GHOSTLY TERM AT TREBIZON

by Anne Digby

  'Aren't you getting any help with them?' asked Rebecca sympathetically.

  'Everyone's talking about this year's books now. Hey –' he pointed at the paperback on Rebecca's lap. 'Jane Austen, that's one.'

  'What were last year's books?' asked Rebecca suddenly.

  'Well, Graham Greene, he's not bad. I'm getting on with that all right. And some short stories . . .' He didn't notice that Rebecca was nodding excitedly. 'I like those. But The Merchant of Venice! I don't know where to begin with that! And as for Jane Eyre –'

  'You must be doing the Wessex board like us then!' Rebecca interrupted. 'I thought you must be! Listen, I've still got all my notes – the Shakespeare and the Charlotte Brontë – I'll lend them to you!'

  'You wouldn't?' exclaimed Cliff in delight. 'What – all your notes from your lessons? You were brilliant at English, Rebecca. Don't you need them yourself?'

  'I've finished with them! I've just handed my coursework in. I was going to chuck my notes away! You can have them!'

  'Would you please keep your voices down,' they were told. 'There are patients just along the corridor.'

  Then the buzzer went. It was time for Clifford to go through.

  'Quick, Cliff, give me your address and I'll post you the notes,' whispered Rebecca, extending her plastered forearm. 'Write it on here!'

  He wrote CLIFF in big letters on the plaster, between Robbie's message and Margot's autograph. Then scribbled his address and drew a heart, with the words: R.M. IS WONDERFUL.

  Rebecca giggled and waved him goodbye as he hobbled off on his crutches. Less than five minutes later, she was herself summoned to the desk. The sister-in-charge had been handed some notes.

  'Doctor's looked at the X-ray now. No problems. No problems at all. Take care not to use that hand, though. Next month we hope to have the plaster off and something a bit more comfortable in its place. I'll ring the school now and they can come and pick you up.'

  'Good,' said Mrs Barrington, as they drove back to Trebizon. 'Your grandmother's just been on the phone, asking me how you've got on.' Old Mrs Mason was Rebecca's official guardian in England while her parents were abroad. 'I'll ring her straight back with the news.'

  'Will you? Oh, thanks Mrs Barry,' said Rebecca. Next month – what an age. But a load had been lifted from her mind. It was all getting a little easier to bear.

  And it had been fun meeting Cliff. Cliff Haynes of all people! She'd parcel those notes up and post them to him, the minute she got back.

  When the housemistress dropped her off at Court House she had the whole place to herself. Everyone else was on games. They'd soon be back. It was almost the end of the afternoon. She found a large envelope, rammed the English exercise book inside one-handed and wrote Cliff a note – including the Court House phone number. Maybe he'd ring her up some time and have a chat!

  She put a couple of stamps on the envelope and hurried downstairs. If she went over to the pillar-box at main school, she'd just catch the afternoon post. Cliff would get the notes in the morning and could work all weekend if he wanted to!

  Girls were starting to stream off the hockey pitches as she walked through the grounds to the pillar-box. On the way back she met up with a track-suited Tish, fresh from First Eleven team practice.

  'How did the hospital go, Rebeck?'

  'OK,' said Rebecca. 'And I met a boy I used to know! And I've lent him those English notes – well, made him a present. You were right! I am glad I kept them. But I missed the whole of maths,' she groaned. 'I wanted to remember about cylinders, let alone cones and pyramids. In fact, I get cones and cylinders muddled up!'

  'Rebecca, you're thick!' laughed Tish, pushing her round to the back of Court House. She stopped by the dustbins, lifted a lid and rummaged around.

  'What are you doing?'

  'Pooh. Smells a bit,' said Tish, picking out an empty tin can. 'Let's take it up.'

  'Whatever for?' asked Rebecca.

  'Well, it's a cylinder, isn't it.'

  Upstairs they washed out the dirty tin in the kitchen. Roberta had come back with Jenny and Fiona after hockey. The three of them had been picked for the Second Eleven! Jenny as goalkeeper and the other two as backs and they'd be playing a friendly against Hillstone the next day. They were working out defence tactics and eating some chocolate.

