by Anne Digby
'Oh, it's not that I'm homesick, it's not like that,' said Naomi, awkwardly. 'I'm not a baby. It's just that–'
She stopped, unable to continue; clearly overcome with emotion.
Rebecca waited, hoping that she would continue. But as the moments passed it was obvious that she wasn't going to. And Rebecca knew that she couldn't intrude on something that was obviously very private.
But there was one thing that had to be sorted out and she decided to take the plunge:
'Naomi. Did I see you on Saturday afternoon?' she asked, meaningfully.
Naomi's face immediately became slightly brighter.
'You might have done!' she said. 'At netball practice, you mean? Did you? Was I any good?'
'I –' Rebecca was nonplussed.
'I'm only a reserve at the moment,' said Naomi. 'But Jay Larcombe, she's First Year Head of Games, you know, she says I'm to come to practices every Saturday and if I improve, I might make the First Year team.'
'That's good, isn't it, Naomi?' said Rebecca in relief.
She knew the times of those junior netball practices. They took place on a Saturday, from two till four in the afternoon. So she'd been mistaken! How silly she'd been.
It hadn't been Naomi out on that bike, after all.
'Couldn't matter less,' said Joss with a shrug, when Rebecca apologized, just before French lesson.
'I just don't know what made me feel so certain you'd hit it out,' confessed Rebecca.
'Because you so badly wanted it to be out, that's why,' laughed Joss. 'I was pretty sure myself the ball was in. It didn't matter. But I thought it was a bad sign. It means the pressure's getting to you, Rebecca. Tennis is like that.'
'What, you mean you can convince yourself? See things out when they're in and vice versa?'
'Some people can. Don't get like that, Rebecca. Remember, I've been there, babe!'
'Oh, don't be silly, Joss,' laughed Rebecca, uncomfortably. 'I just made a mistake, that's all.'
She'd been wondering whether to let Joss into her secret or not. She liked Joss. But now she decided she wouldn't.
She went into French, hoping that the dates for the trip to Paris had been fixed by now. She'd had a lovely long letter from Emmanuelle in the post this morning!
No luck. At the French end, they still hadn't got their act together.
Sometime on the following Saturday, nobody could be quite sure when, something else was stolen from Juniper House. Jay Larcombe's brand-new Trebizon blazer, of all things.
It had been hanging in her wardrobe, in the dormitory upstairs. When she went to put it on to go to church, first thing on Sunday morning, it had vanished!
The previous weekend, when Holly Thomas's Walkman had gone, Miss Morgan had finally reached the conclusion (after the building had been thoroughly searched) that somebody from outside the school had nipped in and taken it, a delivery boy perhaps.
'After all, Holly, it was very careless of you to leave it on the table in the hall, just by the main door,' the junior school housemistress had scolded. 'Anybody passing, over the weekend, might have seen it and been tempted. I've given the police all the details but they say the best you can hope for now is that one of their men will spot it in a second-hand shop.'
But now the disappearance of the blazer put things in a slightly different light. It would have been difficult for some outside person to have sneaked around the dormitories upstairs Without being seen, even supposing such a person wanted to steal a school blazer! They'd have had to pass Miss Morgan's office, for a start, and matron or one of the assistant matrons were always around, apart from the scores of junior girls who tended to mill around the big building at weekends.
'I tell you, it's an inside job – my Walkman, too!' Holly said excitedly to Sue and some of the others, bumping into them at the sports centre on the Sunday afternoon. 'There's a thief in Juniper House! Well, we're going to do what you suggested, Mara. We're going to form an action committee of our own.' She turned to her friend, Harriet. 'Aren't we, Harri?'
'Yes! Sara Butters wants to be in it, too!'
'Who'd want to pinch a blazer?' commented Tish.
'Couldn't somebody have taken it by mistake?' suggested Sue.
'Definitely not! Matron's made everyone turn their things out to see if they've got it. It took all morning! And they haven't. She's looked.'
'Someone's pinched it and they've hidden it somewhere!' added Harriet. 'But we've had a brilliant idea, how to catch them. Haven't we, Holly?'
'Yes.'
Rebecca missed all this.
She was tennis training in Exonford again, dreaming about her future . . . and wondering how on earth she was going to get her maps drawn for geography coursework and handed in by Monday morning.
SEVEN
SETTING A TRAP
'Who on earth would want to pinch Jay Larcombe's blazer?' mused Tish out loud, from the corner cubicle. It was late on Sunday evening and she was lying track suited on her bed, bicycling in the air. Twenty-three . . . twenty-four . . . twenty-five . . . she counted. 'Any ideas, Rebecca?' she shouted.
Rebecca was sitting at the work-table in her own cubicle, biting her lip and frowning in deep concentration as she tried to make an accurate copy of a map of Australia. It was so fiddly! The light wasn't very good. She needed a brighter bulb in her desk-lamp. She had yet to write all the main towns and cities in – and the lines of latitude and longitude! And it all had to be as neat and accurate and as near to perfection as possible, to go in her coursework folder. Drat! She hadn't left room for Tasmania at the bottom of the page! She'd have to start all over again!
She was tired, tired, tired.
'REBECCA!' Tish cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled over the wall of her cubicle. 'I SAID, GOT ANY IDEAS?'
'No!' Rebecca suddenly screamed. 'I don't know and I don't care who pinched Jay Larcombe's blazer! I've got to get this done.'
All along the central aisle on the top floor of Court House came grunts and groans and winter coughs from the various cubicles. The majority of girls were already in bed.
'Shut up, you two!'
'Some of us want to get some sleep.'
'I'm tired!' protested Jenny Brook-Hayes.
At that, Rebecca just ground her teeth. What made Jenny think she wasn't? She was exhausted. She couldn't start all over again.
She wrote Please Turn Over at the bottom of the page and drew Tasmania on the back.
'Sorry for biting your head off last night,' Rebecca whispered to Tish, early next morning, as they tiptoed down the fire escape at first light. They were warmly dressed in tracksuits and scarves, off for the usual workout.
'Sure you shouldn't be getting some more sleep?' asked Tish, sympathetically.
'No. It's going to be a lovely morning.'
The skies were clear and the chilly air had a tang to it as they raced across the beach, scrunching the tiny crystals of frost that gave the dark sands a pale sheen. The tide was far out. They ran right down to the edge of the sea, where the reflected sunrise stained the water purple and silver towards the horizon. They then turned and zigzagged across the wide bay to the headland, pounded up a steep path to the top and then flung themselves down to recover their breath. They leant their backs against a withered tree and stared up at the gradually lightening sky; listening to the cries of the gulls wheeling round Mulberry Cove, which lay below them on the other side of the headland. The seagulls swooped, dived, searching for food, flashes of light in the shadowy cove. A row of them perched on the dark silhouette of a boat.
'I wouldn't mind being a seagull. Free as a bird! It's all too much at the moment,' Rebecca confessed, at last.
'Bad timing,' agreed Tish, tersely.
Tish Anderson found school work fairly effortless, including the punishing GCSE schedule, but even she had decided not to compete in any more big races before the summer; after exams would be soon enough. She was running at the moment for pure enjoyment.
'I've got this c
razy idea,' said Rebecca, 'that I want to get all A or B grades on my certificate. Last term, when I didn't have to, couldn't, play any tennis, I realized that it's perfectly possible.'
They got to their feet and slowly descended the tracks, back down into Trebizon Bay. It was quite light now. Soon be time for breakfast.
After a while, glancing at Rebecca, Tish said:
'From what Miss Moneybags had to say, you're not going to need them. Those good grades.'
'Of course I need them!' reacted Rebecca quickly.
'Why?'
'Well . . .' Rebecca faltered. Why had she reacted with such certainty like that? 'I don't know. Insurance, maybe. Supposing I don't make it? Supposing I don't get offered that contract?' She suddenly felt uncertain, confused. 'What really frightens me at the moment, Tish, is that I might just end up a general failure. Rotten GCSEs, because of all the tennis. Then not getting the tennis contract because I haven't worked hard enough because of the GCSEs . . .'
'You'll have to put one of them first then,' said Tish.
'In that case, it had better be the tennis,' decided Rebecca.
