Fifth Year Friendships at Trebizon Page 7

  So Mr Lasky had been hoping to take both of them on, all along! He'd actually enjoyed seeing her lose her self-control like that, creating a scene, exciting the crowd! He'd enjoyed the way Rachel Cathcart had responded in kind. He liked their attitude -win at any price.

  'You couldn't possibly have known whether your service was in or out, Rebecca,' stated Mrs Barry. 'You couldn't possibly see! You were at the far end of the court!'

  That was something else Rebecca didn't need to be told.

  Of course she couldn't see! It was just that she'd so badly wanted the serve to be in; as though her whole future, her whole life, had depended on it.

  'The umpire's in a position to judge, not you, Rebecca! He'd already decided the ball was in. But it could just as easily have been out.'

  Rebecca said nothing. They travelled on in silence, the car engine humming smoothly. Rebecca cradled Biffy on her lap. Even the one-armed bear seemed to he gazing up at her in silent reproach. Occasionally she fingered the little silver brooch that was pinned to her sweater: crossed tennis rackets, from Robbie last year. He'd be so thrilled that she'd won the tournament; so would Gran, who had written back as soon as she'd received Rebecca's letter. So would her friends.

  Yes, they'll all be pleased, mused Rebecca, without emotion.

  She was half dozing again when Mrs Barry said suddenly:

  'Who were that man and woman I saw you talking to?'

  Rebecca was startled. She hadn't realized she'd been seen!

  'Just –just –'

  'Who, Rebecca?'

  So Rebecca told her.

  Mrs Barry was frowning. She seemed to be concentrating on picking up the road-signs in the car's headlights. They'd be joining the motorway in a minute. After she'd successfully manoeuvred the car round a roundabout, down a slip-road and into the stream of motorway traffic, she spoke again.

  'So this man, Mr Lasky, he's an agent? Is he interested in you?'

  'Yes.'

  'I see. How interested?'

  They were driving due west, the car purring now, the night sky ahead of them touched with the last embers of the sunset, terracotta and gold. They were coming over a hill and a ribbon of red tail-lights snaked across the plain below, the white headlights of oncoming cars mere pinpricks of light.

  'How interested, Rebecca?'

  Rebecca blurted it all out. It was a relief to do so.

  Mrs Barry went very quiet. At last, sounding disturbed, she said:

  'So we might be losing you this summer, Rebecca?'

  'Well. Yes. I suppose so.'

  'The glittering future?' she added, and Rebecca felt discomforted. 'You should have confided in me. I wondered what was wrong with you. You've been rather strange lately. No wonder you've let your school work slide! It must all seem very exciting, very attractive. Lots of money. Lots of clothes. Lots of tennis. Fame! And you're sure that's what you want, Rebecca?'

  She didn't answer.

  'And what about your parents?' her housemistress asked finally. 'Do they know about this? How do they feel about it?'

  'I'm waiting to hear from them,' said Rebecca. 'They should have written by now.'

  Mrs Barry turned on the car radio; there was a concert she wanted to listen to.

  'Perhaps there'll be something waiting for you when we get back to the house,' she said, bringing the conversation to an end.

  And there was.

  It was an airmail packet from-Saudi Arabia, much thicker than an ordinary letter. Rebecca wondered what her parents could possibly be sending her.

  When she'd got back to Trebizon, quite late, Court House was in darkness apart from the Barringtons' private wing, for of course school was still on half-term. Mr Barrington had appeared as soon as the car had been parked, offering Rebecca supper. But she didn't feel even slightly hungry.

  'I think I'd rather just go up and have a bath and an early night,' she'd said. 'Thanks all the same.'

  'There's some post for you, Rebecca,' he'd said then, and found the packet for her.

  Rebecca took it, went through to the main building, thanked Annie, the assistant matron, for putting on the lights for her, then hurried up the three flights of stairs to her floor. The packet was now in her weekend luggage.

  It was an hour before she opened it.

  Just as she'd had to prepare herself mentally to write to her parents, she now found it necessary to go through the same process before reading their reply.

  She unpacked. Had a bath. Got changed into her pyjamas. Went along to the little kitchen and made herself a cup of cocoa. Finally, entering the warmth and privacy of her cubicle, she switched on the bedside light and climbed into bed.

  She took a few sips of cocoa and only then, cocooned in her duvet, fingers trembling slightly, did she open the packet.

  The letter from her parents was not very long. She quickly read it through.

  Then she flicked it over. Clipped behind the letter were two thickish documents, each with the Trebizon school crest on the front.

  Her last two school reports! The one her parents had received at Christmas and the one they'd received last summer, at the end of the Fourth Year. The Christmas one had been posted to them abroad. The Fourth Year one had been handed to them personally by Miss Welbeck, when they'd visited her at the end of the summer term. Rebecca knew that Miss Welbeck had discussed it with them at the time and that afterwards they'd been unusually secretive, refusing to let her know what was in it. She turned to that one first.

  She skimmed through the various teachers' comments, the record of her marks in the summer exams; finally reaching the principal's summing-up, written in Miss Welbeck's beautifully formed, scholarly handwriting:

  Rebecca has inevitably failed to reach her true potential in some of her academic subjects owing to the demands that her outstanding talent for tennis has placed upon her. Nevertheless, she is emerging as a most gifted linguist and her essay writing is of the highest order. She is clearly a candidate for a top university and in time will have difficult choices to make which cannot be imposed on her but must be hers alone.

  Madeleine Welbeck

  On the more recent report, written at Christmas, Miss Welbeck's summing-up was much briefer:

  Due to her injury, Rebecca has been able to give wholehearted attention to her school work this term and has made remarkable progress. This confirms the observations that I made last summer and the fact that difficult choices lie ahead.

  Madeleine Welbeck

  Rebecca had to read all this through two or three times before it would sink in properly. Gifted? Top university?

  She then turned back to her parents' letter, which began:

  Dear Rebecca,

  Thank you for your letter! We've thought long and hard about your exciting news. We've also heard from Mr Lasky. He sounds very nice. Your mother and I wouldn't want to stand in the way of such a wonderful opportunity if this is really what you want to do, though we're worried that you're rather young to have to make such an important decision.

  We didn't want to show you your school report last summer, because we've never wanted to put any pressure on you. But we feel you ought to see it now, so that you can consider all the options. We're also sending the one we received at Christmas, and have written to Miss Welbeck to explain our reason for doing this . . .

  Rebecca read through this part of the letter, the important part, several times and then finally put everything away in her locker.

  By then her cocoa was cold, but she drank it just the same. She tried to think about things but by now her brain felt as numb as her emotions had been, ever since that uncontrollable outburst on court. This airmail packet only made things worse. She wanted to sleep! To sleep and sleep . . . and sleep.

  She woke late on the Tuesday morning. The first thing that struck her was the eerie silence. Where was everybody? Where were her friends?

  It was lovely to be back at Trebizon, but where were they?

  She sat up in bed. She cou
ld see particles of dust rising from her duvet in the shaft of early spring sunshine that fell from the skylight.

  'Tish? Sue?' she called sleepily.

  Then she remembered. They were all away on half-term, but they'd be coming back this afternoon. And Cliff was coming over, coming to lunch!

  Then she remembered everything else.

  It engulfed her, like a black cloud. She suddenly felt miserable, filled with regrets. Why? Why?

  She was almost certain of the contract now, wasn't she? She'd be able to play tennis all the time! She'd have lovely clothes to wear. She'd travel to lots of exciting places and she'd work and work to be the best – hadn't she always secretly wanted that, to be the best? Fame!

  Mr Lasky liked her.

  Only she didn't like Mr Lasky that much. And she didn't like herself either – not that other self, the one on court yesterday, the one that Mr Lasky had liked.

  Her eyes strayed to her work-table; to the piles of school work stacked there. Half-finished essays. Books to revise for mocks that she hadn't even started. Mocks started this Friday! She hadn't a hope! She'd chosen tennis . . .

