. Squeals arose from the showerstalls, and loud complaints. Sharnaz meanwhile looked at her clipboard and studied it, as if to confirm that Anna's name really was there. Then she said brightly, 'Well … come on then, Anna. You can show them how it's done. Clothes off!'

Anna turned her back, and stripped off her dressing-gown and pyjamas.

'Well done!' said Sharnaz, who was always encouraging, and sent Anna to join the group of naked juniors. They were standing at the edge of the showers, occasionally putting their hand under the jet of water, to ascertain that it really was as cold as ten seconds ago.

'Right!' said Sharnaz, wading among them. 'You, you, and you!' She touched three bare shoulders. 'In, right now, no complaining! Three, two, one, go! I said go, Mary. Right under! Want me to help you? No? I will if you want. Good girl. And your hair. No, we are washing hair today, because we didn't do it yesterday. Go on, put it under and stop being so feeble. Well done. Well done, Sam. Cold enough for you is it? That's right. And … out you get, and come over here! We're going to do hair first. In the meantime, you, you and you, you're up next. Three, two, one, in you go!'

The three wet girls, shuddering violently and chattering their teeth, stood in line and held out a hand. Sharnaz squeezed a dollop of shampoo into each, and the girls rapidly began massaging it into their hair.

The three other girls were now squealing under the showers. 'As soon as you're wet all over, come out and I'll shampoo you up,' Sharnaz told them. 'That means your hair too, Bee. Why do I have to tell you every time? The quicker you learn, the quicker you'll be showering after breakfast, and believe me the water is much nicer. Right under! Right under! And hold … And out you all come! Well done! Now, anybody who's still dry — this is your big moment! In you hop!'

This meant Anna, and the two remaining little girls.

There is nothing more unpleasant than a cold shower at half past six on a raw November morning; at least, nothing that a civilised life should include. Anna, who was determined to get through the grim business without a fuss, nevertheless hovered on the concrete lip of the showerstall, and felt the water with her hand. She was astonished. She hadn't realised it would be cold like this . Stray splashes stung her legs.

'Well, come along, Anna!'

The other two girls were already gasping and squirming under the freezing torrents, one on either side of her, but Anna still hesitated. Then she put a foot under, and a leg, and that was torture. But when the icy water started tickling her hip and belly…

'Anna,' said Sharnaz, in a disappointed tone. 'I'm going to give you a three-two-one, and you'd better be in, or else. Three … two … one…'

'I'm in!' cried Anna. 'I'm in!'

She went under and gasped. Her hands immediately started rubbing her breasts, simply because they needed something to do. It was agony! She danced under the evil water.

'Hair, Anna. Don't forget your hair!'

Still wriggling, Anna put her head under, and a sledgehammer of cold hit her skull.

After three seconds she could take no more, and jumped out. But she was wet enough. She stood in line with her shower-mates, who came up to her shoulders, held out her hand, and received her allotment of shampoo. She saw that her nipples were standing erect, and all her shame, which the water had briefly expunged, now broke out again. Anna's nipples were very long when they stood up. One or two of the girls looked at them in wonder. Anna was womanhood itself, compared to these neophytes. She didn't at all like being the object of their gaze.

She bent over to wash her hair. She was poked in the hips by a sharp young elbow belonging to another hair-washer. It happened a second time. Anna snarled. She longed to be clothed, and wearing a stout pair of boots with which to kick the little runt into next week.

'Right into your scalp!' cried Sharnaz. 'Every last strand! Well done Mary. Are you done? Let me see!'

She ran a finger through Mary's thick hair. 'In you go then! Rinse well!'

One by one the girls went back to the showers to rinse their hair. 'Well done Vicky! Well done Becky! Well done Anna!'

The entire freezing cycle was then repeated for the main event: the soaping and scrubbing of their bodies. The scrubbing was done with flannels. Anna's washbag didn't include such an item.

'Who's going to lend Anna their flannel when they've finished? Jane?'

'That's unhygienic,' said Jane.

'Anna will wash it afterwards.'

'I don't want her to use it.'

Sharnaz gave Jane a sharp slap on the backside.

' Yoww! '

'Shouldn't argue when your bum's naked,' said Sharnaz. 'Not if I were you. Now if you've finished with your flannel, give it to Anna.'

Jane sullenly handed the flannel over. Anna took it just as bad-temperedly. She rubbed soap into it — greasy white school soap — glared at Jane, who was watching beadily, and bent down to scrub a calf. Jane followed the progress of her flannel up Anna's legs with bitter eyes. As it approached Anna's groin she said: 'I hope it's not going up there ! I've heard what she gets up to, up there…'

'Oh shut up you little shit!' cried Anna.

Jane got another smack on the backside, and Anna a warning. She was also told to get a move on.

So Anna cleaned herself between the legs with Jane's flannel. She hissed as the soap stung her sensitive skin.

'Getting off on my flannel,' mumbled Jane; and was spanked again.

'A good scrub, please, Anna. Anyone who isn't literally pink comes back for desserts.'

Anna scrubbed her belly, breasts, arms, neck, and, when instructed to, her face. When every raw inch of her was soapy and tingling, she was sent back to the showers for a third time to rinse off. Then she rubbed dry her shivering limbs, and thankfully wrapped the towel around her breasts. She was promptly told to remove it — because those were the rules. Naked, she combed her hair for fifty strokes, and brushed her teeth for two minutes, and put on deodorant.

Then came the inspection proper. The nine girls — Anna was the tallest — lined up in front of the basins. Sharnaz came down the line and went over them, one by one.

It was a lengthy affair. Sharnaz gave each girl her full and undivided attention. She looked between their toes, and between their legs. She had them turn around, and briefly parted their buttocks to have a peek. She looked under their arms, and ran a fingernail over their necks. She peered into their ears, looked at their teeth, their eyes, their noses. Those who passed went away to get dressed. Those who didn't were sent back to correct their mistakes. One girl was discovered to have grass stains still on her knees. Sharnaz sent her shower-wards, and gave her a light slap on the backside for good luck. Another had dirt under the fingernails. She got a slap too.

Sharnaz reached Anna. She winked at her with one dark eye. But there was to be no special treatment. Sharnaz squatted down to begin her tour of Anna's body.

Anna stood naked and prickling with shame. She felt her toes being parted. Then there was a hand on her leg. It was a shock to be touched like this. She felt Sharnaz's breath on her knees, and she could see the top of her head, her hair centre-parted and tied back. Sharnaz looked at Anna's bush, and cocked her head as though something about it puzzled her. Then she put her hands on Anna's hips — Anna flinched — and lightly twizzled her around. Anna felt Sharnaz's fingers light on her buttocks. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, as they were lightly eased apart. A thousand swear words coursed through her brain. But her arsehole passed muster, apparently, and the buttocks were reunited. She heard Sharnaz stand. A finger on her arm, asking her to turn around again. Anna did so.

Sharnaz got Anna to put her arms up, and looked beneath them, where there was stubble. For some reason, Sharnaz scratched at this with a fingernail. Ticklish Anna squeaked. She dropped her arms when bidden. Sharnaz put a hand on her bare shoulder, and stood on tiptoes to peer into her ears, and behind them too. She got her to smile, and inspected her teeth.

It appeared that Anna had passed — until Sharnaz ran a finger through her wet hair and discovered tangles. She proscribed fifty more strokes of the comb, and gave Anna a light slap on the backside too — 'Customary, you know.' She was perhaps a year older than Anna. Anna blushed and blushed as she combed her hair. She saw herself blushing in the mirror. Even her neck was red with shame. And the rest of her so white! Except for her nipples. These stood like obscene radishes. For ever after, she thought, this is how eight little girls will remember me. Oh for a stout pair of boots!

At last she was pronounced fit to leave. She put on her dressing-gown, bundled her pyjamas under her arm, and went. There was still half-an-hour to breakfast. Anna went to her room and made herself a cup of coffee. She drank it at her desk, and turned on the radio. A sense of normality returned. She was a grown-up again, not a little girl. But the more comfortable she became, the more she was reminded that this was only an interlude.

Five minutes before the breakfast bell she went back to the dormitory, to investigate what clothes had survived the cull.

There were good reasons why she hadn't worn any of these. Either they were items which appeared on the clothes list, and which her mother had insisted on packing despite Anna's assurances that she would never, ever, wear them; or they didn't fit. There was a pair of white knee-socks. There was last year's skirt, which was too tight. There were knickers that were too small, and a bra that was too big. And a short-sleeved, nylon shirt.

She sat on her bed in misery. She saw the other girls pulling on stockings and long culottes, and buttoning up cuffs — luxuries that Anna had taken for granted until this morning. She watched them leave one by one. When the dormitory was nearly empty she pulled on the first long white sock. It sat heavily on her lower leg. She picked up the other with a sigh…

The breakfast bell rang before she was even half-dressed. She put the skirt on, and found she had grown since she last worn it. Six inches of bare leg showed between the hem of the skirt and the top of her sock. She pulled the waistband down as far it would go, and the socks up, but to no great effect.

Then for the shirt. She had never worn this at all, for a good reason: it was hideous. Anna hated nylon, and she hated short sleeves, and here were both together. She undid the top buttons and pulled it on. The sleeves reached a couple of inches beneath her armpits, and then stopped, and her arms continued on their naked way without further assistance. She had to take her watch off, because it looked too ridiculous. The collar meanwhile scraped her neck, and the shirt-front squeezed her breasts. Anna took a few seconds to curse her mother, who had bought the hateful thing. 'Why don't they ever listen !' she cried, meaning parents in general, and stamped her foot. A priggish part of her brain told her it was hardly fair to blame her parents for her present woe. It also pointed out that she was five minutes late for breakfast. She'd have to slide in without the housemistress seeing. Anna usually achieved this successfully.

No such luck that morning, however. For when they saw Anna Hargreaves creep in at the door, all knees and elbows, every girl in the house shouted with laughter. Her housemistress saw her too, and Anna was summoned into her presence.

' This is a change of style,' murmured Mrs Slingsby, glancing at Anna's bare arms. 'Why are you late for breakfast?'

'I couldn't find my clothes,' said Anna.

'Then whose are you wearing?'

'Mine.'

'You've been up since half past six, haven't you? Yes, I know you are on Inspection. You've had ample time to sort your clothes out. You'll attend Morning Parade today.'

'Yes, Mrs Slingsby.'

'It's ridiculous, a girl of your age. Why don't you pull your bloody socks up, Anna Hargreaves?'

Anna grunted.

'Quite literally, too, please,' continued the housemistress, looking down. One of Anna's long socks had already fallen to her ankle. With a sigh she crouched and pulled it up.

'You'll need garters if you're going to wear socks.'

'I don't have any.'

'Then get some. Off you go!'

That breakfast Anna spoke only once, very quietly, to ask a neighbour if she could borrow a pair of stockings, until hers came back from laundry. The neighbour thought about this, and wrinkled her nose. 'Well, maybe not, Anna,' she said. Anna nodded. She didn't ask anybody else.

*

She presented herself at the gym at break, and went to find the prefect. It wasn't Emma, for once — a small mercy — but a girl who delighted in the name of Rafaela. Anna humbly told Rafaela that her leotard was at the laundry, through no fault of her own, so she had bought her games kit instead. Or she could come back when her leotard returned. Whichever. She didn't mind.

'Nice try Anna, but you know the rules.'

Anna had expected no less, but even so her heart plummeted.

'Oh come on, Rafaela,' she whispered. 'I'd really appreciate it…'

'Less talking, and more getting changed. Well, not changed, I suppose. And hurry up! Kick-off's in one minute.'

And so it came to pass that twelve girls in black leotards, and one in white underwear, stood on the gym floor and reached for the ceiling.

They stretched, and they bent. Anna, who had squirmed in shame when wearing her leotard last week, now envied every other girl. She felt cold air around the waistband of her knickers, and on her belly, and around her breasts. She thought, it simply doesn't get any worse than this.

But the gods of humiliation had barely begun their merry sport with Anna. News of her disgrace was spreading far and wide beyond the gym. It divided the school. The decent and kindly majority put their noses in the air and stayed away. The malicious and low-minded minority, however, now flooded into the balcony; and even a minority can do a considerable amount of flooding. They drank, and ate crisps, and passed loud judgement on various parts of Anna's anatomy. Only opera-glasses could have added to their pleasure.

Leotards are designed for exercise, but knickers and bras are not. The crowd watched in delight as wretched Anna star-jumped. They saw the straps tighten against her skin, and her flesh bulge. They saw her belly shake. They greeted with applause the first spider-like strands of hair to creep out between white knickers and white skin. After this, their attention turned upwards, where even more exciting things were happening. The oversized bra was slowly but surely sinking. Soon there might even be a complete disaster. There was considerable debate as to which side would come to grief first, if this event did occur. The argument grew loud and heated. So confident was one girl that the left would reveal itself first, that she staked her bottle of coke on it, and found a ready taker. Other wagers quickly followed. It was rare sport!

Poor Anna was painfully aware of the danger herself. After every few jumps she reached with a hand to pull the bra up, although it made her lose her rhythm. This upset the prefect.

'Leave it, Anna!' she said. 'If you pop out, you pop out.'

A cheer went up from the balcony at these words. Anna, in desperation, tried to land softly on her bare feet, to cushion the vibrations. Even so she felt the bra sink lower, and lower, and lower…

She gave a surreptitious tug.

'LEAVE IT ANNA!' cried the hardhearted girls of the balcony.

Rafaela glanced at her.

They continued jumping. The bra began slipping on the other side. Anna left it to the last moment. And then she hoiked it up again.

'LEAVE IT ANNA!'

'Do you want to come back for a week, Anna?' said Rafaela. 'Then do as I say, and leave it alone!'

The betting public was now on tenterhooks. First one, and then the other, side of the bra began inching ahead again — or rather, down. Some bit their fingernails, and some tapped their feet in excitement, Anna jumped … and a cheer exploded around the gym. Those who had betted to the right were on their feet and applauding. Those who had betted to the left groaned, and heaped abuse on Anna. Their side came in a few seconds afterwards, but too late for them.

Rafaela then called a halt. Anna was allowed to rearrange herself. She yanked her bra up and her knickers down, and gave a hate-filled glance to the balcony. The spectators saw it, and oooh'd at her. Rafaela also saw it, and relented. If Anna had learnt her lesson, she told her, she could go and put her games kit on.

Anna went to the changing-room, trying not to feel grateful. The remainder of the punishment was uneventful. The audience in the balcony, realising the fun was over, amused themselves in other ways. Down on the floor, twelve girls in leotards, and one in shorts and vest, sweated and strained in silence. They were let out a few minutes early. Anna got dressed and ran out of the gym.

A crowd of loiterers stood outside. They sent up a cheer as she appeared.

'Just popping out for a moment, Anna?'

'Hey, Anna! You looked a right tit in there!'

'You owe me a can of Coke, Anna Hargreaves.'

'You mean Anna Whore -Greaves.'

'Anna Greasy-whore!'

These pleasantries and many others followed her down the path. Only when she had rounded the corner did the flow of wit cease.

She hurried on, head bowed, towards her destination: the toilets in the quad. Anna had little sympathy with tears. Especially not in public. She hadn't cried officially since she was fourteen. Even so, at that moment she wanted nothing better than to find a cubicle and … be alone for a while.

It was not to be, however, because as she hurtled through the arch into the quad she went crashing into someone.

'Excuse me !' said the person.

'Sorry,' mumbled Anna, keeping her head down, and trying to get past.

'Anna? My God, it is you. I was just looking for you.'

Anna looked up.

'Oh,' she said. 'Hello.'

'Oh hello to you, too. Where are you going?'

'Nowhere.'

'No you're not. You're coming in here with me.'

'No.'

'Just for a minute.'

'I don't want to!'

'Yes you do !' said Emma, and pushed Anna through the door and into an empty classroom. Anna went to a distant desk and sat on it. Fate, it would seem, was going to deny her even the consolation of a weep.

Emma shut the door and turned.

'Well!' she said. 'Aren't we looking smart today! I didn't recognise you out there, for a moment.'

Anna glowered.

