Dangerous Things Page 12

  He had lost his temper then, so spectacularly that he had surprised himself as well as Dilly, and had played the only card he had that could make her do as he wanted, albeit sulkily.

  She had sat there at the kitchen table at home as he’d roared and shouted, marching up and down and generally making what she told herself with some glee was a complete prat of himself, and then had told her he’d give her no pocket money for the rest of the term until she not only apologized but agreed to be a part of the show he was to video; and the thought of being completely without a cash source had pulled her furiously into line. There was little else she could do, anyway. Staveley was being perfectly hateful about it all, almost as bad as Freddy.

  ‘This bloody play-acting’s the only alternative you’ve got to the Cadet force,’ he told the sixth with some smugness. ‘Headmaster’s rules. Some of you can do both, but you can be very sure all of you are going to do at least one. Which means that all you girls have to be in the play. So, there it is. Like it or lump it, love it or hate it, do it you will.’

  That man Collop, she thought, staring at the master who was sitting in lone splendour at a table set in the middle of the hall facing the stage, that man Collop’s a bastard. Her face was set in a more venomous scowl than ever as she thought it. He ought to be walled up in a room without any doors or windows, and no lavatory; she let her mind slide away into devising horrible experiences for Collop, to whom she’d taken a strong dislike. He taught one of her A-level courses and though she was one of the better students and drew little of his fire, she hated his use of sarcasm as a controlling mechanism for some of the other people in her set. Poor old Arse in particular got more than his fair share of attacks with that clever tongue which produced words that sounded so elegant in the silky tones he used, but which made Arse’s neck redden painfully. Collop’s about as yukky as they come. And she looked to where Arse was sitting hunched against the wall bars, much as she was herself, and considered briefly the possibility of going across to join him. And then dismissed the notion. She was too much of a misery herself right now to seek company, and he didn’t look miserable. Later perhaps, when they’d escaped from this damned gym and were free, she’d suggest a coffee down at the trailer that was parked near the market. That could be agreeable. Arse hadn’t a lot to say for himself, but what he did say matched her own opinions very comfortably.

  She saw Mrs Clements then and let her shoulders relax a little. Dilly liked Mrs Clements; you could talk to her like a person, because that was how she talked to you. There was none of that awful business of putting on a special voice just because you were a pupil and she was staff. Most of the men here, Dilly thought, considered all the pupils to be children when there were in fact very few of them, only the first forms. After that, they were all adults really, locked into the ridiculous world called school. University would be different, of course. Lectures that you could cut if you chose to, setting your own work schedule … She let her mind drift off into a beatific set of images of university life in which she, Dilly, was surrounded by congenial people who were as witty as she was herself, and no one was ever bored or broke or lonely —

  ‘Could we have the girls over here, please.’ Dilly blinked and tried to hunch herself into a smaller bundle as Collop’s voice lifted effortlessly to fill the big gym and then, realizing how silly that was, got sulkily to her feet. On the far side she saw several of the others moving forward with alacrity, especially Gillian, and that made her angrier than ever. Stupid bitch’d probably get a decent part, leaving the rest of them to be boring old maids or ladies-in-waiting or something, she thought, and then was aware of her own illogicality, for she didn’t want a part in the poxy play, did she? All of which left her feeling scratchier than ever.

  ‘We’re not going to cast according to gender,’ Martin Collop said, as the girls came up in a straggle. ‘If we did that, two of the best parts in the play’d be lost to you lot. Anyway, I’ve always thought Katherina should be played by a boy. It’s written that way. But Bianca’s up for grabs if anyone’s interested in trying out. For the rest of you, ladies-in-waiting, though one of you can play the Widow, if you’re up to it. Otherwise a boy’ll do it perfectly well.’

  ‘What about the Hostess?’ Dilly said sharply, not sure why she bothered; she didn’t want a part, of course she didn’t. ‘She’s got two or three lines, hasn’t she?’

  Collop looked at her and was clearly annoyed at her display of knowledge. ‘We’re not playing the first two scenes, the Christopher Sly stuff. Hardly anyone ever does. Want to try for the Widow? I imagine you’re after a part.’

