Confessions of a Gym Mistress

I have just found myself face to face with a middle-aged man wearing a plastic mac—and, as far as I can make out, nothing else—when I hear a familiar wailing noise. A police car, with light flashing, is bowling over the pot holes. I had only intended to pull up my tights and then return to help Geoffrey but, maybe, I had better wait and see what happens. The police car screeches to a halt beside Geoffrey’s car and two men jump out. The noise of the horn is still deafening and the smoke like that on a Red Indian party line.

Oh dear! One of the policemen has a breathalyser in his hand. I recognise it because I thought it was something else for a minute.

“Don’t do that!” I whisper to the man in the plastic mac. What a disappointing evening this has been. It just shows what happens when you look forward to something too much.

CHAPTER 2

“What time did you get in last night?” says Mum.

“Two o’clock,” says Natalie.

Needless to say, the question was addressed to me.

“We had a bit of trouble with the car,” I say truthfully. “I thought I’d better see it out with Geoffrey.”

“Oooh. You saw it out, did you?” says Natalie.

I ignore this piece of tasteless crudity and pop another piece of Ryvita into my mouth. For all I know the car may still be there. At least, the police silenced the horn before they took Geoffrey away. I remember how upset he sounded when they pulled all the wires out from underneath the bonnet.

That was at midnight. It took me two hours to get away from that horrible man and walk home. I have heard about people like him but I never thought I would be chased through a cemetery by one of them. I never thought people got up to tricks like that in cemeteries, either. Some of the things that were going on you would not believe if you were warned about them in the Sunday papers.

“The post is here,” says Dad. “There’s a big one for you, my girl. It must be your cards.” He drops a large buff envelope in front of me.

“I expect it’s the prospectus,” I say, trying not to let my excitement show as I slip my knife under the flap.

It is indeed. ‘St Rodence Private School For Girls, Little Rogering, Nr. Southmouth, Hants.’ There is a picture of a big house set amongst trees and rolling countryside, and an embossed coat of arms.

“Looks like a lunatic asylum,” says Dad.

Natalie laughs like he is Jack Benny.

“You recognise it?” I say. Once again, I can see that Dad is on the point of revealing that he has no sense of humour and it is as well that Mum steps in.

“Nice countryside, dear.”

“That’s one of the things that appeals to me,” I say truthfully.

“And having Southmouth so near,” says Natalie snidely.

“Perhaps you would care to elaborate on that remark?” I say grandly.

“Eeeoh I seeay,” minces Junior Nausea. “Fraytfully sorry and all that. Actually, you know, I was referring to the proximity of all those jolly jack tars. Do I make myself plain?”

“You don’t have to bother,” I say. “Somebody beat you to it.”

“Now, girls. Let’s have none of that.” Mum intervenes again. “If Rosie wants to go into teaching it’s up to us to give her all the support we can. Right, Harry?”

“Uum.” Dad sounds about as happy as Ted Heath finding that someone has locked up his organ and thrown away the key.

“There’s fourteen teachers,” I say. “And a broadly based curriculum.”

“That’s nice,” says Mum. “Your Aunt Enid used to play one of them.”

“What’s all this Oxon business after their names?” says Dad.

“Probably means they’re stupid,” says my pathetic sister.

“Don’t be an idiot,” I say. “B.A. Oxon means they’ve got an agricultural degree.”

“What’s the point of that at a girl’s school?” says Dad.

“It is in the country,” says Mum.

“They teach them to be milkmaids,” says Natalie.

I shut out their voices and read on about the acres of playing fields and the entrance scholarships won to Cheltenham Ladies College and Benenden. There is also a note from Penny:

“Dear Rosie,

Here is the official story. Don’t believe a word of it. The prospectus has not been reprinted for years. Half the playing fields have been sold as a building site and the left wing of the school—you can’t see it in the photograph—was blown down in the last gale. Luckily it had been evacuated after the school inspector fell through the floor—or ceiling—or both, dependent on which way you look at it.

But don’t let me put you off. The staff aren’t as bad as the sisters at Queen Adelaide’s and though the pupils are worse than the patients I’ve found a few very acceptable compensations—details when I see you! After receiving your letter I told Miss Grimshaw that you might be interested in the job and she is expecting a call. Hope this is O.K.? Must go now as I have a man hanging on for me—to the window sill, actually. Ho, ho, just my little joke—write soon. Love, Penny.”

“What does the letter say, dear?” asks Mum.

“Says I’ve got to get in touch with the headmistress,” I say.

“Gym mistress,” says Dad, shaking his head. “I just can’t see it somehow.”

I think Dad may be right but I don’t let on, of course. By a strange coincidence, I am on the point of picking up the telephone to call Miss Grimshaw when it starts ringing.

“Hello, it’s me,” says Geoffrey. “Are you all right?”

“No thanks to you and your Japanese wacky racer” I say coolly. “You know I had to walk all the way home?” I am expecting a profuse apology from the Chingford amateur rapist but I don’t get it.

“You were lucky,” says Geoffrey. “They’ve only just let me go.”

“It’s your own fault,” I say. “You should have zipped yourself up before you got out of the car.”

“It wasn’t only that,” groans Geoffrey. “They found your lipstick and compact in my blazer pocket. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. They thought—they thought I was some kind of pervert.”

I have never heard it put as strongly as that before. Poor Geoffrey, how very unpleasant.

“You should have told them about me,” I say. I am always ready with any offer of help short of actual assistance

“I did,” says Geoffrey. “But you weren’t there, were you? That made it even worse. Apparently there’s been some sex maniac up there, terrorising courting couples.”

“You don’t have to tell me that!” I scream. “Who do you think chased me through Chingford Mount Cemetery?”