The Journey Out

“I can trust you?” she asked. He nodded and slid his hand further into his brand new Y-fronts, she sighed appreciatively.

Veronica was her name, Linda hated her immediately. She had long, lustrous straight blonde hair. She let on that she brushed it fifty times every morning, and Linda laughed and started putting on airs that she brushed hers seventy times. Linda felt threatened. She didn’t need to, she had Damien in the palm of her hand (literally, every Friday it was said), and Damien was the alpha-male; which made her the alpha-female; and she was. Her friends – Sandra and Karen – took Linda’s lead and blanked the new girl. That shouldn’t have mattered, there were other groups, less fanatical about looks, in the year; but Veronica was musical in a classical way – which meant the Jazz Club were put out, and the classical musicians thought she might be better than them. Veronica was clever, which meant the other clever people – the geeks and rollos (no-one knew why they were call rollos) felt threatened too. Would she replace Samantha on the team? Would she bump Toni from third most intelligent to fourth (also ran)? Even the boys turned against her. She spurned their crass approaches, she crushed their crude suggestions with witty put-downs. But they did notice her, and weren’t sure why. She didn’t have massive bazookas, or an arse to get your teeth into. Even her lips weren’t the bright passion-red that some of the girls favoured, nor the inflated fish-lips that some had achieved. Perhaps that was it: what you saw was all natural. All natural and balanced in a way that made you look (and feel threatened, if you were Linda). She didn’t even do the hair flick to get boys to look. She just existed, that was enough.

Linda was what every boy looks for in a porn star: large tits, face that says ‘fuck me’, backside that kind of wiggled as she walked in her (always pushing the boundaries of school rules) highish heels. She actually had a nice face, lovely hair and an excellent figure. She didn’t have a particularly good vocabulary, but the boys she dated weren’t so worried about that use of her mouth. She never, ever wore sensible underclothes; the bra lifted, support, and exposed; the pants rode up inside her cleft and were (to be honest) uncomfortable, but Damien liked his girl in impractical bits of cloth rather than comfortable, warm pants that kept your bits warm when you wore a short skirt. Damien was not a deeply intellectual boy, he saw stuff on the porn channels and just accepted that that was what was sexy. He had no more idea what he really liked than Linda had of what she wanted.

Sandra was similar to Linda but less so. That is, she had a bust, but not the overdeveloped version that her friend had. She actually had a better arse than Linda, but unconsciously she underplayed it, knowing (again unconsciously) that the queen bee would not like to be challenged. She shaved her pubes because Terry said to, she was also aware it was uncomfortable when it got stubbly. She wore bright lipstick because Terry liked it, even though he moaned when she left lipstick stains on his penis. She had long blonde hair down her back that glowed and glistened in the sunlight. It was something she was proud of, and aware it was better than Sandra’s shorter (tinted) blonde hair. It was the only part of her that was better than Sandra, and the only part that she would not change for anything.

Both of them were romantic at heart, which was a shame because they had tied themselves to two shabby, skanky boys who thought that it was unmanly to wash before getting a girl to suck you off, and who didn’t think dressing up for girls was necessary. “They should be grateful I’m here, in’it” was their attitude. Karen, the other one of the three, had not a romantic bone in her nipped, tucked, dyed, fake-tanned body. She had learned from the best (her mother), that looks are made to be enhanced and used to get everything you can. She was dangerous, both Linda and Sandra knew that, she was not a trusted friend but so far she had been useful to be with. She was the only one of the three who would let a boy have anal on their first date. The other insisted it was strictly normal sex on that first date. None of them thought it odd to put out the first time the were alone with a boy.

Timothy was different, he was new too; just not as new. He could have used her rejection to gain some favour, but did not. He wasn’t sporty, and he wasn’t scientific, and he wasn’t musical; oh, and he wasn’t ‘artistic’ (the fashionable word for gay in the school – something that annoyed Mr Warren who played rugby for the county, had three girlfriends on the go (and two children by an ex-wife), and was actually also a phenomenal artist. He wasn’t anti-gay, he was anti-gay-appropriation of words that had other meanings), and he wasn’t artistic in the true sense either, not really. So Timothy was a bit of a loner. He enjoyed science fiction and fantasy. He thought Phantastes the best book he had ever read – the very fact that he had read it said a lot about him. He had read Catcher in The Rye and Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner and thought the protagonists failed to see the essential beauty of being alone. Timothy didn’t mind, Veronica was less keen on being alone, but she tolerated it because sometimes the alternative was even worse.

Still, he opted to show her where the toilets were, where the classrooms she needed were, and just generally help her to join the new schedule of the new school. He didn’t push it for two reasons: one, he was a skinny (he would say wirey, others would say weedy) guy and knew she was out of his league in so many ways; two, he was just a nice guy wanting to help. Nothing more, nothing less. They would exchange greetings and go their separate ways.

He’d joined the school four days after the forms had had to be in, three days after the ferry bookings had been made. It wasn’t his fault, Mr Leewondam could see that; the hostel had space, the coach wasn’t full, so if he wanted to come, they just needed to see if the ferry could accommodate. He did want to go, who wouldn’t? Any trip out of school is good, an overnight ferry to Rotterdam and then a visit to The Hague (Court of Justice), and a few other places like how they made Edam cheese (“Will we be touring the Red Light District Mr Leewondam?” “No, we won’t!” “Pity, we might see Mandy’s Mum there.” “That’s three more detentions, Jenkins, and you WILL apologise to Mandy NOW!” - Thing was, Mandy’s mum really did make some money on the side; Mandy knew that, she wasn’t that fussed). “Well, the ferry is filling fast, half-term you know.” Yes, he did know, that was why they were going then too. “There are none of the inside 4 person cabins available; oh look, I’ll sort something out. Leave it with me.” They’d done this trip a few times, the company liked to help educational trips if they could. Timothy got a booking. Tickets would be allocated when they checked in, it was easier than everybody losing them immediately.

To keep costs down, everybody was to bring their own tea, and they would stop for self-funded breakfast on the way to The Hague. “No alcohol! No! None! You are all sixteen, you are underage and we are not having a re-run of the Norman Paterson story!” - Norman Paterson School was slated in the Dailies for having drunk teenagers escorted from the cross-channel ferry by security the previous year. It had made the front page of two of the red-top press. The Today program on Radio Four had interviewed the Minister For Education (responsible for the Secondary Schools) who had been (as expected) appalled and disgusted and would be ensuing a root and branch investigation and analysis was carried out and would be reporting in the fullness of time (subtext: I plan to be in a different post by then). By the time it was realised that Ms Pauline Fowler – daughter of Michael Fowler MP, Shadow Minister for Defence – was one of the young people, the media had moved on to some other urgent news message.

The week before half-term holiday started, Veronica turned up. She had been at school across the town. The posh, fee-paying school that had a silly uniform that even included a hat. She had walked out three weeks previously without saying why. She said she’d rather cut her wrists than go back. She just needed to go somewhere so she could take her GCSEs, that was all. It wasn’t hard, she’d sail through them if she was allowed to take them. The Academy was uninterested - ‘too full’ they said, but they meant was ‘we don’t want an untried student lowering our scores’ (they should have asked a few more questions – like what is the capital of Cameroon, why is the decimal of pi so interesting; she could have told them. Minsbrook was just horrible. Rough, rude and randy – and that was just the staff. It was the school you went to if you were expected to fail and your parents didn’t care. So that left Taylor High. It has aspirations both for itself and its pupils. It aimed high and failed, better that than aim too low and succeed. It also cared, so a quiet word with the female support teacher, confidentially explaining why, and all was well. She could start.

Mr Leewondam asked his fellow colleague Mrs Kent to see if they could fit Veronica in at this late stage (“I mean, obviously the answer will be no, but we should ask”); Mr Leewondam was dealing with the police over the stabbing outside the school. Mrs Kent was arranging for childcare for Mandy so she could take her three GCSEs, she asked the school secretary if she could check. Mrs Lambert looked at the numbers booked: 52, looked at the numbers going: 51; tittered again at Mr Leewondam and Mrs Kent sharing a cabin. Mrs Lambert missed nothing and always kept quiet. Both Leewondam and Kent were thirty six years over the age of consent, unmarried and overweight; it was up to them. “Yes, all sorted. I’ve informed the ferry company.”

