by Anne Digby
Naomi just stood there, open-mouthed.
'So you've got it all sorted out, have you?' said Rebecca, cuttingly. 'Neither of you has stopped for one moment and wondered if May Ling could have been mistaken? We'll see, shall we –'
So saying, she tipped the carrier bag upside down and let its contents spill out on the floor. Angrily. An act of total and absolute faith in Naomi.
Tracksuit bottoms; tracksuit top; training shoes; dirty socks.
No chocolates.
Naomi hurried forward and scrabbled on the floor, stuffing everything back into the bag, embarrassed by the dirty socks.
Holly and Harriet looked uneasy.
'She could have hidden them somewhere –' said Harriet, falteringly.
'Will you please shut up?' said Rebecca.
'But May saw –'
'Listen.' Rebecca walked over and grabbed both girls by their blazer collars. 'If you'd only been in Hong Kong a few months and you saw a Chinese girl from the top of a flight of stairs, dark hair, high cheekbones, couldn't you make a mistake? Mightn't they all look a bit similar to you?'
They fell silent.
'May Ling can't have sorted everyone in Juniper House out yet. All you've got so far is the fact that there's somebody in Juniper who's fair-haired, about five foot tall and likes chocolates. That gives you about fifty girls to choose from. It may be the same person who likes blazers and Walkmans. On the other hand, it may not be. In the meantime, it might be a good idea to apologize to Naomi.'
'Sorry, Naomi,' mumbled Holly.
'Sorry, we thought –' began Harriet.
But Naomi wasn't waiting. Bag in hand, zipping up her jeans as she went, she raced out of the changing rooms, looking tearful.
Sadly Rebecca watched her go. An odd girl out. She almost invited suspicion. When, if ever, was she going to settle down at Trebizon? She could certainly have done without this!
'Go and tell May she got it wrong,' she told the Second Years. 'Before any silly rumours start flying about. Off you go, shoo!'
Rebecca ate a hearty tea with her friends, revelling in the thought of the weekend stretching ahead of her. No tennis training! She owed Emmanuelle a letter. She had a stack of school work to do. She was falling behind again, no doubt about that. Some of her marks were going downhill. But first, something urgent. Something she'd kept on putting off but it had to be done!
She must write that letter to her parents.
She went over to the library in old school to write it; it was so peaceful there. It was the original library, dating right back to the days when 'Trebizon' had been a local nobleman's manor house. The walls were lined with bookshelves of dark mahogany, stretching up to the ornately corniced ceilings. The huge latticed windows, with their deep bays and velvet-cushioned window seats, looked out over the deer park at the front of main school.
Rebecca made two false starts with the letter, tore them up and finally decided on the casual approach:
Dear Mum and Dad,
Thanks for your lovely letter with all your news; I got it last week. I've had some very exciting news myself, though perhaps you know about it already. I wonder if Mr Lasky has written to you yet . . .
And so on. Then she wrote to her French pen-friend.
On Sunday, she rushed through all her prep, hoping to have time for some revision as well. Mocks were after half-term!
Robbie cycled over to see her in the afternoon, a lovely surprise.
'I've been trying to get over to see you ever since I had your letter, Rebeck. I'm getting roped in for rugby again, now Oxbridge is over. So there was a contract in the offing? I was right!'
Robbie still hadn't sorted his future out; in fact, he seemed to have put the future out of his mind. He was concerned about the present and working maniacally for his A levels, so he couldn't stay long.
The same evening, she had a phone call from Cliff and they talked for quite a long time. He'd received her letter but was surprisingly cautious about the idea of her becoming a full-time tennis player: 'It's all right, unless you have another car accident, Rebecca! Anyway, when am I going to see you?'
'I'll be around at half-term!' Rebecca suddenly realized. 'At least, I'll be back here before the others. I shan't be going to Gran's because of Bristol, you see. I'll come straight back here when it's over. But I'll still be on holiday! I'll ask Mrs Barry if you can come and have lunch with us.'
'Yum. Lovely. Is she a good cook?'
'Very.'
Rebecca came off the phone feeling happy. It would be so nice to see Cliff again. She'd go and fix it up with Mrs Barry right away, before she forgot. Then she could phone Cliff back and make it definite.
She hadn't managed to get any revision done, after all.
Late on Tuesday evening, in the little kitchen at the top of Court House, Tish and Sue cornered Rebecca at cocoa time and tackled her about something.
Holly Thomas had been taking Sue into her confidence.
'She's really smarting over this business of the chocolates,' explained Sue. 'She says you haven't been fair.'
'Naomi Cook's honest,' said Rebecca flatly. 'I told them to go and see May Ling and tell her she'd made a mistake.'
'They did. And May told them she hadn't!'
'All that stuff you gave them about May being Chinese, Rebeck. It just won't wash,' added Tish. 'They've now discovered that Naomi and May are both in One Alpha and even sit together in some lessons!'
'Really?' Rebecca was startled.
Was it possible? Could Naomi have slipped back from the sports centre and stolen those chocolates? She had had enough time. Had she taken the blazer . . . and Holly's new Walkman, as well?
No. It was unthinkable.
'Naomi wouldn't pinch anything,' said Rebecca, stubbornly. 'She's not the type. I'd stake my life on that!'
'Oh, Rebeck, no one's asking you to do that!' grinned Tish.
'But Holly wants you to come and talk to May Ling yourself, Rebecca,' said Sue, worriedly. 'They've kept completely quiet about this, because you asked them to. It hasn't been easy! They've had to let May join their action committee for a start.'
'The price of her silence!' added Tish.
'Oh, all right, then,' said Rebecca reluctantly. 'I'll meet them.'
The meeting took place in Moffatt's, the school tuck-shop, the next afternoon, straight after Wednesday games. Rebecca arrived from Miss Darling's tennis coaching feeling hot and dishevelled. As if she hadn't got enough to think about! There were the four juniors at the big comer table, all looking very solemn. Holly, Harriet, Sara Butters – and new recruit, May Ling. The junior school 'action committee', modelled on Tish's.
Rebecca bought lemonades all round, then another one for Sue, who arrived late. Tish had said she was too busy to come.
'Naomi's family hasn't got any money,' said Holly. 'That's the first thing.'
'Then they must be very honest, mustn't they?' countered Rebecca. 'Or surely they'd have got hold of some by now.'
'She hates her old second-hand blazer, point number two. So she could have been tempted by Jay's.'
'In that case, why isn't she wearing it?' replied Rebecca. 'She's only got to change the nametape. Why's she still wearing that old one?'
'And point number three, she hasn't got a Walkman!' insisted Holly, refusing to be put off.
'Neither have I,' laughed Rebecca. 'What does that prove? Anyway, you're suggesting that she has got one now. Yours. So where is it? I expect you've had a good look,' she added, disapprovingly.
The juniors fell silent, looking sheepish.
'You've searched, haven't you?' guessed Rebecca. 'Looked through all her things, when she's been out? And you've found nothing! Not one scrap of evidence to support this.'
'But May's positive –' began Harriet.
Rebecca fixed the little Chinese girl with a stern gaze.
'You thought it was Naomi taking the chocolates. But from the top of the stairs in Juniper House, you couldn't possibly be sure.
When you first said this, it was all quite casual and you thought they were Naomi's own chocolates anyway. But now, as you know, it's much more serious. We're talking about someone being a thief. That's very serious indeed, isn't it? You have to be quite sure, May. You have to be completely positive. Because yours is the only scrap of evidence. Are you that positive?'
'I – I don't know,' said the little Chinese girl, frowning, becoming confused. 'I thought it was Naomi, it looked like her. But the face, well maybe . . . maybe it wasn't Naomi's expression . . .'
'There,' said Rebecca, in some relief. 'You're not really sure at all, are you? So that's an end to it. No more nonsense about Naomi, please. You'll have to start all over again.'
'How?' asked Holly, looking depressed. Who'd have dreamt that May would change her mind, just like that? She'd been so certain before! 'How can we, Rebecca? We can't afford to buy any more chocolates.'
