New Girl

by Carmen Reid

  ‘What?’ Min repeated, totally mystified, but getting up from her seat. ‘The biology thing?’

  As Amy held open the sitting-room door, she watched with pleasure as Min’s face turned from confused to surprised to utterly delighted.

  ‘Mrs Wilson!’ she cried. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Come to sort you out, my dear,’ replied the physics teacher, who’d been happy to be summoned from her leave of absence, nursing her husband, to come to the aid of her most promising pupil. ‘I think you owe your friend Amy a big thank you. She’s been worrying herself silly about you,’ she went on, smoothing out her tweedy skirt and settling herself down on one of the sitting-room chairs. ‘Sit,’ she instructed, patting at the seat next to hers.

  ‘Now what is all this fuss and fret I’ve been hearing about? Of course you’re not going to sit a biology A-level, Asimina!’ Mrs Wilson said briskly. ‘What a waste of your precious, God-given talents that would be. I think it’s obvious you should be considering physics, mathematics and chemistry.’

  ‘But—’Min began.

  ‘Shh!’ her teacher insisted. ‘I’ve not finished yet!’

  Although she sounded stern, there was a cheerful smile on her ruddy, forty-something face. ‘All these subjects can have a wonderful medical application. Amy and I have been doing some research. There’s oncology, the study of cancer – it’s full of chemotherapists and radiologists. You could become one of our top medical researchers, Asimina. A biology Higher, rather than an A-level, might be something to tuck under your belt while you’re en route to your A-levels. But it’s not even strictly necessary.’

  Min was finding it hard to keep her mouth from falling open at these words: medical research! Why hadn’t she thought about that? Radiology? Chemotherapy? Chemists made medicines . . . physicists developed MRI scanners. If she was a medical researcher, she could be in a lab, not having to deal with live, bleeding patients. She would just need a C, maybe a respectable B in her biology Higher. And she could manage that, even though her mind would be on the higher plains of A-level physics and maths.

  ‘Now, just as soon as you’ve taken that astonished look off your face, we’ll talk it through a little, then why don’t I help you make the call and explain it to your parents?’ Mrs Wilson asked. ‘I thought that might be of use to you.’

  Now Min looked close to fainting with surprise.

  ‘Tea!’ Amy insisted, holding out a mug to Min. ‘There’s loads of sugar in it – good for shock.’

  ‘No wallowing like this again, Asimina!’ Mrs Wilson scolded, taking the tea offered to her by Amy. ‘It’s not good for the system. And do your parents know about the fainting and vomiting?’

  ‘Well . . . a bit. But I’ve not really explained it to them.’

  ‘Well, you must!’ Mrs Wilson insisted. ‘What use is a doctor who passes out at the sight of blood?’

  ‘Wake up, Nif!’ Amy hissed. ‘Come on, wakey, wakey. We have work to do!’

  Amy was already up, her alarm clock having beeped at 3.30 a.m. Now she just had to wake her accomplices.

  ‘What is it now?’ Gina wanted to know.

  ‘We’re going down to the kitchen. It’s time to get the Neb back.’

  When the plan had been explained, Niffy and Gina couldn’t help feeling that it was vicious and twisted, but nevertheless a stroke of genius.

  The three (because Min would never have agreed to take part in this) crept down the stairs in the dark and headed for the boarding-house kitchen.

  In the enormous fridge, they located the items for sabotage. There were five large pots of double cream and six packets of butter.

  Mrs Knebworth always laid on a sensational cream tea after Sports Day for the parents of the boarders. This and the Christmas party were her big show-off moments. She would bake like a demon all day long and be ready by late afternoon, with cream cakes, scones and her legendary strawberry tarts in the summer, chocolate and fruit cakes in the winter.

  Because the Neb was always on some sort of diet, she claimed that she never so much as licked a spoon when she was baking, and allowed herself just one sliver of cake at the teas.

  ‘Fingers crossed she’s not feeling too greedy tomorrow,’ Niffy said as Amy brought out the instruments of cake torture.

  In a small plastic bag, she had a tube of extra-strong garlic paste, an onion and a large tub of salt.

  ‘Right, I need teaspoons, a plate, a sharp knife and someone to find the flour and the baking powder,’ she instructed.

  ‘Oh! This is bad.’ Gina was worried. ‘This is so bad . . .’

  ‘So bad, it’s good!’ Niffy giggled mischievously.

  The five pots of double cream were carefully part-opened, just enough to allow a teaspoon of garlic paste to be vigorously stirred around inside and removed, so that no trace of the crime remained.

  The paper around the butter was opened at the top so that half an onion could be rubbed across them, then carefully refolded.

  Just as Niffy and Gina were bringing out the flour to be liberally dosed with salt, they thought they heard a noise in the corridor and all ducked down under the kitchen table, praying the Neb didn’t come in – a table didn’t exactly make for a great hiding place.

  But whatever the noise had been, it didn’t bring anyone into the kitchen.

  ‘Come on, quickly!’ Gina instructed, holding open the flour bags so that Amy could tip in the salt, then stir it through.

  When everything had been tidied away as carefully and noiselessly as possible, they tiptoed back through the house and upstairs to bed, Amy tucking the paste, onion and salt into her school bag so she could drop them into a bin at school the next day.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ST JUDE’S LOOKED ‘glorious’ on Sports Day, just as Banshee Bannerman’s memo to pupils, staff and groundsmen had instructed.

  The freshly cut grass gleamed in the bright July sunshine, the newly painted white windows dazzled, little red and white bunting flags fluttered in the breeze and the table laden with sporting silverware sparkled.

  Even the girls, who’d been able to ditch the sludge-green sweatshirts in favour of white shirts or athletics vests because of the warmth, looked much prettier than usual.

  As soon as the start of the 800 metres was announced over the crackly tannoy system, Gina, Niffy and Amy joined the other Year Four girls and jostled their way towards the front of the crowd at the finishing line for a good view of Min’s race.

  ‘Is she going to be OK?’ Gina worried. ‘She said her times have been bad for weeks.’

  ‘She’s feeling better,’ Amy replied confidently.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Niffy chipped in. ‘She’s pulled out of the four hundred metres because she wasn’t sure if she could manage both races.’

  ‘Trust me’ – Amy smiled – ‘she’s feeling much better now. Mrs Wilson was brilliant – helped to phone her parents and settled the whole doctor problem once and for all. Min will run like the wind.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Niffy replied, crossing the fingers on both hands and hugging herself for luck.

  ‘How did your long jump go, by the way?’ Amy wanted to know.

  ‘Pants, total sandy pants!’ Niffy replied, and when Amy pulled a puzzled face, she explained gloomily, ‘Did a cracking jump, but fell backwards instead of forwards. Now my pants are full of sand, and Suzannah from Year Five – who can do a Fosbury Flop, by the way, and is going to win the high jump – won.’

  ‘Oh dear . . .’ Amy would have added something more sympathetic but the crack of the starting pistol sounded and the six girls taking part in the 800-metre race were away, setting off down the straight in a close group. By the time they rounded the first corner, three had broken away slightly, and the girls could see that Min, with her long hair streaming out behind her, was among the front runners.

  ‘Come on, Min!’ Niffy screamed at the top of her voice as the runners tore past them, on their way to completing the first l
ap.

  ‘Go, Min, go!’ Amy shouted above the cries of support for Lucy, Lauren, Willow and the others.

  ‘Louisa’s going to do it!’

  They all turned at the sound of Penny’s voice behind them.

  ‘She’s already logged the best time of the term – just watch,’ she told them smugly.

  Amy dodged quickly through the crowd to get away from Penny, Gina and Niffy on her heels.

  ‘Come on, come on!’ Niffy said, but to herself, as Lauren, Louisa and Min began to widen the gap between themselves and the three other runners.

  Louisa and Lauren were hugging the inside lane: if Min was going to get past them, she would have to overtake on the outside, losing precious seconds. As they rounded the final bend, Louisa and Lauren began to pull ahead.

  ‘Come on, Min!’ Gina shouted, caught up in the race. ‘Go, GO!’

  Min launched herself out of the inside lane, pumping her arms and legs like pistons to build up the speed needed to overtake on the outside.

  The final 100 metres or so lay ahead of them, and all three girls were racing hard, arms pummelling, lungs fit to burst.

  Gina held her breath, terrified that someone was going to trip or stumble, bring Min down by mistake and take this chance away from her.

  It was too close: Lauren and Louisa were neck and neck, Min still fractionally behind. But then some unknown power seemed to sweep over Min. In a surge of acceleration, her legs pumped faster, carrying her past the others and over the finishing line a clear metre ahead. But as soon as it was over, she collapsed in a heap onto the ground.

  ‘Min!’ Niffy exclaimed. ‘Is she OK?’

  The three girls rushed towards her, but were held back by one of the PE teachers manning the line.

  ‘Give her a moment,’ she instructed.

  One of the other teachers Min brought a drinks bottle. She helped her into a sitting position and poured some of the liquid into her mouth.

  Min spluttered; she was gasping for breath and waving the drink away. But the PE teacher was reassuring her and offering another mouthful.

  For several long minutes Min’s friends watched as she slowly got her breath back, took long restorative mouthfuls of the salt and glucose fluid and finally got up onto her exhausted, wobbly legs.

  Only when the tannoy announced, ‘The eight hundred metre winners are: first, Asimina Singupta; in second place, Lauren Gaitling; Louisa McKay, third; and we have a new school record,’ did a smile spread across Min’s face.

  ‘Come on!’ Niffy rushed down to the edge of the track as Min wobbled towards them. ‘Let’s help her get her trophy, then’ – exchanging a significant look with Amy – ‘it’s time for the famous boarding-house tea.’

  Gina’s stomach suddenly began to churn with worry.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Niffy exclaimed. ‘There’s my mum and dad! No! It can’t be. My mum and dad?’ she asked, sounding puzzled and pointing at a couple still some distance away across the playing field. ‘Is that them?’ She shaded her eyes with her hands to get a better look. ‘It’s just I can’t remember the last time I saw them walking along arm in arm. The last time I saw them—’ But she broke off because it wasn’t a particularly pleasant memory.

  What she saw now was a middle-aged couple walking closely together. They were talking and her dad was looking at her mum with kind concern. Niffy could not remember when she’d last seen anything like this between them.

  Mr Nairn-Bassett, in his tweed jacket and panama hat, looked every inch the country gent, while Mrs N-B looked quite alarmingly like Niffy. If Niffy wanted to know what she’d look like in her forties, here was the flash forward.

  Mrs N-B had the same gangly arms and legs and unruly mop of brown hair, although hers was run through with grey. She was wearing a faded red summer dress which hung a little baggily round her flat chest and skinny frame. Even her sandals seemed large and loose on her feet.

  ‘Mum!’ Niffy shouted out finally. ‘Dad! I’m over here!’

  ‘Lu, darling!’ Mrs N-B came over, wrapped two bony arms round her daughter and hugged her tight.

  ‘And Amy!’

  As Niffy hugged her dad hard with a look of unmistakable relief on her face, Amy was treated to Mrs N-B’s embrace and a kiss on each cheek, then Min, then a surprised Gina.

  ‘I’ve heard so much about you – the Yank!’ Mrs N-B told her.

  Niffy rolled her eyes and scolded, ‘Mum! Look at you, you’re so thin! Are you OK?’

  ‘Oh! Don’t be silly – just rushing about like a mad thing, as usual,’ Mrs N-B replied. ‘So, Min, well done. Are we going to watch you get your gong then?’

  ‘I think we’ll have to help her up onto the podium,’ Amy said. ‘She’s still so shaky.’

  ‘I’ll be fine – just a few more mouthfuls of the magic stuff’ – Min waved her drinks bottle at them – ‘and I’ll be right as rain.’

  ‘You know that saying, “to die trying”,’ Gina added; ‘it’s just a saying, Min! You’re not supposed to actually kill yourself on the race track.’

  The cream tea, laid out across the top table in the dining room, was so perfect, so English, so photogenic, it didn’t quite look real. It was the kind of spread set out at five-star country house hotels, or for the pages of glossy lifestyle magazines. In short, it looked far too good to actually eat.

  Three beautiful Victoria sponge cakes filled with thick cream and jam, lightly dusted with icing sugar, took centre stage, surrounded on all sides by heaps of raisin-studded scones, fresh from the oven. Then there were platefuls of strawberry tarts, with crisp pastry and crème pâtissière, the perfect pointed berries shiny under a layer of pink glaze.

  ‘Come in,’ Mrs Knebworth trilled at the groups of parents and girls filtering in through the big front door. ‘Welcome! Straight into the dining room – help yourselves, make yourselves at home.’

  Gina, Niffy and Amy all exchanged glances. Mrs Knebworth looked so happy, so proud and pleased with herself.

  She was going to die! Gina couldn’t help thinking. The Neb was going to die of mortification. Her beautiful tea was ruined! She and the others had spoiled the whole thing.

  Gina watched in horror as the first parents filed towards the laden table. Slim and elegant mother number one accepted a cup of tea but turned down the offer of a cake. Gina was relieved. Maybe everyone was full . . . Maybe no one would take a salted scone or a slice of garlic cake . . .

  ‘Oh, that looks fantastic, yes please!’ The father next in the queue picked up a plate and asked for some cake, then took a tart and squeezed it onto the plate too.

  Amy and Niffy were giggling. How could they?

  ‘This is going to be terrible,’ Gina whispered to them. ‘The Neb is going to cry; she’s going to be utterly heartbroken.’

  ‘It’s too late now,’ Amy whispered back. ‘Short of rushing up and knocking the table over, what can we do?’

  They watched the people crowding round the spread.

  Gina really had considered sweeping everything onto the floor by ‘accident’, but as Amy said, it was too late now.

  ‘Mrs Bannerman!’ Niffy hissed, spotting the headmistress. ‘Over there! The Banshee’s joining us!’

  ‘Good grief!’ Even Amy looked worried now. ‘The Neb’s humiliation will be complete. Oh dear . . . I wasn’t expecting quite so many people . . . I thought it would be a bit more low-key.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Niffy suggested.

  Gina looked up to see the father who’d already got his food dig his fork into the strawberry tart. As he lifted the first piece towards his mouth, she rushed for the dining-room door.

  The three girls stood outside in the hall, waiting for the sounds of coughing or gagging, the murmurs of complaint to begin.

  This was big. This was a big, big mistake. They were going to be in so much trouble. Not for the first time, Gina imagined herself packing her bags and heading home early in disgrace. Not that she was the only one who would have lots of
explaining to do – she still hadn’t said a word to her mother about the mysterious exam results. Lorelei wasn’t exactly easy to talk to if you weren’t telling her what she wanted to hear.

  ‘Girls!’ Mrs Knebworth’s head came round the dining-room door. ‘What are you doing out here?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Erm . . . well . . .’ was all Niffy could manage.

  ‘Come in.’ The Neb beckoned. ‘Let me sort you out at once!’

  Reluctantly, the three headed into the dining room once again. To their surprise, everything seemed astonishingly normal. Parents and girls were sitting at the tables, chatting, drinking tea and . . . eating! Eating happily! Forks were spearing at pieces of cake; the gorgeous strawberry tarts were being devoured greedily.

  The three girls sat down at the end of one of the tables, looking at each other uneasily.

  ‘Is everyone being really polite?’ Amy wondered.

  ‘Surely not!’ Niffy shook her head.

  ‘Maybe we didn’t use enough stuff?’ Gina asked.

  But at the thought of the onion being smeared back and forth across the butter, the garlic paste swirling round the cream, the spoons and spoons of salt, she suspected this could not be the answer.

  ‘Here we are!’ Mrs Knebworth set three plates before them with a large slice of cake on each. ‘You deserve it!’ she trilled.

  There was no denying it: the cake looked fantastic. The sponge was light and fluffy, raspberry jam and cream oozed from between the layers.

  ‘It’s a mystery then,’ Niffy said, picking up the cake with her fingers and preparing to bolt down a big mouthful.

  Suddenly Amy and Gina felt ravenously hungry too. They loaded their forks and put substantial pieces into their mouths.

  There was a moment’s pause; it took a split second for the shock to register. Then the coughing and gagging began.

  The salt! The garlic! The disgusting flavours mingled in their mouths with the sponge, cream and jam.