Sarahs Mother, Scene 7

The holidays ended and Sarah and I went back to school. Each weekday I caught the bus to the nearest town of Wenford where I went to the boy’s grammar school, and Sarah cycled the three miles to her girls’ private school at Farleigh Manor, which was in the opposite direction. We saw less of each other and, as far as I was concerned, there was never any sign of spanking. The events in the holidays with Sarah and Alison, and then Barbara, began to seem very distant. As September rolled on, I began to believe that my voyeuristic adventures were over. One day towards the end of the month when I came home from school, my mother said, “Mrs Hibbard phoned to ask if you would go over and giver her a hand. She’s cleaning out a cupboard and is a bit scared there may be spiders. Do you mind going over to help? You don’t have to, you know. I told her you’re not too keen on creepy-crawlies yourself.” “That’s OK,” I said with false courage, because it was true that I disliked bugs, “I’m sure I’ll cope.” “Well don’t be too long. Remember what time we have tea.” I changed quickly and hurried over to the Hibbard house. Sarah’s mother probably did only want me to crawl in a dark, cobwebby cupboard—I shuddered—but I had this feeling that there might be more to her call than that. At first I was disappointed and Mrs Hibbard directed me to a gloomy closet, but no terrors lurked within and I was soon back in warm light. “Where’s Sarah?” I asked as casually as I could. “Is she not home from school yet?” “No. Her headmistress, Miss Bowflower, phoned earlier. She told me Sarah was to be given a detention tonight. It seems she and another girl have been bullying a third.” “Oh,” I said. But my heart was racing. Surely, when Sarah got home… “She should be home soon,” Mrs Hibbard said grimly, echoing my thoughts, “and she’ll find a warm welcome awaiting her, I can tell you.” This was better and better—except, there was the time factor. We ate early, as soon as my father returned from work, which meant… I began doing some calculations. How long was a detention? Sarah would be unlikely to hurry home. What…? “She’d better not be late,” Sarah’s mother said, her words again coinciding with my own deliberations. She added, “It seems they pushed this girl’s head down the toilet. Would you believe that?” Well yes, I would, knowing the sorts of things that went on in my own school, but I kept quiet. “I told Miss Bowflower she ought to cane the pair of them, but she told me the school does not believe in corporal punishment—I ask you!” No need to ask me. I was a firm believer in corporal punishment—so long as I wasn’t the one getting it! “But I gave her a pretty good idea of what Sarah could expect and she promised to send her off sharp at the end of the forty-five minutes.”