Until her eyes alighted on a metal rail behind her bearing something like a dozen very short mini kilts neatly arranged on hangers. They were in various colours and patterns of tartan fabric, among them a Dress Stewart. This much she recognized, but as Eva was no expert in tartans most of them were unfamiliar to her by name. What was most striking was the sheer number of them. "So this is where she keeps them," Eva thought. "How odd."
The kilts all belonged to the latest human resource addition to the PE department, Scarlett Baines, nicknamed Thunder Thighs. Scarlett had established a unique reputation within a few days of her arrival at Ransom's with the virtuoso, if rather disquieting accomplishment of settling without visible mishap into the PE department. The latter ranked, even by Ransom's standards, as a strange enough place to be considered a health hazard. The PE department at Ransom's comprised a mysterious, incestuous subculture that incurred almost as high a staff turnover as the boarding. This was partly explained by the dominant globular presence of Pat Sherman, Ransom's senior sociopath, whose accomplishments included the gargantuan feat of teaching two double lessons of PE a week without moving. Apparently she was good with a whistle.
She was also a keen administrator and, like so many leading lights in schools, an acolyte of the Ancient Cult of List Worship. It was a rare moment when Pat did not have a list of some sort in her hand, or was not preparing a list on her computer, or pinning lists to a notice board. They provided her with an endless source of responsibility free power. What made Pat Sherman the bane of the PE department was her insistence, although in practice this was impossible to prove, on treating the departmental notice board as if it were her personal property. Whenever Erica Jarvis, Ransom's principal lacrosse coach, posted her A and B team lists, or her coaching schedules, for example, she would pass by the notice board a while later only to find that they had been taken down. Erica was a nationally respected lax coach: at any one time there were two or three Ransom's girls playing in the English national team. In Sherman's eyes this evidently made her an upstart in need of stringent administrative containment. In this way, the reign of psychoterror waged by Pat Sherman on the notice board of the PE department mirrored the one simultaneously being waged by Pauline Jenkins with the aid of her notice board in the Staff Room, with its threats of dire punishments to people who posted unauthorized notices (a throwback from her apprenticeship as unofficial Chief Executioner while she was still being groomed for apparatchik stardom in the school library).
With her sheer bulk and the kind of manipulative cunning that is only possible in a person with two gravity warped brain cells, Sherman made her bid for power. She found that the traits that had impeded her progress in the world at large (her compulsive lying, her complete lack of empathy or scruple, her Olympian sense of entitlement) were her fast track ticket to success at Ransom's. Like her superiors she viewed talent in her colleagues not as an asset so much as a dangerous infectious disease, a threatening potential epidemic of competence. Talent paranoia was the cornerstone of Ransom's staff development policy.
The cult of list worship practiced at Ransom's, known by the innocuous sounding euphemism of "paper driven culture", thus formed a near impenetrable force field repelling all intelligent initiative, creativity and growth, both from inside and out. Experience has shown that this is the most effective way of converting even the most obdurately excellent system into a mediocrity magnet, especially when combined with mindless assessment criteria. Consequently, staff turnover at Ransom's was highest among the well qualified, the widely experienced, the multifaceted and the uniquely talented. High flyers flew the nest as fast as they could, and were replaced with hyperactive multiple choice clones.
The first port of call of the high flyers on their way out was often Martyrs' Complex House, whose staff were assumed to be ideologically subversive, mainly because of their intrinsically suspect reputation for smiles, warmth and kindness. For many of the disgruntled staff at Ransom's this made Martyrs' Complex the furthest outpost of an evil empire. Thus Jane Trowbridge, Carol and Eva would find themselves handing out paper tissues and medicinal glasses of Cava to a succession of living sacrifices to Ransom's ancient cult of the list.
In common with other ancient cults, this one too had its carefully circumscribed and slightly weird erotic aspects – in this case a simmering but never openly stated hostility among senior female staff towards anything suggestive of undiluted womanhood, such as childbearing, nurturing or anything to do with caring. Women who were in at Ransom's thus cultivated subtle forms of cross dressing and a heavy smattering of ritualized cerebral sadism, topped off with the quintessential Ransom's aphrodisiac – social climbing. The dog collar, or even better the bishop's mitre, were the favorite sex toys in the ritual erotic life of Ransom's, although barristers' wigs came a close second.
Female rebels and subversives, on the other hand, liked consuming things with bubbles, sported nail polish and were occasionally seen kissing people. Invoking the virulent instinct for self-preservation that is the main talent of the closet sociopath, Thunder Thighs Baines had taken one look at the malodorous, globular mass that was Pat Sherman and grasped immediately the irresistibility of its gravitational pull. Pat, in her turn, ran her eyes up and down the chunky, muscular forty seven year old Scarlett disporting her impressive thighs in the mini kilt of a thirteen year old and sensed, with the instinct of one whose mission in life is to exploit other people's foibles, that here was someone kinky enough to be useful to her. They became inseparable.