'What a stunning pair of socks! Nice pair of legs, too. Why do you keep them hidden all the time?'

'I can't tell you, Emma, how much I'm not in the mood. Have you got a point?'

'Very well. I merely wanted to inform you, that I am absolutely furious with Rafaela, for what she just did. Absolutely livid !'

'As if you care.'

'It's my job to humiliate you, and nobody else's. You might have mentioned that fact to her.'

'Slipped my mind.'

'Not the only thing that slipped, so I hear. Word is that Anna Hargreaves bared her soul during Morning Parade!'

'Just let me know when you're finished, Emma. Let me know when you've had your fun.' Anna had realised she was about to cry after all. She ground her fist into her mouth and glared at the floor.

'Good Heavens,' said Emma. 'What's on earth's wrong with you?'

'What do you think is bloody wrong with me?' said Anna, and felt large tears welling in her eyes.

'Oh, you silly fool!' said Emma. 'No point blubbing !'

She approached Anna. Anna jumped off the table and retreated to the back of the classroom, away from Emma. She pressed the sleeve of her blazer to her eyes and held it there for a good minute. After that she kicked the skirting-board several times with the toe of her shoe, very hard. Finally she turned.

'Tell me,' she said. 'Do you think the day will come when stuff like this stops happening to me?'

'Not in the immediate future. Why?'

'Oh, no reason.'

She kicked a chair, which fell over.

'This term,' she said, 'For the first time ever, I was almost happy here. A room of my own. Subjects I like. A modicum of respect from the teachers…'

'You still have those things.'

'And then you came along. Ever since you came along, everything's gone wrong.'

Here she kicked a table, which shunted a few inches across the floor.

'Do mind the furniture, Anna!'

'I mean, look at me!' shouted Anna, gesturing to herself.

'You look superb.'

'I look like a third-former!'

'Actually I've been dying to ask: why do we have the pleasure of seeing your legs today?'

'For the delight of filthy lesbians like you.'

This was going too far. Emma sped towards Anna, pushing chairs aside, face grim. Anna held up placatory hands, acknowledging her fault, and managed to halt Emma's steamroller progress just in time.

'You do ask for it, don't you?' said Emma, and raised her hand. Anna flinched. But they were tender fingers that ran through her hair.

Emma bent and smelt it as well. 'Ahh! School shampoo! Because you're worth it. You've even washed your face. What's going on?'

'Nothing.'

'Come on! Tell your Auntie Emma!'

'Why on earth should I tell you ?' growled Anna.

But Emma continued to press her, and Anna realised she did want to tell someone, after all. Even if it was her arch-enemy. She sat down in a chair and confessed the entire story — the whole domino-topple of humiliation that began with a pungent wardrobe, and ended with her bare-breasted at Morning Parade. She told of the confiscation of her clothes by the hateful Lou, the inspection of her every orifice by the impertinent Sharnaz, and her striptease, under the gaze of forty girls, at the insistence of vile Rafaela.

If she had expected sympathy she was disappointed. Emma chuckled throughout. But when she heard of the unruly balcony mob, she flung her head back and hooted with laughter.

'I'm so glad you find it funny,' said Anna.

'It's the funniest thing I ever heard!' said Emma. 'There was really betting?'

'Yes.'

'And which side won?'

'How could it possibly matter? The right.'

Emma stared at Anna, seemed on the point of saying something — and then howled with laughter all over again. She was speechless for an entire minute. Tears appeared in her eyes and had to wiped away.

Anna could only sit and wait. Caught in the jetstream of this golden blast of humour, she was forced to acknowledge that the story — to an observer — perhaps had a funny side. Misery still sat tight in her throat; but Emma's mirth severed it at the root and stopped it swelling, made it containable.

Still chortling, Emma picked up a plastic chair, twirled it around in one strong hand, and sat back-to-front in it, in the way she had. She put her hands on the back-rest, and her chin on her hands, and looked at Anna.

'You know what your problem is, Anna?'

'Chiefly, you,' said Anna. 'Also …'

'That's exactly it!' cried Emma. 'You put your finger on it at once! Every time something bad happens, you blame someone else! Every single time! No, listen. Don't talk. It's a trait that you share with petty criminals and the mentally deficient. You can't connect cause and effect. For example: you spend two years having a pop at the cadet corps. When the cadet corps has a pop at you in return, who's to blame? Anything I may have done to you, is entirely of your own making. And whose fault was it that you, er, made a boob of yourself just now? Trace it back! Cause and effect! Not Rafaela's, not your housemistress's, not Lou's. It was your fault, for not bothering to do your laundry.'

'But I do! Sometimes.'

'Denial,' sighed Emma. 'I didn't want to mention it before, but ... We've been a bit close on a couple of occasions, haven't we? I mean, physically. Now, I'm not saying "Anna Hargreaves is Skunk of the Year," or anything, but neither are you as rose-scented as one might wish …'

'Your fault for coming too close, then!' cried Anna.

'No … no … no!' said Emma, tapping Anna's knee with a fingertip. 'See how your mind works? It's not my fault. It's not anybody's fault, except yours. Cause and effect, Anna. Cause and effect. Losers never get the hang of it. That's why they're called losers. And there…' (for the bell was calling them to class) '… I must wrap up my sermon. Tch! I was just getting warmed up. Come on, then …. Give us a smile.'

'Not on your life,' growled Anna.

Emma pulled Anna to her feet. They left the classroom together and went out into the quad.

'Oh!' said Emma, as they slanted across the stones. 'I forgot to say! I did enjoy meeting your parents. What lovely people!'

'Yes,' sighed Anna. 'They liked you too. My mother wants to swap me.'

'Nice of them to come and see you like that.'

'I rather wish they hadn't seen me like that.'

'What? Oh, don't be squeamish! They've seen it all before.'

'When I was five. Looking on the bright side, at least now they can't say: "We don't get to see enough of you, Anna."'

'Very true,' said Emma. 'Very true. I'm for the science block. Here's where we part. Chin up, eh?'

As Anna headed for History she had to concede that Emma, while highly dislikable as a friend, did make a cheering sort of enemy. More cheering, at least, than a silent weep among toilet-brushes and loo-paper.

*

That evening Emma called on the Headmistress to make her report. Miss Ollenshaw sipped a sherry and listened to the tale without interrupting.

'Good grief!' she said, when it was over. 'Good grief! Emma, that is the most despicable thing I ever heard.'

Emma grinned. 'In my defence, she isn't the most hygienic of girls. I merely hastened the process.'

'And what was in this hellish concoction?'

'Ammonia Nitrate. Egg whites. Sugar. And one or two other things which, er … I forget. And loads of water. I didn't want to overdo it.'

'You didn't say who actually applied the foul potion to her things. Not you?'

'No. Certain friends of mine in Anna's house,' said Emma, scratching her stockinged knee with a fingernail.

'I see. So you brewed up like an old witch,' — Miss Ollenshaw hooted with merriment — 'Sat back and watched, then went and wiped Anna's eye for her.'

'You've no idea how guilty I felt when I saw her…'

'Nonsense. You don't know what guilt is. Not you. Maybe one day.'

'I almost felt guilty, then. But as I say, she did need a tidy-up.'

'Oh, no need to justify yourself. You done good. I can't wait to clap eyes on this sparkling new Hargreaves. But when she comes off … Inspection, is it? … will she have a relapse?'

'It's possible.'

'Hmm. Maybe we — meaning you — should contrive to keep her on it indefinitely… what's the matter?'

'It's rather a ghastly affair,' said Emma.

'If it works, it works. That's all I'm interested in. Now drink up, young Emma, and take yourself off to think up more villainy. I want another report very soon. The rest of the world brings me timetables, and budgets, and leaking roofs. You bring me Anna Hargreaves, and I know which I'd rather.'

Emma drained her wine and let herself out. Miss Ollenshaw crossed to the window and watched her disappear down the street.

'Who needs teachers,' she murmured, 'With girls like that around?'

She shook her head sadly, and wondered if she could get Emma to return to Arlinghurst as a mistress one day; doubted it greatly; and settled down to mark 4A's translations of Ovid, which were barbarous without relent.

The invitation arrived at lunch with the post. Anna, who had been expecting at best a letter from her mother — typically four sides of admonishment — was intrigued to receive instead an envelope with her name written in an elegant hand. The paper was the colour of tea, and obviously expensive. She opened it with a serrated dining-room knife, and pulled out a heavy card.

EMMA GREEN. SCHOOL HOUSE. ARLINGHURST SCHOOL said embossed letters along the top that shone like oil. Underneath, Emma had written, with the same broad-nibbed fountain pen, 'Come to my birthday party. Saturday 2nd December. Eight o'clock.' And as a postscript: 'Posh frocks, and don't forget to wash.'

Anna grinned. She read it two or three times. Then she ran a finger across the raised letters, as if reading braille. A curious neighbour leant over to take a look. Anna promptly slid the card back into its envelope.

'What is it?' asked the neighbour, even more curious.

'They want me to subscribe to Caravan Monthly.'

'Rubbish! That's internal mail. What is it, Anna?'

'It's from the headmistress,' said Anna.

'What does it say?'

'Nothing in particular. Just an all-round note of congratulation.'

'Tell us,' said another girl, 'Or we'll slap your leg.' This had been a running joke ever since Anna, through a series of unfortunate circumstances, had been forced to go about revealing more of herself than English girls usually do in December.

But Anna only smiled, said 'Slap away, my dear!' and dug her fork into the yellow mess on her plate, which some comedian in the kitchen had meant as macaroni cheese.

'So!' she said brightly, after a few mouthfuls. 'The hockey season drawing to a close. And what a season it's been! Who are you putting your money on, for the house cup?'

Keep your lousy secret, then, they said. And left her alone.

*

Her wardrobe was empty, her clothes were still at the laundry. She went to the party in borrowed finery, like Cinderella. She wore Bella Gillet's flowery skirt which reached almost to her ankles, and a black top belonging to Harriet Tully, and Sam Freeson's soft leather coat. Sam had done Anna's hair too, and slapped her face to bring up the colour, and told her to have fun — whatever it was she was up to. Anna walked across the little town of Arlinghurst like a true lady, and the December stars smiled down at her. Tomorrow she would be a threadbare schoolgirl again, but that was tomorrow.

She reached School House, and went along the loud, festive corridors. She passed studies alive with music, and kitchens where feasts were in preparation, and up several staircases, until she came to Emma's room beneath the eaves. She knocked, the door opened, and there was Emma, in a white shirt and blue skirt, beaming at her. 'Anna!' she cried, and wrapped her arms around her, squeezed her tight, and kissed her, as if this was the most wonderful thing ever. Emma was a born hostess.

'Everybody!' she cried, leading Anna inside. 'This is Anna. I'm sure she is known to most of you already.'

Eight or nine guests had already arrived. Anna, as she entered, took a quick glance around — and realised that this was going to be an interesting party indeed.

On the bed, watching her with watery eyes, was Sarah Hartopp, who last week had put her on 'Morning Parade' for walking across a forbidden lawn. Sprawling on the floor was Rafaela, who had made her do the punishment in her underwear because she didn't have a leotard. Behind the punchbowl, ladle in hand, was Richie, who not long ago had held Anna's head between her legs, while Emma had laid about her with a wooden spoon. In fact, there was hardly a single guest who hadn't punished Anna in one way or other. Most were barely a year older than her.

A hush fell over the room. It was as though a professional safe-breaker had just arrived at the Policeman's Ball. But Emma, standing behind Anna, put her arms around her neck, and her head next to Anna's. 'Take that as a compliment,' she said. 'You're notorious in these circles ... Now, let's have your coat — who did you steal this off? — and go and claim your free drink from Richie.'

So Anna gave her coat to Emma, and carefully picked her way across the floor, which was strewn with bodies. At the punchbowl she greeted Richie, who was already ladling something yellow into a beaker for her.

Anna took a sip. It was only lemonade.

'What did you expect?' said Richie, seeing her face.

'Surreptitious vodka, at least,' said Anna. 'I feel oddly in need of a drink.' She gave a significant glance around the room.

'Don't blame you,' said Richie, and began stirring the lemonade with the ladle, chasing slices of lemon around the bowl. She seemed distracted. But Anna was determined to make a success of the evening.

'So how are you, Richie?' she said. 'What have you been up to, since we last met? Anything fun?'

Anna was all charm. So the Sergeant began telling her about the weekend cadet camp she was organising for next term, which was taking up most of her time. Anna nodded and frowned and asked intelligent questions. Even when Richie described the various joys of the event — forced marches, map-reading, dried rations — did Anna manage to keep sarcasm in check. She had no axe to grind with the Sergeant. Richie may have assaulted her, but it had been done without malice. Nobody who heard Anna now would guess that despising the Cadets was the principle duty of her life as she saw it. Only when Richie suggested that Anna herself should sign up for this monstrous weekend, did she demur with a tactful waggle of the head. 'Well, you don't have to put your name down until next term,' said Richie, evidently mistaking this polite rebuff for hesitation. She had begun to think that Emma might be right about this strange kid after all.

Guests came to refill their glasses. Some ignored Anna and went away. Others stayed and talked to her. One congratulated her on her improved appearance on the parade ground in recent weeks, and wondered what could be the reason behind this. (But everybody knew). Another, who had caught Anna smoking and sent her to her house-mistress for execution, now enquired after the state of her lungs. Presently Emma joined them. She stood with her hand on Anna's shoulder, and listened to her friends discussing the dismal future of the Cadets. They were all leaving at the end of the year, and couldn't see how the corps would survive, for who on earth would take their place? 'Of course, there's young Anna here,' said Emma. 'But she can't make up her mind. She might leave the corps, or she might put in for promotion.' They laughed at that. 'Maybe she should,' said Richie. 'Of course she should!' replied Emma. 'She just needs a bit of persuading, that's all.' They laughed at that, too.

The group expanded, and, like an amoeba, split. Anna found herself face-to-face with Nicola Matthews, a tall, elegant, but unfortunately-acned girl. Anna was racking her brains for something to say, when Nicola spoke in a low voice that only Anna could hear.

'What the fuck are you doing here, Hargreaves?'

It was like a slap in the face. 'I don't know,' said Anna. 'What the fuck are you doing here?'

'What's going on with you and Emma?'

'I've no idea what you're talking about.'

'You shouldn't have come,' said the girl, and turned away quickly.

Anna went red. ' Very friendly!' she said. She went to help herself to more lemonade, and soon was talking to Richie again. But the exchange had unsettled her.

Guests continued to arrive. One was Lou, Anna's own head of house, who waved at her. There were a dozen girls in the room now, sprawling on the floor like cats, or leaning in pairs against the walls, nodding in intimate discussion. It was a loud, bright gathering. Since the things that make a successful adult party — alcohol, loud music, and drugs — were out of the question, Emma had wisely decided not to try for a compromise. She had gone the other way. There were no tasteful dips, no crudités. Instead, there were bowls full of crisps, and maltesers, and smarties. There was endless lemonade. In the background Julie Andrews sang about lonely goats.

There were even party games. Emma took from a shelf a contraption of wire and plastic, and put it on the coffee table. It was the figure of a man, two-dimensional, fashioned out of undulating silver wire, standing on a black plinth. At the bottom of one leg hung a wire ring with a handle. You had to steer the ring around the man's body without touching it. If you did so, a buzzer shrieked.

They greeted him with a cheer — he was evidently an old friend — and clustered around. Anna was amused. When she or her friends had a birthday, they celebrated in a distant pub whose landlord wasn't fussy about who he served. And here were the Great and Good of Arlinghurst preparing to play children's games.

'Is it the usual rules?' asked Richie.

'Definitely the usual rules.'

'What are the usual rules?' asked Anna.

'You'll pick them up,' said Emma. 'Now, everyone in turn. Heffy, Sugs, Anna, Richie...'

But as it was her birthday, they made Emma go first. She knelt in front of the contraption, and with the steadiest of hands brought the wire ring from the man's right foot to his left, via his head, without sounding the buzzer. She dropped the ring onto the man's plastic sock and straightened. There was applause. They accused her of practising.

The next competitor was less skilful. She grazed the man's head, and he blared at her. She stuck out her tongue in reply, and switched off the machine at the base to shut him up.

