"Lord
dismiss us with they blessing, Thanks for mercies past receive;"
The moment I opened
my mouth to join the off-key chorus, Posy Bantley-Brown
put her hand behind my back and unfastened the top button on my ugly,
grey
uniform skirt.
"Beast!"
I delivered a sharp kick to Posy's shin as I scrabbled to
refasten the button. Behind us someone giggled. From the scuffed stage
at
the front of the gym, Miss Barclay delivered her power glower.
Thanks heaven the one great mercy which wasn't 'past receive,' was that
after today I would never have to set eyes on Posy B-B's saucer-smug
face
again. Certainly not first thing on a perfectly good summer morning.
I twisted to the
right to get a better view of her permed blonde head
uplifted in virtuous piety. Her face was a bit redder than usual, but
otherwise she looked innocent as an angel. Phony little cat. Her lips
were moving - those rosebud lips that had opened so often to deliver
hurtful barbs at my expense--but she wasn't actually singing. I watched
the fat curls dancing on her short white neck, and thought of my mother's
half-hearted strictures about charity tolerance and compassion.
All very well for
Mother. She hadn't had to put up with Posy day in and
day out for twelve years. Or almost twelve years. There had been time
off
in the long summer holidays, of course, when I had fantasized about
the
autumn term beginning with the miraculous news that the Bantley-Brown
had
succumbed to some mysterious and fatal holiday virus with a long name.
Needless to say, she never succumbed to anything more useful than the
occasional day off school to attend Ascot, Wimbledon or something county
to
do with cricket.
"Pardon all
their faults confessing;
Time that's lost may all retrieve ..."
Oh no. I wasn't going to pardon all Posy's faults. God might. That was
up to Him. I said a quick, guilty prayer just in case He was paying
atention, then eased my conscience with the reflection that the plump
little snob wasn't likely to confess her faults anyway. She didn't think
she had any. I saw her fingers edge towards my waist again, and grabbed
them before they could do any damage. "Leave me alone," I
hissed.
Miss Barclay heard
me and frowned. Posy smiled sweetly and raised her
voice in song.
Around us, the
chorus reached a crescendo of enthusiasm never achieved
when a dispirited "Lord Behold Us," was sung at the start
of each year.
"Sanctify
our every pleasure;
Pure and blameless may it be; ..."
Pure and blameless? I closed my mouth in mid-verse. Did I want my every
pleasure sanctified? Distracted, I stopped brooding about Posy and thought
about life as I hoped to live it once I escaped the strict clutches
of
Chantersley Private School for Girls. ..."
