by Anne Digby
So Rebecca went to Hertfordshire and on to Birmingham, watched Tish come third in the 1500 metres and thoroughly enjoyed herself. But she told Tish about the little family squabble.
'I feel so mean. I just didn't think. I should have realized that Dad was getting tired. He works pretty hard out there and it's hot as well. I just imagined everyone liked driving.'
Tish in turn confided this to Robbie.
So when the time came for Mr and Mrs Mason to drive Rebecca back to school, before departing for Saudi Arabia once more, it was only natural that Robbie stepped in.
He'd love the chance to do some driving again, he humbly suggested to Mr Mason. Could he travel back to school with them, please?
Mr Mason maneouvred the car out of London then drove as far as the Fleet service station on the M3. They stopped for coffee. Rebecca bought some barley sugars in the shop. Then back to the car and Robbie and her father changed places.
'Right, let's see how you go, my lad.'
Mr Mason had no need to worry. Tish's brother was a young driver but a good one, courteous to other road users, totally alert. He also had excellent reflexes, which was just as well as things turned out.
As they cruised along the motorway and then took the A303 to the west country, everybody was very relaxed. The sun shining, the countryside sailing by, the view breathtaking as they went over Salisbury Plain. Rebecca's father chatted amiably to Robbie in the front, while Rebecca and her mother sat in the back, making the most of this time together.
'There's Stonehenge!' exclaimed Mr Mason, craning his head round as it passed to their right. 'How nice not to be driving. I can get a proper look at it.'
'Oh, I've missed it,' said Robbie, whose eyes had been trained on the road ahead. By the time he glanced sidelong, it had gone. Never mind, he thought, nice little bus this one.
'Robbie, have a barley sugar,' said Rebecca, leaning forward and carefully popping one into his mouth. 'OK?'
'Don't forget to video that programme, will you, Becky? The Trebizon film. I don't trust Granny. When did you say it's going to be on?'
'I didn't, Mum.' Trebizon Observed, a documentary film about life at the school last term, included four of the games when Rebecca won the county closed tennis championship. 'The date isn't fixed yet. We'll he told in advance though.'
'Well, your grandmother's all prepared,' chuckled Mr Mason. He'd bought his mother a video recorder on this trip. They'd taken it up to Gloucestershire and with much patience instructed her in its use.
'Oh, we'll record it at school, all right,' said Rebecca.
'I'll tape it as well,' volunteered Robbie.
'Then Daddy and I can watch it when we come home next summer!' sighed Mrs Mason. 'And I wonder how much further you'll have got with your tennis by then, Becky?'
'A lot further, I hope, Mum.'
After a picnic lunch, Robbie asked if he could carry on driving. 'After all, you've got the long haul back, sir.'
'With pleasure, son,' said Mr Mason.
And without doubt Robbie was driving beautifully.
The emergency, when it came, was possibly not his fault. Few people could have foreseen it.
They were almost there.
Bowling along the leafy lane that led to Garth College.
As the college gates came in sight, Rebecca in the rear released her seat belt. It would he nice to get out and stretch her legs while Robbie unloaded his luggage. Give him a hug goodbye. Then, on to Trebizon . . .
It came from nowhere.
Spindly legs, huge startled eyes, soaring through the air from behind a hedge. For a moment Rebecca thought the deer was going to land on top of the car.
'Watch out!' yelled Robbie in warning as he stamped violently on the brake pedal. EEEEEEEEEEEE.
Rebecca was flung forward with tremendous force, the palm of her left hand taking all the impact as it bit the seat in front. There was a horrible jarring sensation in her wrist; she felt something go. But there was no pain.
The deer stood perplexed in the middle of the road facing them, right in front of the car's bonnet. It stared wild-eyed through the windscreen at them, then fled.
'Phew,' said Robbie.
'Well done, son,' said Mr Mason in admiration.
'Are you all right, Becky?' asked her mother, in the back. 'What happened to your seat belt?'
'It's all right, Mum, I'm fine,' Rebecca said quickly.
They were all a bit shaken. They just sat there for a few moments. Then slowly, calmly, Robbie took the car on down the lane, in through the gates of Garth College and across to Syon House, his boarding house.
Mr Mason got out and helped Robbie unload his luggage. For some reason Rebecca didn't feel like getting out any more. Robbie ducked his head in to say goodbye. 'I'll see you soon, Rebeck. You all right? You look a hit pale.'
'I'm fine,' smiled Rebecca, though actually she felt as though she were going to be sick. 'Thanks for coming down with us, see you.'
With shouts of 'See you next year, Robbie!' and 'Good luck with Oxford!' her father turned the car round and they drove off.
'Nearly at Trebizon,' said Mrs Mason, glancing at Rebecca anxiously. 'Look, here's the town.'
They were passing the 30 m.p.h. speed-restriction signs on the outskirts of the town of Trebizon. The school lay above the town on the other side. But Rebecca wasn't looking. She was staring down at her left wrist, touching it gingerly.
'There's something wrong, Mum. It feels funny.'
Her father stopped the car while her mother examined the wrist.
'I think it's broken, Becky,' she said in great concern.
They took her straight to the out-patients department of St Michael's, the pleasant small hospital in the centre of the town. There were long waits while X-rays were taken and doctors consulted.
When they left, Rebecca's left forearm was encased in plaster and she had been booked in for future visits. It was a rather complicated injury but with the right care and regular physiotherapy the wrist would be as good as new again by Christmas at the latest.
Christmas! Rebecca was horrified.
'I'm right-handed so I can play some tennis –?' she blurted out. 'When the plaster's off?'
'Certainly not,' said the doctor. 'No racket sports. You're not to throw things or lift things with that left hand – and that includes tennis balls. Not until I say you can.'
Rebecca felt very tearful as they drove to school.
But now the time had come to say goodbye to her parents, she put a brave face on things. They had seen Mrs Barrington and taken up all the luggage and now, back down at the car, they parted company.
'I'm going to be fine,' insisted Rebecca. 'It's a nice little hospital, isn't it? I'm so hungry! I mustn't miss tea!'
Her father kissed her on the cheek, took one last look at the arm in plaster and said: 'It's rotten luck, Becky, it really is. But there's always a reason for things, that's what I've found. The bigger the disappointment, the more it can turn out to be for the best.'
Rebecca waved the car out of sight, smiled bravely, and wondered what on earth her father was talking about.
THREE
A BARRIER
'Rebecca! Where have you been?' cried Mara, catching a glimpse of her pale face as she threaded her way through the crowded dining hall to the place they'd saved for her. Dozens of heads were turning at her late arrival. What had Rebecca Mason done to her arm, for goodness' sake? Why was it in plaster? Why was she wearing a sling?
'Thank goodness you're all right,' said Sue, as Rebecca sat down. Her eyes were fixed on Rebecca's arm. 'Well, almost all right.'
'What's happened?' they all demanded. They were looking at Rebecca's plaster cast in horror, especially Tish.
'Did Robbie crash the car?' she asked palely.
'No he did not,' said Rebecca instantly. 'He was brilliant. It was my fault – I'd taken my seat belt off.'
She told them all about it, then had to repeat the story several limes as peop
le came up to her on their way out of dining hall. Tea had finished now.
'I'm trying to eat my jacket potato!' Rebecca finally snapped at the Nathan twins as they approached her with Roberta Jones. 'I'm starving.' Thank goodness the others had saved her plenty of food.
'We were only asking,' said Sarah and Ruth in unison.
'Did you finish the play, Bert?' asked Elf. 'Did Debbie like it?'
In reply she got the biggest scowl from Roberta Jones that Rebecca had ever seen.
'What's eating Robert?' she inquired as the threesome went off.
'Maybe Debbie didn't like the play,' suggested Margot.
'Perhaps the part wasn't just quite brilliant enough for her,' commented Tish acidly.
'Where is Debbie Rickard anyway?' inquired Elf. 'I haven't seen her.'
'Do you think Robert's just seen the Court House ghost?' giggled Sue. And they told Rebecca all about the conversation on the train and how the word had spread and the new Thirds had already latched on to it.
'It's going to be fun having the fire escape,' commented Rebecca.
It was nice the way they all waited for her to finish her tea and then took her back to Court House in a jostling, chattering group. Nothing seemed quite so bad now she was surrounded by her friends, so protective, so sympathetic about what had happened.
Up on the top floor, while Tish did her own unpacking, the other four emptied Rebecca's cases, arranged things neatly in drawers, asked her exactly how she wanted her posters put up. It was really rather luxurious being an invalid; being spoiled. She wandered around and explored the top floor.
'I like your cubie, Jenny,' she said to Jenny Brook-Hayes. 'Lovely view.' She gazed through the dormer window across to the roof tops of main school: the lovely old manor house that formed its heart, the modem science block, the converted coach house with its clock tower. 'You always like being at the front.'
Rebecca on the other hand preferred being at the back. It was very peaceful there, overlooking the garden. And beyond the garden the back of Norris House, which had been converted from what were once the stables and outbuildings of Court House. She was pleased with the cubicle the others had saved her. Tish was in the corner cubicle, next to a spacious area with a large table and a couple of power points for kettles and so forth. This area was in front of the big glass door that led to the balcony and the fire escape. Rebecca's cubicle was to the right of that open space, its left-hand partition wall hard up against the table.
'I'll be able to nip out of my cubie and round the corner in the mornings and make myself a cup of tea!' she'd exclaimed. 'Then sun myself on the balcony in my dressing-gown.'
'And I'll join you!' Tish had said in glee.
Rebecca wandered back there now, attracted by the large crowd gathered round the big table. Everyone was laughing and exclaiming.
'Rebecca – come and see what Mara's brought back!' yelled EIf.
The crowd parted to let Rebecca through, careful of her bad arm.
Something had been placed on the table and Tish was plugging it in. It was a superb little photocopier, really dinky! Trust Mara to have some exciting loot.
'Let's see if it works,' Fiona Freeman was saying eagerly.
'Here, I've got something I wanted copied,' said Aba Amori. The Nigerian girl produced a magazine cutting. 'I've got to give this back to Laura Wilkins but it's really useful. It's full of stuff I need for my geography coursework.'
'Can I have one?' cried Margot.
'Mara, it's fantastic,' said Rebecca, as Tish fed some paper in and fiddled with the controls. 'Where did you get it?'
'I told Papa we needed one to help us pass our GCSE,' laughed Mara, her brown eyes shining. 'He believed me!'
Swish. Almost silently the small machine produced two perfect copies of Aba's magazine cutting. Cheers went up.
'Brilliant, Mara!' exclaimed Ann Ferguson.
'It'll be really useful,' nodded Anne Finch.
'It'll save us having to go over to the office when we want to get things copied,' said Rebecca in delight.
She was feeling almost cheerful again. But at hot chocolate time, sitting on her bed and wondering how long it was going to take to get ready for bed with only one usable arm, the dark cloud of what had happened settled back over her head.
Tish came in and sat beside her.
'It's filthy luck, isn't it, Rebeck. How's Robbie taken it?'
'He doesn't even know yet,' replied Rebecca in a dull voice.
'Whaa-ttt?'
'Well, Dad dropped him off at Garth and it was only after –'
But Tish had leapt up and was half-way out of the cubicle.
'Robbie doesn't even know? That's awful. He ought to know! Come on, Rebeck. Quick. Let's phone him.'
'Oh Tish, I'm tired –' protested Rebecca. To the empty air.
Sighing, she padded her way along the length of the floor, between the main rows of cubicles, then out through the far doors and down the stairs. All the way down to the payphone on the ground floor.
Tish had already got through –
'That emergency stop you did, Robbie.'
'What about it? Rather a beauty though I say so myself. What's all this about, Tish? I'm just off to bed.'
The thought of Robbie having a nice evening while the rest of them had been worrying about Rebecca suddenly provoked Tish's temper.
'Such a beauty that Rebeck's smashed her wrist up! She can't play tennis – not properly – she can't play again till Christmas.'
'WHAT?' Robbie was stunned.
Rebecca snatched the phone from Tish.
'Robbie–'
'Is this true, Rebeck?'
'Yes.' Rebecca explained everything while Robbie listened in shocked silence.
'I should have been going slower,' he said hoarsely, finding his voice at last. 'I should have thought about the deer there –'
'Oh, Robbie, don't be silly. It was entirely my own fault. I'd slipped out of my seat belt, remember, thinking we were almost there. It was my fault.'