'Usual rules!' said Richie.

But the girl was already sitting on the floor and taking off her shoe. The audience wolf-whistled, and she wiggled her toes at them. After this she knelt at the machine again. She continued with less speed, and greater concentration. Even so she lost her other shoe before she was home and dry. She too got a round of applause.

'I should have known,' said Anna, as she clapped.

'What?' said Richie.

'That the evening would involve people removing clothes. It tends to happen around Emma.'

'What's that, Anna?' called Emma, across the room.

'Nothing!' Anna smiled at her, and said out of the corner of her mouth, 'Ah well. It is her birthday.'

'What's she saying, Richie? Is she being cheeky?'

'She's saying what a great way to celebrate your birthday,' called Richie, and winked at Anna.

The next competitor surrendered her Alice Band, insisting this counted as clothing.

Then it was Anna's turn. She knelt.

'I should warn you,' she announced. 'I'm a dab hand at this. Practically a genius.'

She squared her shoulders, picked up the ring, and began. She was silent as she traced the wire man's shin to the knee, and circumnavigated it, and continued. She had found her rhythm, and relaxed. 'My brother was given one of these for his birthday,' she said. 'And never managed to beat me once ... Poor old Jamie...'

She rounded the hip with ease.

'You should have seen me ... That, sadly was the high-point of my sporting life ... I've never managed to relive those glory days ... take football, for instance ... as someone was kind enough to remark recently ... it would be a miracle if Anna Hargreaves ... could even score a home goal...'

Lou — Anna's head of house — put hand to mouth in embarrassment. The other girls grinned at her.

' ... This obviously wasn't intended for my ears ... but was reported to me ... by no less than three junior girls ... '

'I take it back, Anna,' said Lou. 'Because you did then score a home-goal. In a house-match.'

'... Well, Lou ... I did hint at the time ... that you shouldn't make me play...'

'An outbreak of 'flu,' Lou explained to the others. 'We had to scrape the barrel.'

'Thank you ... Now if only we could play this ... instead of football ... then you'd begging me to represent New House ... Anna, you would say ... OH FUCK!'

The wire man had joined in the conversation with a sarcastic bleat. Anna had grazed his fingertips.

She removed her shoe with good grace. 'Just a bit rusty, that's all,' she said, as she continued. 'And of course I'm used to playing on professional equipment ...'

'Anna, dear, you don't have to talk.'

'Thank you, Emma. That's exactly what you said to me, on another occasion.'

Richie laughed. Emma shot her a warning look. 'What occasion?' said someone else.

'One which also required ... concentration ... and patience ... which luckily I have ... in considerable... FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!'

The buzzer had sounded again.

'You were saying?'

'Your machine is faulty,' said Anna. 'I suggest you get it serviced.'

'I suggest you stop babbling,' said Emma. 'Shoe, please.'

Anna took off her other shoe and pulled a face. She settled herself at the machine again. Her cockiness had all disappeared. She even took Emma's advice, continuing in silence, with furrowed brow, and intent gaze. It did her little good. Before she had reached the man's other hand, she had lost both socks too.

'BUGGER!' she cried, the fourth time the buzzer went. 'Let's play something else, huh? This machine is obviously rigged. I bet you've all been practising.'

'I had no idea you were such a klutz,' said Emma.

'She's notorious for it,' said Lou.

'I mean ... Anna — I was prepared for a bit of incompetence, but you must be the clumsiest person in existence.'

'No,' said Rafaela. 'There's her brother, remember.'

Anna did her best to ignore all this pleasant banter. She steadied her breathing, relaxed her shoulders, and composed herself. When she was ready, she set off for the fifth time.

James Bond disarming a nuclear device couldn't have proceeded with more caution. The stakes were suddenly high. There was no risk of Anna setting off a chain reaction, it's true; but she would have to remove her shirt. And that was something she would rather not do, in this inauspicious company.

With full concentration and both hands she guided the ring along. She ignored Emma's imprecation that she get a move on. She gritted her teeth, and took it millimetre by millimetre. She came to the armpit — another tricky bend — and rotated the ring around it. Another change of grip was needed. There was sweat on her hand. The ring slipped, the buzzer blared, the room cheered.

Anna rocked back on her heels. 'Do I have to?' she said, in exasperation. Her face was red.

'I'm surprised you even ask, Anna,' said Emma.

Anna removed the shirt in silence. She knelt in her bra and skirt. She wiped her sweaty palm, and picked up the ring again. But the difficult obstacles were behind her. In silence she dropped the wire ring on to the man's foot.

'And I thought this was going to be a civilised party,' she said as she stood up. Her good humour returned to her at once. 'Cocktails and canapés. Polite chatter. Clothes staying on.'

She went and sat on the bed with her back to the wall, hugging her arms. The other girls took their turns, and every time the buzzer went, Anna sighed in relief. Shoes, socks, and sweaters came off. Nobody else had to show their bra, but there were plenty of bare feet, and bare legs. The more flesh that appeared, the happier she felt. Still, she was glad when the final contestant had come and gone.

Emma stood and stretched. 'Not bad,' she said, summing up the tournament. 'Not bad at all. No-one embarrassed themselves. Except for Anna.'

Anna stuck her tongue out.

'Let's see how she fares in Round Two,' said Emma, and knelt down at the machine.

It took a second or two for Anna to realise what was going on. Emma had already picked up the ring before Anna started protesting.

'Hush, Anna! You're putting me off.'

Anna sat wriggling while Emma completed her second perfect round. As soon as she was done, she piped up again. 'I'm not saying that I didn't enjoy it, but I think I'll quit while I'm at my peak.'

Emma, now on her feet, turned to Richie.

'Richie, what do the Usual Rules say about this?'

'Very strict, I'm afraid.'

'Has to play, does she?

'Has to.'

'No get-out clauses? Loop-holes?'

'Sorry. The rules are quite clear.'

'That's a shame.' She turned to Anna. 'Anna, I've just conferred with Richie Richibus...'

'I am not playing,' said Anna. 'So there!'

Everybody in the room was looking at her. In their faces she saw curiosity, amusement, pity, and malice. But one face particularly caught her attention. Nicola Matthews, the girl who had told her she shouldn't have come, was looking at Anna and shaking her head, and her face said, I told you so.

'Arguing with the law,' said Richie. 'Itself carries severe penalties.'

Anna continued to stare at Nicola. Nicola looked back towards the game, where play was now beginning again. Anna looked too. She watched the contestant negotiate the various bends. Her hand was not at all steady. Even Anna's had been steadier. She waited for the buzz, but it didn't come. Even as the girl slid the wire ring swiftly around the tricky armpit — her own elbow wobbling — there came no buzz. The light continued to glow in the base of the machine. But something, somewhere, had been switched off. A hidden switch? Remote control?

She carefully watched the third contestant too. Her hand was no steadier. Still the machine was silent. Nicola continued to glance at her.

Anna's turn was now approaching. She quickly made up her mind.

Nonchalantly she strolled towards the door, tried to open it — and found it locked.

'Emma — have you got the key?' she called. 'I need a wee.'

'You're up next.'

'I'll be two secs.'

'Go after.'

'Honestly, I need to go.'

There was applause as the contestant finished her round.

'Anna's trying to escape to the loo,' said Emma. 'You have to watch this one.'

'Come on, Anna. You're up!'

'I need to go.'

'You can cross your legs for two minutes.'

'I really need to go now.'

'No.'

'Oh, come on, you guys...'

'The more stand around arguing, Anna ...' said Emma, sucking her teeth. 'The longer it'll take.'

There was nothing for it. With a heavy heart she returned to the instrument of torture.

They had some way of switching the buzzer off. But it didn't seem that they could make it sound, without the wire ring actually making contact. Her first plan was to call their bluff and achieve a perfect round.

It was unlikely, but she tried her best. There were grunts of admiration as she negotiated the armpit without mishap. She nearly made it around the hand too. But she grazed the thumb and he blared at her. Off came her long skirt.

'Lou,' she said, looking up at the girl. 'I appeal to you as my head of house. You have a duty to protect me. I throw myself on your mercy.'

'Throw away,' said Emma. 'Rules is rules.'

'Rules is rules,' said Anna, picking up the wire ring. She set off again. 'I'm wracking my brains here ... but I can't remember ever hearing ... a more witless comment ... You should collect these little sayings, Emma ... You could publish them in a little book ... Aphorisms For Prefects...'

Talking seemed to help her concentrate after all, and she did admirably. The room was hushed. But when she touched the man on the very top of his head, and the buzzer sounded, there was no cheering as before, just the sympathetic sucking of teeth.

'I'm not taking anything else off,' Anna told them.

'Don't be such a rotten sport,' said Emma.

'I am not going to take anything else.'

'You're not going to take anything else off?'

'I'm not going to take anything else off.'

'Then I'll do it for you. Top or bottom?

She looked at Anna, waiting for an answer. Anna looked at her. There was a long pause. And then Anna, without dropping her eyes, unhooked her bra and slid it off. She threw it on top of the heap of clothes.

Some looked away politely, and some smiled at her. There was a respectful murmuring, as if they were in church, and the sacraments had just been uncovered. But perhaps a similar sound filled pagan temples of ancient times, when the weeping virgin, naked and hands bound, made her first, and only, entrance.

Anna didn't weep. If she had, who could blame her? She had come to this party of enemies, and showed herself willing to forgive and forget. She had stood tall in her borrowed clothes, and been civilised and pleasant. And they had made her bare herself for their amusement.

Perhaps her lip trembled. But Anna was shrewd. She knew her only chance now depended on Emma not seeing it. So she laughed and grumbled, said this was quite the worst party she had been to, and picked up the hateful wire ring yet again.

The inevitable occurred soon. Emma again offered to do the business herself. Anna said she was quite capable of doing it herself, it was something she did herself every day, and usually with complete success.

She stood, she bent, and she slipped down her knickers.

She turned to face her audience. Her fair hair caressed her bare shoulders. Her breasts — neither big nor small — jutted cheerfully. Her belly was round. The hair between her legs was sparse. And if Emma's friends had cared to look, they would have seen the tender lips of her sex peering out. But these were well-brought up girls. They didn't look. They merely glanced.

Anna put a hand to her hip. 'I also do stag nights,' she announced. 'And clubs. No touching, please.'

'Isn't she sweet?' said Emma.

'I don't like to do it,' continued Anna. 'But you know what school fees are like. And now, if you've seen quite enough...'

She bent to retrieve her knickers.

'What are you doing?' said Emma. 'You haven't finished yet.'

'Seeing as I've nothing else to take off...'

'That's not actually true,' said Emma. 'But before it comes to that, there are forfeits.'

'Lots,' said Richie.

'Lots of lovely forfeits. You don't want to put your clothes on yet.'

' What forfeits?'

But of course they wouldn't tell her. She knelt at the loathsome man, naked, absurd, and unprotesting, and began the obscene game once more. Perhaps it was her nakedness, or the prospect of these unknown forfeits, or resignation, but she did remarkably well. Her nerves were oddly calm. She erred only once more. She stood to receive her forfeit.

The standard opening forfeit, it seemed, was for Anna to ask any girl in the room for a snog.

'And as it's my birthday...' said Emma.

Anna ignored this. Her desperate eye swept around the room (how she blushed!) and came to rest on the kindly Sugs.

'That's right, Anna,' said the girl at once. 'You come right over here and give me a snog.'

Anna did so. The girl was in an armchair. Anna sat on the arm, abandoned all modesty, bent down and kissed the girl.

'Tongues, please,' said Emma.

It was a fumbling, perfunctory, and excruciating kiss.

'I don't call that much of a snog,' said Emma, as Anna returned. 'Oh! Look at Anna's face, everyone. It's absolutely scarlet! Isn't that just darling? Anna, I don't think that was a snog at all. Anna needs another forfeit.'

'No,' said Anna. 'Usual Rules.'

'Cheeky bugger. You just wait till Round Three,' said Emma. Her eyes swept Anna's body, and gleamed. 'We've some lovely, lovely forfeits...'

'Yes, I'm sure you have. Can I now go to the loo, please?'

Emma took the door-key out of her pocket, and went to open the door.

'Who but Emma,' said Anna to the room in general, as she tried to relocate her knickers, 'Would give a party where the guests have to be locked in?'

'It's to keep the house-mistress out ... What are you doing...?'

'Putting my clothes on...'

'Nope.'

'Oh come on!'

'Usual Rules! Take them off!'

'Can I borrow a dressing-gown, then?'

'The loo's just there .'

Emma, standing in the door, nodded down the way. So Anna slid her knickers off again, and walked into the chilly corridor. As she entered the toilet, she heard a burst of excited laughter from Emma's room. Immediately there was shushing, followed by whispering. They were not very subtle.

She went into a cubicle, and slid the bolt with a bang.

Three or four unexpected tears at once slid down her cheek. But there was no time for that. She blotted them with loo-paper, and forbade any more to come.

Then she unlocked the door, and went back out into the corridor. Emma of course was still watching from the doorway.

'There's no bog-roll,' said Anna.

'So jiggle.'

'Lend me a tissue!'

'You don't need a tissue.'

'As I am obviously going to spend the entire evening on display...' said Anna, rather hotly, and there was laughter and applause from the room. Emma conceded the point. She went into her room, and re-emerged with a box of tissues, which she tossed over to Anna.

Anna went back into the cubicle and put the tissues on the cistern. Once more she loudly locked the door. But then, silently and gently, she slid the bolt in the other direction until it was free again. She opened the door, and crept out of the cubicle. She peeked around into the corridor. Emma was still at the door, but her head was turned. She was talking to someone in the room.

Silently across the cold stone floor, using only the pads of her feet, Anna reached the bend of the corridor within seconds. Once around the corner she took off like a gazelle.

Clothes first, then escape.

She burst through a fire-door, along another corridor, and then into a dormitory. She opened the nearest wardrobe. She tried on a pair of jeans, and then a skirt, and then a pair of shorts, and none would fit. She wasn't a large girl, but neither was she ten years old, and this was the junior dormitory.

She cursed all juniors, dashed across the corridor and into another dormitory. She opened the first wardrobe at random, found a cotton skirt, and yanked it on. A seam split, but nothing serious. She pulled a sweater over her head. She was just inspecting the choice of footwear, when she heard the fire-door open, and loud voices in the corridor.

She froze.

The dormitory door was flung open. But it wasn't Emma or one of her party. It was two fifth-form girls. They stared at Anna.

'Who are you?' said one.

'That's Anna Hargreaves,' said the other. 'She's in New House. She's weird.'

'What are you doing in here?' said the first girl to Anna. 'Those aren't your clothes.'

'I'm borrowing them,' said Anna. 'It's an emergency.'

'What emergency? What happened to your own clothes?'

'It's a long story. Excuse me...'

'No, we won't. You can't take other people's clothes!'

'I'll bring them back tomorrow,' said Anna, and made for the door. The taller of the girls shut it and leant against it.

'I haven't got time for bullshit!' cried Anna. 'Let me out!'

'That's Miranda's skirt and Miranda's sweater,' said the girl. 'Not yours.'

She had her hand on the doorknob. There was a silent and absurd tussle as Anna attempted to open the door. After ten seconds of jostling, and a bit of barging, she realised she was wasting valuable time.

She stepped back, pulled off the sweater and removed the skirt, and stood naked before them. — 'Happy now?'

At once the taller girl opened the door for her, like a footman. 'Bye, then!' she said, waggling her fingers in sarcastic farewell.

Anna smiled at her as she went — and then gave her a ringing slap on the cheek with a strength that surprised her. She sprinted away down the corridor to the sound of wailing, regained the landing, and ran down the stairs two at a time.

She didn't see the group coming up towards her until the last moment.

It was a family party — a husband and wife, a boy of perhaps thirteen, and a girl of ten. The little girl was leading them upstairs.

'There's not much to see,' she was saying. 'Just a couple of dormitories and a washroom...'

'We want to see where you sleep,' said her mother.

'Okay. But I'm warning you, it's not the most interesting...'

A soft thud of urgent feet. Mother, father, son and daughter looked up — and stared in amazement as a naked girl came hurtling down towards them.

The mother put an instinctive hand on her daughter's shoulder, ready to pull her out of the way. The father did the same to the boy. But at the last moment the girl saw them — 'Oh gosh!' — and tried to bring herself to a halt. But she tripped, lost her balance, and went crashing onto her hands and knees on the half-landing. She hissed in pain, rolled on the floor nursing a knee-cap, and said 'Fuck fuck fuck fuckity-fuck!'

'Have you hurt yourself?' asked the woman.

'Oh buggeration! Oh bugger me backwards!'

They stared at her in concern and alarm. She was sixteen or seventeen perhaps, with fair hair and rather peculiar teeth through which curses continued to whistle. She was entirely naked, and as she was at eye-level they saw rather a lot of her. The man, perhaps realising he was now looking on with too much concern, politely turned and studied the wall. But his son was enchanted by the rosebud nipples that danced as the girl rubbed her knee. For years afterwards he was haunted by visions of naked girls tumbling downstairs.

'Do you need help?' said the woman. But the girl, while obviously in pain, was also in a hurry. She put a hand on the bannister, pulled herself to her feet, and came hobbling down the stairs towards them. She gave them a huge smile. 'Don't you just hate it when that happens?' she said. They parted to let her through. As she passed, she bent down and said to the boy in a stage-whisper, 'Close your mouth, kid!'

And then a soft voice came from on high. 'Anna, sweetheart, you've not forgotten your clothes again? We've spoken about this.'

The family party looked up and saw a girl leaning over the balustrade, smiling at them.

Anna was off like a minnow. She cleared the four remaining steps with a jump, wincing in pain, and ran, legs flashing, down the lower staircase to the ground floor. She heard Emma's laughter from above, and voices. Emma of course had stopped to speak to the visitors. Emma could never resist other people's parents.

Anna sprinted along the ground-floor corridor. Her only thought now was escape. She had given up on clothes. But as she hurtled towards the back hall, she registered the smell coming from one battered green door, a mixture of sweat, and mud, and grease. It could only be the changing-rooms.

In she went. Ten seconds later she re-emerged in a pair of shorts and a hooded sweatshirt.

Through the back door, and out onto the driveway, and towards the gate. It was freezing. The frost stung her legs. She was glad she had stopped to put on clothes after all. She filled her lungs with icy air, and it tasted of freedom. Anna whooped with delight.

Alas! The first thing Emma had done was to post guards outside the back door. Not for nothing was she Cadet Officer.

Anna barely heard them. They came behind her and caught her with ease. She cried out in surprise and horror, and struggled, and pleaded with them. When this didn't work, she screamed blue murder. Passing townsfolk stopped on the pavement, and peered through the great wrought-iron gates of School House. They saw a fair-haired girl in shorts and bare feet, shouting at the top of her voice that she was being kidnapped, and imploring them to call the police. They also saw two larger girls twisting her arm behind her back and frog-marching her into the house. The townsfolk smiled and shook their heads, and went their ways.

Anna was manhandled back into Emma's room, and made to sit on the bed. She sat in misery, and spoke only once, asking permission to go to the loo.

'What, again?'

'I didn't go.'

'I don't know, Anna...'

'Let's wait for Emma, eh?'

'She'd kill us if you scarpered again.'

Word of her capture was put out, and the party reassembled. Many smiled at her as they came in, and congratulated her on her spirited bid for freedom.

'Good effort!'

'Almost made it, huh?'

'I don't blame you. You're in for it now, though!'

But it was several minutes before Emma herself returned.

'Oh dear me!' she said, making straight for the lemonade. 'What a horrible shock for Mr and Mrs Gleason! Rebecca, their daughter, was showing them around the House, and was just taking them upstairs to see her dormitory, when Anna, stark naked, comes rushing at them down the stairs, goes arse over tit beneath their noses, and starts cursing them to high heaven. Can you imagine? And they thought they were sending Rebecca to a nice, decent school! I had to do some major apologising. "She's normal enough most of the time," I said, "But she does get over-excited, and forgets to put her clothes on. Plus, of course, she's from New House, and they're all a bit peculiar over in New House." Rebecca's Mum says, "Does she run around all the houses in the nude?" "I couldn't say for sure," I say, "But I do wish they would issue us with butterfly nets, because she's remarkably difficult to catch. Anyway, she basically belongs to the eccentric-but-harmless category." And at that moment a couple of fifth-formers come down the stairs, and one of them's blubbing her eyes out. She says they'd caught Anna Hargreaves stealing clothes in the dormitory, and Anna had assaulted her. "Nonsense!" I say. "Anna assault you? She wouldn't hurt a fly!" Unfortunately the girl had red finger marks on her cheek, so this wasn't entirely convincing. So Mrs Gleason says to me, "Do you think perhaps you ought to inform the house-mistress?" And I say, 'Yup, the house-mistress is my very next port of call." So I take the two girls downstairs, and they tell me the whole story, which is — They came across Anna stealing clothes in the dormitory, and challenged her, whereupon she promptly stripped naked again, slapped Gill around the face, and ran away laughing.'

'Then whose clothes is she wearing?' asked a voice.

Emma looked at Anna for the first time. 'Somebody else's, I suppose,' she said. 'But not for long. So I say to them, "We won't disturb the House-mistress on a Saturday evening, just for a little slap. Go and put some water on it, stop being feeble, and I personally will see to Anna Hargreaves."'

They looked at Anna. She was gazing at her toes as she slowly wiggled them. She stopped doing this and raised her eyes. 'I knew this was a set-up,' she said. 'I knew all along.'

'I've no idea what she's going on about,' said Emma. 'Does anyone?'

They didn't.

'Babbling as usual. She does it a lot. Her mind is an eternal mystery.'

The girls stood and contemplated the eternal mystery sitting lonely on the bed. Silence fell.

'Oh, this is no good!' cried Emma suddenly. 'What's happened to the party! I knew this would happen if I invited her .' She pointed a long finger at Anna. 'But I had to. I'm her only friend. Heffy, do you want to stick another CD on? And Sugs, do you fancy making some more lemonade? Come on! Let's get it going! We'll play another game in a minute. Something fun.'

So Emma cajoled them into liveliness again, as if reviving a flagging fire with a pair of bellows. Soon it was roaring merrily. They drank lemonade, and laughed, and swapped stories. The two girls who had apprehended Anna told their tale. Lou described how she had got lost and ended up in the kitchens. Sugs said that she had come across a girl lying in the bath who looked remarkably like Anna — only it wasn't, of course. 'The problem was,' she said, 'The bathroom wasn't very well lit, so it took ages for her to convince me she wasn't her, if you see what I mean. She thought I was mad.'

'Of course she did,' said somebody else. 'Why on earth did you think Anna would be in the bath?'

'As a cunning plan.'

'Oh, Sugs!'

'I thought it was very clever of her.'

'Except it wasn't Anna.'

'Yes, I realise that now.'

'It was Angela York, probably' said Emma. 'She does resemble Anna, poor dear.'

She looked at Anna, who was sitting with her legs pressed together. She was staring into space, like a little girl lost in a world of her own making. Emma got onto the bed and sat beside her. She put her arm around her, and smiled at her guests.

'Ready for another game, everyone?'

'I think Anna needs to go to the loo, actually.'

'Again?' said Emma, and peered at Anna. 'Do you?'

'I never went,' said Anna.

Emma kissed her. 'Tough, then.'

'Emma!' cried Sugs. 'Don't be cruel! Let her go and have a wee.'

'"Emma, don't be cruel?'' murmured a voice. 'Sugs, you are a sweetheart.'

'Well, she can go later,' said Emma. 'But now I've got a fantastic game to play. It's called "Getting Anna to tell us where she's hidden the photographs"'.

Anna shut her eyes.

'Anna has some photographs,' said Emma, 'Which I would like to get my hands on, as would Sergeant Richie. The object of the game is to get her to tell us where they are.'

'What photographs?'

And so Emma, with her arm around Anna's shoulder, told them the story: how she and Richie, in righteous and justifiable anger, had visited Anna with a salad spoon, how Anna had taken photographs of her bruised backside, and was now using these to blackmail them.

'Blackmail?' they said. 'She's blackmailing you?'

'Has been for weeks. The little snit.'

But Richie was uncomfortable. 'Well, it's not as though she's demanding money or anything...'

'Blackmail is blackmail,' said Emma. 'And I don't know why you're defending her, Richie. You nearly cried when I told you.'

'Shut up, Emma!' squeaked the Sergeant, going red. 'I did not!'

'You know you did.' Emma ran her hand along Anna's bare leg. 'She looks so innocent, doesn't she? Don't believe it. How shall we get her singing?'

They shrugged. All this talk of blackmail, and getting Anna to sing, made them uncomfortable. They knew what Emma was like.

'For instance, one thing Anna just adores, is being tickled. Don't you, Anna?'

She prodded Anna's ribs with a finger. Anna moved not a muscle.

'At least, she used to...'

Emma tried another rib. Anna swung her head and gave Emma a withering look.

'Unless it's someone else I'm thinking of,' said Emma. She reached a long arm behind Anna, and simultaneously dug both sets of knuckles into Anna's side.

Anna convulsed.

'There we go!' cooed Emma. 'I knew it was her. Now does that sound like a good idea to everyone?'

Perhaps relieved that Emma wasn't proposing to use an electric baton on Anna, the guests said it was worth a try. They helped lift Anna off the bed and laid her on the floor, still in her stolen sweatshirt and shorts.

'Richie and I are old hands at this,' said Emma. 'We'll go first, to show how it's done.'

Four girls pinned Anna to the floor by her arms and legs. 'You don't mind, Anna, do you?' asked one.

'Of course she doesn't mind. She lives for it.'

Emma poked Anna hard in the ribs with a thumb. Richie followed suit the other side.

'Hmmph!' said Anna through her nose, and her back arched. But she kept her eyes shut.

'Skinny little thing she is,' said Emma. 'I'd forgotten.'

She found the bottom of Anna's ribcage, and scooped her fingers into the flesh beneath it. Anna spasmed and her head bumped the floor.

'Nothing but skin and bone. Which is surprising, considering all the chocolate she scoffs.'

'Lucky her,' said a doleful voice.

'Lucky her indeed,' said Emma, and sent one long finger like a corkscrew into Anna's abdomen. 'But life is easy for Anna. She simply sails through it. Not like the rest of us.'

As Anna's head was now thrashing from side to side in agony, this was not wholly accurate.

'Eating chocolate and blackmailing her friends. That's what life is, for Anna. Richie, try using your thumbnail, like this.'

By the end of a minute there were tears in Anna's eyes.

'Anything to tell us yet?' said Emma.

'Oh, let me pee!' said Anna.

'Where are the photos, then?'

'I really need to pee.'

'Okay — who's up next? Heffy, how about it? And Sugs, fancy a go?'

The two girls knelt over the victim. — 'You really don't mind, do you, Anna?' said Sugs.

'Would everyone stop asking her if she minds! She loves being the centre of attention. Now off you go!'

Anna lay like a corpse as they applied gentle fingers to her.

'Not like that!' cried Emma. 'Like this!'

Shoving Heffy out of the way, she held up her thumb for all to see, then placed it above Anna's hip.

'Imagine there's a flea here,' she said. 'Which knowing Anna is not impossible. You know how to kill a flea? You have to...'

She put all her weight behind it, squidging the imaginary flea with the ball of her thumb.

Anna's spasmed from head to toe.

'See? Now you try.'

She watched in satisfaction as Anna writhed under their renewed efforts.

'Fun, isn't it? Try her armpits.'

As the girls worked, and Anna suffered, Emma counted the remaining guests. There were ten, not including her and Richie.

'We'll take it in turns,' she said. 'Two at a time. Let's say a minute each. And when everyone's had a go, we'll start all over again.'

She went and knelt by Anna's urgent head.

'Did you catch that, Anna? We're going to keep on going, until you tell us where the photos are. We can keep it up till dawn.'

'You really should tell us,' said big Heffy. She had discovered the bare flesh between shorts and sweatshirt, and was sliding Anna's skin over her hipbone in a circular movement.

'Hmmf-hmmf-hmmf!' said Anna.

'Never mind hmmf.' said Emma. 'Where are the photographs?'

'Oh gosh!'

'Never mind oh gosh. Where are the photographs?'

Anna ground her teeth together. The session continued.

When their time was up, Heffy and Sugs were replaced by Lou and Rafaela. These were both hearty types, with a long and noble history of torturing Anna, and needed no encouragement. They slid the sweatshirt up, exposing her entire stomach, and with merciless fingers made her gasp.

'That's the spirit!' said Emma, watching Anna's backside thumping the floor. 'You guys are naturals.'

'Oh please stop!' whispered Anna.

'They've only just began. Sixty seconds is a long time, ain't it?'

By the end of that period Anna was tearful and hoarse.

'You guys are the best ,' said Emma. 'Though it hurts me to say. I'm going to award you an extra minute.'

Anna was pleading even as Lou and Rafaela began their bonus round.

'Something to tell me, then?'

Anna nodded.

'Are you going to bullshit me?'

She shook her head.

'Alright. Lou, Raffy ... take a break. Go ahead, Anna.'

'Can I pee first? I'm bursting.'

'No.'

'I badly need to pee.'

'Tell me where the photos are, and I'll let you pee.'

Anna sighed. 'They're in my wellies. In my Wellington boots.'

'Which are where?'

'In my study.'

'You keep your boots in your study, do you? Not in the boot room?'

'Yes.'

'And inside one of them are the photos?'

'Yes. I promise'

'She promises' said Emma to the girls holding Anna's wrists. 'No, don't let her up yet! We'll send Richie over to take a look first.'

'No! I need to pee now!'

'Richie, do you know where Anna's study is in New House? It's in the new extension, only it's quite difficult to find...'

She went into a long and detailed explanation, involving a great many lefts and rights, and ups and downs. Anna became increasingly restless. 'I can't hold it in!'

'.... Then at the end, you turn right, through a green door. Actually I say green, but perhaps grey would be a more accurate, er ...'

'I don't mind what colour it is,' said Richie.

'It's either green or grey, anyway. Call it green-grey...'

'Seriously, Emma, I need to go now. '

'... So you go through the green-grey door ... no, grey-green sounds better, doesn't it? ... And follow the corridor round, and Anna's study is last on the left. It'll be a complete tip. And there, so she says, inside one of her wellies, which she keeps in her study and not in the boot room ... By the way, is it the left or right boot, Anna?'

'I've no idea! Please, Emma...'

'In one of them, are the photos. Got it?'

'Got it,' said Richie, putting on her jacket.

'And in the meantime...' said Emma.

She knelt down at Anna's feet.

'... In the meantime, we're going to be keeping Anna on the boil!'

Anna shrieked in frustration as Emma ran a fingernail all the way down the sole of her foot.

'You said I could go to the loo! You said I could go to the loo!' — Thump! Thump! Thump! went her bum on the floor.

'Come on Emma!' said Heffy. 'Give the poor girl a break!'

'Give her a break? My dear, the second I have those photos in my hand, is when I'll give her a break.'

She ran the fingernail tenderly the other way. Bump! Bump! Bump! went Anna's head as she thrashed in delirium.

'You see, it's possible she's a little confused about the photos. What happens if Richie comes back empty-handed, and we find we've lost ten minutes of tickling time?'

She changed direction once again, and Anna kicked and yelled

'Perhaps they're in her wellie, and perhaps they aren't. What do you say, Anna?'

She drew a little circle on Anna's sole, and watched Anna's convulsions with interest.

'Perhaps amid all this excitement you got a bit mixed-up with your facts, hmm?'

She turned the circle into a spiral, and Anna squeaked.

'If you swear they're in one of your wellies, which are in your study... Lou — don't you have a rule about taking wellie boots into studies, in New House?'

'Yes.' said Lou. 'Not allowed.'

'Ah well. That's between you and Anna. I'd suggest a week's gating, but it's none of my business. Anyway Anna, I'll send Richie off now to have a look, but don't think you've bought yourself a second's worth of time-out, because you haven't.' — The spiral turned into a corkscrew, and Anna shuddered — 'Now tell me again. Are they in your wellie? Will you swear to it? Anna?'

