by DJ Black
Despite their very different backgrounds, the two 18-year-olds had become firm friends over the previous two years. They had met behind the tyre shed at the back of the motor repair garage where Sandy worked as an apprentice, which on account of its position near the school gates, was the perfect place for an illicit smoke. Today however, it was raining and the girls had retreated to the repair shop for their morning fag.
Sandy sat on the tool bench with her legs extended looking at her canvas kick-boots. They had seen better days and she was considering buy new ones, some Converse perhaps. Her current pair were ripped a little and tended to chafe around her ankles unless she wore socks. Socks were not a good look with her overalls, which were rolled up to mid-calf to hint at her rather shapely legs, an attribute that was further emphasised by the fact that her blue boiler suit was at least one size too small for her.
Panda knew what she was thinking and said nothing, lest it spark another row revolving around their differing taste. The working class was always so touchy about taking sartorial advice from public school types like her. Anyway, considering she was still wearing a school uniform, it was a bit rich on her part, she realised.
Pandora - Panda to her friends - was dark-haired to Sandy's blonde and the taller of the two. However, despite being a privileged inmate of the illustrious Chadsworth School, she rather envied the motor apprentice's freedom; a fact that she had once confided.
"You are freaking joking," Sandy had said during one of their early meetings. "You'll marry some rich sort with a Bentley, why on earth would you want to work in garage?"
"But at least you can smoke when you like," Panda had complained.
"So can you," Sandy had retorted, expanding her arms to indicate their hideout.
"Yes but you don't get swished when you are caught," Panda had said, and blushed.
"Swished? What's that?"
"You know." Panda blushed a little more and made a sweeping motion with her arm only to be met with Sandy's blank stare forcing Panda to mouth ruefully. "You get the cane."
"You're kidding," Sandy gasped, thinking of Mr Barnes, her boss and his attitude to smoking. "That stuff is illegal and shit isn't it?"
Panda winced at her friend's use of the S-word and replied, "Not in private schools, it's not."
"But it's just for boys, right? I mean even at my school in the old days they hardly ever caned girls?" Sandy was agog. She couldn't help but feel a certain frisson around the subject.
"It most definitely is not just for boys," Panda replied stiffly.
Over the weeks and months that followed Panda had explained that even girls were caned by male teachers, prefects, housemasters and sometimes even the headmaster.
Sandy thought of Mr Barnes and his heavy belt. No one knew about what he did and no one was going to. Not that she minded so much when she deserved it, but it was so embarrassing.
Then Panda had dropped a bombshell. "Worst of all are the prefects. I mean they can't wait to get your knickers down for a bit of stick."
"You are shitting me," Sandy said. She'd positively gaped at this news.
The subject of physical punishment, she could never quite manage to say the S-word, was something that had fascinated Sandy for as long as she could remember. So when Mr Barnes had given her a good hiding for smoking on the forecourt, it had been the start of a journey for her. The fact that Panda was caned at school as well, made it seem as if she was not on that journey alone. However, try as she might, she was rarely ever able to get more than the smallest amount of information from Panda about her punishments.
"Where is Mr Barnes today anyway?" Panda asked.
"Out on a job," Sandy said with an exaggerated pout that kissed the air, a habit she resorted to when she was bored. She forced her lips out until she could just touch her nose.
"Why do you do that?" Panda said as she watched in fascination.
Sandy stopped and shrugged. How could she tell Panda that she envied her permanently and natural bee-stung lips? Was she subconsciously emulating her friend? If she was, she wasn't a girl for introspection, so she changed the subject. "You know what Mr Barnes calls you?"
"Pandora Weston?" Panda threw out, but she was curious nonetheless.
"The Minx," Sandy said with a grin.
"What?" Panda frowned, her forehead wrinkling up in consternation in lieu of frown lines on the bridge of her nose, which hadn't developed yet.
"He calls me 'Mischief'," Sandy said proudly.
"Now that I can believe," Panda said. She giggled as Sandy swatted at her.
A few days later, Sandy was sorting out tools in the repair shop when Panda crept up to her and tapped her on the shoulder.
"Yikes!" Sandy jumped up, scattering a tray of spanners on the floor. "Oh jeez, you gave me a start."
"Sorry," Panda giggled, not sounding it.
"Look at this... oh you..." Sandy clutched her head so that hair sprayed between her fingers as if she were set to pull it out at the roots.
"Got a ciggie?"
"It's raining again," Sandy said, still looking at the pile of stainless steel tools on the floor.
"We can have one here," Panda wheedled.
"Mr Barnes will be back in a minute," Sandy said chewing her lip and eyeing the open garage doors and the road beyond.
"So be quick then," Panda urged. Then she saw the car. "Hey, I know that Jaguar."
"One of your lot, a teacher I mean. Dropped it off this morning for a service," Sandy said absently as she stooped to see if any spanners had bounced under the bench.
"It's old Boney's car," Panda said in something like wonder.
"Who's Boney?"
"You know, the Head," Panda said peering through the window on the driver's side. "Where's that fag?"
"A quick one then, but you know we shouldn't smoke in here."
"We can't smoke behind the tyre shed either, but we do," Panda replied.
"Yes but... well we really can't smoke in here," Sandy said nervously, but she retrieved her cigarette packet from her pocket nonetheless.
"Oh give it here," Panda said snatching the pack and fumbling for a cigarette.
After a moment's hesitation Sandy joined her and they both stood by the car inhaling deeply and blowing great clouds of blue smoke across the repair shop.
The truck stopped with a heavy squeak as it ground to a halt in the yard.
"Oh Lord," Sandy squealed, snatching the cigarette from Panda. "You'd better scram."
"Hey," Panda growled, trying to snatch it back. It rolled over her finger and after hanging in the air in slow motion, tumbled to the floor.
"Panda, you here again," Mr Barnes said with a voice like gravel as he entered the repair shop. "What the... what's this mess?"
But the girls weren't listening. Their eyes were fixed on the cigarette which landed silently in a pool of oil.
The flame was so small, no bigger than a man's hand as it flickered into life. Sandy could have stepped on it and it would have died, but she hesitated for a beat. Then the blue halo spread faster than milk spilt from a dropped bottle and a small Hiroshima like mushroom of orange leapt at the roof with a loud soft pop.
"Oh bollocks!" Mr Barnes yelled as he lunged at the fire extinguisher. "Get out!"
Panda stood transfixed as the red bottle in Mr Barnes' hand roared into life blasting the fire with white clouds. Sandy grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the yard as Mr Barnes battled the flames.
The scorch marks on the black side panels and doors of the Jaguar weren't too bad. There was no actual damage to the metalwork, but where the paint had been burnt away, the grey bodywork was stained a dozen different colours.
Mr Barnes grabbed a handful of red-grey curly hair with his hands and let out a heavy sigh.
To make matters worse Mr Bond, old Boney to his students, strode into the yard. His right leg paused in mid-step as he saw his car, then gingerly came to a rest so that his heels came together; a stance he always took when assessing a new situation or confronting a school rebellion.
Panda grimaced as she stepped backwards and tried to melt into the wall. Sandy had her chin on her chest as she tried to squeeze the cigarette pack out of existence with her hand.
"Pandora Weston," Mr Bond said through his teeth, crooking his finger in Panda's direction.
"Mr Bond, sir," Panda said in a strangled voice, "I... well you see..."
Her housemaster had informed her that he had managed to persuade Mr Bond not to contact her parents, but Panda's relief had been mitigated by the fact the housemaster's cane was on his desk as he spoke. However, even this small sense of triumph was dashed with the news that Mr Bond would 'deal' with her himself.
That had been this afternoon when she had still been feeling brave. Now that she had to actually make that long walk to the head's house on the edge of the school grounds, she was actually trembling.
Old Boney's house was one of the perks of the job; not exactly large, but not too shabby either as it stood aloof, much as the headmaster did much of the time. "A typical example of rural Queen Anne," she remembered from her induction tour some years before. The door to the house looked as if it might have been original. It was a dry grey-tan colour and appeared to be weather-worn and cracked in several places. Not exactly the gates to hell, but perhaps purgatory lay not far beyond.
Panda's tummy did a flip and she felt a little light-headed as she knocked.
Night was falling and somewhere an owl hooted, but that was the only sound and the quiet hush of the trees was oppressive. She knocked again only louder.
Somewhere inside a light went on and she heard an internal door open. Still no one came. Panda tried the bell-push, but it was a Victorian addition and had probably not worked since the Abdication; not that she could tell anyway. When the door finally opened it took her by surprise.
"Are you Miss Weston?" Mrs Bond asked. She was a tall elegant woman of about 40. Her wrist was upturned with natural poise and she affected a bored expression as if faintly disgusted that her husband had brought work home with him. "Well, speak up girl," Mrs Bond said impatiently.
"Eh... yes Ma'am, I'm Panda Weston."
Mrs Bond looked her up and down in disdain and then said, "You had better come in."
The house was tastefully decorated in period furniture with eggshell blue in the hall and cream and polished wood further in. But that was the last she saw as Mrs Bond ushered her into her husband's study.
Boney was standing at a large cabinet and studying its unseen contents. "Ah Miss Weston," he said, turning to peer at her as he donned his tortoiseshell glasses. "On time I see; good."
"Yes sir," Panda gulped.
"You'll be pleased to know that my Jaguar is expected to live." Boney's eyes crinkled up at the corners as he imparted this news. Panda returned a nervous laugh. "I understand the cigarettes belonged to your grease-monkey friend," Boney continued.
"Eh yes... but... well she warned me about smoking there... I mean it was my idea..." Panda's voice trailed off, what was she saying? Boney couldn't touch Sandy; she had her own backside to protect.
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