Anthea is wearing a pair of grey trousers with a thin white pinstripe pattern and a plain white long-sleeved cotton top,
all very smart with her dark hair.
She turns to face the back of the chair.
I make a decision.
Whatever I’m going to face afterward,
I’m going to take full advantage of the present.
I walk round behind her.
Anthea turns and looks at me, somewhat surprised I’m being so authoritative.
Nonetheless, she obeys quite readily.
“Bend over when you’re ready,” I say.
I think I spot a slight reticence now
because Anthea looks round behind her and to her left,
takes a long hard look at the large plimsoll Joanna is holding and,
I’m sure,
notes the smiling,
rather evil look on the young teacher’s face.
Only then does she start bending forward.