Tenterhooks. Suzannah Dunn

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СКАЧАТЬ nowhere to go. Before we came here, Mr Stanford told us that he would drive us to local pubs, and we decided that an evening with him was better than nothing. But arriving here yesterday, parking in the courtyard, in the darkness, he hit something and tore off the back bumper. So now the minibus is awaiting the attentions of the local garage man, who is due sometime much later in the week. When we whined to Mr Stanford, this evening, over dinner, that we had nothing to do, he laughed and suggested that we take advantage of the library. This mention of the library was to flatter Jim, the Course Leader, who was sitting with him – this morning, during our Briefing (09.05, Briefing, Prefab no. 2), Jim had fantasized long and loud over the library. He had told us that the library was excellent, rare, renowned, so that people came from all over the country.

      Rachel whispered in my ear, ‘Yeah, my mum is always nipping down here.’

      Jim must have heard, because he looked at her earrings and stressed, ‘Marine biologists.’

      He is a marine biologist, which, for some reason, seems to impress Mr Stanford. Not us, though: one day here and we have discovered that marine biologists are the lowest form of life. At lunch time, Mr Stanford owned up that he would have liked to have become a marine biologist. We think that he would like to be Jim, climbing over rocks with the wind in his hair. We think that Mr Stanford has been tampering with his hair today so that he looks like Jim. He is happy here, and has made no effort to hide this from us. He has a drinking buddy in Jim, which we know because Avril overheard Jim’s promise of a hot toddy or two tonight in my room. And, more importantly for him, he has found someone to fancy, someone called Janet who is here to research for a Ph.D. in algae. And she looks as if she is here to research for a Ph.D. in algae. Avril saw Mr Stanford turn from Jim to Janet, heard him ask her, ‘Janet? A hot toddy or two, later?’ He has plans, now; he cares even less about us, he makes no pretence, now.

      When he laughed and told us to spend the evening in the library, I was only amazed that anyone could laugh anywhere in the vicinity of that meal. We had been called to dinner by an electric bell, like a fire alarm, which jangled the courtyard where we were trying to remove our waterproofs. We had come back late from what Jim called the field; he had kept us too long in the field and then taken us, in our waterproofs, into Prefab no. 2 for a late Debriefing. When the alarm rang, Mr Stanford announced, cheerfully, ‘Dinner.’

      Avril complained, ‘That noise! Can’t we have a gong or something?’

      Mr Stanford said, ‘No.’

      In the dining-room, we had to queue with various staff and researchers for food, which was served in individual portions on metal trays. According to one of the cooks, the stew was lamb and the vegetable was swede. I asked her, ‘Is there any vegetarian?’

      She said, ‘None in Pembrokeshire that I know of.’

      I walked carefully to Mr Stanford with my runny portion and said, ‘But I’m vegetarian.’

      He said, ‘No you’re not.’

      I told him, ‘Yes I am.’

      He laughed. ‘No you’re not: humans are omnivorous.’

      I ignored this. ‘I’m vegetarian.’

      Suddenly humourless again, he said, ‘But if you were vegetarian, you would have thought about this, you would have told me before we came away.’

      I had to think quickly. ‘I’ve converted. There has to be a moment of conversion, and mine is now, with this lamb.’

      ‘Scrag end,’ corrected Trina, coming over, grimly cheerful, with her own tray.

      Mr Stanford said, ‘Tough.’

      Trina agreed, ‘You can say that again,’ and demonstrated, poking a piece with her knife.

      I told him, ‘I’m not touching this, or anything like this; and if I starve, you’re responsible.’

      He fizzled into exasperation, hissed to the ceiling, ‘Why are girls so fussy?’ Then he shouted through the hatch, ‘Is there any vegetarian?’

      And a voice came back, ‘There’s a banana.’

      So I had swede and banana, which I mashed together.

      And now we are in our room for the evening; we have all crowded into the room which belongs to me, Rachel, and Susie. Even Lawrence, who was found in the corridor by Trina when she was coming from the room which she shares with Avril. According to her, he was pretending to read the bulletin board which is pinned with local maps and posters of seaweed. She told us this after pulling him into our room and announcing, ‘Look who I’ve found: Loz.’ She always calls him Loz.

      We had temporarily overlooked Lawrence, in our self-pity. We apologized profusely and offered him a toddy; we have our own, a toddy but not hot, a quarter bottle of Scotch which Rachel was clever enough to buy from the supermarket on her way to school yesterday. We passed the bottle to Lawrence and he swigged, but appeared not to swallow and has declined all further offers. He is sitting on the end of the bed next to the door, which is mine. His knees are prominent.

      Susie left the room ten minutes ago to phone Nathan. We can hear her on the pay phone at the end of our corridor, but her murmurs make no sense to us, they are little question marks to hook and hold his attention. On her pillow is an unfinished letter to him. Rachel, lounging on the floor, has been lying in wait for my gaze which she snares now in a conspiratorial smile.

      ‘What?’ I ask, wary, my hand pausing in the box of breakfast crunch, which is our only treat because we have already eaten our week’s supply of chocolate.

      Holding my gaze, she reclines, suddenly switches her attention to the top sheet of Susie’s letter.

      ‘Don’t,’ I am serious but I laugh, I am so serious that I have to laugh.

      But without taking her eyes from the letter, she raises her eyebrows. ‘Is it folded carefully away, or is it here on her pillow for everyone to see?’ As her eyes move over the words, her teeth come slowly onto her lower lip to hold down a smile.

      So that now she has me: ‘What?’ I have to know, to coax her, ‘What does she say?’

      The eyes widen to confront me. ‘I’m not breaking Susie’s confidence,’ she complains, mock-indignant.

      I tut her away, but then the letter hovers in front of me in Rachel’s hand.

      I shake my head.

      So she places the letter back onto the pillow and tells me the truth. ‘She says nothing; We arrived here … that kind of stuff.’ And hums a laugh, ‘Or so far, because I stopped before the juicy bits.’

      Avril peeps over her crossword puzzle book, ‘Are there juicy bits?’

      Rachel turns on her. ‘Don’t you tell her that I read this.’

      The door opens, slightly increasing the volume but not the sense of Susie’s words, and Trina hurries into the room. ‘There’s a notice in there,’ she wails, ‘Do not flush away sanitary dressings.’ Looking around us, she emphasizes, ‘Sanitary dressings.’

      I wonder, ‘Any relation to salad dressings?’

      Her СКАЧАТЬ