28. Who stole the cherry?

Miss Havard and Miss Ruddock’s apartments are directly opposite the door to Kennedy, the biggest dorm in the school. The one most new girls start off in. It’s Audrey, my little sister’s first term at Oakdene and she is in Kennedy.

At 4pm every day one of the cooks brings up a tray which she places on the trolly that sits just outside Kennedy, right by the dormitory door. This is Havard and Ruddock’s afternoon tea. Sandwiches, cake, fruit and, of course, tea, all beautifully presented on fine gold-rimmed china with doilies and napkins. The tray sits there until they take it into their study and girls walk past it when they open the door to the dorm. The cakes look so inviting. Iced buns, victoria sponge, chocolate fudge, coffee and walnut, cream-topped doughnuts, scones and jam. Today; rum baba. Rum baba with a swirl of crème patissière and a bright red, jewel-like, glacé cherry on top.

It’s so unfair. We, the fee-paying pupils, have bread, butter, jam and marmite and one chocolate biscuit for tea. If we are very quick and very lucky we might bagsy an extra once in a while. Meanwhile, these two battle axes have a luxurious afternoon tea brought to them on a tray every single afternoon. Anyone would think they want us to feel the inequality, to salivate at the injustice, leaving it sitting there right outside the dorm. Couldn’t the cooks take the tray into their rooms directly? Why does the trolley have to sit right outside the Kennedy door? Why couldn’t they put it out of sight, around the corner? No, they want us to see it, they want us to know who is important and who is not, and it certainly seems like they want to tempt us or at least to test our self-control.

Audrey has only started at Oakdene this term. I’m not sure that I like her being here. I feel responsible for her, I’m the older one. She needs me to be kind and caring, I should look after her, look out for her. But I feel woefully unequal to the task. It’s hard enough just being here, I have no idea how to be the kind, reassuring older sister. I know that am fourteen and she is only nine but I just don’t have it in me, I don’t know what to do or how to be. And she reminds me of home, of family, of a life that has nothing to do with this place. It’s easier not to think about all that but I can’t ignore it when I’m around her. She makes homesickness more real, she stirs up my vulnerability and the feelings of fear and rejection which I bury so effectively when I’m on my own. Showing affection to her is a visceral reminder of the lack of affection I live with. It is almost physically painful. When I look at her, I see a part of me. A young lost little girl longing for a hug and a bit of real, loving, human connection.

So I keep her at a distance, I know she must think I am cold and unkind. I occasionally allow her to come to my dorm in the mornings if she agrees to make my bed. Or I go to her dorm to share her tuck. I feel nothing and I avoid any kind of intimacy.

Audrey is not like me, she is openly mischievous and definitely defiantly disobedient, in your face. It’s ironic really. I have acquired four middle names in my time at Oakdene. I am Sophie ‘defiantly disobedient and blatantly dishonest’ Boss. I cannot count the number of times Havard’s voice has thundered:

“Sophie Boss, you are defiantly disobedient and blatantly dishonest”

It seems to be her refrain to everything I say or do, despite how hard I try to be good and not to get caught when I break the rules. And I really do try. I am so careful, so vigilant. Yet despite by best efforts I fail, over and over again. I am not one of the good girls but I am not overtly rebellious either. I fall through the cracks.

Audrey doesn’t care about being good or about getting told off, or so it seems. She is rebelliously disobedient and defiant.

Today, we are unusually together for a moment. We are walking up the stairs towards her dorm and just as I am pushing open the door to Kennedy, Audrey swipes the glacé cherry from the top of one of the rum baba’s sitting on the tea tray. She puts it straight into her mouth! I stare, my mouth gaping open in horror. What has she done!? I sense a frisson of fear mingled with excitement. I am jealous, impressed and horrified all at once. Audrey is smiling sheepishly and licking her lips and her fingers.