Anna made no reply. Richie, who had been waiting with one hand on the doorknob, came back into the room.

'Where are they really, Anna? Are you going to tell me?'

A pause. Then a nod.

Emma left Anna's foot alone and went to kneel by her head. 'Let's try harder this time, shall we. Where are the photos?'

Anna mumbled something.

'What?'

Anna mumbled again.

' What?' Emma bent down.

Anna blew an enormous wet raspberry into Emma's face. Emma cried out in surprise. There was spit on her face. The audience meanwhile laughed and clapped. Emma looked at them angrily, and then glowered at Anna.

'Little beast!' she hissed. 'Revolting little squit!'

She got to her feet, told Anna she was going to regret that for the rest of her life, and left the room to wash her face.

Anna used the few seconds she was gone, to promise her captors that she wouldn't mention their names to the headmistress, when she made her full report tomorrow morning — so long as they let her go.

'We can't do that, Anna,' said Lou. 'You see, we're more afraid of Emma than we are of the Head.'

'Thanks for the offer, though,' said Rafaela.

'Anyway, you don't mind, do you, Anna?' said Lou, patting her leg. 'All in the spirit of fun, eh?'

Emma returned, face washed and good humour restored.

'Back to work then!' she cried. 'Time to get serious on the little rat. Who's up next? Billie? Sarah? Fancy giving it go?'

'Emma ... I need to go to the loo!'

'How many times do you think I'm going to fall for that?'

Anna growled in frustration. 'I ... need ... to ... pee!'

'What, desperate, are you?'

'Yes!'

'Bursting?'

'Yes!'

'Fit to bust?'

'Yes!'

'Painful sensation in the bladder region?'

'Yes!'

'Marvellous! .... Kathy! Sarah! You're up!'

And so Kathy and Sarah took their stations beside Anna, and proved themselves remarkably good at the sport. (It was unlucky for Anna that Arlinghurst fostered a spirit of competition in its students.) Emma meanwhile drafted in Lou and Rafaela again, to concentrate on Anna's feet. 'That will be your sole responsibility,' she said. 'Oh! That's funny, isn't it? Anna, did you hear what I said? Lou and Rafaela — their sole responsibility is going to be your feet! Do you get it? Their sole responsibility is going to be ... Anna's very fond of jokes, you know.'

Tortured by four pairs of hands, and the pain in her belly, and puns, Anna writhed in silence. Her face grew red, and her lower lip jutted. She swallowed hard, and it seemed as though she might start crying. She began shuddering.

It appeared all at once, a dark patch the size of a fist. It expanded rapidly, like a map animated to show the spread of plague; made sudden and unexpected sorties; sent out spurs; and caught up with itself. It was silent at first, and then, as the material became wetter, a hiss and tinkle might be heard. At last a few tiny droplets glittered like beads on the hem.

'Uh-oh,' said Lou.

'Oh no! ' said Sugs.

'Oh, gross!' sighed Rafaela. 'Emma, she is really is peeing...'

*

to be continued...

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Anna!' scolded Emma. 'If you needed to pee, why didn't you say so earlier?'

Anna was released. The girls holding her arms and legs got to their feet, as if she were now contagious. She sat up and managed to stem the flow, wincing with pain.

Emma went to the table, took the lemonade bowl — still half-full of lemonade — and put it on the floor in front of Anna.

'I take it nobody wants any more lemonade,' she said. 'If you do, get it quick!'

'No, Emma,' said Anna, in her most serious voice. 'You let me out!'

'I would, but I can't lay my hands on the key.'

'LET ME OUT!'

'Has anyone seen the door key?'

'Then I'll piss on the fucking carpet!'

'I do hope you won't.'

Rafaela said, 'Christ, Emma. I thought I was a bitch.'

'Thank you.'

They waited to see what Anna would do. 'Oh my God! She's going again!' squeaked a voice. But it proved to be a false alarm — or at least, just a few more drops.

Afterwards, Anna chided herself for not peeing on Emma's carpet. But since the age of two she had been peeing into things, and the habit of years is hard to break.

Bent almost double, she got to her feet, pulled the damp shorts a little way down her thigh, and sat on the impromptu potty.

That is, she attempted to sit on it, but it was too low, and she toppled backwards. A delicate arch of urine spurted from between her legs, and disappeared into the carpet. ('Oh Anna!' said Emma, 'That's so gross!')

She tried again, supporting herself with her hands, but that didn't work either.

After some desperate experimentation she found the solution, which was to squat on tiptoe, one foot on either side of the bowl. To do this she had to remove the shorts entirely.

She put her elbows on her knees, and her face in her hands, and she pissed like a sow, loud and long. Her ears reddened, and her eyes were moist with shame. After twenty or so seconds, the flow abruptly stopped. She wobbled on her toes.

'Is that all?' said Emma. Anna shook her head. They waited. And waited. And waited. At last came a little tinkle from the punchbowl. Soon she was spurting intermittently. She kept her head buried in her hands. After several more stops and starts, and a long dribbly squirty period at the end, she was done.

'Honestly, I know five year olds with better bladder control,' said Emma. Wincing, she picked up the shorts, looked at the name tag, and dropped them into a plastic bag.

'Harriet Braithewaite!' She tutted. 'Poor old Harriet! Not very nice for her, is it? You'd better take them home with you, Anna, and give them a first-class scrub, and...'

A blur of motion as Anna launched herself off the punchbowl and onto Emma. She was a ball of fury. Sharp fists connected with Emma's breasts and chin and face. By the time the other girls had realised what was happening, and caught Anna by the arms, she had achieved a good half dozen punches. As she was being dragged away, she landed a kick on Emma's stomach.

They wrested her to the floor and sat on her. The punchbowl was hastily put under the bed before it was knocked over.

'Blimey,' said Emma, wincing as she rubbed her chin. She looked at the heap of girls on the floor. 'What on earth has got into her, do you think...?'

'Emma! Your nose is bleeding!'

'Watch out for your shirt!'

Too late! A single drop of blood fell onto her lapel.

'BUGGER!' cried Emma, and stamped her foot. She tipped her head back and requested tissues, and stood still and silent. When the flow had abated somewhat, she went to the mirror to inspect the damage. There was blood on her face, a red mark on her chin that would turn into a bruise, and the spot of blood on the pristine cotton.

'My favourite shirt,' she said with a sigh.

'You won't get that out,' said Richie, with satisfaction.

'Thank you, my dear. I came to the same conclusion. Bugger that brat!'

Still holding the tissue to her nose, she picked up her towel and asked them to excuse her. 'Yet again, thanks to her, I have to go and clean up.' She left the room.

But to their surprise she re-entered a few seconds later. Without a word she went to the chest-of-drawers, rummaged, and took out a long wooden spoon. This she placed on the floor next to Anna. She left again.

There was an electric silence. They stared first at the spoon, and then at each other. Anna alone didn't see it, as her nose was pressed into the carpet.

'Oh dear Anna,' said one, and sucked her teeth.

'Now you're for it!' said another.

Barely a minute ago they had been ready to tell Emma that enough was enough. The sight of Anna quivering over the punchbowl had melted all but the most hardhearted among them. But now Anna had drawn blood, and ruined a beautiful white shirt, and kicked two or three of them as well. So their pity, if not exactly withdrawn, was put on hold. Never was a tantrum so ill-timed!

They were sympathetic, of course, as they looked at the spoon and winced on Anna's behalf, foresuffering her pain. But it was the sort of sympathy that is laced with more than a little schadenfreude .

'You've only gone and done it now, Anna!'

'Ouch! That's going to ... !'

Anna looked up, as best she could, to see what was going to ... ; saw the spoon; and gave an almighty wriggle. The girls sitting on her were nearly toppled. They lurched like buildings in an earthquake, and only just managed to remained upright. Anna did at least get a hand free. She hurled the wooden spoon across the room and against the wall. It fell with a clatter. What good she thought this would do is hard to tell.

Emma returned, clean-faced.

'It's behind the bed,' they told her.

Emma smiled down at Anna, who was struggling and cursing. 'Still being naughty, is she?' She retrieved the spoon, put it down again by Anna's head, and went to her wardrobe. She took off the ruined white shirt, sighing, and put on a polo shirt.

'Might as well be comfortable,' she said, smiling around the room. Bare-armed and fair-tressed, she now looked like Justice herself.

She picked up the spoon, and tried it on her palm. 'Anna's old friend,' she said. 'Anna ... are you going to kiss your old friend?'

She put the spoon to Anna's mouth.

'You are so evil!' said Rafaela, with admiration.

'That's what they used to do, isn't it? At Eton, or Harrow, or somewhere. Made 'em kiss the cane beforehand. How about it, Anna? Revive a fine old tradition, hmm? No? Not even a little kiss?'

She gave up on the pleasant joke. 'How will we do this? Heffy, if you get off her entirely, leaving the, er, zone of combat free, and the rest of you stay just as you are, I think that will do the trick.... Where are you two going?'

For two girls were putting on their jackets. Their faces said it all.

'You can't leave now! You'll miss the fun!'

'I don't think everyone's having fun, Emma.'

So there were some rather forced thank-you-for-the-partys, and good-byes, and the two girls left with their consciences. Emma shrugged. 'Fancy leaving before the main course!' She knelt at Anna's side, and looked down at the upturned buttocks — white, naked, and waiting. She lay the spoon lightly on one cheek, and saw it quiver. Afterwards her friends would swear they had never seen her so happy.

'Rump-steak!' she said. 'That's what the main course will consist of. A nice, red, juicy...'

'Emma!' said Richie. 'If you're going to do it, just do it.'

So Emma did. She raised the spoon high over her head, and brought it down with all her might.

'Doww-howww-howwww-howww!' said Anna. 'Nahaaaaar! Ha! Ha! Ha!'

The other girls were equally astonished.

'Anna makes the funniest noises,' said Emma, and watched in fascination as a red mark appeared on Anna's backside. It had a distinct shape, like a pair of lips. Emma rubbed it with the back of the spoon.

'We did it through her army skirt, last time,' said Emma. 'This is much, much better. You get to admire your work.'

She raised the spoon high and brought it down again. The muscles in her arm rippled. Emma could lift a fifteen kilogram dumbbell, and often did.

She watched, delighted, as more redness emerged before her eyes. 'Anna, you won't have to bring me a photograph of your bum, this time. Now we can see it in the flesh.'

The third stroke was a little off-target. A second pair of lips flowered next to the first. Anna was now silent. Only those who could see her face realised the pain she was in, because her mouth was an 'O' of agony, and her eyes were shut.

'The funny thing is,' said Emma, running a finger over the sore spot. 'It looks horribly painful, and it sounds horribly painful, but in fact it's not.'

'I think Anna would beg to disagree.'

'Sure, it stings for a couple of seconds,' said Emma. 'And then the pain just vanishes. I've tried it on myself.' She clicked her fingers. 'Just like that!'

'Bullshit.'

Emma brought down the spoon again, very hard. Anna's head moved slowly.

'It's true, though.'

'Emma — bull... shit!'

'Alright, I'll show you,' said Emma, jumping up and approaching the sceptic.

The girl retreated hurriedly. — 'I don't think so!'

'In the spirit of science. You are a scientist, aren't you?'

The girl hesitated. But she was the game sort. 'Just one, then.'

She turned around, pulled her sweater clear of her backside, and waited...

'FUCK!' she yelled, straightening and clasping her backside. 'Fuck, Emma! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'

'And that's through jeans!' said someone else, in awe.

'Bloody hell, Emma. That really really hurts!'

'But it's going away already? The pain?'

'No!'

'Aww, come on!'

'It still bloody hurts.'

'You must have unusually delicate skin, then. Not so Anna.'

She stooped and gave Anna another spank. Tears tumbled down Anna's cheeks.

'Come and look at Anna's face before you go any further,' said a girl.

Emma did so.

'Shamming.' She wiped a tear from Anna's cheek with her finger, and looked at it closely, like a diamond merchant. 'Definitely fake.'

She knelt again, and set to work properly on Anna. 'You're trying to make them feel sorry for you, aren't you? You don't fool me.'

Soon Anna was sobbing properly.

'Emma! Stop it now !'

'I'll stop the moment she tells me where the photos are.'

'Then give her a chance!'

'She's had plenty of chances.'

Emma dealt out another, and Anna bawled. Her buttock glowered like an angry sunset.

'I need to get her properly warmed up first, or she'll just feed us more guff.'

Right in the middle of the glowing sunset exploded the spoon. A long, horrible gurgle of misery came from Anna's throat.

Sugs lay on the floor and put her head next to Anna's. 'Oh, you poor poor thing!' she said, lifting some strands of hair off Anna's tear-soaked cheek. 'Oh why don't you just tell her, Anna? I don't think she's ever going to stop.'

Emma confirmed this with the spoon. Anna yelled.

'Give it a break , Emma!' cried Sugs. 'Let me talk to her!' Then she became gentle again. 'Come on sweetheart! I can't bear this any more! If you don't want to tell Emma, why don't you tell me ?'

Anna looked at the girl through a blur of tears.

'Please tell me, Anna,' said the girl softly, and kissed her on the forehead. 'Please?'

And Anna nodded.

'Emma, she's going to tell!'

Emma snorted. But she leant over to listen.

'Well ... where then?' she said, as Anna lay and sobbed. 'Five ... four ... three... two...'

Anna looked up at her, dislodging several tears. 'I hid them,' she said breathlessly, 'Up your arse ... Your uptight, sadistic, militaristic, lesbian ... NOOOOO!'

Emma had wasted no time. The spoon came down again and again. Anna was soon howling.

Many of the other girls had stopped watching. One nibbled a fingernail and examined the carpet. Another sat with her head buried in her hands, and a third stood with her elbows on the windowsill, looking out into the darkness. As Anna's grief got louder and louder, so too did their remonstrations.

'What's the point of this anyway?' cried one. 'She'll just go and take more photographs.'

'That's what I've been thinking all along,' said another. 'She's more likely to blackmail you now, isn't she?'

'And us! We could all get expelled!'

Mutiny was in the air. And Emma was a wise general. So she tossed the spoon onto the bed, earning sighs of relief from all over the room. Anna continued to bawl. Sugs wiped her eyes and her nose.

Emma got to her feet and looked down at her victim dispassionately. Then, from the drawer of her bedside table, she fetched a pot of cream. She returned to Anna and began smoothing its contents into the critical region with surprisingly tender fingers.

'No, keep to your stations, please,' she said to the girls who were pinning Anna to the floor. 'Or she'll take another slug at me.'

'I wouldn't blame her.'

Emma worked in silence for a while. Then she said, 'Anna has never had any intention of using the photographs.'

'How do you know?'

'Trust me.'

'Then why do you care so much about them?'

'It's not the photos I care about.'

She looked up at their exasperated faces.

'Do you still not get it?' she said. 'Honestly, I thought you'd be a bit quicker. Remember earlier we were talking about the cadet corps? And everyone was saying, what's going to happen to it, after we've left? What's it you said, Raffy? — It would be more like the Brownies than a military corps, and they might as well lock up the barracks entirely, until someone with an ounce of grit came along. Well, someone with an ounce of grit has come along. And you're sitting on her!'

Rafaela looked down at the shuddering heap of misery beneath her legs.

'She dresses like a tramp,' continued Emma. 'She has no respect for authority. Dirtiest mouth I ever heard. No sense of discipline. Workshy....'

'Annoying,' murmured Richie.

' Highly annoying...'

Rafaela scoffed. 'And that's the future of the corps?'

'Exactly!'

'Gawd help us.'

Emma ladled more cream onto Anna's backside. 'This girl,' she said, 'Has more imagination in her little finger than the rest of 'em put together. And she's as brave as a bunny. That's what matters. Everything else can be worked on.'

'Why bother?' said Lou. 'She hates the cadets. More than anyone.'

'If you'd heard her the other week, Lou, you wouldn't think that.'

'What was she saying?'

'Nothing. She was doing the most wonderful impersonation of you, in your best parade ground manner. It was hilarious. Absolutely spot-on. We'll make her do it in a minute.'

