At Aunt Greta’s–
Another New Girl
by Gabi
Chapter 21 of a Continuing Saga…

Miss Tickell checked off the final nine names in the register. ‘Now, I’m putting you on your honour to be quiet and remain in your places while I go and see Miss Morgan. You may talk quietly amongst yourselves, but I want no raised voices. Understand?’ She looked hard at a few of the boys huddled in the back row and bustled out of the classroom.

‘I always thought there was something weird about Rose,’ Willy Philpott, sitting in the back row, proclaimed.

‘Stands to reason,’ Andrew Royde remarked, ‘With a name like Rose it must be a girl.’ He spat out the word girl like it described the most despicable creature on the planet.

‘Rose is her family’s surname, stoopid,’ scorned Wendy House; ‘you might be a lot more intelligent if you were a girl, Android.’

‘Miss Tickell said we could talk quietly,’ Michael Heard–one of the more studious boys–reminded the class. ‘Don’t let’s start a battle of the sexes.’

‘There must be something strange going on in this class,’ Willy Philpott, suggested. ‘That’s two boys have turned into girls since the beginning of term.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Roger Mee, ‘I wonder who’ll be next?’

‘My dad would go ape if I turned into a girl,’ Joe King remarked. ‘When I told him that Chambers had changed sex he said it was a sin against God and only perverts and sissy boys wanted to be girls.’

‘P’raps one of the girls will change into a boy,’ Rick Shaw surmised.

‘Eeeewww, gross,’ squealed Lacey Nickerson. ‘Why would any self-respecting girl want to be a yukky boy?’

‘Why would anybody want to be a yukky boy?’ Netta Fish added. ‘Girls are much cleverer and do things sooooo much better than dumb boys.’

‘Sshhh!’ I hissed. ‘Not so loud.’

‘We’ll get a bollocking from the Tess Tickell,’ came from one of the boys in the back row whose voice I did not immediately recognise.

Farah looked at me wide-eyed and mouthed ‘What’s a bollocking?’ at me.

‘I’ll translate for you later, Farah,’ I whispered because I could hear Miss T’s footsteps clicking along the tiled floor of the corridor outside our classroom.

‘All right, everyone,’ she said, entering the room. ‘I’ve checked with the Headmistress, and it seems that Lacey is correct in that Bryony–as she is now called–is indeed in hospital. There will be a short announcement to that effect during Assembly. So would you please line up by the door behind Lorna, ready to march smartly to the Hall.’

Lorna Mower went to the door and we lined up behind her–girls in front, boys behind–which was the custom at Tuckton School. When the bell stopped ringing, Lorna led us to the hall where we took our usual places in front of the year 8 kids and awaited the arrival of Miss Morgan.

Once the last of the junior years had taken their places in front of us, Miss Morgan swept in, her academic gown flowing behind her, and took her place on the dais behind the lectern, with the rest of the teachers behind her.

‘Good Morning, everybody,’ she said, brightly.

‘Good Morning, Miss Morgan,’ came the chanted response from all of us.

The Head led us through the hymn and the usual prayers, adding some extra prayers for “a Year 7 pupil” who had been taken ill on Saturday, was admitted to hospital as an emergency and would be off school for, hopefully, only a short time; she was obviously referring to Bryony. We waited silently after she finished speaking until she asked us to sit down for the announcements. There being no chairs or benches we each “drew up a patch of floor” and sat on that. Like those round me, I sat cross-legged, automatically smoothing my skirt under my bum and pushing the front of it down between my spread knees so my knickers didn’t show.

Miss Morgan did not speak immediately: she stood, grasping the lectern with both hands and looked over us, wearing what we recognised instantly as her “I am distressed and most displeased” face. Everyone–except, perhaps, the very newest students–will have realised we were in for a serious talking to.

‘It always distresses me,’ she began, ‘when I hear of occurrences that cast a shadow over the reputation of our school. Shortly before the beginning of term three boys–one from Year 9 and two from Year 8–interfered with a Year 7 girl in a manner that amounted to sexual harassment. This attack took place in the street while the girl was walking to a friend’s house; she retaliated against the biggest boy in the only manner she knew, but the other two still held her tightly. Had it not been for the timely intervention of an adult, that girl would have suffered an even greater trauma. The adult was able to hold one of the other boys, but the second younger one ran away.