  'What you doing with that filthy old can, Tish?' asked Jenny.

  'Showing Rebecca about cylinders.'

  'Let's see!' exclaimed Roberta.

  'Why?' asked Tish in surprise. 'Rebeck missed the lesson, that's all.'

  'Come on, Robert,' said Jenny, hauling her back into the kitchen. 'Get someone at Norris to help you. Let's sort out this match.'

  Tish plonked the can on the table where the photocopier was and made Rebecca write down its measurements.

  'OK. First – the curved surface area. Well, what's the circumference of a circle?'

  '2 pi R,' said Rebecca. 'But what circle?'

  'The top of the tin, fathead. That's the circle. Find the circumference of that circle, then multiply it by the height of the tin. Presto – that's it!'

  Rebecca borrowed Mara's calculator and worked it out.

  'Right! You now know how to find the curved surface area of a cylinder.'

  'How easy!' laughed Rebecca, in relief. 'But how do I find its volume?'

  'That's just pi R squared times height,' said Tish. 'Try it.'

  While Rebecca worked it out, Mara produced her notes from the day's lesson. 'Want these copied, Rebecca? It's all here – cones as well. And pyramids. You can learn them and catch up!'

  'Thanks, Mara,' said Rebecca as Mara switched on her copy machine with fidgety pleasure. 'I make it 241.9 cubic centimetres, Tish.'

  'Sounds about right,' shrugged Tish, bored by now. 'Oi, Mara, run off some for Robert. I get the feeling she didn't understand the lesson.' Roberta was right beside them.

  Mara obliged. Tish took the copied notes, shoved them in the old tin can and handed it over with a grin. 'There you are, Robert. The complete kit. Ali you ever wanted to know about cylinders and never dared ask.'

  Roberta took the gift doubtfully. 'What about cones and pyramids?'

  'They cost extra,' said Tish, who was off to have a shower. 'Ask the twins,' she added impatiently. 'Or read Mara's notes, can't you?'

  Rebecca meanwhile went to her cubicle and put the notes in her maths folder with a little sigh. Cones and pyramids. You had to know about those for the top paper, Miss Hort had reminded them. Was there no end to it?

  On Saturday Rebecca and Sue met Robbie and Justin for tea and cakes in Fenners.

  Both boys were working like maniacs for their Oxford entrance exams in November. Robbie was taking the maths and physics papers, Justin the history and English papers. Both boys were also taking something called the General Paper, which seemed to prey on their minds.

  'That's the one you have to do brilliantly for PPE!' explained Justin. 'You have to prove you've got mental processes of your own and aren't just good at learning things parrot fashion.'

  'You have to write four essays in three hours,' mumbled Robbie. 'With lots of ideas in them.'

  'Or you can just try and be profound,' said Justin. 'Like they had an essay question once that just said: Why? And someone simply wrote two words underneath: Why not? – and they gave him a place!'

  'So rumour has it,' added Robbie sceptically.

  Rebecca and Robbie were tending to avoid each other's gaze slightly. She sensed it made him miserable to see her arm still in its sling. She concealed it beneath the table as much as possible, yet still felt edgy herself because he felt edgy.

  However, listening to all this talk about Oxbridge with curiosity, she absent-mindedly reached that left hand forward out of its sling to take a slice of chocolate cake. Robbie's eyes darted quickly to the plaster. He saw the heart drawn there and those words . . . CLIFF . . .R.M. IS WONDERFUL.

  When they had to get back because Sue had orchestra, Robbie suddenly whispered to R
ebecca, in a strained voice: 'Who's Cliff?'

  'Oh. Nobody in particular,' said Rebecca, taken by surprise.

  As the two friends approached Court House by the back way, they saw Lizzy Douglas had her ground-floor window open: and Moggy was sitting on the window-sill. As she stroked him, Mrs Barrington called out from the garden:

  'Now what's he doing round here again? Take him back to your parents. I've told you not to encourage him, Lizzy.'

  'I don't encourage him, Mrs Barry! I don't do anything! I can't help it if he just comes round, can I?'

  As Rebecca and Sue went upstairs, Sue said with a laugh: 'Didn't she look guilty? Lizzy!' But Rebecca was thinking about other matters.