'I look forward to it,' said Lou, giving a wry smile. 'I hardly see how that proves your point, though.'

'She takes more interest in the corps than half of ... well, than nearly anyone. I bet you, if I dropped dead next Saturday afternoon, she could step up and drill the entire parade herself, and just as well. Well, almost, anyway.'

They looked at Anna, trying to imagine this sobbing lump drilling five hundred cadets. Emma emptied yet more cream onto her.

'She's a natural. Sadly, she's also a little squit who doesn't know what's good for her. I came to her as a friend and mentor, and she came back at me with photos. Therefore, you see, I just have to keep on bullying her until she sees sense and gives them to me. As a gesture of goodwill. Until she does that, she's just going to keep laughing at me. See?'

She looked around at them. 'Trust me on this.'

'I was sceptical,' said Richie. 'Now I've got a horrible feeling that Emma might be right.'

'I'm always right.'

'I'm not saying you aren't,' said Lou, 'But you're not having much luck, are you? Unless you now use thumbscrews, what more can you do...?'

'I've one or two ideas.'

Emma scooped all of the remaining cream onto Anna's backside. Sugs relieved her of the empty pot. She glanced at the label.

'This is face cream!'

'So what?'

'This stuff costs a bomb!'

'Emma's loaded,' said Rafaela.

'It's important to keep one's buttocks well-moisturized,' said Emma. 'Thereby fending off premature ageing and unwanted wrinkles.'

True to her word, she began smoothing the cream into the second, unharmed, buttock. Anna was growing restless now. Emma spread the cream far and wide. Before long, Anna's whole backside gleamed. And still there was an excess. 'I put a bit too much on, Anna. I might as well rub it in, eh?' She did so, working it into the crack, subtly and gently. Anna wriggled in protest. But when Emma's fingers continued downwards, she exploded. She bucked, and kicked, and swore. Once again the girls sitting on her were nearly unsettled.

'Fuck off, Emma! Don't you dare! Don't you dare! Don't you dare!'

'Dare what?'

'You fucking know what I mean!'

'Anna, dear, the spoon is right here. And if you swear at me one more time, I'll use it.'

'Oh why can't you just leave me alone!' sobbed Anna, as she felt a creamy finger slide between her legs. 'Why can't you leave me alone?'

'I'd rather hoped you were listening to our conversation just now,' said Emma. 'Which would answer that question. Anyway, what else am I to do with all this gloop?'

She winked at the spectators. They sighed and shook their heads, wondering if there were no end to her villainy.

'I may have lied when I said Anna likes tickling,' said Emma. 'But she really, really, really loves this.'

'Go fuck yourself, Emma!'

Emma reached for the spoon, and gave Anna five resounding spanks in quick succession.

'Her! Her! Her! Her! Her! Her! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!' said Anna. 'Haaaaaaaaarrrrr!'

'I warned her,' said Emma, throwing the spoon back on the bed.

Then she bent down and kissed the reheated buttock. 'Poor Anna's bum!' she said. 'Sugs, would you mind rummaging in the drawer for something else I can rub into it?'

'Nothing you do will make me give you those photographs,' said Anna. 'Nothing!'

'We'll see.'

So Anna she lay silent and let the inevitable take shape. Some oil was discovered, and Emma announced they would give Anna the most wonderful massage of her life — 'We've all seen how tense she is, haven't we?' The girl sitting on Anna's legs was ordered off, the legs were parted, and the oil soothed into her thighs and calves, and the soles of her feet. She continued to swear under her breath.

'Now, Anna, Rafaela's going to get off your back, and you're to lie still and relax,' said Emma. 'Remember the spoon.'

Rafaela got off. Anna's sweatshirt came off too.

She lay naked, and put up no struggle. But they could see the muscles in her neck stand tight with anger.

Sugs, who had once done a massage course, took charge of the operation. She straddled Anna, warmed oil in her palm, and began smoothing it across Anna's back. She told Anna to relax, and to ignore nasty old Emma. She began work on the shoulders, kneading out every knot, and when this was done, moved onto the spine, and then the neck.

Emma grew impatient.

'Side Two,' she announced, before Sugs could think of something else. 'Time for the big flip, Anna. Need a hand?'

Anna at first didn't move. They waited. Then she turned her head. 'Emma, remind me to tell you afterwards, how much I hate you.'

'I promise.'

Anna turned over and for the second time that evening showed them all. Sugs began work at once on her shoulders. Emma ordered others to help her.

She stood back and watched.

Anna was balling her fists, and glowering, and grimacing. Meanwhile her body began to gleam from head to toe. The only sound in the room was the squelching of oily hands upon oily flesh.

'Haven't you forgotten her breasts?' said Emma, looking at these. Like two fresh spring buds, Anna's nipples had raised themselves, very long and very red.

'Tch! You don't do breasts!' said Sugs.

'They're looking rather tense to me,' said Emma. 'Give them the once over, why don't you?'

Sugs shook her head sadly at Anna, and sighed. 'If I don't, she will,' she said. 'Shall I do it? I'll be ever so gentle.'

They watched in fascination as Sugs poured more oil into her palm, winked at Anna, and began gently massaging one breast. Anna shut her eyes, and started sniffing, as if she were going to cry. Her breath grew heavy.

Sugs spent only a few seconds on the breast.

'You've forgotten the top bit,' said Emma. 'The sticky-up bit on top. What's it called?'

'I'm not going to do that!'

'If you don't, I will.'

Sugs sighed, and said to Anna, 'I suppose it had better be me, huh?'

She put more oil on her fingers, and with the gentlest of touches trailed them up and down Anna's nipple. Anna tried to look nonchalant. But they saw her jaw quiver.

'There!' said Sugs to Emma. 'Satisfied?'

'Now the other side.'

So Sugs did Anna's other breast in the same brusque manner, finishing up again with the nipple. Anna breathed slowly and deeply. Once she moaned. She also bit her lip.

'That's the spirit!' cried Emma. 'Now who else wants a go?'

'We're finished,' said Sugs. 'Just leave Anna alone, now!'

'That's hardly fair on the others,' said Emma. Her eye swept the room and came to rest on Rafaela.

'Raffy! What do you say?'

Rafaela came forward eagerly. She took the bottle of oil from Sugs, and started massaging Anna's breasts all over again.

Anna lay still. She was screwing up her face, as though she had just taken a swig of milk, and discovered it had turned to cheese.

'What's the matter, Anna?' said Rafaela, mocking. 'Don't you like it?'

'Of course she likes it!' cried Emma. 'But she's pretending not to. Look at her! Isn't she a poppet?'

'Are you going to give me a smile then, Anna?'

'Anna, give Raffy a smile, like a good girl.'

'I wish you would, instead of pulling faces at me.'

'And I wish, Rafaela,' said Anna quietly, 'That you would keep your revolting lesbian fingers to yourself.'

Rafaela raised her eyebrows in surprise. She shrugged. Then, using thumb and middle finger, she gave the tip of Anna's long nipple a ping with her fingernail.

It was hard and painful. Anna yelled, clamped her hands over her breast, and half-sat. She whimpered in misery and shock. But Emma got her to lie down and put her arms by her sides again.

'Now say you're sorry to Rafaela,' she said.

Anna only shut her eyes, ground her teeth together, and got ready for more pain. Rafaela, her face darkening, prepared to obliged her. But Emma shook her head.

'Just keep going, Rafaela dear, and rise above these petty taunts.'

So Rafaela instead dribbled more oil onto the reddened nipple, and returned to caressing it.

'When Anna has an orgasm,' said Emma, 'You can take that as an apology.'

Anna's scowl deepened.

'You haven't lived,' continued Emma, addressing the whole room now, 'Until you've seen Anna come. It's the sweetest thing in the whole world. Watch her face.'

Rafaela looked doubtfully at Anna's face, which was still a mask of disgust.

'Still not enjoying it, huh?' she asked. She reached between Anna's legs. 'I'm sure that's not face-cream I can feel.'

She kept her hand there, and began stroking, up and down, with one insolent fingertip; and then with another began seeking out Anna's secret folds, and the wetness within. The room watched in fascination and horror. Of all the tortures Anna had suffered that evening, this was the cruellest.

The bittersweet tormentress worked in silence for several minutes. Then there were tears in Anna's eyes, and she began whispering. 'Oh ... why do you have to humiliate me? Why do you have to humiliate me? Oh please! Oh, why do you have to do this?' She took a long deep breath, and her back arched. 'Oh, why?'

'Just be quiet,' said Emma gently, 'And come.'

Even as Emma spoke, they could see Anna gave up the struggle. Her legs relaxed. Her head lolled. Her eyes became dreamy and distant.

'Oh,' she said. 'Oh, oh, oh. I'm not going to come. Hm-hm!'

'Shhh,' said Emma.

Anna's breathing grew loud. Her face pinkened. — 'Oh my gosh.'

Her lips parted, her eyes shut, she began sniffing rapidly. The flush spread. She seemed to sneeze two or three times. Then she shuddered.

They craned to watch her face as she came, and it was as good as Emma had promised. Anna had a diffident style of orgasm, as though she was trying to keep it to herself but not succeeding. She smiled, opened and closed her mouth, hummed through her nose, and turned red. Her eyelids fluttered, and her eyes turned aside. The audience was enraptured. They put their arms around each other, and sighed, and moaned. Nearly all of them would gladly have swapped places with Anna, at that moment. (But Richie looked out the window and frowned. She disapproved of this sort of thing.)

It was over. They gave Anna a few scant seconds to breathe, and then started again. This time Raffy used her mouth, washing the tip of Anna's nipple with her tongue. Anna went pink again. When she was approaching orgasm, Emma asked her if she had something to say to Rafaela.

'I'm sorry for calling you a lesbian, Rafaela' murmured Anna, as Rafaela's fingers went deep inside her. Emma chuckled. Soon Anna was humming and smiling again.

Emma, like a shrewd impresario, went scouting for fresh talent to keep the act alive. Her eye lighted upon Heffy. She chose well. Heffy's demurral, necessary for modesty's sake, last barely five seconds. Then she came over, knelt between Anna's legs, and began work with nimble fingers. Others were recruited. Soon Anna was being kissed, and suckled, and entered, all at once

'This is a first,' she murmured, as desire scooped her up again, and bore her away. She came again and again. Emma, ever the commanding officer, kept them busy. She got Sugs to snog Anna, and properly this time. She persuaded Lou to use her tongue on her, too, and watched as she did so, and said she bet Anna had never dreamed she'd one day be sucked off by her head of house. Lou raised her head in alarm, hearing it put like this. Then she shrugged and went back to work. And so the sweet Bacchanal continued. If Anna even noticed the camera flashing away, she gave no sign.

They anointed her with more oil. They discovered that nibbling her earlobes made her squeal with laughter. The wooden spoon was reintroduced in a more kindly manner. They played hide-and-seek with marshmallows. Then they spotted Emma's fruit bowl, and this opened up all sorts of new and exciting avenues. Inspired, Lou was just asking Emma if she had an electric toothbrush, when...

Tap! Tap! Tap! on the door.

They froze. Then — oh horror! — the voice of authority, asking Emma to open up.

Emma held up a finger, telling them not to panic. — 'Coming Miss Morgan!' she cried.

She took stock of the situation. She looked at Anna, and she looked at her school trunk, and came to a instant decision. Within seconds Anna was inside, and the rug on top straightened, and Sugs sitting on it with a glass of lemonade in her hand.

Then Emma breathed deeply and smiled, like an actress about to go onstage, and unlocked the door. The housemistress entered impatiently, looked around the room, and demanded to know what they thought they doing. Didn't they know it was nearly midnight? Did they have permission to be out of their houses? How had the carpet got into such a state? Had they been drinking?

The party was over. The guests departed. And inside the trunk, Anna, as quietly as she could, started removing fruit from various of her orifices.

*

It took Emma a long time to get rid of the housemistress, for even after the guests had been sent away, 'Tina' had plenty to say about prefects who abused their privileges. But at last Emma wished her goodnight and shut the door. She looked over at the trunk, and decided to make Anna stay put for a while. The one thing everyone knows about housemistresses is their habit of creeping back. Especially those like Tina, who go about their jobs as amateur sleuths.

So she began clearing up, dropping plastic cups and paper plates and napkins into a bin bag, picking up stray bits of food, plumping cushions, and straightening the bed. Not a peep meanwhile came from the trunk. It was a solid, old-fashioned affair, and Anna probably could hear nothing from the inside. She would stay until called for. In fact — Emma grinned — she could make Anna stay in there all night, if she wanted, for the trunk had locks. Here Emma began dreaming, imagining herself locking Anna in the trunk whenever she'd been insolent. She'd buy a water bowl, and make air holes...

Air holes! A thrust of horror. Before her eyes the trunk turned into a coffin.

She raised the lid with eyes averted. When she forced herself to look, her worst fears were realised. Anna was motionless, curled up, her eyes closed. Emma's heart stopped. And then, disturbed by the light, Anna grunted, stirred, and smiled. Emma put a finger under Anna's nose, and felt her warm breath. Anna was sleeping like a baby. Fruit lay all around her.

Emma went and sat on a hard chair until her nerves recovered, and cursed herself two dozen times for a fool. When she had calmed down she went to the trunk again, and stood looking down at Anna, smiling. Then she fetched the camera and took a photograph.

The flash woke Anna. She sat up in the trunk, rubbing her eyes. — 'Is she gone?'

'She's gone. Arise!'

'Did you get into trouble?'

'Yes.'

'Good.' Anna climbed out of the trunk and looked around her. 'Where've you put my clothes?'

'Not yet. We've still got some business.' Emma sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside her. 'Come and sit.'

'Can I put my clothes on?'

'No. Come and sit.'

So Anna went over to the sofa. Emma glanced between her legs. 'Actually would you mind kneeling? You're all sticky.'

'Can I have a shower?'

'When we're finished. Now kneel and be quiet.'

So Anna knelt at Emma's feet.

Emma held the camera so that Anna could see the little screen at the back. She began scrolling through the photos. Crude, pixellated, naked Annas appeared one after another, in various decadent attitudes.

'All of me, huh?' said the real Anna.

'Why don't you look?'

Anna shrugged.

'Well, you know what they are. It's a nasty trick, but you've left me option, have you? Now — you have photos, and I have photos. Here's what's going to happen. Tomorrow morning, straight after chapel, you will go and get your photos, come round here...'

'Oh Emma!' said Anna, in disappointed and exasperated tones. She put her finger to Emma's lips. 'Shush!'

Emma stopped talking. An angry spark danced in her eye.

'Stop being so boring!' said Anna. She got to her feet, found her jacket, and took out a parcel tied with a silver ribbon.

'I'd have given it to you earlier,' she said, 'But what with all your games...'

She knelt again at Emma's feet and gave her the present. 'Happy Birthday!'

Emma weighed it with her hand. She glanced at Anna, not daring to believe yet.

'I hope you like it,' said Anna.

Emma untied the ribbon, and slid a finger under the seam of the paper. If she noticed the pattern on the wrapping-paper — toy soldiers — she gave no sign.

Inside was an envelope. And inside the envelope were eleven polaroid photographs. Emma flicked through them, almost in a state of shock. And if Anna hadn't know better, she'd have sworn she saw a hint of dampness in Emma's eyes.

Anna didn't want to see that. So she went to have a shower. She took the punchbowl with her, wondering why Emma had put it back on the table. In the bathroom she had a gorgeous soapy shower that lasted all of thirty seconds before the hot water went, cleaned her teeth with a toothbrush that may or may not have been Emma's, and emptied and rinsed out the punchbowl, which she should have done first. She wrapped a towel around her and went back into Emma's room

Emma was still on the sofa. But she had recovered. 'You little toe-rag! You were laughing at me the whole time!'

'Hardly that.'

'You've been taking the piss! What the hell for?'

'Tonight, Emma, you have learned a valuable lesson, one which I hope you'll never...'

'Quiet, you piffler! Get over here! Get over here this instant!'

Anna put down the punchbowl, and came to sit next to Emma.

Emma put her arms around her and laid her cheek against Anna's. 'You snot-nosed brat,' she said. 'Think you're funny?'