'It's horrible there being a thief in Juniper!' interrupted Sara Butters. 'And Hol wants her Walkman back!'
Rebecca and Sue exchanged glances, then nodded to each other.
'Look,' Rebecca said gently, 'we'll help you.'
'The senior Action Committee!' agreed Sue.
'I'll think of something really good,' promised Rebecca. 'After half-term. I'm busy till then. We'll all club together, won't we, Sue? We'll come up with some really tempting bait that no thief could resist.'
'That's right,' added Sue. 'We'll set another trap.'
They got up to go and Holly followed them to the door, looking much happier.
'You promise, Rebecca? You won't forget?'
'Of course I won't, Holly. I'll think of something after half-term. And we'll all keep watch till we catch the thief! That's a solemn promise.'
She meant it. Not just for Holly's sake, but for Naomi's, too.
Poor Naomi. She'd clear this one up, once and for all!
As they walked across to Court House, Sue said: 'You've really cheered them up, Rebecca. You handled it brilliantly! I can't wait to tell Justy the whole thing!'
But Rebecca's mind was already elsewhere.
She had problems of her own, hadn't she.
NINE
THE PRESSURE IS ON
It was the session with Pargie in the morning that had upset Rebecca most of all.
Of course, the frowns coming from Miss Hort's direction lately, after she'd pulled up in maths so well last term, weren't exactly thrilling. And Herr Fischer wasn't too pleased with her, either.
But Pargie! She did like him. And she knew she should have been learning more Latin vocabulary, the difficult words, the ones they'd be getting in GCSE this summer. So it was hardly surprising that the unseen translation she'd done in Monday's lesson contained serious blunders.
'I thought this must have been somebody else's work when I marked it, Rebecca,' said the good-looking, affable young classics teacher.
The words were mildly spoken but they cut Rebecca to the quick. She felt close to tears as patiently, reproachfully, he went through several words that she'd misconstrued in the translation, making a nonsense of it.
'You've got great flair for handling a highly structured language,' he concluded, 'but I had no idea you were so helpless without the dictionary. You can't just guess at the meaning of words, you need to have learnt them.' Mr Pargiter, who had a private pilot's licence and occasionally used flying analogies, added: 'And you're hoping to do some Greek or Russian next year! You can't just play around with languages like these, Rebecca. You can't fly them by the seat of your pants! There are no short cuts to excellence, I'm afraid.'
Tish, head down at the next desk, covertly tried to read Rebecca's expression.
That night Rebecca lay awake, staring up through her skylight at the night sky and the stars twinkling down at her. She sighed.
At this rate, she wasn't going to do well in the mocks. Nor was she going to get those A and B grades in the summer. Not a hope.
Bristol was only ten days away! The pace was hotting up.
This weekend would be entirely taken up with tennis. Miss Darling was driving her to the covered courts in the next county on Saturday, for an inter-county winter fixture: a senior one! They'd be away all day. ('The Dread' being a darling, as Tish would say.) The county selectors had put Rebecca in the senior squad at Number Two to Catherine Wright! It would earn valuable points for her next computer ranking, as well as for the Edgbaston entry form which had to go off after half-term.
Then on Sunday she had to go to Exonford again: Mrs Ericson insisted on it. It would be the last tennis training before Bristol.
And all next week she had matches fixed up at school, weather permitting. Against Joss, against Alison Hissup (the school's Head of Games this year and a good player) and against tough, battling old Mrs Doubleday – the national Women's Institute champion who lived in the town and who was always pleased to give Rebecca some exhausting practice.
On the Friday, school would disperse for half-term. Mrs Barrington would take charge of Rebecca for the Bristol tournament, just as she'd done last year. She'd deliver Rebecca to Great-Aunt Ivy's house in nearby Bath on the Friday evening, stay with an old school friend in the same city and dutifully chauffeuse Rebecca to the tournament and back each day.
Mr Lasky was going to be there, watching her! Mr Lasky was going to be at Bristol, in person!
He'd come close to a decision then, Miss Brogan had said, whether to offer her a contract or not. After that, there was just Edgbaston: and all would be decided.