So it was a double surprise to Timothy when he opened the door to his twin roomed outside (with a window!) cabin to find Veronica unpacking her few things. “Oh. Umm. I think you’ve got the wrong room. No, that can’t be it, else your key wouldn’t work. I mean ... oh!” She had been bending over to her bag on the bed, and perhaps for the first time he realised just what an absolute 10 out of 10 she was. She had jeans on that tightly gripped her rounded shapely bottom. She stood and turned, doing the buttons up on her shirt as she did so. She had been intending to change into a teeshirt but that would have to wait.

“Hello Timothy. I ... well. Let’s just check.” They went outside and both confirmed that their own keycards opened the door. “I ... oh look! We are moving, come on. We’ll sort this later with the teachers.” Together they rushed out onto the deck. Looking over the rail from their deck, they could see the others all clustered around and making fools of themselves.

“NO Derek! If you drop that over the side, I’ll drop you over to get it back.” Mr Leewondam was saying. “Seriously, it is a criminal offence.” Mrs Kent backed him up. For some reason, Veronica and Timothy opted not to join the crowd at that precise moment. The group had already split into smaller packs and it would be impossible to watch them all, even with the two student teachers – who were both looking out of their depth. This was the kind of baptism of fire that a lot of teachers got. Give the newbies the crap jobs and see if they drown, that was the teacher training approach approach adopted now – whilst bemoaning that so many left the profession (and whilst calling it a profession and treating the teachers like a bunch of ignorant twats). One of these would steadily strike for the surface, the other would be looking for other jobs by the time the ferry returned in a few days.

“We can catch up with them later.” They agreed. Instead, they stayed on their deck looking down and out at the receding coast. It would spend a long time receding as the ferry travels down the river for a way first. The crowd of teenagers got bored and opted to head in to go to the film on offer, or up to the Sky Deck, where Mrs Kent was already in occupation to ensure no alcohol was consumed. The crowd moved around like a group of waves, first in the bar (where their attempts to gain beer were rebuffed by the staff), then in the shop. Then back to the film (which was not too inspiring). They made little attempt to check out the duty free, believing that they would be refused entrance outright.

Veronica and Timothy watched the lights blinking off for some time, both were putting off the moment of going to find the teachers, “The thing is...”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you do know that Mr Leewondam – he speaks Dutch you know – well you do know that he and Mrs Kent are sharing?”

“Nah ... ah they? Nah.” Timothy replied.

“I’m telling you, they are. I heard from Samantha, who’s mother is friends with Miss Purbrite, she’s deputy to Mrs Lambert. They are! They are a thing. I mean, why not? They are old and, well not wrinkly exactly -”

“All the wrinkles are full of fat.”

“Rude, but maybe yes, well anyway! I got the last place. So the only way to sort this would be for me to share with Mrs Kent and you with Mr Leewondam. We could ask the students but then you might have to share with Miss Turnip or Ms Candyfloss. Oh you might like that.” Turnip was really Turnnpype, and Candyfloss was so called because of her loved of pink lacy affairs; but she was a looker, no doubt there. Several boys looked. Several teachers too.

“Oh ... really? Oh, I mean, yuck.”

“Yes, and the two of them are probably looking forward to getting it on, whatever that means for people that age.”

“What Turnip and Candyfloss?”

“No stupid! Mrs Kent and Mr Leewondam. What do people like that do?”

“Play Monopoly all night?”

“Timothy, you are ageist. Even sixty year olds can, well, I think they can...”

“Are they sixty?”

“They must be.” To a sixteen year old, anybody older than thirty is probably standing with a foot in their coffin already. “Well, anyway ... We could share. Can I trust you?”

“I could leave my stuff in the cabin and sleep on one of the chairs in the cafe if you like. I don’t mind.”

Veronica smiled “Would you do that for me?”

“Yes, sure. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“That is so sweet, thank you. Most boys would be making excuses to sleep in the cabin with me. No they would! I’ve met them before.”

“Okay, that’s settled, let me just come back and clean my teeth and then I’ll be out of your way.”