‘Fortunately, the police, having been summoned by an adult who had discovered the boys’ plan, arrived quickly and the two remaining boys were taken into custody. The girl was taken to her friend’s house nearby by a policewoman to await the arrival of her mother. All three boys are due to appear in the juvenile court next week and are currently excluded from school. I have said it before and I will say it again, I will NOT tolerate such behaviour among the pupils at this school. Such bullying is the very worst kind and is demeaning, not only to the victim, but also to the bully. I shall press for the permanent exclusion, at least, of the Year 9 boy who instigated this cowardly and unforgivable attack. Incidents like this do nothing but sully our good reputation of being a school with a long history of service to this community. To any other pupils with such plans in mind, I say this; “You have been warned”.’ She fixed her gaze on a group of boys who were known to be trouble-makers.

We listened to her speech in silence and realised that she meant every word. We all liked Miss Morgan because she was usually very friendly and easy-going and we respected her for her fairness; but when she was in this mood she was just a bit scary–at least to those who made a habit of misbehaving. After a few seconds silence, she relaxed and read out a few of the type of notice that usually brought our morning assembly to a close and we returned to our respective classrooms.

‘I don’t think we’ll be seeing Quinn this term, Gabs,’ Angela remarked while we waited for Mademoiselle Blanc to come for our French lesson.

‘Good riddance,’ I replied. ‘Wow, Kristal, your brother Kevin’s dead lucky he’d been grounded, or he might be in the same boat as the other three.’

‘I know.’ She grimaced. ‘He had to go and see Moggy on Friday afternoon after last period. Mummy and Daddy were there too and Kevin was very red-eyed when they brought him home afterwards. I know he tried to set you up, Gabs, and because of that he’s a scumbag, but he’s also my brother and I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him.’

‘It was only that he was such a close mate of Quinn that made me think he was gruesome,’ I explained.

‘All boys can be gruesome,’ Kristal remarked; ‘especially if they are older brothers.’

‘My older brother isn’t gruesome,’ I replied defensively.

‘’Course not,’ Juniper chipped in. ‘Tim’s a real sweetie; but he’s an exception.’

‘I’m not sure he’d be happy to hear you calling him a sweetie,’ I said and then giggled, ‘but you’re absolutely right–he is.’

Our chat had to stop there because Mademoiselle Blanc swept into our classroom. ‘Bon jour, mes enfants,’ she greeted us cheerfully as we all stood up.

‘Bon jour, Mam’zelle,’ we replied.

’Asseyez vous, mes enfants. Eh bien, nous commencerons avec dictée,’ she continued. ’Ouvrez vos cahiers s’il vous plait.’

We took our French exercise books from our desks and Farah and I glanced at each other and grimaced–neither of us were keen on dictée, nor were any of our close friends.

We were all glad it was an easy piece Mam’zelle dictated to us, but that did not prevent a few surreptitious grateful sighs escaping from one or two of us when we had finished.

Our second period was maths–well, algebra actually, and not my fave subject. Mister Ogg–“Miss Trogg”–was in a rather foul mood; it seems that the boys in Year Six had been playing up during the first period and we suffered for it by being set some particularly difficult equations. We were very pleased when the bell finally rang for our mid-morning break.

It being lovely and sunny we all trooped outside for break; I teamed up with the other members of the B.B.C.–except for Kristal, because she had what she called “an errand” to do. Farah was telling us about being a cheerleader.

‘I started when I was nine,’ she explained, ‘and we trained after school four days a week. Our coach was our PE teacher–she had been a cheerleader at her high school and at college–and she worked us real hard.’

‘I wonder if Springy knows anything about cheerleading?’ Lacey asked. ‘It’d be brill if we could learn to be cheerleaders and cheer for the football first eleven.’

‘Or the netball first seven,’ added Juniper.

‘Maybe they should have boy cheerleaders,’ Angela added with a giggle. ‘They’d look soooo sweet in cheerleader dresses.’ That made us all giggle.