'Like your present, then, do you?'

'Nicest present I ever had.'

She kissed Anna on the cheek, and then on the forehead. She squeezed her tightly, and told her she hated being made a fool of, and that Anna had better watch out. Then she kissed her again on her fresh pepperminty mouth.

'You taste nice,' she said. And then gave a low gurgle of laughter, shot a glance at Anna, and said, 'Tina thought you tasted nice, too.'

'The housemistress? What do you mean?'

Emma grinned at her. But Anna couldn't guess the riddle, so she continued, 'Tina was convinced we'd been drinking. "Miss Morgan," I said, "Nothing but soft drinks have passed our lips all night." "Then why, Emma," she says, "Did you hide the punchbowl under the bed, before you unlocked the door?"

'Oh my God! Oh ... my ... God!'

'Nothing I said would convince her. And look here, Anna, you're not to tell anyone. The poor woman finds it difficult to keep order as it is.'

'What did she say?'

'She took a sip, and simpered, and said it was nice, and said anyway she hoped for our sakes we hadn't been drinking...'

'I should have made you drink it. That would have been poetic justice.'

They kissed again, and Emma said that anything which may have befallen Anna was entirely in her best interests. They kissed once more. Anna was sweet and amorous. The towel had fallen to her waist, and she made no effort to restore it. She pressed her mouth to Emma's, and for a moment their tongues met. But then Emma sat back, wrinkled her nose at her, and said, 'We musn't. We are at school, remember.'

Here Anna hotly demanded to know which school rule allowed fucking with bananas, but not a bit of kissing.

'We come to school to improve ourselves,' said Emma primly. 'Not to wallow in sinful pleasure. That's for the holidays.'

She wrapped the towel around Anna's breasts, gave her a peck on the cheek, and stood up. Anna pouted.

'Speaking of which,' said Emma, 'My other birthday party is on the seventeenth. You're coming, of course.'

'As a guest or as the entertainment?'

'Guest. But I want you there a few days early, to help with the arrangements. Lifting chairs and so on. It'll be fun. My Dad's away most of the week, so we'll have the place to ourselves.'

'Well ... I'll have a look in my diary...'

'Diary! As if you have a diary! I'll buy you a diary. You're going to need it, too. Life's about to get rather busy for you, young Miss Hargreaves. Now listen up and attend!'

'Can't this wait till tomorrow?' sighed Anna.

'No.'

Emma spent the next few minutes pacing to and fro, like a Brigadier before battle, discoursing on Anna's future existence. Anna's days of ease and comfort were over, she announced. Anna the brat and Anna the non-achiever were no more. All the things she was most fond of — cigarettes ('Oh, you know you do!'), and a lie-in, and insubordination, and lazy afternoons spent doing nothing at all — were in the past. Henceforth she should consider herself at boot camp for delinquent youth, which is what she was. Anna listened with a sort of glum euphoria as Emma outlined a typical day in this new regime, which would begin with a run before breakfast, and end either in the gym, or with extra maths tuition from Emma. (Anna had failed the exam four times in a row, and was famous for it. But no university would touch her without it.)

'Those are just some preliminary thoughts, anyway,' said Emma, when she had talked herself dry. 'What do you think?'

'I want my photos back.'

'Tomorrow we'll work out a proper schedule.'

'Or we could watch Private Benjamin, and take notes.'

'You're tired and are therefore getting snotty. Off you go to bed, and be outside the back door at 0630. Have you got a decent pair of trainers? And something waterproof if it's wet?'

She chivvied Anna into her clothes — Anna protesting all the while at this rude treatment — and held the door open for her.

'Goodnight,' she said. 'That's an order.'

Anna was hustled out into the corridor. She turned around and came straight back in, stood on tiptoes, and kissed Emma again, full on the mouth. Emma was not pleased. But she relented, and for a few moments their tongues met. Then Anna ran off into the dark. She knew she wouldn't see much of the nicer side of Emma until the holidays. But tonight she wanted to go to bed with the taste of her on her lips. She deserved that at least.

EPILOGUE

Corporal Hargreaves had been put in charge of the prison, and she was sick to the gills. She stood with her guards in front of the old building, looking into the darkness, trying to guess how the war was progressing. They had heard the starting gun forty minutes ago, and since then, only a distant shout or two which could mean anything. Their flag was half a mile to the East. The enemy's was two miles to the North. They might as well have been back at school, and in bed, for all the action they had seen.

The cadets begun complaining of boredom. Anna nipped that in the bud.

'We'll just have to lump it, that's all,' she said. 'Something'll happen sooner or later. In the meantime, there's always the old Squaddie's Friend.' She produced a packet of cigarettes.

One cadet didn't smoke. Another did — sometimes — but wasn't yet sixteen, and Anna refused to be the corruptor of youth. So three cigarettes bobbed cheerily in the darkness, were smoked down to the filter, and put out under heavy army boots. All was still again. But presently came footsteps, and a figure in the darkness. The soldiers raised their rifles (antique .303s that hadn't fired in sixty years) and demanded identification.

'Cadet Officer!' called a voice.

'Approach!' said one of the soldiers, and there was laughter.

The Cadet Officer — this year's Cadet Officer — came up. She was the only member of the corps not participating in the game, acting instead as a roving referee.

They saluted her, and she returned it.

'How is it going, Corporal?' she said. 'No prisoners yet?'

'Not one.'

'I can't believe they stuck you down here, Anna. Your lot need their heads examined. Complete waste of ... of you.'

'I told them so myself.'

'Who else is here?'

'Cadets Markham, Seth, Lancaster and ...'

'...Smith,' prompted a voice.

'...And Smith.'

'And which of them has been smoking?'

Her voice was suddenly prefectorial. Unlike her illustrious predecessor, this new Cadet Officer often confused her military and civilian roles; even in the middle of a war.

'That would have been the coach-driver,' said Anna smoothly 'On the way over. Five fags in a row, one after the other, and we had to sit next to him. Horrid things.'

'Well, next time, tell him those horrid things will kill him.'

She hadn't bought it, of course, but she was going to let it go. Anna, after a polite pause, asked how the game was going, and the Cadet Officer told her as much as she could without prejudicing the other team, which wasn't much. The conversation broadened into general chat. By and by the Cadet Officer said, 'Do you hear from Emma much?'

'Emma' was last year's Cadet Officer, with whom Anna had been somewhat close.

'Now and then,' she said. In fact she'd had a letter only yesterday from Emma, writing in her latest incarnation as a teacher-cum-medical-officer in Uttar Pradesh. She was licking the kids into shape, she told Anna; had taught them about soap, toothpaste, and handkerchiefs; and had saved the entire village from a rabid dog. She sent her love, and signed off with a promise to get on the first plane back to England, clutching a mahout's stick, should she hear that Anna had relapsed into brattiness, snottiness, or general moral disgrace.

'And she's still in India, is she? Marvellous. Marvellous. Well then, I'll be pushing along. Want me to pull a few strings, and get you relieved after a while? Can't promise anything.'

Anna was tempted. But it wasn't her style to ask for favours.

'Thank you. For the cadets, perhaps. I'll stick it out.'

The Cadet Officer went away. Anna felt uncomfortable about the smoking thing. That was a bit bratty. This new Cadet Officer had always showed herself willing to trust Anna, and Anna was grateful, because she needed allies. Emma, and Richie, and Lou, and the rest of them, were gone for good. Their successors — girls in Anna's own year — gave her the cold shoulder, and who could blame them? They had worked three long years for promotion, after all, and Anna had achieved hers in one. Even so, on a night like tonight when she should have been in the thick of action, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Her cadets now spoke up. If she was staying put, they said, then they would too. 'Very good,' said Anna. 'I've a feeling we'll get something out of this, one way or another.' The cadets thought so too. Things tended to happen around Anna.

*

The first prisoner arrived at midnight, and at last there was activity. One of the guards went inside to light the paraffin lamps, and the inside of the prison (an old outbuilding with half its roof missing) glowed a dim yellow. Anna informed the prisoner of her rights — which were none — marched her in, told her to sit down, take her belt off, and her boot-laces out.

The belt was to go around her ankles. 'Oh, you must be joking!' said the prisoner, although she didn't put up a fight. She was more unhappy about having her wrists tied behind her with the boot-laces. 'I'm not going to sit here all night like a supermarket chicken!' she said. 'That's exactly how you're going to sit,' said Anna. They had to use a bit of force. Anna herself did the tying. She was good with knots. Soon the prisoner was helpless.

'And now what?' she said. 'Are you going to tickle me?'

This was a deal too cheeky, even from a POW taken honourably. Everybody knew the story, but Anna didn't always like to be reminded of it. The prisoner got a gentle slap on the cheek, to remind her who was in charge.

Soon, however, she was content, and even enjoying the novelty of it all — the flickering lamps which illuminated first one face and then another, and the cigarette held to her lips by Anna, and (secretly) her bound wrists and ankles. She told them how the game was unfolding.

'Your team's way behind,' she said. 'I can't believe I'm your first prisoner! We must have twenty of yours!'

'Twenty!' cried Anna, with a glance at her guards. 'I bet it's not that many!'

'I bet it is. Fifteen, at least.'

'Who told you that?'

'I saw them myself!' said the prisoner. 'Because I caught one. We're putting you all in the old air-raid shelter.'

'That's a pretty stupid place!'

'Un-un. Because the guards can defend as well.'

'How can they? The flag's miles away.'

'There's more than one way to defend a flag.'

'Sounds daft to me,' said Anna.

All right then, it's daft. Wait till your lot get to the trees, and then see how daft it is.'

'You can't defend along the whole line of trees!'

'You can if you...'

Here the prisoner suddenly stopped talking. Anna grinned in the paraffin-light.

'Oh bollocks,' said the prisoner, disgusted with herself.

'Bollocks indeed,' said Anna. 'Now — what about your password? Tell me your password.'

'I'm not telling you our password!'

'Hmm — So your team has a password, does it? Interesting. Now, what could it be, I wonder...?'

The prisoner clamped her teeth shut.

'Funny thing you mentioned tickling,' said Anna. 'I wonder where you're most ticklish, Gill. Here?'

She poked the prisoner in the ribs.

'Against the rules!' cried the prisoner.

'What rules?'

' The rules!'

'Oh, those rules. Well, perhaps, but the night is dark, the hut is lonely, nobody will hear your screams ...'

Unfortunately, at that very moment she was contradicted by the sentry's cry: 'Who goes there?'

'Bonaventure!' came the low reply. (This was the team's password, which Anna had chosen. It was the only contribution she'd been allowed to make.)

Anna went outside. More prisoners were arriving, escorted by three soldiers. Anna told her guards to take them in and process them, and meanwhile passed on to the soldiers the information she had gleaned from the first prisoner.

'All along the trees?' said the soldiers.

'I think so.' Anna put her head around the door. 'Are they all along the trees, Gill?'

The prisoner swore at her.

'I'm not saying for sure, but it's likely,' said Anna.

'That would explain a lot,' said one of the soldiers. 'We must have lost about twenty of ours.'

'Twenty-five,' said another. 'I'd say at least twenty-five.'

'Well don't just stand there, you galoots! Hurry back and spread it around!'

The soldiers sped away into the dark.

Anna went inside to interrogate the new prisoners. They had submitted to their bonds readily enough, the precedent having been set. But the original prisoner warned them not to say a word to Hargreaves. She was sly as ten foxes, she said. Anna silently cursed herself. 'If I was sly as even one fox,' she thought, 'I'd have gagged that prisoner first.'

Over the next hour her little prison began to fill up. There were four captives, then six, then eight, then eleven. The soldiers who escorted them also brought news, and it was grimmer each time. They were being wiped out, slaughtered in droves. Their troops kept heading over into enemy territory, and disappearing for good.

'Then why do they keep going?' cried Anna, dancing with impatience.

'What else can we do?'

'Don't you see their game? They're holding back in defence, picking us off one by one, and when we're all gone they'll come strolling in and take the flag.'

'Well, what do you suggest? We've tried going wide, we've tried making a dash for it, we've tried sneaking through...'

'You always have ideas, Hargreaves,' piped up another soldier.

'My idea is, we use a bit of brain,' said Anna.

She ordered one of her guards to go in and remove the prisoners' armbands. Then she talked quietly with the soldiers and the other guards, laying out a plan and getting them to understand it. When the armbands arrived she gave them to the soldiers and sent them off.

She went back inside and the prisoners protested that all this was against the rules. Anna set them straight.

'The rules say we have to keep our armbands on at all times,' she said. 'They don't say we can't wear someone else's on top. Surely everyone spotted that?'

'Won't do you any good, anyway,' growled one of the prisoners — and the girl sitting behind her kicked her with both feet.

'Because of the password, I suppose. But you're going to tell me, aren't you?'

They laughed at her.

'Laugh now, little girls,' she said. 'You'll sing like canaries later.'

'So, Anna — is it true about you, last year, in the dormitory, and...'

'Silence, dog!' snarled Anna, 'Or I'll have you gagged!'

'Gag? Oh Anna! You haven't been shopping on the Internet, have you?'

'Oh Anna — we are so disappointed.'

Anna lashed out with a string of fine old military curses, and they replied in true spirit. It was a merry prison, and that was fine for now. Later they wouldn't be smiling.

Three more captives arrived under guard. One was a Sergeant who had always regarded Anna with high mistrust.

Anna saluted her high-ranking prisoner, and the Sergeant returned it. She was led inside. There she exclaimed at the bound hands of the prisoners — 'Is that really necessary, Anna?'

'Anna likes tying people up,' suggested one of the prisoners.

'Silence, captive!' To the Sergeant she said: 'Quite necessary. We had to tie their feet to stop them running away, and their hands to stop them untying their feet.'

'Well, you'll forgive me if I keep my boot-laces where they belong. I won't run.'

'I'm afraid I can't permit that, Sergeant. Prison rules. Same for everyone.'

'Well — If you must, you must,' said the Sergeant with a sigh, 'It'll be over before too long, anyway. Your side's doing terribly.' She sat heavily on the floor (she was a big girl) and submitted herself to her own belt and boot-laces, although without much good grace.

'Now,' said Anna, 'Which of you is going to tell me your password?'

'Arse!' sang a voice, and the prison rang with laughter. Anna's face, even by the dim light of the paraffin lamps, was suddenly black. She stood, with all the stillness of anger, and her eye swept the captives, looking at each in turn, and coming to rest at last on one — a pale and insignificant girl who had been brought in with the Sergeant.

Anna got down on her hands and knees, and put her face close to the cadet's, as if she were a dog about to lick the girl's face.

'Tell me the password, little girl,' she growled.

The girl shook her head, smiling.

'Tell me the stinking password!' shouted Anna.

'Oh leave her alone, for heaven's sake,' said the Sergeant. 'Stop being such an idiot, Hargreaves. No-one's telling you anything.'

'Very well.'

Anna clicked her fingers at her guards. Under Anna's directions they plucked the girl out of the mass of prisoners, lifting her by thighs and armpits, and lay her in the middle of the floor. The Sergeant clucked in protest.

Anna knelt by the girl.

'Name?'

The girl glanced at the Sergeant for permission, and then confessed she was called Natasha — Natasha Corkran.

Anna stroked Natasha's cheek with a finger.

'Well, Natasha, I expect you've heard all about me, haven't you? I'm notorious, in my own little way? Aren't I?'

Natasha nodded and smiled, timidly enjoying the game.

'Now, I know you know the password, Natasha. And I know you want to tell me the password. Yes, you do — deep down. So I've got to do a bit of persuading first, and then you'll tell it to me. See?'

'Just be careful what sort of persuading you mean,' said the Sergeant.

'Quiet, prisoner!'

The Sergeant smiled thinly.

'Now, normally,' continued Anna, 'I'd give you the whole song and dance. Slow build-up, turn down the lamps, a whole heap of psychological stuff. Only we don't have much time. So let's cut to the chase.'

She began untying the girl's hands. 'First things first, Natasha — when I've got your hands free, I want you to take your sweater and shirt off.'

Natasha looked at the Sergeant, and the Sergeant was indignant on her behalf.