  Things seemed to be getting more awkward between her and Robbie, not less.

  SIX

  ACTION COMMITTEE!

  Rebecca slogged on with her school work. Robbie rang up from time to time a little stiffly, inquiring about the arm.

  By October she was starting to count the days, looking forward to being rid of the cumbersome plaster and the sling. Soon after that would come half-term, five whole days' holiday. She'd spend it at her grandmother's bungalow in Gloucestershire. She was looking forward to that, too.

  This is silly, she told herself, wishing time away like this. Why do I feel so jaded?

  As someone who was naturally athletic and bursting with physical energy, she was missing hockey and tennis and being in the fresh air and falling into bed pleasantly exhausted each night. The tennis doubles fixed up by Miss Willis once a week she found merely frustrating. She couldn't really move around the court freely: it was such a nuisance being hampered like this. It was stupid having to serve underarm! She preferred pounding the tennis ball against the wall of Norris but that had its limits.

  No tennis. No hockey. No netball. No swimming. Elf patiently played table tennis with her a few times but even that was awkward. Tish was now jogging along the beach too fast and too far for Rebecca. She was racing in London at half-term – at a big indoor meeting!

  Rebecca felt frowzy, as though she were winding down, running to seed. Enervated. Cooped up with her books, her school work – and especially her GCSE coursework – simply stretched itself out soggily to fill the time available and take twice as long as it needed to.

  But she would get that good GCSE maths grade or die!

  The printed booklets for the first set task had been issued to all Fifth Year pupils. Div 3 girls mainly did only the first paper, which could earn them an E, F or G grade, although those who wanted to try for a C or D grade did the second paper, too. In Div 2, Rebecca's, everyone did both papers and some the top paper as well, if they were aiming for an A or B. In Div I they did all three papers and a few did an 'extension' paper which could earn them a distinction. It was tucked away at the end of the booklet and contained, to Rebecca, incomprehensible problems involving ship navigation and non-factorizable quadratic equations.

  'There's some calculus and logic, too,' Tish had grinned. 'It's good fun.'

  Rebecca was relieved to find that she could complete the top paper and so was not yet knocked out of the running for an A or B grade. Roberta Jones, too, had been equally determined. She mustn't stumble at the first hurdle! Not if she wanted to be a vet!

  It was all very well for the crowd at Court, she thought. They were so easy going. Fiona had told her how Tish Anderson had knocked off the whole booklet, sitting at the big table one Sunday afternoon with half the floor gathered round her. Then left it lying there for days for her friends to consult if they wanted to! Getting help at Norris was quite a different story.

  Joss Vining was brilliant at maths but was never there! Now she was in the England 18 hockey group she was always dashing off somewhere or other. Also she glided along on her own rarified plane of calculus (was it?) and when Roberta had asked her about cones she'd told her to go and buy an ice-cream at Moffat's.

  As for the Nathan twins, they were useless. They'd lectured her:

  'It's no use our helping you, Berta. You'll only fail the authenticity test. Then Miss Hort will mark your coursework right down anyway.'

  'But you help each other!'

  'That's different.'

  'We're twins!'

  And as for Debbie. She wasn't just useless, she was worse than useless. It just wasn't a bit fair, all the help she was getting when she didn't even need it! Well, she'd show her . . . she'd show Debbie!

  And the morning they handed their coursework in and were given the authenticity test in class, Rebecca noticed that Roberta, too, had a well filled-up top paper – she seemed to have completed most of it.

  The test was a short written one, designed by the examination board. It was called an authenticity test because it would show whether a pupil had actually understood the coursework they'd just handed in, or whether they'd been given a lot of help.

  As Rebecca scribbled down the answers, she suddenly became conscious that Roberta was copying her. How pathetic, she thought and wondered who Roberta had found to do her coursework for her.

  Rebecca was pleased to be eventually awarded a B grade for that first set task. Even the fact that Roberta got a B, too, couldn't mar her pleasure.

  Miss Hort was already distributing a second printed booklet to the class, a much thicker one. This was known as 'the extended set task' and contained about eight hours' work. It was the most important piece of coursework and if completed could earn up to 25 percent of the entire GCSE maths mark.

  The Fifth Years would all have four weeks to do it in: they could take it home over half-term if they wanted to. This coursework would require more than a simple authenticity test after it had been handed in. Each girl would be given a five-minute oral examination by the teacher, privately, on a one-to-one basis, to see if she'd really understood the work.

  'Robert won't be able to cheat next time, will she, Rebecca?' Mara pointed out, not without satisfaction. 'The oral will be horrible!'

  'Don't remind me,' laughed Rebecca. 'You and I had better get our act together, never mind Robert.'

  'Bobbie, it's Daddy here. I'm back home now. I thought I'd better give you a ring. I found this letter waiting for me from your Miss Gates, about your maths GCSE. Something about if you take the top paper and do badly you could get a FAIL, but if you just take the lower papers you can earn yourself a C grade next summer and that's not bad –'

  'A C grade's no use!' said Roberta petulantly. 'I've got to get an A or a B if I want to be a vet. I've told you that, Daddy! Besides, I'm already on the way. We had the marks for our first piece of coursework this week. I got a B!'

  'By jove, you amaze me. Well done, poppet.'

  'Rebecca? It's Cliff here. I said I'd ring. Did you get my letter?'

  He'd written to her last month to thank her for the English notes and to say how useful they looked.

  'Were they any help?' Rebecca asked cautiously. 'How did it go?'

  'Rebecca, you're not going to believe this, but I got a B!'

  'Cliff!' shrieked Rebecca in delight. 'You didn't!'

  'Those notes were ace,' he said gratefully. 'Talk about shedding light in dark corners. I even read the books after that. Jane Eyre's good once you get into it; a bit creepy in places. And after getting to grips with The Merchant of Venice, I'm finding Romeo and Juliet quite easy!'

  Romeo and Juliet was one of the new set books for next summer's exam.

  'It's all down to Miss Heath,' said Rebecca. 'She's a fantastic English teacher, she really is. I got an A for those books! I'm so glad I've got her for these two years.'

  'An A? Brilliant. I think we should go some place and have a little celebration. I'll buy you some beer!'

  'I don't drink, Cliff,' laughed Rebecca.

  'Well, can't we go out one evening?'

  'How?'

  'Oh, you're in Holloway prison, I keep forgetting. When's your next trip to hospital?'

  'Three weeks on Friday, three o'clock in the afternoon,' Rebecca replied promptly. The time and
date were imprinted on her mind in letters of fire. 'Why?'

  'That's when I go to physio! Every Friday afternoon!' exclaimed Cliff. 'I'll look out for you!'

  'I'm having the plaster off that day,' explained Rebecca.

  'Brilliant again,' said Cliff. 'Double celebration. I'll hang around till you come out. See you then. I'll think of something good!'

  Rebecca ground on with her school work. Maths . . . biology. She'd dropped physics and chemistry, thanks to failing the summer exams so badly. That gave her more time for history and geography, which both had a huge amount of coursework. And her best subjects: Latin, French and German. There was no written coursework for those, just some oral work in the spring term. Then big exams next summer!

  Debbie Rickard was doing brilliantly at everything. Her geography coursework was dazzling.

  But Mrs Beal frowned and deducted quite a lot of marks in the confidential record sheet that would eventually be sent up to the examination board.

  'It was quite obvious that her father had helped her a great deal,' she told her friend Miss Heath in the staff room.

  'I'm afraid he's been interfering with her English, too,' sighed Miss Heath. 'I was fully expecting her to get an A but I had to mark it down to a B. Such a shame. But it was full of adult comments that didn't really relate to the questions set. Do you know – he phoned me next day and complained about his grade!'

  They both laughed.

  'Let's hope he doesn't insist on coming to school and writing her exam papers for her next summer,' Mrs Beal said drily. 'That would really ruin her chances.'

  'But I wish the Rickards hadn't done this,' said Miss Heath, serious now. 'Moving house to be practically on top of the school. Luckily the rest of the Fifths don't have their parents breathing down their necks.'

  Rebecca and the rest of 'the six' at least were certainly well satisfied with their life as boarders on the attic floor of Court House.