‘What’s so funny, girls?’ I heard Kristal ask. I looked round and realised that Kevin was with her, looking very tense and uncomfortable. I hoped sooo much that he was not going to start teasing me again, but he was looking very sheepish so I reckoned he wasn’t going to try anything on this time.

He looked at me. ‘Errm–G-G-Gaby,’ he began nervously. It was unlike him to stammer; ‘I want to apologise for s-s-s-slagging you off like I did and then telling K-K-K-Quinn you were only pretending to be a girl. I was wrong, and I’m sorry for what happened to you. It was such a stupid thing to do.’ Then he held out his right hand.

I grasped it and we shook. ‘Thank you, Kevin. I guess that was hard for you and I really value what you’ve just said. I’m sure you’ll never do such a thing again. It was probably partly my fault for pretending to be a boy for so long.’ I smiled at him and squeezed his hand. He smiled and squeezed my hand in return.

‘Thanks, Gaby. I hope you won’t be upset if I say I think you’re very pretty and, if you weren’t wearing school uniform, you’d be well hot.’

‘Thank you, kind Sir,’ I replied, and bobbed a quick curtsy to which he bowed deeply, which set us all off giggling.

‘Honestly, you two,’ Kristal exclaimed, still giggling; ‘We’ll be sending for the men in white coats from the Funny Farm at this rate.’

‘I felt really bad when I found out what Gunn found in your–err–’ he hesitated.

‘It’s all right, Kevin, you can say “knickers” if you like; we won’t be upset, will we, girls? After all, we girls all wear them.”

‘Yes,’ agreed Juniper. ‘It would be jolly cold without them. Go on, Kev, you can say it; as Gaby says we won’t be offended.’

After a short pause Kevin said, ‘Erm–knickers,’ quite quietly and blushed a deep shade of puce.

“BALL!” bellowed a loud male voice. We all looked round and saw Mr Cott, the year 8 form teacher. “Did I hear you mention female underwear to these girls?’

‘No, Sir–I mean yes, Sir,’ Kevin mumbled, looking at his shoes.

‘It’s all right, Sir,’ I said. ‘It’s our fault, we were sort of daring him to say it.’

‘Very well, Ball, I’ll let you off this time, but watch your step, lad, we are all watching you. And it might be an idea if I kept an eye on you, young ladies, too.’

‘Why, Sir?’ asked Lacey, ‘do you like, fancy us then, Sir?’

‘Hrrrmph, no, Miss Nickerson,’ came the firm reply. ‘And you can wipe that silly smile off your face, Ball.’ With that a blushing “Mr Bean” strode away. Mr Bean? you are wondering: I ought to have explained that Mr Cott’s first name was Harry.

‘Wow,’ said Angela, ‘Beanie must have ears like a bat if he heard what Kevin said, ’cause he wasn’t talking very loud. But, indeed to goodness, didn’t he blush after what you said, Lacey?’

That set us all giggling again. Soon after that the bell rang, signalling the end of break time, so we all began to make our way back to our classroom.

* * *

Before we reached to our classroom for Geography after break, Miss Tickell approached us with a girl of about our age whom we hadn’t seen before.

‘Girls,’ she called, ‘I’d like you to meet and sheepdog this new girl who has just arrived; her name is Leigh Pierre, and she is in our form. Tregeagle has just put a desk for her next to yours, Gaby.’

Tregeagle, or Chief Petty Officer Tregeagle RN (ret’d), was the school’s general factotum. He was popular with everyone and answered to the nickname “Chief” or “Chiefie”; often he could be persuaded to spin us yarns about his experiences during the Falklands War in the 1980s.

‘Leigh should have been here last week,’, Miss Tickell continued, ‘but due to unforeseen circumstances, she and her mother were delayed on their way home from France and only arrived home late last night.’

‘Still, better late than never, eh?’ I said. ‘Welcome, Leigh, I’m Gaby Chambers.’

‘Perhaps you would do the honours, Gaby, and introduce your friends to Leigh,’ our teacher asked.

‘Certainly, Miss Tickell,’ I replied, before Miss Tickell hurried off in the direction of the staff room. ‘So, Leigh, how do you spell your surname?’

‘P-I-E-R-R-E,’ came the reply. ‘My great grandparents came here from France during World War Two when the boches invaded in 1940.’