So she had to do well at Bristol; it was vital.
You have to decide priorities, what to put first, Tish had pointed out to her. School work or tennis? And Rebecca had decided on the tennis, hadn't she.
So it was no use fretting about what Mr Pargiter had said. It was no use fretting about her maths. It was no use fretting about any of it.
If she wanted that tennis contract then everything else had to take second place.
'Just accept you can't do everything,' Rebecca resolved to herself that night, before she fell asleep. 'You've got to be prepared to give other things up. Even if they seem important, too. Even if it hurts to give them up.'
And that, as it turned out, included Paris.
Rebecca performed brilliantly at the inter-county winter fixture, but on the day before they broke up for half-term, M. Lafarge came into the Div I French lesson with a beaming smile.
'Enfin!' he exclaimed.
He had a piece of paper in his hands.
'All those going on the Paris exchange, now to get your forms out!' he said. 'We have the dates now settled at last. I will read them out, so that you can enter them on your forms. Please take the forms home over half-term for your parents or guardians to sign. Bring them back next Tuesday without fail. I can then book our travel tickets.'
There were rustling noises as everybody looked for their forms. Rebecca got hers out of her folder. She wasn't going to Gran's for half-term! She'd have to post the form for Gran to sign and send back. Mum and Dad knew all about it; they'd agreed.
'Because of their school skiing trip, the dates are later than we first thought. You will be going to Paris right at the end of the Easter holidays. In fact, you will be late back to school. You will all be speaking perfect French, in good time for your GCSE orals!'
M. Lafarge read out the dates.
'Yippee!' whooped Sue softly, in the next desk. 'Just misses my music heats!'
But as Rebecca filled the dates in on her form, a cold, sinking feeling washed through her.
The dates seemed horribly familiar.
When was Edgbaston this year?
As soon as the lesson ended, as her five friends started to converge on her, waving their forms, laughing, joking, she turned and fled.
'Rebecca!'
'What's wrong?'
Her lip trembling, she raced out of main building and across the grounds to Court House. Up three flights of stairs to the top floor and into Fifth Year quarters, there to s
treak the whole length of the aisle and dive into her cubicle. Gulping for breath, she gazed at the typewritten tennis schedule on her little notice-board. Surely she couldn't be this unlucky? Surely –
I can't stand it! she thought, almost weeping.
Her friends followed, worried about her.
They found her sitting on her bed, holding the tennis schedule limply in one hand, pale and despondent.
'Oh, Rebeck, no?' exclaimed Sue, the first to realize.
'Not Edgbaston?' said Tish.
'Yes, Edgbaston,' said Rebecca, in a dull little voice. 'And I can't miss that, can I? It's the big one, as far as Mr Lasky's concerned. So I won't be able to go to Paris with the rest of you.'
She put a hand over her eyes, fighting back the tears. No French trip! No Emmanuelle! No holiday! No fun! No grade A in her French oral in May! Her shoulders heaved.
The other five were wonderful. They said everything they could think of to cheer her up.
'It's rotten luck but just think of that contract!' said Elf.
'Think how rich you're going to be!' added Margot.
'Famous!' pointed out Mara, though she looked nearly as tearful as Rebecca.
'You'll be able to get us seats at Wimbledon every year –' began Tish.
' – until we're old ladies!' finished Sue.
'We'll boast about you –' Tish did a marvellous imitation of an old crone: 'I used to k-k-know Rebecca Mason when she was j-j-just a girl, before she became a l-l-legend.'
Rebecca managed a weak smile.
'Anyway, just think,' said Elf, in her practical way, 'you'll be jetting all over the world soon. You'll probably be playing in Paris in a couple of years' time. Playing at the French Open! Staying in the best hotel!'
'I'd rather just go on the school trip,' said Rebecca, sadly.
The next day, she left for Bath in Mrs Barry's car. Her friends saw her off.
'Got Biffy, Rebeck?'
She waved her lucky bear mascot.
'Just think about that glittering future!' shouted Elf, indiscreetly.
'Good luck!'
As the car moved away, Mrs Barry said:
