Chapter 7
‘You were up early,’ Charlotte says, as Oxana peels off her sweaty T-shirt.
‘I went for a run.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. It’s beautiful by the river in the early morning. I ran for miles.’
Georgie stares at her. ‘What time did you get up?’
‘About five.’
‘Fuck me. You’re keen.’
‘I like to keep fit.’ Oxana twists her hair into a ponytail. ‘How long ’til breakfast?’
‘Five minutes, tops,’ Charlotte says. ‘You have to get to the dining hall early, otherwise the good food runs out and there are just scraps and dregs left.’
Oxana frowns. ‘Can we go down now?’
‘Not like that,’ Georgie says. ‘It’s full uniform at meals.’
‘Can’t I go in a tracksuit?’
Georgie and Charlotte glance at each other nervously. ‘Puss would skin you alive,’ Charlotte says.
‘Puss?’
‘Miss Catley. She’s a stickler for uniform. And hair. You have to have a proper bun.’
‘At breakfast?’
Both girls nod.
‘Can you show me?’
As Georgie de-pills her regulation cardigan with a LadyShave razor, Charlotte addresses herself to Oxana’s hair.
‘The bun has to be low, and in line with your ears. Georgie, pass me some kirby grips, and see if you can find a blonde hairnet.’ With practised fingers she whips the arrangement together.
‘I have to do this every day?’ Oxana asks.
‘Yes. And this is just the basics. You can put slides and combs in, but they have to match your hair. And I’m afraid those ear studs will have to come out. You can put them back in in the evening, after tea. Otherwise it’s flesh-coloured underwear only, 15-denier beige tights, flat shoes…’
Gradually Oxana is made presentable, and when both girls have submitted her to a rigorous inspection, the three of them make their way down to breakfast. ‘Cereals over there,’ Georgie says. ‘Tea and coffee over there, and if you want hot food, join the queue.’
When Oxana reaches the cereal table, she discovers that the cornflake packets are empty.
At the far end of the dining room a tough-looking young woman has a packet under her arm, and as Oxana watches, she sits down and heaps cornflakes into her own bowl.
Crossing the room, Oxana draws herself up beside her.
‘Please,’ she says. ‘May I have some of those.’
The student frowns. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then do us a favour, love, and sod off.’
Still smiling, Oxana grabs the young woman’s bun, twists it until she’s gasping in pain, then wrenches her head backwards so that she and her chair fall backwards to the floor. Placing a foot on her victim’s throat, Oxana takes her bowl of cornflakes. ‘Thanks, love.’
The other occupants of the table stare at her open-mouthed. ‘Who are you?’ one of them whispers.
Oxana smiles. ‘I’m the new girl.’