‘Wow, so you’re partly French,’ I surmised.

‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ she replied with a smile.

You’ve just missed French dictée,’ Angela chipped in.

‘This is Angela Williamson,’ I said. ‘She’s my best friend who comes from Wales.’

‘Hello, Leigh,’ Angela said, giving her a hug.

‘And this is Farah Way, who comes from the USA,’ I added.

‘Hi, Farah,’ said Leigh. ‘Whereabouts in the States d’you come from?’

‘Boston, Mass; Daddy’s working over here for the next few years, and Mom always wanted to live in England as her Mom and Dad came from here. I guess I’ll have gotten to be quite English before we go back home.’

‘We spent a couple of years in the States,’ Leigh replied, ‘Until my fart of a father ran off with his blonde bimbo secretary. Mummy says his brains aren’t in his head but in his trousers So I don’t have a father now.’

‘Oh, poor you,’ Juniper sympathised. ‘I bet you and your Mum were upset. I’m Juniper Berry, by the way.’

‘Now let me see,’ Leigh pointed to each of us in turn, ‘Gaby, Angela, Farah, Juniper, and–’

‘I’m Lacey Nickerson, and this is my best friend Kristal Ball; so now you’ve got all of us.’

‘Except Bryony–who’s in hospital,’ I added.

‘So, Leigh, where did you go to school before?’ Kristal asked.

‘In London. I hated it and so did Mummy–London I mean, not school–that was good; it was a girls’ school so we could get on without stupid boys trying to muck about during lessons.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Lacey remarked. ‘I wish we were girls only here. What d’you think, Gaby?’

‘Not all boys are idiots,’ I replied; ‘my big brother Tim’s great. Anyway if this had been a girls-only school I wouldn’t have been able to pretend to be a boy for so long.’

‘You pretended to be a boy?’ Leigh squealed in amazement.

‘Yeah. She had us all fooled,’ Kristal said. ‘We all thought she was a boy called Gabriel until just before this term started. He looked really good in his boys’ uniform.’

‘But why on earth did you pretend to be a boy?’ Leigh asked. ‘You’re a really pretty girl.’

‘I wanted to be just like my big brother, and I enjoyed playing with him,’ I replied.

‘So what made you change your mind?’

‘My boobs. They started to show through my shirt and I needed to wear a bra,’ I explained; ‘Oh yeah, and my periods started.’

‘Lucky you–starting your monthly visitor late, I mean. Mine like started at the beginning of this year, in time for my birthday,’ Leigh said.

‘A lovely prezzie–NOT!’ I sympathised, adding, ‘It’s my birthday on Friday.’

‘She’ll be twelve,’ Angela added. ‘So when’s your birthday, Leigh?’

‘The twenty-ninth of February, worst luck; so I only have like a proper birthday once every four years.’

‘Eh?’ Juniper exclaimed. ‘How come, for goodness sake?’

I suddenly realised and said, ‘Leap year; oh my God, is that why you’re called Leigh Pierre?’

‘Yeah, and it like, sucks, ’coz this year I actually had my third proper birthday,’ she replied, blushing to the roots of her hair. ‘My idiot father has a like, really evil sense of humour and insisted on having me baptised Leigh. Mummy never forgave him–she like wanted to call me Charlotte.’

‘Why didn’t your mom start calling you Charlotte when your dad ran off with lover-girl?’ Farah asked.

‘Because that female–Mummy calls my “philandering father’s bloody bimbo”–is, like, called Charlotte, and anyway I had like, got used to being called Leigh by then and quite like it now in spite of father’s terrible pun.’

‘I get the feeling he’s like, not exactly your fave person,’ I remarked.

‘Too right, girl; I hope like, his bimbos drop off,’ she confirmed with some venom, adding, ‘thank goodness he lives in the States now.’ We walked into our classroom and discovered that Tregeagle had squeezed a very new-looking desk for Leigh amongst our little coterie in the front row. There were already some of our classmates hanging around so we introduced Leigh to them. We introduced her as Leigh to spare her further blushes in the hope that by the time the other kids–especially the boys–learned her surname she would be settled in and less prone to embarrassment.

