Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [4]
It was always funny, fencing the lads. If they were new to the sport, they proceeded cautiously at first, as if out of some bizarre, modernist chivalry.
As if they didn’t want to hurt you. This attitude only served to make Donna or Caroline yet more determined. A few good hits would normally put them straight. Then the lad in question would get angry, lashing out with pure aggression, and at that point, it was effectively over. It took more than brute strength to counter Donna’s speed or Caroline’s unpredictable flair.
Donna seemed to revel in her victories over the young male fencers, reminding them later – and publicly – of their humiliation. Some would only sulk in response, but occasionally one would congratulate Donna on her ability – and turn this into a desperate attempt to pull. Once Caroline had watched Donna and David, a big second-year kid with a rogue’s smile and permanently bewildered hair, comparing bruises. David rolled up his sleeve, revealing the dull greenish circles on his upper right arm.
‘It was the only part of your arm you weren’t quite covering.’ revealed Donna, running an enquiring finger over a quite presentable biceps. ‘Still, you got me once, just above the waist. Fantastic parry.’
And she hoisted up her top, just enough to reveal her ruler-flat stomach and pierced navel.
‘I can’t see anything,’ said David, staring hard. And Donna grinned a grin that said, Exactly.
Caroline hated Donna. She seemed to remind Caroline of everything that was wrong with the world, embodying overwhelming popularity and disgustingly pure physical perfection. That Monday morning the sports hall was particularly stuffy, the feral stench of the boys’ changing rooms seeming to have seeped out and overpowered the entire building. The roof thrummed with disconsolate rain.
When the teacher announced her opponent, sweat immediately itched at the back of Caroline’s neck and prickled in her just-shaved armpits. She tugged at the neck of her jacket, then noticed Donna’s maskless eyes on hers.
Intent. Calculating. Searching for a weakness.
Caroline let go of her jacket, and tried to relax into the en garde position.
Through the dark mesh she aimed the point of the épée towards Donna’s face, watching her fiddle about with her bunched hair before pulling on her own mask. And Caroline remembered Donna’s cruelty. Every moment of it replayed before Caroline’s eyes.
6
‘Ready?’ snapped the teacher.
There was an almost unnoticeable nod from both fencers.
‘Play.’
Normally cautious, Caroline instead waded in with a succession of clumsy attacks. Donna used Caroline’s aggression against her, parrying instinctively, landing a couple of hits on her chest before Caroline really knew what was going on. She felt the round plastic breast protectors jam into her chest; she didn’t need to check for the light on the box at the centre of the piste.
Caroline forced herself to calm – how stupid it would be now to do what the boys always did and let emotion and angry sentiment get in the way.
Caroline got her first point back via a parry of such ferocity that Donna’s épée almost flew out of her hand. She followed it with a simple attack that seemed aimed towards the shoulder but which dropped down to Donna’s knee at the last moment. Two all.
After some half-hearted attacks and parries both attacked simultaneously, their shoulders jarring. ‘ Bitch,’ hissed Donna through the mask as they extricated themselves.
Now Caroline knew she was in the ascendancy, and two more points put this meaningless victory within reach. She had to remind herself of that: this was just a practice, not a tournament. It didn’t amount to anything – but to Caroline, just for an instant, it meant the world.
The final hit was on Donna’s mask. Momentarily her whole head swayed, like a cartoon character treading on a rake. Then, with a muffled cry that could have been surprise or pain, Donna