'You will not make her take any of her clothes off!' she said. 'Anna, do you hear me? You will not get her to take off any clothes!'

'Quiet, please!'

'I'm giving you an order, Hargreaves.'

'My gosh I'm good at knots. No — there we go. All done!'

There was moment of silence. The entire prison waited to see what would happen next.

'Well come along, Natasha dear. You do know how to get undressed, don't you?'

'Natasha, do not listen to her!' cried the Sergeant, struggling at her own bonds. 'She has no right to make you do that! Will someone untie me!'

'This is my prison, Sergeant, may I remind you?'

'You there!' said the Sergeant, to one of Anna's guards. 'Untie me at once! That's an order.'

'Don't untie her,' said Anna.

Natasha looked from the Sergeant to Anna, and from Anna to the Sergeant. She wore a little smile, to say she understood this was all a game. But the rest of her face was not so sure. Anna's defiance of the Sergeant raised uncomfortable possibilities. The inside of the building was suddenly full of shadows.

'No? Need some help? Up we go, then!'

The prisoner's arms were lifted over her head by Anna, and one of the guards pulled the sweater off. The prisoner put up only a token struggle, apparently still resting her faith in the Sergeant.

'Anna, I'm warning you, as your superior officer...'

'You're a prisoner-of-war, Sergeant. You don't have rank.'

The guards held the prisoner's arms, and Anna undid the buttons of her shirt.

The more conscientious of the prisoners began to join the Sergeant in protesting. Others watched in guilty enjoyment. All were fascinated, as the shirt was removed, and Natasha was left in her bra. She was a short girl, a little plump. Her breasts were rather large, and there was a bulge at the edges of the bra. Her flesh shivered — or perhaps it was the light from the paraffin-lamps as it caressed her skin.

Anna stood over the captive, considering her with a frown, and running an eye over her flesh.

'No — not enough to work with,' she said. 'Boots and trousers, please, guards.'

The guards did their work, Natasha writhed, and the Sergeant shouted. Within half a minute, Natasha was sitting in her underwear. Her head was bowed.

Anna knelt between the girl's bare legs, and put a finger under her chin to raise it. Natasha's bright eyes reflected three paraffin flames. She was scared, it seemed, and soon she might cry. She had apparently realised that one game had ended, and another begun, and that this new game could go anywhere. She looked again at the Sergeant — the large and ridiculous Sergeant who sat bristling as her authority slipped away. There was only one person in charge now.

Anna spoke quietly to Natasha, and the indignant room hushed to hear her.

'No need to worry, my darling. Just tell me the password, and it'll all be over.'

Natasha's lip quivered.

'I know you want to. Don't you?'

'Sean Connery!' cried a voice from the back. 'The password's Sean Connery.'

There were grunts of agreement from the other prisoners.

'Is it Sean Connery, my darling?' said Anna.

Natasha nodded eagerly.

'Liar!'

She stood up, went behind Natasha, and asked for her wrists — 'please'. Natasha paused, and then laid them in the small of her back. Anna bound them.

'By the way, I should inform you all,' she said, 'That this knot is utterly undo-able, except by me. I know this, because I learnt it off a friend of mine, and she used to practice it on me a lot.'

Most of the prisoners had already discovered this grim fact.

'And now I'm just popping out for a second,' said Anna. 'Everyone behave!'

She left. The Sergeant urgently spoke to the guards. She was a Cadet Sergeant and a school prefect, and on both counts she was ordering them to untie her. Did they understand her? What did they think they were playing at? Hargreaves was in trouble, grave trouble, acting this way, but they, the guards, could save themselves if they untied her, right away. Otherwise, they'd be up in front of the Head first thing in the morning ... Did they understand her? ... Had they all gone mad ...?

'What's all this?' said Anna, reappearing at the door. 'Corrupting my men?'

In her hand was a bunch of nettles.

Natasha saw them and sat bolt upright, her arms instinctively trying to break loose, and she squirmed as if those wicked leaves had already bitten her. Her legs were still free, and as Anna approached, she scooted backwards across the floor, rolled onto her side, and tried to get to her feet, scrabbling nakedly and ridiculously.

The guards caught her and brought her, struggling, into the middle of the room. Anna told them to put the belt around her ankles again.

She dropped the nettles on the floor and rubbed the back of one hand. 'Don't you love it when clichés come true?' she said. 'Grasping the nettle really is the way to do it. Unfortunately one of them got me anyway. Look!' She showed Natasha her hand.

'She's only trying to scare you, Natasha' said a prisoner. 'She's only pretending. Don't tell her anything!'

Anna put her hands on the tops of Natasha's bent knees, as if resting them on a pair of gateposts. 'We agree it isn't Sean Connery, don't we, 'Tasha?'

'Oh please don't do anything, Anna,' whispered the girl.

'Will you tell me who it really is?'

A tear appeared in Natasha's eye. She wasn't very brave, it would seem. The room appealed to Anna again. It wasn't a joke any more, they said. The poor girl was petrified.

Anna ignored them. She gently rubbed Natasha's kneecaps, as if polishing them.

'Not going to tell me?' she said sadly. 'Let's get started then.'

She picked up a nettle. It was no more than six inches long.

'Nobody's going to tell you a thing,' cried the Sergeant, 'But if that nettle so much as touches that girl...'

'A touch is all it takes,' said Anna, inspecting her nettle. 'And the young ones are the best. Or worst, depending.'

The room watched in horror, and the same voice said, 'She isn't going to do it, you know.'

'I think your arms first, Natasha,' said Anna. 'What lovely round arms you have! Shall we start with this one?'

'Oh please don't, Anna!'

'She won't,' said the voice. 'It's a bluff.'

Anna brushed the nettle along the length of Natasha's arm.

Natasha convulsed. There was a dreadful, stunned silence. And then she yelped — 'Oh God!' — and gulped, and a sob burst from her throat. The prison rang with her noise.

Anna, kneeling, regarded her little victim with compassion.

'Oh dear oh dear oh dear. Poor little thing. Oh well. Needs must. Ready for side two?'

'Anna, if we tell you the password,' said a prisoner. 'Will you put the nettle down?'

'Like a shot,' said Anna.

All right then. It's Mel Gibson.'

Someone tutted. Others muttered their approval.

'Word of honour. It's Mel Gibson.'

'Mel Gibson,' said Anna, 'Or Brad Pitt, or Matt Damon, or ... or Harrison Ford. What do you think, Natasha?'

'It's Mel Gibson!' said Natasha. 'Oh, please!'

'I don't believe you!' sang Anna.

Natasha shrunk away from the nettle. Anna told her guards to hold her still, and lightly brushed the second arm from top to bottom, as if dusting it. Natasha's screams were terrible.

The prisoners blared out their own anger, and struggled in their bonds. Some tried wriggling across the floor, and had to be dragged back by the guards.

'Anything to tell me yet, Natasha? No? No advance on Mel Gibson? Because your legs come next, I'm afraid.'

'The password doesn't matter any more,' said the Sergeant. 'Because your team is now disqualified. I'll see to that personally. Now drop that nettle!'

'Why? This is a standard interrogation technique. The real army does it all the time ... What a pity your ankles are tied, Natasha! Because the inside of the thigh — here — is the best place. The skin is so tender. I tell you what ... If I undo your feet, will you promise not to scuttle away?'

Natasha looked at her, bubbling tears and snot, her face red, and perhaps not even comprehending what Anna was saying.

Anna took off the belt — 'Shame not to do things properly' — and two of the guards spread Natasha's legs wide. Anna selected a fresh nettle — 'Presumably they run out of zip, sooner or later' — and lovingly stroked it along Natasha's inner thigh, from knee to crotch.

Ghastly were Natasha's cries.

'Anna! ... Anna! ... Anna! ... Anna!' growled the Sergeant, desperately trying to stamp her authority again, and sounding rather like a dog-owner whose dog disappeared into the bushes several minutes ago, with no intention of returning.

Anna was deaf to her. 'Here's the thing ... Mel Gibson used to be hot, now he's ... mad. I mean, do you like him, Natasha? Do you? — Oh, I do wish you'd try and be a bit more helpful.'

'Anna! ... Anna! ...Listen!' shouted the Sergeant.

Anna attended to Natasha's other thigh. Natasha sobbed and bawled like a jungle of monkeys.

'A bus-full of teenage girls, brimful with teenage passion, and they pick Mel Gibson as their poster-boy? I don't buy it. They'd say, "Mel Gibson? Oh, pur-leeeease. He's like way past it..." And so on. But you're going to tell me. Aren't you, my sweet? And I'm going to help you. Shall we see what we have under here?'

She reached forward and unhooked Natasha's bra. The room exploded with outrage.

The bra was slid down, and Natasha's breasts hung out, plump and yellow, with rather large and very dark nipples. Natasha looked down at them in surprise, as if seeing them for the first time.

Anna picked up a nettle.

'Anna, stop this,' said the Sergeant in her most terrible voice.

'I'm not going to lie to you, Natasha,' said Anna, 'This probably will hurt. A lot.'

'Anna — I am going to tell you the password. I give you my word as a school prefect that I'm telling you the truth, if you put that nettle down. It's James Spader.'

Nobody spoke.

'James Spader?' said Anna. 'Interesting. Possible. Let's see what Natasha says.'

She swept the nettle across Natasha's nipple.

'Oh God!' said the Sergeant, and shut her eyes too. Others hissed, imagining the pain.

For the space of two whole minutes, Natasha writhed on the floor, doubled up in agony. Anna told the guards to leave her alone. At the end of this period she squatted by Natasha's head.

'Now they're saying James Spader!'

'It IS James Spader!' cried all the prisoners. 'Oh, please believe us!'

'I have my doubts,' said Anna, and squatted down to inspect the nettle-brushed nipple.

'Tch! Look at your poor old boob! What a shame. But what am I to think? First they say Sean, then it's Mel, now it's James. I'm completely confused. And you're not helping me at all. So there's only one place left for me to go. You do know where that is, don't you?'

It wasn't certain whether the sobbing lump of Natasha knew anything at all, at that moment, except pain. But she did at least register her knickers being slid down her legs, because a fresh bout of sobs erupted from her. She made no effort to fight, however. The knickers were taken off. They lay her naked on her back, and her legs were parted.

Anna selected five or six nettles, and put them in a bunch. 'Just like a feather duster,' she said to the crowd.

'It's James Spader' yelled a prisoner, 'Because Melissa Mayhew suggested it! It was Melissa's idea! You know how crazy she is about James Spader!'

'No,' said Anna, pausing to think about this. 'I don't know how crazy she is about James Spader.'

She knelt between Natasha's legs. — 'I don't know who Melissa Mayhew is, for that matter. Are you ready, Natasha?'

She was just about to do this vilest deed of all — the prisoners now screaming on Natasha's behalf — when she stopped, frowned, and straightened.

'Actually — I've got a better idea,' she said, and stood. Her eyes gleamed. 'Get the prisoner to her feet, please.'

The limp and naked girl was stood up, and propped between two guards.

'Take her out. No wait, let's get her into her boots.'

Her laceless boots were fixed to the prisoner's feet. Then the whole party left. It was heartbreaking to see the girl led — sobbing, clomping, and naked — into the darkness and its unknown torture. Only one guard was left to watch the other prisoners. The Sergeant made a final, desperate appeal to the girl's reason. She could still save herself. She could still do the right thing. She could still come to her senses. The guard smiled nervously.

And suddenly an ear-splitting scream came from the outside. The room fell silent.

Anna reappeared looking pleased. 'I didn't even do anything!' she said. 'I just showed her the nettle patch. It's a good thirty foot wide. Shouldn't like to walk it myself, with no clothes on. Tall, as well. Up to here.' She held a hand up to her hips.

'You know it might kill her?'

'What? No. Nonsense! Anyway, here's the deal. I said to Natasha, tell me the real password, and then I'll go inside and get them to tell me the real password, and if you both say the same thing, then I'll excuse her the nettle patch. She thought that an excellent idea. And — she very kindly told me the real password! None of this James Spader nonsense. All you have to do is confirm it...'

The prisoners looked at each other in amazement. 'But it is James Spader!'

'That's not what she said.'

'Because you've tortured her!'

'She'd say anything now, wouldn't she?'

'Yes, you do realise this is torture, Anna?' said the heavy Sergeant. 'We're talking about police and ... and everything!'

'So you're all sticking to James Spader, are you? Tch! Not very nice for Natasha. Did I say thirty feet? Make it forty.'

Out she went. The horrified room braced itself for Natasha's screams — only to see, after a few moments, Anna reappear at the door, and then Natasha herself, coyly covering herself with her hands, her tears replaced with smiles.

'James Spader?' said Anna to the prisoners. 'James Spader, did I hear you say? Oh, you frabjous asses!'

Still dazed by horror, the prisoners could now only gape.

'Didn't I say I'd have you singing like canaries? Natasha, my dear, take a bow!'

'When I've got some clothes on,' said Natasha, rather hotly. 'Nobody said anything to me about a striptease.'

Astonishment sat among the prisoners, and then the first gleams of awful realisation. The slow Sergeant began groping her way towards enlightenment. 'What do you think you are doing?' she demanded of Natasha. 'Are you helping them, or ... what? I'm confused.'

'She is us, Sergeant,' said Anna. 'Captured by her own side. I thought a mole might come in handy.'

'You did that to her...? Just to ...?'

Anna picked up one of the nettles and brushed it over her own face. 'There are stinging-nettles, and then there are nettles.'

The prisoners hurriedly set about cursing themselves, groaning, shaking their heads, and trying to think of names for what Anna was, and for what they were, too.

'But what a performance, eh?' said Anna. 'What an act! Oh my gosh!'

'It wasn't all, though' said Natasha 'I thought the nettles were real at first. I nearly wept.'

'You did weep. Beautifully. Now get a move on, my girl. You're not done yet. You've got a flag to pick up.'

'Me?'

'If these great asses don't know whose side you're on, neither will anyone. Excuse me Sergeant,' (the latter was hotly blustering again) 'I'll be with you in a minute, but time is of the essence. Here's the plan, Natasha...'

She sent her off within two minutes, and watched her disappear into the darkness.

'What a girl, huh?' she said, coming back inside. 'What ... an ... amazing ... girl!'

'You are utterly disgusting!' said the Sergeant. 'How dare you pull a stunt like that!'

She looked around for support. But on every other face sat amusement, chagrin, and admiration.

'It was just a game, Sergeant. Surprised you fell for it, really.'

'Do you call that a game?'

'This whole thing's a game, isn't it? The funny thing is, though,' — Anna was now speaking to the ceiling — 'The funny thing is, you let me torture both her arms, and both her legs, and she was screaming her guts out, too — before you told me your real password. It's interesting, isn't it?'

The Sergeant took a deep breath — and found this difficult to answer.

'Anyway — it's just a game,' said Anna again, irrelevantly. 'Might as well start untying you now, if you promise not to run. It'll all be over soon, one way or another.'

*

Natasha strolled into enemy territory, took their flag, and strolled out again. It was as easy as taking a tea-towel off a clothes-line. She was proclaimed hero and borne aloft. The whole story then emerged, but Anna refused to take credit for it — 'Natasha did all the hard work. I just tickled her a bit.' The top brass arrived soon after, to say that Anna's team had been disqualified. At once a chorus of angry cadets — Anna had primed them well — demanded to know which rule they had broken. It may be true, came the reply, that no actual rule had be broken, as such, but some members of their team had employed unallowable tactics, the whole team was therefore disqualified, and that was final. So victory went to the other team, but it was a stale sort of victory, while Anna's team were joyful in defeat.

'You'd have laughed like a parrot,' wrote Anna in her next letter to Uttar Pradesh. 'And you can spare me your mahout's stick, too, as I already got a dressing-down from Cadet Officer Kemp, the very next day, in front of just about everyone. She charged me with obscene and extraordinary behaviour, unwarranted conduct, blah blah blah, but she kept ruining it by smiling. "Just try and be a bit more military next time, Anna," she said. And sent me away. And that was that. Sergeant Bryson will hate me for ever, of course, but it can't be helped. So — how is life with you?'