As the rest of the class returned and took their places, we introduced Leigh to them. “Your other name isn’t Ward, is it?’ asked Joe King with a cheeky grin.

‘Oh, HA-HA! No, it isn’t,’ Leigh replied sharply. ‘Neither is it original. Typical, there’s always one funny man who’s full of wind, isn’t there?’

‘Yeah,’ Angela replied, ‘boys can be soooo twp–sorry Leigh, that’s Welsh for stupid–this one is called is called Joe King, and is as twpsyn as they come.’ She finished speaking just as Miss Tickell came in to give us our geography lesson.

* * *

Leigh joined us at our usual table for lunch. Tuckton School’s cafeteria had recently been “Jamie Olivered”,¹ and chips were now a once-a-week treat as an option on a Friday with a piece of fish; the rest of the week each day had a different menu on offer over a three-week cycle. The Monday menu this week offered shepherd’s pie, tuna salad, and for the veggies–and any others who fancied it–cheese and spinach ravioli with a Neapolitan tomato sauce. It’s one of my faves so, even though I am a carnivore, I decided to have that with a small side salad, as did Leigh and Farah; Juniper and Angela went for tuna salad while Kristal and Lacey had shepherd’s pie with carrots and peas. For afters there was a choice of jam roly-poly and custard or rice pudding with a blob of jam in it or fresh fruit; we all opted for fresh fruit.

‘The food here is really great,” Leigh remarked. “Much better than my last school; we didn’t get any choice at all. Lots of the girls went out and bought chips at the chippy down the road.’

‘Some of the kids do that here, and get a chip butty² or a burger,’ Lacey told her, ‘but it’s mainly the boys who do that. Most of us girls realise that we have to eat a healthy diet if we don’t want to end up as Bessie Bunters.’

‘Hey, girls, we’ve got PE this afternoon,’ said Kristal, ‘maybe we could ask Springy about cheerleading.’

‘Who’s Springy?’ asked Leigh.

‘Miss Springer, our PE teacher,’ replied Lacey.

‘Farah was a cheerleader in the States,’ I added. ‘She was telling us about it earlier and we thought it would be great to have a cheerleader’ squad here.’

‘That would be soooo kewl,’ Leigh said. ‘I tried it in the States and it was really fun. Who would we be cheering for?’

‘The boys’ football first eleven,’ replied Juniper, ‘the boys’ and girls’ hockey first elevens and the netball first seven…’

‘…not forgetting all the other teams as well,’ interrupted Lacey.

‘I’m not sure the netball players would like us leaping about and waving poms during their matches,’ Angela offered, ‘but the boys would love it at football matches.’

‘Yeah, they’d all be undressing you with their eyes, the disgusting beasts,’ remarked Shona Hole, a studious year nine girl who usually had her head in a book. ‘That’s all they ever seem to do. Whenever I sit down to read in the playground they all hover around staring and trying to see up my skirt. I’m really glad that that moronic great ape, Quinn, is excluded this term–he was the worst of the lot.’

‘So am I glad he’s not here,’ I added.

‘Yeah, of course, it was you that he molested, Gaby, wasn’t it?’ Shona said. ‘You poor girl, I bet you were petrified.’

‘At least she kicked him in the crotch,’ said Juniper, ‘but she still had the other two being horrible to her.’

‘But not for long,’ added Angela, ‘’cause her Auntie Greta zoomed up on her motorbike wearing her black leather suit and crash helmet and grabbed one of them before he could do Gabs any more harm and the other one legged it as soon as he saw her.’

‘Wow, kew-ell,’ Shona remarked. ‘I remember when she came and talked to the school about being a student here during world war two; she arrived on a huge motorbike then. Yeah, she’s kewl alright. Well, I must go and get ready for Mr Bean’s history lesson. ’Bye.’

‘’Bye, Shona,’ I replied. ‘And we’ve gotta go and change for PE with Springy.’

‘Yeah, and ask her if we could start a cheer squad,’ said Farah.

‘That would be soooo kewl,’ Lacey added.

‘Come on, Leigh,’ I said, ‘We’ll introduce you to our luxurious changing room.’

‘I’ve been there already,’ she replied. ‘The school secretary showed me where it was and found me a locker to put my PE kit in.’