With two of them now at it, the ritual sadism of the PE notice board was bound to draw blood soon. Erica was now not only subjected to the frustration of crucial information going astray from the notice board, but also found herself abruptly removed from her post as lax coach to Lax Team A. The girls were informed crisply one chilly morning that they were now to be coached by Scarlett Baines. More than this, the A and B teams were to be reshuffled according to the degree of "cooperative team spirit" they displayed to Baines. This translated into a strategy whereby any girl who challenged her, and A Team lax players were not usually backward in coming forward, was relegated to the B Team. Erica, a lithe, first rate PE teacher and coach in her late fifties, and therefore within spitting distance of retirement, was as crushed and dismayed as the lax teams. The Black Hole Committee had taken over. In sympathy, Martyrs' Complex began ordering Cava by the crate, rather than the discreet bottle or two as before.
"I wouldn't mind quite so much if Scarlett knew what she was doing," wailed Erica, "but she hasn't got a clue about coaching lax players of this standard, and worst of all, she is a disaster at people skills, especially with girls of a certain age!"
Eva, Jane and Carol had not at first understood what Erica had meant by this turn of phrase, until stories soon began filtering back into Martyrs told by girls returning from the dreaded new coaching sessions, as well as from regular PE lessons. There were references by girls, generally aged between thirteen and fifteen, to incidents of Scarlett touching them during lessons. Once one girl had started talking over the biscuits after school, others followed. At first Jane, Carol and Eva just listened, perhaps asking the odd question to double check, but then a member of the Lower Sixth started on the theme of her own accord, one bedtime, as Jane and Carol were tidying up their office for the night before turning off the lights. Amanda Collett had just started her A Levels at Ransom's that September. Before that she had been at the same school where Scarlett had previously taught.
"I was amazed when I saw she was teaching here," Amanda had said. "We all thought she must have been sacked from Sutton Dempsey."
Carol tried not to show much of a reaction.
"Oh?" she said, neutrally.
"Yeah," Amanda went on, "she used to do kinky things."
"Like?" Carol had continued. Jane had frozen in the doorway on her way back into the office after tidying up some crockery.
"Well, in our PE lessons she used to do things like make girls lie flat on the floor, face upwards, for several minutes at a time, like at the start of a lesson, while she stood astride them and told the rest of us what to do in the lesson!"
"Stood astride them," repeated Carol carefully, trying hard to sound neutral. "And what was she wearing?"
"Oh, you know, those short kilts she goes around in all the time," said Amanda. "They'd have to just lie there staring up at her you know what. And then she would tell girls to jump over the horse and touch their bums as they went over."
"But surely it's usual to secure people on their way over?"
"Secure, yes, but not touch up!"
It is reassuring in this day and age to know that our children are protected at school by means of a detailed and thorough apparatus of legislation and watertight professional procedure, from the kinks and perversions of dubious persons who might otherwise exercise unwholesome power over them or cause them harm. One of the mechanisms designed to ensure that proper procedures are invoked in a situation like this is the compulsory appointment at schools of a Chief Child Protection Officer, who can, if necessary, call in the social services or even the police. At Ransom's the Chief Child Protection Officer was – the Headmistress Dr. Styles. This spelled the kiss of death for any hopes of protecting the children. If anything it spelled a vendetta. Carol asked for an appointment to see the Head. The Head did not invite her to sit. Standing beside the Head's desk, Carol calmly explained what the girls had been telling her and other staff in the house. Dr. Styles did not so much as blink. She merely said; "Tell the girls to write a collective letter of complaint, if they feel that it is justified."
Carol waited to be asked if she knew of anything that could corroborate or refute the allegations being made. No questions came. She left.
"It was one of those occasions," she said to Eva afterwards, "when you realize that the essence of what is being done lies in what is not being done."
Jane Trowbridge was worried. She could see a Styles cover up in the offing.
"If Dr. Styles is asking the girls to write a formal letter of complaint collectively, then she must be going for a cover up," she said, thinking aloud.
"What makes you think that?" asked Eva.
"Well," answered Jane. "For one thing, do you remember the last inspection we had, when one of the inspectors made that wry comment about the Head always mislaying records of letters of complaint when she was asked for them?"
"Now you come to mention it!" laughed Carol. "They certainly seemed to have her number, didn't they?"
"Yes," said Jane, "but that isn't what really worries me."
"What then?" asked Eva.
"Well, if there is any truth to these allegations about Scarlett touching girls up and doing kinky things, then there is a strong possibility of there being a legal case of some sort against her. But a letter of complaint written by all the girls collectively would not be admissible as evidence in a court of law. "Dr. Styles," Jane went on, "is effectively refusing to wear her Child Protection Officer hat on this one. This is too hot a potato for her taste."
"She's going to try to brush this under the carpet, isn't she?" "said Eva.
"I'm sure of it," said Jane.
Having written their letter, as requested, the girls who had made the allegations were summoned to the Head's study a couple of days later for a lengthy collective interview. Another followed some days later. The girls themselves summed up the situation by saying: "Telling her about it has just made it worse. We felt as if we were the ones who done something wrong. '' They said they felt betrayed.