  With a sudden aching sense of loss, Rebecca thought of all the friendships she'd be leaving behind.

  Fifth Year friendships.

  Tish and Sue and Margot and Elf and Mara. It would be unbearable to think of them all still here, doing things without her. And although Robbie wouldn't be around much longer, there was still Cliff. It was fun to have met up with Cliff again! And there were her three favourite teachers. Miss Heath, who'd taught her English all the way up the school. And dear old Maggy, such a brilliant history teacher – she loved it. She lived it. There was Pargie, too; especially him.

  And Emmanuelle! They'd written such great letters to each other: Rebecca had been longing to meet her! There was the Dread, too. She'd even miss her. What would the Dread think of the way she'd behaved at Bristol?

  Propped up in bed against the pillows, Rebecca closed her eyes and swallowed hard. In the silence she could hear the twittering and scampering of birds in the eaves above her dormer window. Were they starting to build a nest up there?

  Gradually the awful truth sank in.

  She didn't want to leave Trebizon! She didn't want to play at Edgbaston. She wanted to go to Paris at Easter! With all her friends. She wanted to see Emmanuelle. But it was too late. She hadn't sent the form back for Gran to sign!

  She wanted to stay on at Trebizon and go into the Sixth and be editor of the Trebizon Journal and go to one of those top universities . . .

  But she couldn't. She'd thrown it all away. She'd never get those good GCSE grades now . . .

  'Rebecca!'

  Mrs Barrington was standing beside her with a cup of tea.

  'So you're awake at last,' she said gently. She smiled. 'Here, drink some tea and then get up. It'll have to be just muesli this morning. Put something respectable on. Miss Welbeck wants to see you at her house at half past ten.'

  TWELVE

  BACK TO NAOMI

  Rebecca sat in Miss Welbeck's drawing-room, nervously nibbling at a chocolate biscuit. A copy of the morning's Western Daily Press lay open on the coffee table. It was upside down but she could see her photo and almost read the headline in quite largish type.

  She averted her eyes from it; she didn't want to know what it said.

  'I gather from your parents that you've been hoping to gain a professional tennis contract, Rebecca,' the principal had said calmly. 'But I now gather from Mrs Barrington that you may be having second thoughts?'

  'Yes!' Rebecca had exclaimed in surprise. How had Mrs Barry guessed the truth, even before she'd realized it herself? 'I don't want the contract!' she'd added passionately. 'I want to stay at Trebizon!'

  Miss Welbeck, having offered Rebecca a biscuit, had been about to pour out coffee. She'd suddenly replaced the coffee pot on the table, risen to her feet and walked over to the french windows.

  She stood rooted in that position, her back firmly turned on Rebecca, apparently gazing at a bird perched on the sundial in the middle of her back lawn.

  'You're sure about that?' she asked now, without a trace of emotion in her voice.

  'Quite sure, Miss Welbeck.'

  'And you've reached this decision entirely on your own, Rebecca? There's been no undue influence from any quarter?'

  'None.'

  Only then did the principal turn round. She no longer had to hide the radiant expression of relief on her face. She'd known Rebecca would have this painful choice to make quite soon, but not as soon as this! How had the Lasky man spotted her so quickly?

  She came and sat opposite Rebecca and poured the coffee into delicate gold leaf cups and offered the sugar bowl and a jug of cream. She moved the newspaper off the table.

  'I think we'd better just forget about this, Rebecca.'

  'I'm so ashamed of it!' said Rebecca. 'I don't think I'll ever like myself on a tennis court again.'

  'Nonsense!' said the principal. 'You'll always want to win but you'll never be under quite the same pressure again. When you go back into serious tennis, perhaps in a couple of years' time, you'll be in a different situation.'

  'How's that?' asked Rebecca, in wonder.

  'It will no longer be "all or nothing". You'll have achieved the excellent A level grades of which you're capable. You'll know that a place is waiting for you at university, to be taken up either then or later. Your options will have widened. You'll have the security of knowing that other interesting careers are open to you, should the tennis not work out for any reason.'