‘So, you’ve met our Miss I P Knightly, have you?’ I said, and giggles erupted from the others.

‘She’s called I P Knightly?’ squealed a wide-eyed Leigh. ‘What do the “I” and the “P” stand for?’

‘The “I” is for Isla, except she spells it I-S-L-A-Y because that’s how the Hebridean island is spelled and her mother came from there,’ Lacey explained, adding, ‘but she always signs herself “I P Knightly,” after she heard one of the boys saying that if she was called “I Slay Nightly” they’d better be careful not to upset her. I don’t know what the “P” stands for though.’

‘Maybe it’s Pamela or something like that,’ Angela surmised.

‘Or Paula, or Patricia, or something really weird like Persephone?’ suggested Leigh.

* * *

In the changing room I noticed that the other girls started by pulling to their navy-blue gym knickers. I was glad that mine weren’t so large and baggy as the ones I had worn back in 1944, but these were quite a bit more substantial than our ordinary everyday panties.

‘Say, these are like the spankies we wear as part of our cheer uniforms,’ Farah said as she followed my example.

‘SPANKIES?’ exclaimed Kristal. ‘What an extraordinary name to call knickers. My mum calls them bloomers sometimes.’

‘Yeah, some of the girls back home call them that,’ Farah replied.

I had taken off my blouse and was pulling on the yellow t-shirt that we wore as a top for gym, when Angela said, ‘Hey, Gabs, you’d be better off with a sports bra. They’re much more comfortable for gym than normal ones.’

I unzipped my school skirt and put on the short pleated pelmet that was our regulation PE skirt–no wonder we needed bloomers, our skirts barely covered them!

After putting on our trainers we jogged to the gym where we were met by Miss Springer. Some of the boys were hanging around at the other end of the gym waiting for their PE teacher, Mr Jampton, who would take them out on the sports field for some football practice.

‘Is there anything you need from the store room, Huw?’ Springy called.

‘No thanks, Ann, I’ve got all the balls I need.’

This brought a few raised eyebrows and stifled giggles from our little gaggle, and I suddenly realised that I had never known that his full name was Huw Jampton, especially as he was a Londoner.³

As soon as the boys had gone out to the sports field, Springy called us together: ‘Right, girls,’ she said, ‘Welcome back to another term, and welcome to some new faces among our number. Gaby has decided that she can no longer pretend to be a boy and I am very pleased to see her looking like the girl she is. Second I would like to welcome Farah, whom you know is from America, and today we have another newcomer, Leigh, so welcome Farah and Leigh.’ She paused while we all clapped. ‘Farah was telling me that in the States she was a cheerleader at her last school and I wondered if any of you might be interested in belonging to a cheer squad if we were to start one here?’

‘YAY!’ came the instant response from nearly everyone as a forest of hands shot up.

‘Well, I will now make a small confession,’ Springy continued; ‘When I was your age I became a cheerleader at my school and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Not only did it help keep me fit, but it was also great fun; isn’t that so, Farah?’

‘Yes, Coach, it’s really fun,’ Farah replied, grinning broadly.

‘How soon can we start, Miss?’ Angela asked.

‘Could you and Farah give us a demonstration, Miss?’ asked Wanda Barr.

‘Not just now, Wanda, because we would need to work something out and practise it. But if you like we’ll start to learn some tumbling. How many of you can do cartwheels and how many of you can do the splits?’

Several girls, including Farah, Leigh and Juniper put up their hands. I knew I could do cartwheels and I could almost do the splits as a boy so, hesitantly, I put my hand up too. By the end of the lesson most of us were doing good cartwheels and I discovered I was able to do the splits easily–my girl-body being much more flexible than my old boy-body ever was.

* * *

At the end of afternoon school Dr Way was waiting for us by the Cherokee. ‘Hi, kids, how was your weekend?’ he asked.

‘We had a real cool time, Daddy, didn’t we, Gabs?’ Farah replied, giving him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

‘Yes, it was great having Farah to stay,’ I added.

‘Well, climb aboard,’ Dr Way told us, ‘and don’t forget your seat belts.’ Once we were under way he asked, ‘Did you do anything interesting, or just hang together?’