We’re sitting on her bed giggling and a few other girls have come over to see what’s so funny. Anyone would think she had stolen a diamond from the Queen’s crown the way they are gaping in horror and admiration!

Suddenly the door to the dorm bursts open, Havard takes a step into the room and bellows, louder than I have ever heard her

“Who stole the cherry from my rum baba?” The word  ‘who’ seems last for ages.

She glares around the room at the half dozen little girls who stare back at her in terror. Silence. No one says a word. We stare back, numb, dumb. Then a little voice pipes up.

“It was me. I did” confesses Audrey.

She says this quietly but matter of factly. She is unapologetic but she doesn’t sound rude or defiant. Silence again. Havard looks at her intently. And then I see the faintest of smirks appearing on her lips.

"Well, you might as well have the whole thing then” she says, as if this is an obvious consequence, a straight forward fact. She reaches around the door frame to the tray, hands Audrey a cherryless rum baba and swiftly exits the dorm without another word.

I am stunned, shocked, speechless. What just happened? How? This can’t be. Havard enjoys wielding her power, we all know that, we know it from experience, we are the defenceless prey to her fierce predator. And yet she is a mystery, Miss Havard. She is eagle eyed, seemingly always ready to pounce but we sometimes see glimpses of her humanity or maybe this is just a trickster way of wielding her power. Keeping us in suspense, never sure of what will happen next. Miss Havard values honesty, she has been known to be less punitive when we ‘own up’ as she puts it. But this, this is unheard of.

Oakdene is a very confusing place to grow up.

As Havard strides out of the dorm, back to her study, we sit and stare at the rum baba in Audrey’s hand. This is my sister, my sister has worked this miracle, I bask in the reflected glory as everyone talks at once. This is what we are reduced to, this is how deprived and powerless we are. We share the spongy, sticky cake as if we have never tasted anything so good, even though Audrey and I live in Paris where the pastries are unrivalled and so much more delicious than this stodgy, English imitation.

No one, as far as I am aware, ever repeats this little trick. We all know, with utter certainty, that it can only happen once. That’s how Havard’s power operates, the element of surprise is all part of the game. And for the rest of my time at Oakdene, I will only ever stare, mouth watering, as I walk past the tea trolly.

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Oakdene was all about heirarchy, power and control. There was no physical (then known as corporal) punishment. As far as I am aware no one was caned or hit with a ruler or slipper or other weapon. I was once made to stand in the chapel cloisters in the dark and cold, in just my nightie and dressing gown, arms outstreched, a bilble on each palm. This was a punsihment doled out for speaking after the silence bell. I felt scared but undaunted. The real punsihment for me was the humiliation, the deep sense of my utter powerlessness, the dressing down by Havard as she walked away leaving us there. Her words cut through me like a knife. I was bad, I was a disgrace. Most of our punishments came in the form of order marks, writing lines or being gated (not allowed out of the school, even at weekends). I think at some point detentions and litter picking were introduced. None of these affected me greatly. It was the humilitaion and shaming that penetrated deeply. A look or a comment from Havard could utterly floor me. The terror of dissaproval stayed with me for decades. To protect myself I became a relentless people pleaser. But I lived with a terrible tension inside myself. I was a smiley, placator on the outside and a furious rebel on the inside. A rebel who daren't show her true colours, too afraid to be seen. I hated myself for this duplicity. I longed to be seen but was careful never to show myself.

Havard's unpredictability was unnerving and Webb's cruetly was terrifying. Not unlike living with an alcoholic, I learned to be incredibly vigilant and I lived in constant fear of being caught doing somehting wrong. There were rumouirs that Havard and Ruddock were indeed alcoholics. We used to giggle and whisper about the crates of empty bottles that were collected by a van delivering wine or other drinks periodically. I'm not sure if they were or not. It would not surprise me, given Ruddock's erratic behaviour if she was, but somehow it doesn't ring true for Havard.

Go to the next story: 29. Straw Dogs