Oligarchy, page 4
Tash lies about her age and her height and signs up.
*
Tiffanie walks around the dorm with her tits out literally all the time, so Tash and Lissa have started doing it too. Tiffanie’s tits are little works of art, or possibly craft: two perfect upside-down teacups. They are brown, with rose-coloured nipples that always point upwards.
It’s a Tuesday evening a few weeks before they break up for Christmas. Everyone’s talking about the Cambridge trip the following Saturday, and then the disco where there will be no boys, of course, but at least the girls will be allowed to choose the music. Everyone is into Azealia Banks right now after the episode in Stevenage, although a rumour is going around that the teachers are going to delete anything with an E from the playlist. It’s almost nine o’clock. Everyone’s chilling out before bedtime. Lissa is putting all her underwear in a toggle bag for laundry day tomorrow. She’s putting dark and light things together, because she doesn’t care. Tash is reading French Vogue with her headphones in. Then Bianca appears from one of the bathrooms fully clothed and with her school cape on. Bianca never shows more of her body than is absolutely necessary. She is always in clothes. She even sleeps fully dressed in her strange white pyjamas. But she doesn’t normally wear her cape inside.
‘Where are you go-ange?’ says Tiffanie.
Tiffanie has been in the UK for almost five years but her French accent is as thick as it was when she arrived. She is too lazy, too French and frankly too fucking cool to learn English pronunciation and so she says all words as if they were French. So going becomes go-ange, the last bit said a little like the anj in banjo. And the where and the are are simply two long growls.
‘Yeah, what are you doing?’ says Tash. She has taken to doing it too, as have some of the English girls. Doo-ange. What are you doo-ange? The Rs are always extravagantly rolled as well, even in English words.
‘Headmaster’s house,’ says Bianca.
‘Again?’ says Lissa. ‘That’s weird. What have you done this time?’
Bianca shrugs like a little bird that can’t yet fly, or a moth whose wings are still covered in weird gleim and other crap from its cocoon.
‘Oui, what have you done, Océane?’
Océane is French for Hannah. Manon is French for Emily. Or maybe it’s the other way around. In any case, the English concept of Hannah and Emily – the most popular names for plebs in the year they were all born; in the olden days known as Sharon and Tracey – is translated into French as Océane and Manon. In Russian the old-fashioned versions are Lyudmila and Ninel. Natasha’s mother is called Lyudmila. Tash struggles to think what other girls of her age are called. Like, she’s kind of forgotten already.
‘I said “fuck” to Miss Annabel. I sort of told her to fuck off.’
‘Pourquoi?’
‘Parce que … because she said I’m too thin for ballet.’ Bianca sighs. ‘Like that’s even possible. But it’s not my fault I’m thin. I eat literally all the time.’
‘I thought you were amazing at ballet?’
It’s true. Bianca’s too good to even take classes with the other girls. She shrugs again, and scurries off into the cold night like something from a fairy tale.
After that, Rachel comes in from next door and gets everyone to come and look at the massive turd that is in one of the toilets. It’s the largest poo anyone has ever seen. No one even has a dog capable of doing such a massive shit. It’s shaped like a nuclear submarine. It’s unclear whether Rachel has done this herself, or whether it was deposited by someone else.
‘Bianca?’ asks someone.
‘That would not fit in Bianca,’ says Lissa.
Someone flushes the toilet, but the poo remains.
*
Everyone’s making friendship bracelets. Sin-Jin buys the embroidery thread at the haberdasher’s in Stevenage. Here’s how you do it: you pick three attractive colours and cut two long pieces of thread for each one. Then you knot them all together and use a safety pin to—
‘Girls,’ says Sin-Jin. ‘Girls, DON’T put safety pins in your tights. I’ve told you before.’
For days now they’ve been going around with bits of coloured embroidery thread hanging from their tights or their skirts. It is in this state that they are called into the headmaster’s study: Tash, Tiffanie, Rachel, Lissa, Danielle and Donya.
‘Well,’ says Sin-Jin. ‘There’s no time to take them off now. And I don’t think Dr Moone is going to be worried about that today. Come on. Quickly.’
There is nowhere for them to sit, so they all stand in front of the massive mahogany desk with bits of thread dangling down their legs like the insides of abandoned toys. Dark pictures hang on the wooden panels that line the study. None of them are of Princess Augusta. They are all men, or horses.
Dr Moone is one of those old important people that looks exactly like other old important people. His body is a sack filled with dead kittens and his skin is a dusty wooden antique. When he walks, it is with an exaggerated limp because of having once caught his leg in a rat trap in whatever colonial backwater his father was stationed in. He is basically a different species: one that should be respected and revered and—
He breathes in. ‘Good morning, girls.’ There’s a complicated pause. He looks pained, or, at least, like someone who has just decided to adopt a pained look. ‘What I’m about to tell you is confidential. You won’t be able to talk to the other girls about it, do you understand? What we’re about to discuss has to stay in this room.’
Serious nods. Of course, sir. Anything you say. Aunt Sonja would not agree to something on these terms, but Aunt Sonja is not here. Also, Aunt Sonja may have forgotten what it’s like to be fifteen and entrusted with a secret by your actual headmaster.
Dr Moone sighs long and hard like a plane landing. The plane comes to a halt.
‘Bianca is dead,’ he says. He says it without emotion.
Tash wants to laugh. She can feel the prickle coming off the other girls as well. They all want to laugh and laugh and—
Wait, no. In fact, Donya has fainted. Sin-Jin is wafting something over her that might be a paperback copy of the General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. It might even be the copy with the bits of dead bee on it. Now she is calling sick bay. Everyone else stands there trying to seem grown-up enough to be able to take this news without laughing or fainting. Is there any other possible reaction? Tash feels oddly excited, like standing on the edge of a high diving board. She can feel her actual blood pumping around her actual body and she sways, gulps, but does not faint. No one knows what to do. Who is going to be the first to cry? Are they expected to cry? If they cry over something that is essentially a secret, will other people find out? But if they don’t cry over their friend who is dead, then—
‘I understand that you were her special friends,’ says Dr Moone. ‘As well as the fact that some of you shared a dorm with her. This is why you are being told first. Now, I have to ask you a very serious question. Why do you think she died?’
Sin-Jin shoots him a strange look then. It’s almost imperceptible.
No one ever talks back to Dr Moone. If this was Dr Morgan or Mr Hendrix, they would be asking all sorts of inappropriate questions right now. Where was she found? When did it happen? OK – those are appropriate questions, but on hearing she was found in the lake perhaps they would ask if she had been partially eaten by fish, and enquire whether or not she floated, and whether the VBs were involved and what Princess Augusta would think about it all. Perhaps. Perhaps.
No one says anything.
‘You all spend a lot of time on diets, I hear.’
Everyone looks at the floor.
‘We’ve read Bianca’s diary. There are going to be a lot of changes in the next few weeks. I expect you to co-operate with them.’
Everyone nods.
‘Sir?’ says Rachel. ‘What do we say when people ask where Bianca is?’
‘She’s been suspended,’ he says. ‘For leading you all astray. For encouraging you to diet too much.’
Sin-Jin gives him the look again.
If this were a different teacher the girls would definitely argue. Objectively it is a stupid idea, with the potential for maximum trauma. What’s going to happen when everyone finds out that these six girls were able to lie about something so grave? Will this enhance their future prospects or not? Is this something that they can put on university applications? Ability to lie about something really, really serious. No one is sure. Something isn’t right about this.
‘I am going to discuss it with the other senior staff,’ says Dr Moone. ‘But at the moment that is what we have decided to do. You can talk among yourselves. We know you’ll want to do that. Your dorms are away from the others, so whenever you want to go there in the day you can. But you need to promise that you will not tell anyone for now. Not even your parents.’
