I’m sat at the front on the wooden bench normally used in PE for step-ups or balancing on. We’re in the big hall, the floor is wood and smells like my mum has been polishing it with Mr Sheen. Everyone is messing about, wanting to swap places, until Mr Heath comes in. Then they all go quiet, he goes and stands at the back. I’m in the middle of Heather Marston and Beryl Hilton. Heather walks on her tiptoes I don’t know why. I did ask her once: she shrugged her shoulders and carried on. I like her. Beryl always wears a dark blue crimplene pinafore with a light blue nylon jumper underneath. She is very round and a bit smelly. My mum says that soap and water costs nothing. I went round to Beryl’s when her dog had puppies. They looked like my guinea pig Ben. She has four sisters and three brothers, and I didn’t see a bar of soap. I play with Beryl in the park. She is really good on the see-saw.
The boys on the back row, David Underwood, Martin Web and Mark Bay are nasty. David’s head is too big for his body and his lips are fat. Martin only has one mustard coloured polo-jumper and his hair is lemon coloured. Mark has big ears.
They hang about in the park waiting for Beryl and me. They stand and stare, then Martin shouts “Look it’s Little and Large!” We take no notice, we go on the swings. Look like we’re not scared. Beryl calls across to me. “Sally I will count to three, then we will jump and run.”
“Okay I’m ready”
“One, two three, jump!” We run as fast as we can. Holding hands and laughing.
I can hear them now whispering “Smelly belly”. Beryl gets hold of my hand. I look at her. There are tears in her eyes. I turn around and I mouth “Get lost.” Mr Heath the headmaster sees me. I’m in for it now.
Mr Heath comes towards me, neck bulging over his shirt collar, forcing his face into a pig shape. He raises his fat hands curling them into fists. I know what is coming next, so I shrug my shoulders and close my eyes. I hope this will lessen the blow. He stands in front of me. I feel the edge of his right fist on the top of my head, the curl of his little finger. I squeeze my eyes shut, tuck my hands under my legs, keep my shoulders shrugged. Bang, he drops his left fist on top of the right fist like a sledge hammer.
Mr Heath returns to the back row. There is silence and I am trying my best not to cry. A single tear runs down my cheek. Beryl pulls out a grey hankie from her pinafore pocket. I’m not bothered that it smells. She’s my best friend.
Miss Hayley our teacher comes bouncing in with the photographer. Miss Hayley is always happy and smiling and I wish she could be my teacher always. No one says anything about what Mr Heath did. I hate Mr Heath. The sledge hammer punishment is his favourite. All the teachers have seen him do it to other children. I don’t know what I did wrong. I hate him.
The photographer asks us to shuffle along the bench. He tells us to sit up straight. We practise smiling when he tells us to. I glance at Beryl, then at Heather we know the truth: that will never be captured in this photograph.
As the photographer says “Cheese” I take hold of Heather and Beryl’s hands. I do not smile, they do not smile.
Author bio:
Sally Shaw is a full-time MA Creative Writing student at the University of Leicester, and writes short stories and poetry. She is inspired by old photographs, history and writers such as Sandra Cisneros and Liz Berry. Sally worked as a nurse for 33 years and lives in North Warwickshire with her partner, three pekin bantams and Bob the dog.
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash