Chapter 19: Extractions

Eccar, the bull-necked gym teacher, has them exercising, though Yarra is still sure that the H- punishment proper hasn’t started yet. “Mr Eccar will keep you busy till you’re needed,” that’s what Dickle had said when he left the stage. She doesn’t know how many of the other girls get this, but they’re - all of them, including herself - still exercising. Jumping jacks. It’s partly the bland familiarity of it - just a standard exercise - that’s got them all following the rules. With those threats behind that, of course - the threat of more and worse if they don’t do what they’re told.

Eccar is pacing in front of the stage, barking his orders - his ins, his outs, his up, his downs - a happy man when he’s fake-sergeant-majoring schoolgirls through some exercises. Yarra watches Tund the turd sneak with size thirteen feet between the lines. Shrimp’s still there too, off to Yarra’s left, but the stocky woman isn’t alone. She’s with the older groundsman in boiler-suit-style overalls and grass stains galore.

Shrimp doesn’t shy away from broadcasting. “This one here - Tanty, my class - now up to two. For turning up late - same reason me and young Needan found we had to take action in the first place, Borger. Don’t mind if I call you Borger, do you?”

The groundsman shrugs. “Can - if you want. Not fussed really, me.”

“Yah, anyway, me and young Needan took this one apart just a day or so ago. Knows the score now. So she shouldn’t be a problem if she ends up in your orbit. She’ll do what you tell her. Won’t you, Tanty?”

Though a blush steals up her neck, Tanty just keeps jumping jacks out and in.

“Orange from the start,” Shrimp continues, “but left alone till me and Needan ran her through her paces. Still see the evidence there, on her backside.” Shrimp’s voice drops to merely loud. “Mother’s a bit of a lush - know from last year. So no come-back from that source.” Then she’s back to full foghorn. “Remember me from last year, I’ll bet, don’t you, Tanty?”

The groundsman growls, “The one we give an H to was her, back there.”He means curvy-from-the-waist-down Cherry Croutier, exercising solo in the right back circle.

“Oh, sure. Yah, one. I gave out - how many? Caught em red-handed, know what they’ve done, then it’s on to the rigmarole, find a bloody teacher, yes? All that leg-work takes a hell of a time.” Shrimp starts to ostentatiously point. None of the other teachers, assistants or students can tune out the volume of her one-to-one with Borger. “Her, front middle, Ploom. Extra pair of eyes for Eccar, called me over to double-check she was slick at the back - if you get what I mean.”

The gruff groundsman grunts.

“One to her right, Bumber - back of her classroom all last year, that’s what I got told. Slipped the net this year. Collared the girl in a corridor, persuaded her teacher, got her logged, the lot! The bad ones stay bad. Right and left next row, Lutyens and Guelder - caught them red-handed! Diddling in the toilets, would you believe? Had to drag em all the way to the teachers’ common room to get their HPs rubber-stamped.” Though her volume drops to Shrimp’s take on conversational, it’s still loud enough to hear at the back. “Ford it was who I had to wring an H nod from. Bit bilious when he saw me, tell the truth, dragging those two stamp-lickers in my wake. Couldn’t wait to confirm my award, tick the boxes and get rid of em. Keen to get back to his lunchtime crossword.”

“Ford,” grunts Borger. “Never had no dealings.”

“Coasting to retirement. Needan, complete opposite. Bamboozled by me, same as every other male here. Can’t see the wood for the woman, so to speak - thought I’d be on the side of these little orange hussies! And, frankly, in need of a guiding hand.”

Needan, near the rear gym hall wall, is currently covering his face with a hand, trying to pretend he’s not in the room.

Shrimp turns her volume back up to full as they pass back by Tanty. “Soon got through that, though. Didn’t he, girl?” Shrimp gives the jumping Tanty a meaty bum slap as she’s up in the air on, her way back to star shape. “H not given in class though, but this place. Koffa backed me up on that. Back row, those two - a bit of a help-out for Tundy boy, with Waller and Clitstrop. Proving they were off on a flagrancy jag. Count my girls up yet? That’s seven! More than half!”

“Impres-sive,” says Borger. “And you a female.” He says this as his tongue makes a bump in his cheek.

Shrimp sniffs, then grunts. Her dials back to loud. “You want girls here on Saturdays, you want me in your boy’s club. Your union - hear that’s how you lot refer to it, eh?”

“Hon-orary member? That sort of thing?”

“Not honorary,” Shrimp says, one hand clapping her thigh. “Full! No half-measures.”

As if to prove her point, Cuckles, class eight plus assistant, walks past on their left with nine minus teacher, Chack ‘snorty’ Beelar. Turning with both thumbs up, skipping backwards, Cuckles tells her, “Bigwigs want a quick chat with the front three girls first! Wanting Beelar here - for Ploom - plus you and me as Bumber’s awarders! First up, we are!”

“Ha!” says Shrimp. “Have to cut the tour short, Mr Borger!”

The burly man drops his eyes to his shoes. “Got your point, though, Mizziz Shrimp. I’ll put it to em, right? There’s lads in the union ought to listen to me.”

At the front of the gym class, Beelar is talking, mouth-to-ear, with Burris Eccar. To be heard, he has to shout above the clump-clump of girls’ feet. “Understand you awarded my girl Ploom her H, Mr Eccar,” he says. “They want her and these others out the back for a word! Those well-dressed blokes.”

“Take her out then,” says Eccar with a flick of his hand. “I’m in here keeping order.”

Yarra watches as Cuckles catches year eight Mercy Karp by her elbow. Beelar pulls out a frowning Minty Ploom. Shrimp, a shortish barrel on thinning legs, does the same with a flinching Falla Bumber. They bustle the girls out to Yarra’s right and out through the back doors. Yarra watches them go, still guiltily following Eccar’s instructions, thinking, Picking off the weakest. The youngest ones first.

The strangers underneath the glass atrium - plus Dickle and Farthing’s wiry father - have been fissioning and fusing into smaller groups. Patting each other on the back, being hearty.

“Well we’ve done it! Shot and bagged!” This from one who the others keep calling Mr Chairman, to a pair of equally well-dressed men in suits - names Farthing has scribbled down as Eastman and Reghunt.

The first of these, with sandy hair, says, “Lot of work, Colim, but - lordy, what a picture! All those tiny skirts bouncing on tempting young hips!”

Colim Cotting, the Chairman, hooks his hands up around the shoulders of the other two. Squeezing each in turn, he says, “Idward Eastman, Roman Reghunt!” The first of these is the sandy haired man, the second is a natural red. “Well we’ve earned it, chaps, the hard way! Runway built by us three, plane’s about to land!”

One odd pair of men - the round one, the gaunt one, Osper and Forliman, seem to stick with each other no matter who they group with. When the taller one moves off, the round one moves just after, like a ball tied by elastic to a bat. They stretch-snap up to a cravat-wearing man with theatrical arms - the one who’s been talking to Farthing’s dad.

“Mr Mittles,” says the light-voiced, spindle-limbed Forliman, “seen any likely ladies for your Chorus Line?”

“Ha-ha!” says Mittles. “Different kettle of fish, to be honest. Need girls in a show who can turn up every day. These chits in here, they’re the stalking horses, if you get my drift. Job’s to lead out the herd and attract the early punters. But for my idea, I need some fully-trained fillies! And Mr Pelling here...” He hooks a forearm through Farthing’s dad’s elbow, bringing him closer. Then drops his own level. “Pelling might be pretty useful on a couple of levels. And not just through his progeny! Skilled as a joiner, did you know that, chaps?”

“Oh, yes?” says Forliman. “Joiner? Work with wood?”

“Above, Farthing turns her head and whispers to Keet, “What’s a progeny?”

Keet shakes her head. “Don’t know, sorry.” She’s been fumbling, quiet as a nesting bird, in her under-sized backpack. “I’ve got a homework notebook I forgot in here, Farth. Can you write in this?”

“You’ll need it though,” says Farthing. “Won’t Snorty go mad if I scribble things in it?”

Keet frowns. “Write in it at the back, Farth. I can always say I lost it. Got mugged - some bully stole it and ripped out the pages. Because this is more important!”

“Can you look prodgny up though?” asks Farthing. “On your phone? Mine’s got no data, just calls and texts. My dad’s a bit stingy. All that data’s not for girls, just him and other men, he says.”

“How do you spell it? With a D, or what?”

“Don’t know,” says Farthing as she takes Keet’s homework notebook, opens at the front end, then flips it over to open the blank back page.

Then there are more figures coming out from the hall now. And this time there are girls. From Farthing’s class, from Keet’s class - Mercy Karp and Minty Ploom. And one from nine plus. And, prompting the girls out are Cuckles, Beelar and Shrimp the blimp.

Dickle takes the lead, below, addressing the suits. “Gents, our youngest girls today.”

“With a woman,” says the Chairman, scowling at the blocky Ulberta Shrimp.

Taudren stands at the back of the gym hall. He has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing. He’s deliberately staying behind Yarra, though. Not to watch her - this other girl with the horrible mother and the stupid, tiny skirt is between him and her. Cherry Croutier, he knows she’s called. Plus, this angle lets him see JT - Imenna - a girl he’s splurged so often to he’d have filled up a pint glass if he’d done it all at once. She’s half the hall away, in the middle of the second row. The first row of his-age girls has just been taken out, looking fazed to be first and a little bit lost.

Who’s left at the back now is himself and these two blokes in grass-stained overaalls; the tall teacher, cane in hand, patrolling in between the girls; the red-faced steroid victim at the front who keeps bellowing orders; plus two other teachers on the other side. And all of them are either ignoring him or dropping him frowning looks, like they don’t know who he is or why he’s there. Dickle had just left Taudren back there and told him to wait.

The posh men who’d stood at the back as well had all spilled out from a mini bus just up the road, just before that girl Shella Tanty had been dropped off by her slurring, drunken mum. At the back, before Dickle had gone up on the stage, one of the men had asked, “Who’s the boy, Pieter?”

“Relative,” Dickle had told them man. “Actually, a connected one. I believe your rules allow such things, gents.” Taudren had frowned and thought - Me, connected? What does that mean - through Yarra?

“Well we did put in something about relatives, Chairman,” another bloke in a suit had said. Then all these men had got in between him and Mr Dickle, and Taudren had just got stranded back here.

Outside, when he’d spotted them going in, Dickle had been busy locking up. He’d seemed a bit stressed.

“They should give some proper notice,” he’d said to Taudren as he’d turned a big key in the small gate lock. “Wish Iwed had time to set things up for you, boy, brief you a bit more. Didn’t get any clue from talking to your dad.” And now, he’s thinking, Why would my dad have given Mr Dickle clues?

The shouty, bull-necked teacher has the girls doing squats now. Taudren’s watching Imenna between grass-stained backs, keeping Yarra out of his eye line. ‘Don’t try to top your sister, Tauds.’ He remembers his dad’s warning. Taudren think it’s better if Yarra doesn’t spot him. But all this hanging back is starting to make him feel it’s all a big wind-up. What if those bigwigs tell Dickle that he’s not allowed? If they wrote whatever rules they wrote, they can always write them differently.

“When I spotted that woman from at the back,” says Chairman Cotting, “I thought she must be here as a nurse.”

He means Shrimp, whose bullish enthusiasm in the hall, boasting to the groundsman, has dropped as a clonking weight in her stomach, then morphed into a quiet fury, which she’s trying hard to keep under wraps. Talk to her directly! She’s got a mouth and opinions like anyone else - don’t talk to Dickle about her! A man ten years younger with a nasal drone who keeps twitching like a ten year old with tics he hasn’t managed to master.

“Miz Shrimp is one of our assistant teachers, Mr Cotting.”

“Yes, but why exactly is she here? To watch out for fair play or some tosh like that?”

Dickle’s nose and eyebrows wince and flicker through some rapid-fire distortions. “I believe she’s been helping Mr Eccar with gym class. His assistant in that enterprise used to be Miss Luckpine, but that lady was needed for Friday Sports. Reassigned by the Head, I understand.”

“Oh. Leezing,” says Cotting dismissively. “I mean I know these girls are starting out today in the gym. Makes sense, get them all together. Not staying in there, are they though? Or are they? That why you’ve got so few here then, Dickle?”

Dickle looks flustered. “It’s the first day, Mr Cotting.”

“Chairman,” says Cotting.

“What?” says Dickle.

Idward Eastman leans forward and says, fairly quietly, “Chairman Cotting, Dickle. Our friend, as you know, is now Chairman of our more expansive Governors Board.”

“The woman,” says Cotting. “Has she been stopping staff giving out Humblers, or something?”

This is too much for Shrimp. She shoots her left hand out over all three young girls, and says, “Two out of these three and half of them in there! Not stopping their humblers, giving them humblers! That’s what I’ve been doing! Think there’d be more girls without me? There’d be half!”

Now Cotting is focused on Shrimp directly. “I will thank you for not interrupting,” he says.

There’s a quiet cough from the rotund man in the too-tight jacket. “Aren’t you VT?” he asks Shrimp.

She flicks her eyes down from Cotting, confused.

“VT?” says Rollum Osper. “On the database?”

“One letter up,” says the gaunt man beside him.

Osper says, “That trick with the handle of your wooden spoon. Nearly fell off my chair last night, watching that! Eyes bugging from my head! Weren’t yours as well, Checkler?”

The taller, bald man nods. “She’s quite fearsome, Chairman!”

Cotting is neither politically naive not domineering enough to stop his fellow governors speaking out. “What’s this?” he asks.

The shorter one says, “She did. Like she said. In yesterday’s gym class. From what we saw, anyway, didn’t she Checkler?”

“She is, she’s proper fearsome,” Forliman says.

Cotting’s eyes, rather than looking back at Shrimp’s, have lasered in on the twitch-faced teacher’s. “You need a woman to give out half your Humblers, Dickle?”

Under flickering eyebrows, Dickle’s lips are rubbing one against the other. “The consensus,” he says, “was to limit the number. First Saturday, all that. Limit the test girls in number and background.”

“Why?” asks Cotting, this word landing with a thump.

“To ease it in,” says Dickle. “Keep the standard of the target girls high. Get the practice established without starting a revolt. Amongst the parents, I mean.”

Above the glass roof, Keet whispers to Farthing. “Target girls? He’s admitting it!” She’s holding her phone, trying to stop her hand trembling as she points it down through the rain-streaked glass. It doesn’t have much memory, but she’s risking what she’s got to get some of this as audio.

Farthing has scribbled, ‘Limit number - target girls - keep standard of girls high - try not make parents revolting.’

But her hand stops writing when her own dad says, “Is that why our Farthing’s not in there then, Dickle? To stop me complaining?”

Dickle seems flustered with these hostile eyes on him. “Strategic decision,” is all he can manage.

“Because Scutter’s girl is in there.”

“She’s a favourite already,” Dickle says. “With many, many clicks.”

But Pelling hasn’t finished. “So you wouldn’t make Lankworth Scutter Governor, but he still gets the perks? While I get all the hard work and none of the rewards?”

Another man puts his hand on Pelling’s shoulder. He half croons, “You’ll build my stage, Scunner. We’ll make Penny a star. If we’re lucky, we’ll get her a part with Billy Hall.”

Farthing looks to Keet. She looks shell-shocked, stunned to silence. Keet turns her phone off.

Below, Chairman-Governor Cotting is saying, “You two. Are you teachers?” to the two men with the girls.

“Teacher - assistant,” Beelar says, of himself and Cuckles.

“Take these three off then. Start the show.”

Dickle says, “We’d intended a one-to-one ratio, Mr Cot- Chairman. One punisher, one punishee.”

“Well I’m sure these two can cope with just three girls. Mrs -?”

“Shrimp,” says Dickle.

“Miz,” growls Shrimp.

Cotting sniffs. “Mss ... Shhhrimp. We shall work you out later. Please ... return. For the moment.” He flicks a hand twice towards the now-closed gym doors. “And send the next three girls out with whoever gave them Humblers.”

With a thunderous face, Shrimp turns and bangs her way through swinging doors and back into the gym hall.

Forliman asks quietly of Beelar and Cuckles, “And, where will you be? If we wished to come and find you?”

Beelar’s face asks the question of Cuckles. Cuckles says, “My class? Decent camera setup at the back. Techies rigged it special.”

Beelar says to the Governors, “Eight plus. Far end classroom in the downstairs hallway.”

The tubby one, Osper, says, “These three are all younger girls, I take it?”

Cuckles points to Karp, then in turn to Ploom and Bumber. “Year eight - eight plus class, she’s in mine - this one nine minus, that one nine plus.”

Forliman says in his high, light voice, “So these ones’ knickers are to stay on then, are they?”

With a blink of surprise, Cuckles says, “Um - I think that’s the general idea, sir.”

“Well that’s nice for them,” says Osper, “at least.”

Into silence, Dickle says, “On your way, then. Assuming the Chairman approves.”

Cotting nods curtly. Then Cuckles prompts both Mercy Karp and Bumber up the short flight of steps into the main building’s downstairs corridor. Beelar pats Minty Ploom’s bum to get her moving.

A moment later, Farthing’s angry-looking fatherad has been tapped on his shoulder by the cravat-necked man he’s standing with. The cravat man whispers. Pelling nods.

“Governors,” says Enton Mittles, “Mr Pelling and I think we may wander for a while. As discussed on board the bus. If you wouldn’t object.”

Chairman Cotting reluctantly nods. Mittles and Pelling follow slowly after Cuckles, Beelar and the three younger girls.

Up above on the atrium roof, Farthing and Keet are slowly getting soaked. Farthing has folded her sweet wrapper notes inside Keet’s school notebook and handed them back. Keet has carefully put them in her bag. She’s put her phone in a pocket as well. She doesn’t know if the thing will survive getting wet. Its memory is also full - it’s given her a warning that it can’t record more.

“How you doing?” she asks Farthing. “I’m getting cold. Are you?”

Farthing looks white. She says, “I think I might be sick.”

Taudren sees the stocky woman barge back into the hall with a sour beetroot face. She stops, just inside. Draws in a few breaths. Then lumps towards the tall teacher, Tund. All the girls’ heads are twisting to look. Eccar has them resting, catching their breath. Taudren sees Yarra is staring at the woman. He ducks behind groundsmen’s silhouettes.

“Mr Tund!” says Shrimp, chin jutting forwards. “Next row out please, plus me and you.” She turns around. “Mr Koffa, Mr Needan, please - just do whatever Eccar wants.” She’s now up to the second row. She points. “You two stamp lickers, Lutyens, Guelder, come! Mr Tund will bring Scutter.” Then she holds Misty and Carrel back while Tund collects the pert Imenna and ushers her out through the double-hinged doors. Shrimp makes Misty and Carrel precede her. Taudren spies the stress on Yarra’s face, like these girls mean something to her.

As soon as she emerges, Chairman Colim Cotting is glaring, incensed, at Miz Shrimp again. His words come out hot. “Did I not this minute tell you to await our decision?”

“Ooh dear,” says Osper to his taller companion.

“Why, Mr Dickle,” Cotting asks tersely, “is your staff so impertinent?”

Dickle scratches quickly at his nose. He says, “She’s not in my department, Chairman - and not my assistant. So, technically, not on my staff, I’m afraid.”

The Chairman’s face looks slapped.

“That makes Miz Shrimp one of Headmaster Leezing’s staff.”

One of Cotting’s suited friends, the red-haired Reghunt, says, “Might I ask, ah, Miz Shrimp, why you’ve come with not one but two girls this time?”

“Certainly,” she says. “This - gentleman - told me, ‘send the next three girls out with whoever awarded their punishments to them.’ Mr Tund awarded Miss Scutter here her H. I awarded these other two theirs. Confirmed by Mr Ford, yesterday lunchtime. Today, Ford not present. Won’t be coming. Not his thing.”

“Not given in the gym class, then?” This comes from Eastman, the suited man to Reghunt’s right.

“Girls’ toilets!” says Shrimp. “This one, Lutyens, with her legs akimbo, down on the floor, showing all to this second girl. She was on her knees bending towards the first one! If that’s not egregious misconduct or whatever, not sure what is.”

Carrel can’t help herself. “I wasn’t kneeling, I’d just dropped down to help her!”

Misty squeals out, “I fell off the seat!” But all this gets is an all-round, disbelieving laugh, before Misty turns bright red.

Osper says, recovering, “That does seem like good work on the teacher lady’s part.”

“Quite enterprising, actually,” Forliman adds.

Chairman Cotting’s jaw is locked. He’s grinding his teeth. “Yet I told her to wait!”

“You said, ‘return for the moment,’” Shrimp tells him straight.

“Are you contradicting me?” Cotting fumes.

Shrimp blinks back, jaw jutting. In the silence between them, a spray of rain sloughs down, gusted between them from an open window. The clouds above are a solid, moving greyscale. As rain hammers the pyramidal roof, Shrimp lifts her eyes up. And thinks she sees a girl - no, two - behind the glass.

“I asked you a question and you simply ignore me?” It’s Cotting again.

Shrimp’s instinct would have always been to call out the dogs and catch the owners of those schoolgirl faces. But she’s now being treated like a schoolgirl herself. Shrimp may have been a hated prefect at her own school - at the end, once she’d stuffed those years of terror in a box marked revenge - pay it back - do unto others as was done unto you. She might have been bullied and controlled by every man and girl above her. But as prefect at the last, the boot was on the other foot. The logic of those bullied years was buried deep. What she’d taken, she would give. But even when she’d finally been let out of her box - especially then - she knew when to follow rules and when they could stuff them up a grubby back passage. Scarleton Change wasn’t on her CV. Not even now, when boring state schools like Kennigwort were twisting into independent nightmares for girls. She’d fudged that piece of personal info, replaced it with a state school from her own part of the island. Then tried to find a place where she could carry on her career as a prefect. The first was a washout. The second not much better. Kennigwort had been a bit looser, at least when she’d first got here, even before the DR parliament. But now ... oh my word, it had been starting to get good!