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“Lesley Hay and Gwyneth Shepherd, come out of there at once and go back to your class!”
At first Lesley and I were stunned. Then Lesley said, “You do know these are the girls’ toilets, don’t you, Mr. Whitman?”
“I’ll count to three,” said Mr. Whitman. “One…”
We’d opened the door before he reached “three.”
“I’ll have to note this on your records,” said Mr. Whitman, looking at us like a very stern squirrel. “I am very disappointed in you. You in particular, Gwyneth. The fact that you’ve taken your cousin’s place doesn’t mean you can do or not do exactly as you like. Charlotte never neglected her schoolwork.”
“Yes, Mr. Whitman,” I said. This authoritarian attitude wasn’t at all like him. He was usually so charming and only ever a tiny bit sarcastic.
“Now, off you go to your class.”
“How did you know where we were?” asked Lesley.
Mr. Whitman did not reply. He reached out his hand for Lesley’s folder. “And for now, I’m confiscating this.”
“Oh, no, you can’t!” Lesley clutched the folder close to her breast.
“Give it to me, Lesley!”
“But I need it … for the class.”
“I’ll count to three.…”
On “two,” Lesley handed him the folder, gritting her teeth. It was so embarrassing when Mr. Whitman pushed us into the classroom. Mrs. Counter obviously took it personally that we’d bunked off her class, because she ignored us until it was over.
“Were you smoking something?” Gordon asked.
“No, idiot,” Lesley snapped at him. “We just wanted to talk to each other in peace.”
“You cut class because you wanted to talk?” Gordon tapped his forehead. “Girls!”
“And now Mr. Whitman can look through your whole file,” I said to Lesley. “Then he’ll know—I mean, the Guardians will know—that I’ve told you all about it. I’m sure I’m not allowed to.”
“Yes, so am I,” said Lesley. “Maybe they’ll send one of those men in black to get rid of me because I know things that no one is supposed to know.” She seemed to think this was an exciting prospect.
“Well, suppose that isn’t such a far-out idea?”
“Then … well, I’m going to buy you a pepper spray this afternoon, and I’ll buy myself one at the same time.” Lesley patted me on the back. “Come on. We’re not going to let them get the better of us?”
“No. No, we’re not.” I envied Lesley her unshakeable optimism. She always looked on the bright side of things. If they had a bright side.
3:00 P.M. to 6:00 P.M., Lucy and Paul came to elapse in my office. We talked about cleaning up the city and restoring the buildings on the bombed-out sites, and the extraordinary fact that, in their time, Notting Hill will be one of the most fashionable and sought-after parts of town. (They described it as “trendy.”) They also gave me a list of all the Wimbledon champions from 1950 onward. I promised to put my winnings into a fund for the college education of my children and grandchildren. I am also thinking of buying one or two of the dilapidated apartment blocks in Notting Hill. You never know.
FROM THE ANNALS OF THE GUARDIANS
14 AUGUST 1949
REPORT: LUCAS MONTROSE, ADEPT 3RD DEGREE
FOURTEEN
CLASSES DRAGGED ON painfully slowly, lunch was disgusting, same as usual, and when we could finally go home after double chemistry in the afternoon, I felt ready for bed.
Charlotte had ignored me all day. Once, at break, I tried to speak with her, and she said, “If you were thinking of apologizing, forget it!”
“What would I want to apologize for?” I asked, feeling annoyed.