Silence.
‘Do you promise?’
‘Yes, sir.’
*
Danielle takes Bianca’s bed. It doesn’t quite fit with the suspension story: after all, how normal is it for one girl to be suspended and then have her things boxed up and put into storage while another girl moves in? Maybe, whisper the other girls, maybe Bianca’s been expelled. That becomes the official unofficial story, even though the fake suspension hasn’t even been announced. Danielle’s been on some sort of waiting list, apparently. Her parents are splitting up and selling the house in the village. Her mother is moving to London and her father is relocating to Dubai. Danielle lies in Bianca’s bed crying and listening to Lemonade and making a friendship bracelet with only black embroidery thread. The pattern looks lovely, even though the colour is the same all the way through. But then Danielle is talented like that.
The other girls flutter around like pages torn from a forbidden book and no one makes jokes about poo or Princess Augusta. They don’t cry in case someone sees them. They are taking their secret very, very seriously. Occasionally they look at each other and say, ‘My God.’ If they do need to cry they lock themselves in one of the bathrooms and run all the taps.
On Monday, and without warning, Dr Moone comes into the dining hall at breakfast and announces to everyone that Bianca is dead.
*
There is talk of cancelling the Cambridge trip and the disco, but then someone has the idea that it should be turned into sort of a wake for Bianca. The funeral is going to be the following Monday in London but Bianca’s parents have requested that no one from the school attends. So the wake would be something they could do instead; it would be a chance to celebrate her life. Dance to Azealia Banks and Ariana Grande and …
‘You’re so morbid,’ says Becky with the bad hair.
Becky with the bad hair is filling in her application to become Head Girl. You need two references and an amazing personal statement. It helps if you’ve been in sports teams, got drama qualifications, done your maths exams early. Perhaps being really tall helps? The deadline is after Christmas. The Head Girl only changes every two years – biannually, or biennially, one of those – because you do it for the whole of Years 12 and 13. The Head Girl spends a lot of time with Dr Moone and the senior staff helping to run the school. The current Head Girl is called Thérèse. She is very thin and has long stringy blonde hair, a bit like … Wait, wasn’t she Bianca’s crush all those years ago? That’s right, someone says, Bianca was her crushlet.
While the others make plans to go and see Thérèse, who has a minimalist study-bedroom in Maids quite near the teachers’ corridor, and is remotely related to Tiffanie in some French aristocratic way no one understands, Natasha wonders whether she should apply to be Head Girl. It was the way the headmaster spoke to them about Bianca. And OK, so he lied about it being a secret, and lied about them being trusted and special, but Tash is attracted to his gravitas. She wants teachers to speak to her like that again.
And no one wants Becky with the bad hair to be Head Girl. Becky with the bad hair is already becoming something of a menace. She has started an Anti Ana group with her friends Bella and Elle, presumably because of the rumours that Bianca was in a Pro Ana group. It’s yet another way of obsessing about food, and an excuse to look at all the disgusting Pinterest boards about Thinspiration, and guides on how to fast without fainting, but she has presented it to the teachers in a way that seems wholesome and healthy. She is tasked with doing a survey and some interviews to find out about the attitude of girls in the school to food and dieting. Literally everyone lies. The girls who regularly have two slices of treacle tart don’t admit to ever having any. The girls who hide their treacle tart say they eat it all the time. Baffling statistics are produced. It seems that dieting makes you fat! And eating all the time makes you thin. Who knew?
But worse: 90 per cent of the school has some sort of eating disorder.
‘Right,’ says Dr Moone. ‘Time for action.’
*
The eating-disorder men look like criminals. They are called Tony and Dominic. They are from Scotland. Tony has a shaved head and wears utility clothes with walking boots. It’s like normcore but real. Like he’s just been released from prison. Dominic has shifty eyes. He wears black Converse because he’s trying to be young. He wears them with skinny black jeans and a black t-shirt. Tony and Dominic must be in their late forties, or even older. Everyone tries to find something sexy about them but there is literally nothing, which is a shame because everyone is bored of Mr Hendrix, and no one fancies Dr Morgan except for Becky with the bad hair. His breath is just—
‘Right. We’re not going to start with good morning and all that crap,’ says Dominic. ‘This shit is real.’
Sin-Jin sighs loudly and side-eyes Madame Vincent.
Becky with the bad hair moves her chair slightly closer. These are the orange bucket chairs from the drama studio that give everyone terrible static in the winter and sticky legs in the summer. But they are lightweight and they stack well, which is why someone ordered hundreds of them. They will never wear out. The same kinds of things could be said of the eating-disorder men. Someone’s ordered them from somewhere, but how? Like, where do you even get two therapists who look so much like paedophiles?
The internet, of course.
‘You are all here because you have problems with food,’ says Tony. He pronounces this fut. It sounds a bit like foot. It’s also a little like he’s spitting. He does look quite angry. Why? They’re not his daughters. Why does he even care?
‘We’re going to begin by talking about some of the difficulties you have had with fut,’ says Dominic. ‘Tony will lead you through this section and then I’m going to teach you a little bit of EFT tapping at the end. After that, I hope you’ll be cured of your issues with fut once and for all.’
‘OK,’ says Tony. ‘I want you all to shut your eyes. Now, I need you to think of the worst thing that’s ever happened with you and fut. It might be that time you ate a whole trifle and then vomited it up. It might be when you decided to eat only raw fut and became so weak you could not leave the house. Maybe you did a juice fast and got explosive diarrhoea? Nothing is too bad or too disgusting for us. We just want to hear your real stories. This is going to be difficult for some of youse, I know, but it’s necessary. We have to get real, here. Really, really real.’
Everyone thinks, and sighs, and tries to touch the metal bits of their chairs to discharge some of the static. You can almost hear it crackling through the room. Tiffanie has discovered that she can make Becky’s bad hair stand on end by just raising her palms up behind it and—
‘OK,’ says Tony. ‘Who’s got something to share? You.’ He points at Flick, a usually quiet girl with freckles and plump cheeks. Why has Flick got her hand up for this?
‘It was during the Easter holidays,’ says Flick. ‘There’s this YouTube channel with this American girl on it who tries out these different diets? This particular week she was doing one of the Victoria’s Secret Model Challenges. There are loads. Anyway, I tried to copy her but I literally couldn’t even make it through the first five minutes of the workout. Then my sister bought a bag of ten doughnuts and ate one and then left them in the kitchen. I basically ate nine doughnuts while watching the rest of this one YouTube video. Like, I’m literally sitting there watching her do a butt workout while I’m stuffing my face. Afterwards I thought about killing myself.’
‘Right, good,’ says Tony. ‘And if you had to mark that experience out of ten, with one being OK and ten being the worst experience possible, what would it be?’
‘A nine,’ says Flick.
‘What would have made it a ten?’
‘Well, I guess if I had killed myself?’
‘Good,’ says Tony. ‘Who’s next?’
Bella puts her hand up. ‘My periods stopped because of all the sport, and because I didn’t eat enough.’ Bella is vice-captain of the hockey team. All that bending over swiping at weeds with a long stick must be exhausting, but—
‘Her period has not even started,’ whispers Tiffanie loudly. Tash giggles and Dominic glares at her. He has the eyes of a lifeguard who lets people drown.
‘And what number would you give that?’ Tony asks.
‘Nine as well,’ says Bella.
‘And can you think of a particular scene that would illustrate how bad this made you feel?’
‘I don’t know. I guess there was one day I thought I had got my period and everything was normal again and I inserted a tampon and eight hours later when it was time to take it out I couldn’t get it out and I had to go to the school nurse to help me and basically I know this is gross but it wouldn’t come out because it was so dry, because there was no blood, and I didn’t have another period for maybe a year?’