Tish bent down to tie up one of the laces on her trainers. Without looking up, she said, quite casually: 'I expect you'll make it. We'd all miss you, you know.'
Rebecca swallowed hard. And she'd miss them! It didn't bear thinking about. 'It's got to happen first,' she said quickly. 'Come on, Tish, race you back to school.'
The same day, in Latin, Pargie questioned them all about their A level forms.
They'd been asked to take these forms home during the Christmas holidays and give the whole matter careful thought: which three subjects they wished to specialize in at Advanced Level, when they went into the Lower Sixth next year.
Miss Welbeck, the principal, liked to have these forms in by the middle of the Fifth year, giving her staff plenty of time to plan their Sixth Form teaching groups. It was very difficult sometimes to sort out a timetable that gave every girl her first choice of subjects, without any of them clashing. It could be quite a headache.
Mrs Devenshire, the school secretary, had complained that some of the forms were very late in coming in.
'Remember that they must be in by half-term,' Mr Pargiter reminded them. 'That's the final deadline. Rebecca, are you sorted out?'
'Oh, yes!' she said happily. 'I handed mine in the first day of term. I want to do French, history and Latin – and GCSE Greek, or maybe GCSE Russian, if that's possible.'
Tish gave her a very strange look.
Although Rebecca didn't realize it, her coach at school knew her secret. Mrs Ericson had confided to Greta Darling that there might well be a contract in the offing, if Rebecca did well at Bristol at half-term and equally well at Edgbaston after Easter. But of course it wasn't to be talked about yet. As far as Mrs Ericson knew, Rebecca's parents had yet to be consulted.
Miss Darling felt a deep sense of pleasure on hearing this news but had no difficulty in concealing her emotions. The Wimbledon umpire and ex-Wightman Cup player, grey haired and ramrod-backed, rarely smiled. She coached Rebecca as usual on the Wednesday afternoon, in the gym this time because it was sleeting outside.
'The weather's supposed to warm up by the weekend,' she informed Rebecca casually, 'so I've fixed up a game for you with Catherine Wright. She says she'll drive over here on Saturday afternoon, weather permitting. I gather you both fought like tigers at the Indoor.'
'Catherine Wright?' began Rebecca, eagerly. That was the name of the county's number one senior. 'I'd like that – oh. . .'
'What's the matter?' asked her coach, seeing the worried frown.
'I've got a lot of prep for Saturday –'
'Then you must do it on Sunday. I'll ask Mrs Ericson if you can be excused tennis training this Sunday, just for once. I think this would be better for you!'
'Thanks!' said Rebecca, in relief.
She looked forward to Saturday's match and watched the weather anxiously. By Friday the skies had cleared and she spent the lunch hour practising her service. It looked as though the staff court would be playable tomorrow!
'I'll umpire,' Miss Darling said to her in the dining-hall at lunchtime on Saturday. 'Find a couple of juniors to ball-girl, will you?'
Rebecca immediately thought of Naomi.
Carrying her rackets, sweater and tracksuit on over her tennis things, she hurried over to Juniper House immediately after lunch.
At the main entrance to the junior boarding house she caught hold of someone just coming out with a skipping-rope. 'Could you find Naomi Cook for me, please?'
'Yes, Rebecca!' said the girl eagerly. 'I know where she is. She's upstairs.'
While the junior went to find Naomi, Rebecca came inside and loitered in the hall. It was chilly waiting outside. She'd ask Naomi to find someone to partner her as ball-girl; she'd let her choose . . .
As Rebecca leant against the oak hall table, she smiled to see a box of chocolates sitting there, still in its cellophane wrapper. It was a vaguely surprising sight – unopened chocolates in Juniper House, what a paradox! Simultaneously she became conscious of suppressed giggling and 'Ssshh'-ing noises. Staring at some heavy, velvet, floor length curtains behind the main door, she noticed that they were bulging rather strangely and two pairs of feet were sticking out underneath!
Some juniors hiding. Who were they hiding from? she wondered idly. Then Naomi appeared on the stairs.
'Emma says you want me for something!' she said with pleasure. She was holding a plastic carrier bag. 'You've only just caught me, Rebecca!'
'I was just wondering, Naomi, if –'
She broke off. Naomi was in casual clothes, jeans and a sweater, but bulging out of the top of the carrier bag were her school tracksuit and trainers.
Of course, it was Saturday afternoon!
'How silly of me. You've got netball practice!'
'Oh, you wanted me to ball-girl!' said Naomi, noting Rebecca's tennis rackets, disappointed.
'Sorry,' smiled Rebecca. 'I forgot. Never mind.'
She walked with Naomi as far as the sports centre, where the First Year netball players would be convening at around two o'clock. There Rebecca found two Second Years with nothing to do, grabbed them and went off to the staff court to play her match.
It was a great game. Afterwards, Rebecca emerged from a cubicle at the sports centre, glowing pleasurably. She'd had a hot shower and washed her hair. Now, tracksuited again, she towelled her hair vigorously and looked around for a hair-drier.
It had been a wonderfully stretching afternoon! They'd played three sets, but she'd beaten the county number one quite decisively in the final set, 6–3. She was really getting into her stride now. She was playing as well as she'd played last summer. Getting into top form in time for Bristol!
She wandered through to the next lot of showers.
'Anyone seen a hair-drier?' she called out cheerfully.
Then she stopped in her tracks. There was a commotion going on.
'Let go of me!' Naomi Cook was shouting at Holly Thomas, who was dragging her out of one of the shower cubicles only half-way back into her jeans and sweater. 'Let me get my bag!'
'We're going to search your bag first!' said Holly. 'We know what's in it!'
As Rebecca looked on in amazement, Holly's friend Harriet appeared from the shower cubicle clutching Naomi's plastic carrier bag, stuffed full of sports clothes.
'I've got it, Hol!'
'You're mad!' yelled Naomi angrily, trying to lunge free.
'WHAT on earth is going on?' demanded Rebecca.
The three juniors froze. Then slowly Holly Thomas turned round.
'Rebecca, you can be a witness!' She was still hanging on to Naomi's arm. 'We set a trap. We've got her now! We've caught the person who's been pinching things.'
'We put some chocolates out, to catch the thief!' explained Harriet. 'May Ling saw her take them. She's only just told us, five minutes ago. She saw her put them in this bag, just before netball practice.'
'I don't believe it!' exclaimed Rebecca, advancing. She whisked the bag away from Harriet. 'Leave Naomi's things alone and kindly listen to me.'
EIGHT
PROBLEMS OF HER OWN
'So it was your feet I saw sticking out from under the curtains!' said Rebecca. 'Well, I can tell you Naomi didn't put anything in her bag before netball practice, certainly not that box of chocolates! I should know. You mean the ones that were on the hall table in Juniper?'
'We came out together, didn't we, Rebecca?' said Naomi, looking relieved. 'I didn't even see any chocolates,' she added indignantly.
That look of innocent indignation was good enough for Rebecca, not that she'd needed convincing.
'You don't understand, Rebecca,' Holly was saying impatiently. Her eyes were fixed on the bulging carrier bag that Rebecca now hugged securely under one arm. 'We know Naomi didn't take them then. We were watching you, weren't we? But after you'd gone we went off to the toilet for a few minutes – I know it was stupid of us to go off together, wasn't it, Harri? But anyway, when we got back –'
'The box of chocolates had been pinched!' finished Harriet.
'By which time Naomi was over at the sports centre, getting ready for netball practice,' Rebecca said drily. 'So what's all this silly nonsense about May Ling seeing her?'
It seemed the two Second Year girls had been asking around all afternoon about the chocolates. Without success. Until five minutes ago, when they'd met May Ling coming out of the Hilary Camberwell Music School.
May Ling was Chinese and the youngest girl in the school. Her family had only arrived in England the previous summer. She was strongly tipped to win the Hilary Camberwell Music scholarship this term.
'May saw Naomi putting the chocolates into that carrier bag!' said Holly triumphantly. 'She was at the top of the stairs, at about two o'clock, leaving Juniper to come to the Hilary. She just thought they must belong to Naomi.'
'It was definitely her, she saw her!' echoed Harriet. 'Naomi must have noticed them when you both walked past! Easy enough for her to slip back from the sports centre and get them! She had plenty of time before netball practice!'
