No Talking after Lights by Angela Lambert Read Free Book Online

clinging supporters offering to be her friend; but silent, bespectacled new girls suffer alone. The others were a group and she was the outsider.
    After lights out some of the girls read, propping themselves sideways on one elbow so as to catch the light from the window. Sheila got out of her bed next to Constance and walked over towards Charmian’s bed. She was crouching beside it when the door opened and Matron strode in. Small, round and cheerful in her starched white uniform, Peach liked to be thought kind and wanted to be popular, but she was feared because the girls had learned that she could not be trusted. Anyone in charge had power, and those who tried to disguise it were more unpredictable than those who simply used it, with no pretence at equality.
    â€˜What’s going on in here? Who’s been talking? Come on now, or everyone will be punished.’
    Books slid softly under pillows and Sheila crouched unseen.
    â€˜Who’s dormitory captain in here? Deborah? Who was talking?’
    There was no reply.
    â€˜Right-ho, then, I shall have to punish all of you. No more sweets till Sunday. For
anyone
.’
    Sheila stood up.
    â€˜Sorry, Miss Peachey, it was me. I had to tell Charmie something important. It was my fault.’
    Miss Peachey looked at her, relented, and smiled forgivingly. ‘All right, then, I’ll let you all off this time,since term’s only just begun. And it can’t have been Sheila making
all
the noise. Now, hop back into bed, ducky, and not another sound.’
    A sycophantic chorus of ‘Gosh, thanks, Peach!’ followed as she closed the door of Starlings behind her; then a brief silence, in case she waited outside before she walked away. After a safe pause, Fiona leant across from her bed on the other side of Sheila and breathed, Thanks, Sheil. That was jolly dee of you.’
    â€˜Shush,’ said Sheila, and rolled herself into a heap facing Constance, with her head jammed into the pillow and her eyes tightly shut.
    The wood-pigeons cooed outside the window. Voices carried on the still air from as far away as the tennis courts. In the senior common-room someone was playing records from
King’s Rhapsody
, and the wistful notes of ‘Someday My Heart Will Awake’ floated through the gentle Sussex evening. The curtains shifted. An iron bedstead creaked.
    When she was almost certain that everyone was asleep Constance whispered, ‘Sheila?’
    Sheila’s eyes opened at once. ‘What?’ she said.
    â€˜Are you all right?’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜I knew you were still awake. Me too. Is anything wrong?’
    â€˜Just a bit mis, that’s all.’
    â€˜Are you homesick?’ asked Constance.
    â€˜No… well, a bit. It’s not that.’
    â€˜What, then?’
    â€˜Just… I’m a bit upset ‘cos …’ her voice trailed off in a whisper.
    â€œCos what?’
    â€˜Charmian. She’s supposed to be my best friend. Sshh. Don’t tell.’
    â€˜Promise. Cheer up. Night.’
    â€˜Sleep tight, don’t let the bugs bite,’ said Sheila, and smiled at her over the edge of the sheet.
    The early summer days were long and clear. Figures in one-piece bathing-suits walked as though on a tightrope, swaying and balancing as they hobbled along the gravel path leading to the swimming-pool, carrying collapsed rubber bathing-caps and towels. From the pool came the sound of splashing and the games mistress’s shrill, abrupt whistle. After half an hour the same girls would hurry back to the changing-rooms, shivering in wet costumes. The pool was out of bounds after supper, but in spite of this girls would settle along its low surrounding wall like birds on a telegraph wire, staring into the melting ripples or watching stray leaves drift on its surface. When they were happy at school it was the unconscious happiness of times like this, absorbed in their world and its gossip. Living in