Roughly simultaneously with these interviews, Pauline Jenkins was seen in the staff room pointedly making a huge fuss of Scarlett Baines, laughing and joking with her. This uncharacteristic cheer looked so forced that some colleagues were even seen ostentatiously putting their fingers in their mouths behind Jenkins' back. Scarlett was still wearing the kilts regularly. She also appeared to have no compunction, despite the nature of the allegations against her, about filling her private car with Ransom's girls on her way to and from school.
The message was as clear as it was depressing. Scarlett Baines and Pat Sherman began to frequent the staff room on a much more regular basis, now that they were clearly in with the highest echelons of the pecking order. They soon took over a choice corner of the staff room near the balcony in celebration, to rival even the primordial aura of approval surrounding the Oxbridge English Literature mafia. They held court loudly every morning during break time. Harry Hollingsworth, the music master, finding himself unable to cope with the sight of the Baines thighs decorated with Dress Stewart one day, removed himself to a dark recess and hid behind the Independent newspaper.
This turn of events had repercussions in the PE department, where the Sherman Baines duo now reigned supreme over the notice board and the decision making. By Christmas, a young newly qualified teacher had gone on long term sick leave and did not return, rumoured to have suffered a nervous breakdown. Her replacement, hastily appointed over the Christmas break, lasted just two weeks before also disappearing. Meanwhile, Erica still hung on grimly, fuelled by a regular intake of Cava plied by Jane, Carol and Eva at Martyrs' Complex. But she too was beginning to crack. She decided to go to the management. It was like watching a lone lemming venture to the verge of the same cliff edge from which so many had never returned.
Erica, normally an open, talkative person, was crushed on her return from a conversation with Dr. Styles. So much so that she did not even feel able to talk about it. She looked deflated and disoriented.
Eva was worried about her. "She's looking more pale and worn out every week" she told her mother one Friday evening after school.
"Erica Jarvis is discovering the painful truth that not everyone is open to reason," said Svetlana to her daughter over a large glass of Medoc. "It's one of the hardest lessons a reasonable person ever has to learn. It's like discovering that there is not one human race, but two."
"I don't think Erica can take much more," said Eva.
She was right. One Monday morning at break in the staff room, she noticed more of a buzz than usual over in the Sherman Baines corner. Pat Sherman seemed to have absorbed even more of the space time continuum around her and was wobbling with chuckles. Scarlett was sporting a new red kilt.
"Have you heard?" Harry Hollingsworth leaned over to Eva as she made herself a coffee. "Erica has been signed off sick with stress. She's unlikely to be back for some time."
Eva looked up wide eyed at Harry. "Oh no, poor Erica," said Eva.
The takeover of the PE department was now complete. Sherman and Baines had won, it seemed.
Curiously, that evening Svetlana seemed neither surprised nor saddened by this news. Instead she smiled one of her smiles, threading a piece of green yarn through an enormous tapestry needle. "Mmmm," she said. "Interesting."
"What?" asked Eva.
"I'm not sure yet," said Svetlana, looking at her work. "Just a feeling I have."
"Ah," said Eva, smiling an involuntary smile.
Some weeks went by and there was no news from Erica, who had sent word to Ransom's via the school secretary, thanking everyone for their cards, flowers and good wishes, but requesting that no one visit her for the time being. Meanwhile, the replacement of the replacement PE teacher had also handed in her resignation. Even by the standards of Ransom's PE department this exodus was starting to look careless.
The situation was responded to with a tour de force of Ransomite managerial genius. One morning it was announced in assembly that the acting head of the PE department was to be: Pauline Jenkins! The whole school was throbbing with it. "I didn't even know Pauline Jenkins taught PE!" said one young colleague in the staff room, to be immediately quashed with a collective silent look of "Oh for heavens' sake don't be so naïve!" Of course Pauline Jenkins didn't teach PE! This wasn't about PE! This was about Jenkins' and above all Styles' chickens coming home to roost, as Pat Sherman and Scarlett Baines, having first been given carte blanche to bully all and sundry with impunity, now raged embarrassingly out of control. Clearly Styles and Jenkins had not seen any of this coming. To the pure all things are pure, but to the bully there is no such thing as bullying. They could not risk putting anyone else in to head up the department, for fear of what might come to light. After all one of the two reigning terrors had been accused of inappropriate behaviour with the girls, and nothing had been done about it. This was clearly an attempt to keep the lid on something. Deliciously, this turned out to be the tip of an iceberg that threatened to be of Titanic proportions. Carol heard from one of the cleaners, who had heard it from another cleaner who had a second part time job at a law firm in Brighton, that Erica Jarvis had taken counsel. She was suing Ransom's for constructive dismissal.
Svetlana gave one of her rare chuckles. "I bet that's got Styles wincing! You know, it really is comforting to know that even the most callous person can still feel pain in their wallet. Yes, that is what I call the shit elegantly hitting the fan."
She heaved a long, gentle sigh of contentment. "Another glass of Bollinger, dear?"
"Another bottle even," glowed Eva, sinking into her pile of cushions and putting her feet up.
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