  She lifted her chin at him, ignoring the implied question. ‘Why not Bianca? I could read that all right.’

  ‘You’re not the type,’ he said. ‘She’s pretty. An empty-headed doll, but pretty.’ He swivelled his gaze at Gillian. ‘You can read for Bianca, if you like. You look well enough.’

  Gillian dimpled delightedly. ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘It’d be great fun.’

  ‘No doubt you think so,’ Collop said. ‘But it’s damned hard work and no fun, as you call it, at all. And you’re not cast yet. I’ll try several of you. Come on.’

  He took them up to the stage and, as the rest of the boys stopped their private conversations at last, put each one of them in turns through the lines, and Harry Forster, who had been sitting on the floor with his back to the stage mounting, turned on his haunches and stared up at them with his face alight with laughter. Gillian looked down at him and stumbled, and Harry laughed even more, though still silently.

  ‘Good sister, wrong me not,’ fluted Gillian, and tossed her long blonde hair, untied now that classes were over, so that it floated over each shoulder, ‘nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me —’

  ‘You might do better if she did,’ Collop said, interrupting her with no attempt to be civil. ‘An actress she’ll never make you. Here, you, at the back there — what’s your name? You have a go.’

  Genevieve moved forward, uneasily, but there was an elegance about her movements and for the first time Collop looked grudgingly approving. ‘You could play it, got that fragile look. Let me hear you …’

  ‘Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat, Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders —’ read Genevieve, and her voice had an agreeable husky tone to it that made Collop nod even more approvingly.

  ‘Next to Robert Carter, you’ll look well enough,’ he said. ‘Learn the lines by the end of the week or I’ll raise hell.’

  ‘I’m not sure …’ Genevieve began and Collop, who had turned away, looked back at her and snapped, ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I’ve got a lot to do,’ Genevieve muttered, her voice huskier than ever. ‘And my father mightn’t like me to —’

  ‘To hell with your father!’ Collop said. ‘He’s not running this Drama group. I am. Why are you here if you didn’t want to work on the play?’

  ‘Because they were told they had to be.’ It was Hattie, moving closer to the table now. She’d been on the far side of the gym, talking softly to some of the younger boys, but now she was watchful, and Dilly, who’d been sunk in her own anger, became a little more aware of what was happening. ‘If it isn’t possible for Genevieve to fit in the rehearsal time, then there it is, she can’t. She might manage the rehearsals for attendants and servants and so forth, but if you want her for a principal and she can’t spare the time —’

  ‘I could ask him,’ Genevieve said then, looking at Hattie with pebble-hard eyes. ‘Dad. He might say it’s all right.’

  ‘How kind of him!’ Collop said and stared at her for a long moment in a way that was deeply insulting, and Genevieve flushed.

  ‘It’s a matter of her work load more than anything else,’ Hattie said, moving a little closer to Genevieve. ‘Right, Genevieve? That would be what might worry your father.’

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Genevieve, still staring at Collop. ‘Yes, it would be. But I could
ask.’

  ‘Then you’re worrying over nothing, aren’t you, Mrs Clements?’ Collop said and turned away. ‘Let me know by tomorrow first thing. Otherwise, I’ll take it you’re my Bianca. Forster! Come here. You’re trying for Petruchio. Let me hear you.’

  There could be no question but that he’d be cast, Dilly thought, listening to that rich honey-gold voice full of laughter curl itself through the wall bars and into every corner of the big gym. And it’ll be interesting to see a black Petruchio with Carter being so fair and buxom … She found herself thinking more about the play and the way the various characters interacted and wanted suddenly to be playing Katherina. It could be fun with Harry Forster for her Petruchio. Only without the last scene where the stupid bitch chickened out and let the men win. Oh, but she’d show them how to do it if she got the chance … and she slid into another reverie about how she’d rewrite The Taming of the Shrew once she got to university and how she’d do a pastiche version ending the way it ought to with Katherina a right-on woman, not climbing down but winning triumphantly, and stupid Bianca finishing up as a dreary drab —

  Which isn’t fair, she thought then, watching Genevieve as she moved across the polished floor towards the corner where the girls had left their coats and bags. Bianca needs Katherina’s help. She’s so bloody submissive she makes you sick; in a proper version of The Taming of the Shrew, Bianca would end up as assertive as Katherina. Less powerful, but at least a proper woman standing up for herself.

  ‘All right then,’ Collop was saying. ‘The rest of you, servants, ladies-in-waiting and whatever. I’ll plot the scenes you’re in and pin a schedule to the Drama board. Make sure you get the dates down in your diaries. I do nasty things to people who turn up late for rehearsals, let alone those who miss ’em. That means you too, madam.’ He was staring at Dilly. ‘If you could bear to stop dreaming of some pimply youth and concentrate on the matter in hand I’d be grateful.’

  Dilly went scarlet. ‘I was thinking about the play, actually,’ she said in a tight voice. ‘It’s a stupid play and needs rewriting.’

  Collop, who had started to make notes in the big notebook in front of him, looked up and stared again. ‘You — Now, listen, everyone! We have one of your sixth-form ladies who thinks she can rewrite Shakespeare! Before breakfast, I imagine? It shouldn’t take you long, not with your superior knowledge and intellect.’

  Dilly didn’t care. ‘I didn’t say I’d rewrite it,’ she snapped. ‘Just that it should be. It’s stupid. It ends all wrong.’

  Harry Forster had got to his feet and come to lean against the side of the stage where Dilly was standing. ‘A hit, a very palpable hit!’ he murmured. ‘My Lord?’ and looked owlishly at Collop.

  ‘Oh, I see! You don’t like the fact that at the end Katherina is put in the place where she belongs and chooses to knuckle under to Petruchio?’ Collop said, and slowly the boys who had been scattered about the big hall again returned to cluster behind him. There were smirks on some faces; they knew when a row was brewing, and when it was safe to enjoy it. This one ought to be good; one of the girls and old Collop? Not to be missed.

  ‘It’s not the place she belongs in! It’s the place she’s been put in by men,’ Dilly said. ‘It’s only because men think women are here on this earth just to — just to service them that the world’s such a rotten place with wars and cruelty and —’

  ‘Aha!’ Collop’s brows were up as he sat perched on the edge of his table with his arms folded. ‘So it’s all Shakespeare’s fault that there are wars, is it? And cruelty? It hasn’t occurred to you that the man was a brilliant writer who saw the world as it really was and set it down on paper? Hmm? Or are you so bemused by all this liberation crap — liberation nonsense — that you think Shakespeare was really the Virgin Queen and the more virgins there are the better?’

  ‘You’re cheating!’ Dilly flared and leaped down from the stage. ‘I’m making a real point and you’re just — you’re just —’ She shook her head and stopped. Tears were very near the surface now and she was more grateful than she could ever have imagined being when Hattie took her by the elbow and said loudly, ‘Mr Collop, I really think we’d better get on. All this banter is no doubt fun, but my girls need to get away soon, so if we could just get on —’

  ‘Ah, I see! Your girls have to be protected against us tough men? Poor little girls! I can’t imagine how the Foundation ever got on before we were honoured by their presence in our sixth form.’

  There was a little titter and Dilly, her eyes now very bright with tears, concentrated all her efforts on preventing them spilling over. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t —

  ‘I certainly can’t, either.’ It was Harry Forster who spoke. He had followed her down from the stage, and put one arm across her shoulders. ‘It’s my firm opinion that they’ve improved the place no end. Three cheers for a little feminine influence, say I. Hip, hip —’ And because the boys nearly always did what Harry wanted of them, a ragged cheer of sorts went up and it was Collop who reddened this time, and Dilly felt her tears slide back beneath her lids as gratitude to Harry almost choked her.

  ‘I really think we must be hurrying up now,’ Hattie said with a strongly practical note in her voice. ‘Genevieve, perhaps you’d like to fetch Dilly’s things for her as you’re going. And if you don’t mind, I’d like a word with all of you in my room as you leave. Bonnie, Bridget …’ Almost like a sheepdog she worried them all into a group and on towards the door, and Collop looked after her and called with a savage note in his voice, ‘Am I able to count on the return of your charges to future rehearsals, Mrs Clements? If they’re not going to be reliable because of their emotional problems, better to tell me now than later. Then I can do as I always have done most successfully in the past and cast entirely from the Foundation boys.’

  ‘They’ll be here,’ Hattie said grimly. ‘Right, girls?’

  Dilly looked over her shoulder at him and called loudly, ‘Definitely! And I’ll try for the part of the Widow. She at least does try to stand up for herself a bit.’

  ‘Yes. A tiresome character,’ Collop said and turned away. ‘Well, I’ll think about it. Next Tuesday then. Don’t be late.’

  When Hattie had seen the girls off the school premises, after assuring them all she’d do her best to be at as many rehearsals as she could to make sure they had a defender if they ever needed one, she went straight back to the gym, marching there with as much noise as she could get her heels to make, slapping them down on the stone corridors to give herself the courage she needed to top up her anger. How dare he treat her girls so? She wouldn’t allow it, not now or ever; and she went straight into the gym, her chin up and her face set.

  Collop was still sitting at the main desk, working his way through the casting of Gremio and Hortensio, and the boys were, as before, scattered about the available space, one or two of them even trying to smoke a cigarette without being noticed by the absorbed master, blowing the smoke out through the open doors.

  She walked past them for once, ignoring their behaviour even though she was determined to stop people smoking wherever she could, and stopped directly in front of Collop.

  ‘I think you owe my girls an apology,’ she said in a low voice. ‘There was no need to be so very nasty, was there? It’s hard enough for them being part of a very small minority here —’

  ‘And a fairly feeble minority at that,’ murmured Collop, not lifting his head from the notes he’d been making. ‘Or its representative is.’

  ‘What did you say?’ she said more loudly because she was even angrier now. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Look, Mrs Clements.’ He put down his pen and looked up at her with an air of bored weariness that was exceedingly insulting. ‘The only reason those wretched females are here is because the Headmaster needs them to maintain his position in the school and the school’s position in this borough. The only reason you’re here is because they are. The only reason I’m tol
erating them and you here in my Drama group is because I’ve been told to. But I don’t have to like it. This was a civilized place when it was what it was founded to be: a male enclave. I find it less so since this obeisance to some of the more tiresome notions of our times.’

  A soft movement came from the boys and Hattie recognized it for laughter, and knew how choked Dilly must have felt only a few minutes earlier. He had a way of making his words, even those that could have been construed as civilized enough, sound like the most offensive of insults. He shouldn’t be allowed to speak to me so, she thought furiously. He shouldn’t; but all she could say was, ‘Surely this is hardly the place for this sort of discussion —’

  ‘I didn’t initiate it,’ he said and bent his head again. ‘Better if you keep out of this group, Mrs Clements. I had thought at first when you arrived in our common room you and your girls might be an asset to the place. That was the triumph of foolish hope over wiser experience. Now I know the whole scheme can’t be anything but a crashing bore. That’s our bad luck, I suppose. But at least leave us in peace.’

  ‘I’ll be at every possible rehearsal I can,’ she said, keeping her voice as low as she could, and almost hearing the ice crackle in it. ‘Because the girls have to be. And I’m here to take care of them. And if someone pushes you off the stage and breaks your neck, don’t expect me to offer any first aid. I’ll be too busy cheering you on your way to perdition.’

  Twelve

  ‘I wanted to thank you —’ Arse said and then shook his head. ‘Not exactly that. I mean usually it’s me he has a go at. With you there, it’s not so bad.’

  Dilly looked up at him and nodded. ‘I know.’

  ‘Anyone sitting here?’

  ‘No.’ Dilly slid along the bench a little. ‘You can, if you like. What are you having?’

  ‘The vegetarian,’ Arse said. ‘I usually do.’