  Cliff's words suddenly flashed into Rebecca's mind. It's all right, unless you have another car accident, Rebecca! Who'd ever have thought that Cliff could say something so sensible?

  'But will I even get into the Sixth Form now?' Rebecca asked unhappily. 'I mean, don't you have to have good GCSEs?'

  'There's still time, Rebecca,' said the principal. She rose to her feet, glancing at her watch. Miss Morgan was coming to see her shortly, about poor little Naomi Cook. 'Now that your mind's made up, I'll speak to Miss Willis on your behalf. I'm afraid I'll have to show her this newspaper report. She'll talk to Miss Darling about this and also to your county coach. It's quite essential that you have a complete break from tennis for the next few months. Your parents will write to Mr Lasky – and so shall I.' She smiled. 'Trebizon's going to be unpopular with the Lawn Tennis Association! First Josselyn Vining, now you. But your absence from the scene will be only temporary, I hope. I do understand how they feel,' she sighed. 'It's so long since we've won a Wimbledon singles title.'

  'It's always been my favourite day-dream. Winning Wimbledon!' Rebecca said.

  'Why not?' replied the principal. 'Virginia Wade did.'

  'What do you mean exactly, Miss Welbeck?'

  'Virginia had a maths degree from Sussex University but she still won Wimbledon.'

  Rebecca was so preoccupied with this remark that it was only at Miss Welbeck's front door that she remembered about Paris.

  'I didn't send the form back for my grandmother to sign! I thought I'd be playing at Edgbaston.'

  'Then you'd better go and post it now,' replied Miss Welbeck. 'I dare say M. Lafarge can cope with one late form, and book your travel tickets just the same.'

  For the first time in weeks, Rebecca's joie de vivre returned.

  Joy was also very much in evidence on the top floor of Court House that evening. Elf had brought a superb Dundee cake back from Scotland and they shared it with most of the floor.

  'Rebecca might have been leaving!'

  'Somebody was going to offer her a tennis contract!'

  'But she doesn't want it. She's going to stay at Trebizon!'

  Mara actually wept.

  Robbie phoned through, aghast. It was too urgent for a letter this time.

  'Rebeck, what's all this stuff I read in the paper?'

  So she told him; everything.

  'I bet he was shattered,' commented Sue, coming and sitting o
n the end of Rebecca's bed, just before Lights Out. 'Justy says he's been boasting about you around Garth and being mysterious for weeks.'

  'Big fool!' grinned Tish, coming into the cubicle.

  'He sounds as though he's going to get over it,' smiled Rebecca, propped up in bed, hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling. 'Anyway, he liked the birthday card I sent him.'

  She was actually thinking about something else.

  'Sue,' she said suddenly. 'You're doing Religious Studies for GCSE, aren't you? There's a famous quotation from the Old Testament that I'm trying to remember.'

  'Which book?'

  Rebecca told her and Sue reeled it off.

  'Yes, that's the one!' exclaimed Rebecca.

  Tish said: 'What's all that about, Rebeck?'

  'Nothing!'

  But in fact a ridiculous thought that had first entered her head before tea-time, when Cliff had mentioned a name, began to take root. There would be no shaking it off.

  Very soon now she must keep her promise to Holly Thomas, keep faith with Naomi Cook, and put that thought to the test.

  Her own troubles receding, her mind had gone back to Naomi.

  Cliff had, as usual, been effervescent company that day.

  Even when, after a good lunch with the Barringtons and a run along the beach together, she'd dragged him into the common room with her maths books and forced him to give her some help!

  'You've got to be joking, Rebecca. We're supposed to be on half-term. Why don't we just put these books away and watch the football?'

  'We can't! The remote control's vanished!' laughed Rebecca, who'd just hidden it under a cushion. 'Come on, Cliff, you're the one who warned me off the tennis. We've just had a ceremonial burning on the beach of my Edgbaston entry form, haven't we? Please, Cliff! Mocks start on Friday and the first one's maths. It's no worse than watching football.'