We went to school in the little village of Bramley, and there was a girl in our class an orphan. She lived with her grandmother, a very old and devout woman. Every Sunday the two of them walked to StMarys Church past the school, thin as twigs and wrapped in white kerchiefs, looking as fragile as fresh snow. Rumour had it that her grandmother forbade her to watch television, to eat sweets, even to laugh out loud, lest the devil get a foothold, and she made her wash her face with icecold water.
We used to tease the girl. She would look at us with a grey, faraway gaze and whisper, Lord, have mercy on them; they do not know what they are doing. No one befriended her; the others called her a bit daft. We called her Emily.
In my childhood the school canteen never served anything worth mentioning, except on Fridays when there were jam scones with tea or a sausage roll with a dollop of cocoa and a tiny chocolate bar. One Friday, as we were pushing Emily again, a boy gave her a hard shove. She stumbled into me, I collided with a tray that held glasses of cocoa, and the whole chocolate river spilled over two senior pupils.
Whoa there, they said.
Run, I shouted, grabbing Emilys hand, and we bolted for our own classroom.
It felt as if a pack of wolves and a herd of sheep were chasing us, yelping all the way. The next two lessons were maths. Behind the glass door two lanky figures loomed. Occasionally the door cracked open and two heads peered in, then disappeared again. I understood that a trial, a judgement and perhaps a punishment waited for us.
The trick is to slip out unnoticed, then I know a way up to the attic. Well hide there till dark and make a dash home, I whispered.
No, Emily answered, well go the proper way, as girls should, quietly and modestly.
But Emily, there are those theyll
What? What will they do? Pour kefir over our heads? Throw us out? Beat up the fifthform girls?
Well.
Even if they beat us, itll be only once. If we dont go, well live in fear every day.
We left the class with the rest of the girls, as proper girls ought, quietly. Two senior boys leaned against the wall.
Hey, little ones, lost something? one of them asked, holding my wallet with a Mickey Mouse picture on it and ten pounds for the swimming pool and art class.
Here you go, he thrust the wallet into my hand, and dont run off again.
I walked home, swinging my satchel, thinking how lucky it was to have such a new friend, how everything had turned out alright.
Shall I call my mum? She can ring your gran, get you out of school, and we can watch cartoons at my place. Or is that not allowed? I asked.
Emily rolled her eyes.
Lets go, well take the waffles with condensed milk that my gran baked today.
Our friendship lasted many years, until life scattered us across different continents. Yet I never forget that one day. Jumping from the high diving board into the blue mirror of the pool was terrifying, but terrifying only once. New things always scare us. Whats the worst that could happen? They might call me a fool, perhaps just once. If I keep worrying, the fear repeats every day.
You conquer fear the first time, or it lives with you for the rest of your life. The choice is yours.
