Late
by
Clarissa
Late again, yes, she knew she was late again; and it was for double maths, with Miss Prim. She was bound to get a tongue-lashing at least, she thought to herself, as she laboured up the school drive and started across the rose garden. She glanced at her watch: five minutes late had become ten, and she still hadn’t reached the block. She sighed, finding herself flopping down on one of the ornamental seats that lined the path. The roses were in full bloom: whites, yellows and the occasional splash of flaming crimson; it was a beautiful sight. Twelve minutes late now. What was she to do? If she wasn’t going (which, she realised now, she wasn’t) her best hope was that Prim wouldn’t miss her. Was that possible? Or maybe she could pretend she had been sick? But for that you needed to go and see Matron, and that wasn’t going to happen.
She stood up: she had better get herself out of sight, she thought; it would be too bad to be caught by a teacher or sixth-former now. She headed across to the main school building, then up the back stairs to the old art room, right at the very top. No one went there now – in fact, strictly, it was out-of-bounds.
She looked around the art room – what had once been a hive of activity had now fallen silent; dreams and ambitions covered in dust sheets. She paced the floorboards, rehearsing possible excuses in her mind, the clock ticking relentlessly on. She looked again at her watch – quarter to one. Gina and Emma would be out of lunch now for sure; maybe she should go and see them?
She found them near the hockey pitch. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘how’s things?’
‘Where the heck have you been?’ demanded Gina crossly, though her expression denoted relief.
‘Just out and about,’ said Roz; ‘how was maths?’
‘Terrible as usual,’ responded Emma.
‘Did Prim miss me?’
‘She did ask if anyone knew where you were,’ continued Emma, ‘and we said “No”.’
‘That was it?’
‘Yup.’
Afternoon French went pretty much as usual: Roz enjoyed reading du Maupassant, and liked Mademoiselle; she started to forget about what had happened in the morning. As the clock approached half three, however, her stomach started to tighten.
There was the bell; she was so close now. She grabbed her bag and made for the door.
‘One moment please, Rosalind’; it was the voice of Mademoiselle.
She stopped in her tracks and turned round, as her friends filed past her.
‘Miss Prim wants to see you,’ continued Mademoiselle.
‘What, now?’ said Roz.
‘Yes, now please,’ said Mademoiselle.
Roz simply nodded.
Miss Prim was a woman in her thirties, but she dressed like a sixty-something librarian – Prim by name, Prim by nature, thought Roz.
‘Why weren’t you in class today, Rosalind?’ demanded Miss Prim, surveying the schoolgirl with piercing blue eyes.
Roz had of course anticipated this question; but her mind drew a blank.
‘Were you sick?’ continued Prim.
Here was her chance; she could pretend she had been silently retching behind the bike sheds, but no, she couldn’t do it.
‘No.’
‘So?’
‘I’m afraid I was late,’ blurted out Roz.
‘So you thought if you didn’t come at all maybe I wouldn’t notice – is that it?’
‘Yes,’ continued Roz, then ‘sorry.’
‘Well,’ continued Prim, ‘you have been a very foolish girl.’ Roz dropped her gaze.
‘If you had been late, I would of course not been very pleased,’ continued Prim, ‘but,’ and now Roz felt her eyes burning into her, ‘I would have dealt with it myself.’ A slight pause.
‘However, as you have chosen to miss a lesson – and a double lesson at that – I have no choice but to send you to Miss Svenson.’
Roz’s stomach hit the floor; surely not the headmistress – that could only mean one thing, and it was not good.
‘Please,’ she found herself saying, ‘I won’t do it again,’ and now hot tears started spilling uncontrollably down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ continued Miss Prim, ‘but Miss Svenson is already expecting you: I’m afraid it’s just too late.’