'I've got to come and see you, Rebeck!' was Robbie's main concern. 'The first minute I can.'
They arranged that he'd cycle over on Saturday morning.
Before Rebecca rang off, Tish grabbed the phone back.
'Sorry, Robbie. I just felt like shouting at someone. I don't suppose it was your fault really.'
'Night, Tish,' he said wearily. 'It probably was. I just don't know.'
The next day, Friday, had its ups and downs for Rebecca.
The new Fifth Year timetables were given out. There'd been a bit of a shake-up of the three maths divisions. Rebecca had always been in Division I with the others but now found herself placed in Division 2. At least she had Mara to keep her company. In her heart she'd expected it, after failing maths in the school's summer exams.
All the girls in Division I would be taking the top paper in GCSE next summer and were expected to get either A or B grades. Their lessons were going to move at a brisk pace in the Fifth, with some of them – like Tish Anderson and Josselyn Vining – being prepared for an extra paper. The pace in Div 2 would be less alarming, explained Miss Hort, who would be teaching them.
'Does that mean Mara and I can't take the top paper next summer?' Rebecca asked in dismay. She'd resolved to work hard this year – to slog and slog. Now this! 'Does that mean we won't be allowed to carry on with the top-level coursework any more? But then I can't get any higher than a C grade. No matter how hard I try –'
'Means nothing of the sort,' replied Miss Hort brusquely. 'If that were the case we'd have placed you and Mara in Division 3.'
Div 3, thought Rebecca, with Roberta Jones and Susan McTavish and Jane O'Hara and that lot.
'In Div 2 we do at least cover all the work required for the top paper,' continued Miss Hort. 'You may be allowed to continue with the advanced coursework. You may even be allowed to take the top paper. On the other hand you may not. It will depend entirely on your progress.'
'You mean I'm
in with a chance?' asked Rebecca in relief.
'Chance doesn't come into it,' said the mannish Miss Hort. But the eyes were twinkling behind the horn-rimmed spectacles. 'Effort, not chance, comes into it.'
It was a salutary experience.
It was also rather annoying when Mr Oppenheimer compared Rebecca's cross-section diagram of a plant unfavourably with Debbie Rickard's in biology.
'Scrappy, Rebecca. You usually do better than this. Deborah's here is an absolute model.' He held it up and showed the class. 'Perfect clarity. Meticulous labelling.'
Rebecca looked at it in surprise. Debbie's work was usually OK but this effort, certainly, was rather outstanding.
'You must put this by for your practical file, Deborah,' said the biology teacher, handing it back. 'The examiners will like this.'
Roberta Jones, who was rather good at biology herself, looked discontented.
'Why aren't Robert and Debbie sitting together?' whispered Rebecca.
'Haven't you heard? They've fallen out!' hissed Elf. 'Debbie's not boarding any more. Her parents have bought a house in Trebizon and she's changed to day. Bert's furious!'
'Debbie doesn't want to be in Robert's house play. She says she can't keep fagging back to school in the evenings for rehearsals and so on,' chipped in Margot. 'So the Nathan twins don't want to be in it either and the whole thing's been scrapped.'
'Oh!' whispered Rebecca, in enlightenment. So that had been the reason for Roberta's great scowl the previous day.
'What's the betting Debbie's Dad did that diagram for her?' commented Tish with a grin, before being told to stop whispering.
While the rest of the Fifths played hockey and netball that afternoon, things looked up slightly for Rebecca. Mrs Ericson, her tennis coach, drove over especially to see her and a meeting took place with Sara Willis, the head of the games staff at Trebizon.
'This is terrible luck, Rebecca,' said Mrs Ericson, tapping the plaster-encased forearm. 'But it's a setback, that's all. It's not the end of the world. Let's sort out a regime that'll keep you fit and help you keep your tennis eye in.'
It was all slightly reassuring. Miss Willis had been in touch with the hospital. There was no reason apparently why Rebecca couldn't do some gentle jogging; she could keep Tish Anderson company. Even better, she'd be permitted to spend all her games periods pounding a tennis ball against the Norris House side wall if she wanted to.