‘We visited a friend in hospital,’ Farah answered. ‘You remember I said we had a boy in our class who was like Nora back home?’

‘Yes, you said he might be transgendered. Is he sick?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘it turns out that she has been a girl all along, but had boy bits outside. She had an ultrasound scan and it showed she has a full set of girl bits inside and she only needs to have her vagina opened up to be a proper girl.’

‘Bryony told us her boy bits would never have worked properly–only as something to wee through,’ Farah added.

‘Is she happy about it?’ Dr Way asked.

‘Yes, she’s really-really pleased,’ I answered. ‘She’s looking forward to having a proper girl-body at last.’

‘Ooh, Daddy, we’re gonna start a cheer squad at school,’ Farah said. ‘Springy, our PE teacher used to be a cheerleader when she was a schoolgirl and at uni, and when she heard that I’m a cheerleader back home, asked it we would be interested in starting a team here.’

‘We’re really looking forward to it,’ I confirmed. ‘Springy started us doing some tumbling today.’

‘Gabs is gonna be really good; she was doing really cool cartwheels and she can do the splits easily.’

We arrived at Auntie G’s and we all got out, as Farah’s suitcase had to be put in the car. Auntie offered them a cup of tea, but Dr Way said they had to rush as he had a report to write before tomorrow.

I said goodbye to Farah, saying ‘See yah tomorrow,’ and they left. I had tea and did my homework, then I rang Mummy.

‘Tuckton eight-six-eight-five-one-seven.’ It was Tim who answered.

‘Hi, Timmy,’ I squealed with delight. ‘How’s you?’

‘Good, thanks, Gabs. Dr MacNeish says I can go back to school on Friday.’

‘Are you looking forward to it?’

‘Yeah, it’s so borrrrrring hanging around at home all the time with nothing to do.’

‘I thought you’d be doing things to the layout,’ I said.⁴

‘I’ve been doing a bit, but it’s not the same without you here to do it with me.’

‘Well, I’ll soon be able to come home, won’t I? Is Mummy there?’

‘I’ll get her, hang on.’ I heard him put the ’phone down and call out, ‘Mum, Gaby’s on the ’phone.’ Then he picked it up again. ‘She’s just coming…’ and seconds later… ‘Here she is.’

‘Gaby, darling, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, Mummy, I was just ringing for any news about Bryony.’

‘Oh, I see, you didn’t want to speak to me because just I’m your mummy,’ she said but I could hear the laughter in her voice.

‘’Course I want to speak to you, but everyone at school’s asking for news about Bryony.’

‘Well she’s leaving hospital tomorrow and can go to school on Wednesday if she wants. So how did school go today? Any problems?’

‘None at all. Miss Morgan spoke to us all at assembly and told us that Quinn and the other two have been excluded for this term, and she is going to ask for Quinn to be excluded permanently.’

‘Good. The school can well do without the likes of him.’

We talked on for about ten minutes, then I had supper, watched a bit of TV and finally went upstairs to have a shower and go to bed. After reading a chapter of Boy2Girl I put out my bedside light and went to sleep.

* * *

I was wakened in the dark by the horrid wailing of the air-raid siren.

‘Here we go again,’ I thought as I started to pull on Greta’s baggy navy-blue knickers in readiness for traipsing out to the Anderson shelter in the corner of the back garden.

_____________________________

¹ Jamie Oliver: For those of you living outside the UK who may be puzzled by this reference, Jamie Oliver is a British celebrity chef who castigated the nutritional value and quality of food served up to the children in UK school dinners which seemed to be a menu of “chips (fries in the US) with everything”–even as a sandwich filling! He went on to make recommendations as to how to improve matters.
² Chip butty: A sandwich with a chip filling, usually doused liberally with salt and vinegar.
³ Hampton: Cockney rhyming slang Hampton Wick = Well, I’m sure you can make an intelligent guess! ☺
⁴ See At Aunt Greta’s–Chapter 17: A gaggle of Girls.
http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/9179/aunt-greta039s-17...

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Grateful purrs are due once again to Doctor Bonzi and his Mum for their splendid proofing, advice on Miscellaneous Matters Medical and numerous other useful suggestions.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the idiot author.

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Gabi.