Educating Laura Ch. 03

Laura's lonely summer has improved thanks to a surprising offer from Richie, a fellow student visiting her, and finally making friends with two of the camp staff, Andy and Alison, breaking through their shyness and reserve.

Remaining chapters will also be in this category; note Chapter 5 contains mild mentions of BDSM and a couple bits of same-sex contact.

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It was the Friday afternoon after I'd said goodbye to Richie. Andy had continued to be the perfect gentleman companion, not letting on that he'd seen me nude. I suspected Richie was right -- Andy did fancy me, in the sense of liking my looks. Though I was equally sure he was much more interested in Ali, as a person. If he wanted a relationship at all, which he probably did once camp was over, it would be with her. I'd exchanged a couple brief texts with Richie, to reassure him I wasn't still pissed off with him, but left it at that.

Then a Range Rover pulled up at the gate. It had been Pete's afternoon off. Pete and his bike lay in the back.

"Shit, Pete, what have you done?"

He grimaced weakly. "Turned the bike too sharply to avoid the cliff; landed on my shoulder."

And the side of his face, it seemed. At least the helmet had protected him from much worse facial scraping on the gravel.

Jude took him to A&E. They returned from the hospital with some good news: nothing was broken nor even dislocated. Less good: it would have hurt less and heal faster if he had. That evening, Pete swore he could be a one-armed canoe instructor, twirling a paddle one-handed, shoulder and upper arm all strapped up, but when the drugs wore off and he couldn't sleep, Jude called his fiancée to collect him.

Meanwhile, Andy, Ali, Sam and I had headed down to London on the Saturday morning, dropping off one lot of kids, me and Ali both sleeping at Jude's messy place -- Ali managed not to cry, just -- then acquiring the next lot. Older kids, aged thirteen and fourteen. Which meant hearing endless uninformed discussion of porn, and incessant quizzing as to whether Sam, Ali and I were dykes.

"The idea's becoming better the more you yak on, mate," I told one kid.

His peers laughed at him. Result.

Ali and Andy's bus load had been worse, even. They'd had to pull over twice when kids started fighting. Andy ended up sitting in the front passenger row between two brats, keeping a hand on the kid who had to ride up by the driver.

"This is going to be one tough week," he said, as I ran to stop a boy smoking in his tent.

Gurda apologised as she drove away with a drugged-up Pete, who wouldn't be of any use this week.

"A week o' duty. No rest for the wicked." Of course -- no other men left, and a male worker needed to be available at all times. Poor Andy.

Our first activity was a stroll along the valley to the swimming area.

One lad, Dwayne, was even more obnoxious than the usual, not just pushing and jostling, but actively trying to trip up other kids and staff. We finally reached the small beach, half of the crew still on the narrow cliff walk, ten feet above the water.

Which was when Dwayne turned round and pushed Ali into the river.

Sam dropped herself down after her.

We were lucky -- the water there was deep enough to break her fall, but not so deep as to be dangerous when Ali struggled to swim in her clothes. She spluttered as she came to standing, trying to figure out how she had fallen.

Andy, who had seen exactly what had happened, advanced upon Dwayne with menace.

Dwayne pulled out a knife. At least it was pointing at the one person totally unfazed by it.

"Aye, right, ya wee fuckin' fud. So you've another blade you dinnae hand in earlier, aintcha clever? You too feart to fight me without, is that it? Drop it, an' away an' boil yer heid, ya wee shite!"

I ushered all the other kids away. I had to trust Andy knew what he was doing. Unnerving the brat with a torrent of Scots dialect was a good start, I guessed. Dwayne might not comprehend the words, but the unimpressed tone was crystal clear.

Andy made it look easy, in the end. The teenager advanced one arm, wobbling with nerves. Andy grabbed it with both hands, twisted, and kicked Dwayne's feet out from under him. The boy dropped the blade as he fell to the ground.

Andy and Jude frog-marched Dwayne back to the camp. I picked up the knife for safe-keeping. None of the kids dared joke about it.

Sam, Ali and I stayed with the other kids as long as we could, hoping they would tire themselves out in the water. Nearly two hours later, we marched them back, anticipating dinner.

First, there was a small matter of a tent on fire. As I ran up, Dwayne dived out of the flaming entrance flaps, somersaulting like a performing poodle.

Andy legged it over with a bucket of water, followed by a couple kids with another. Andy's obsession with maintaining the bathtub full of water had paid off.

"What the sweet fucking fuck were you doing?"

Dwayne shrugged. "Was bored. Setting fire to things is fun, innit."

Jude and Andy nodded at each other, eyeing the minibus. Dwayne would have to be returned to London. Too much of a risk.

"But we need Andy here!" That was both me and Ali, feeling the weight of our inexperience.

"I'll go with Jude," Sam said. "I can handle one little fucker."

Dwayne's suitcase was dumped in the minibus. Andy frisked him.

"Oi, you perv, don't you trust me?"

"No. Funny, that," Andy retorted.

The three of them drove off.

The rest of the kids collectively exhaled. So did I.

Back to my area of competence. "Right, folks, that's all the excitement for the evening, I hope. Dinner! Someone bring me three of those cans of beans. You -- get a stick and get a potato for everyone out of the fire. I don't know, count! You and you -- give everyone a plate. Ali -- get cutting cheese, would you? We can do the sausages in a bit, with bread.

Once fed, a somewhat lengthy meal in multiple stages, Ali and Andy erected the spare tent for the lad who'd been sharing with Dwayne. He swore he had no more lighters or matches, followed by swearing at thus having to quit smoking.

"You're thirteen. Get over it," I told him.

Turned out, he was scared to be by himself. So we put three kids in the staff tent to sleep and resigned ourselves to using the small one for the week.

I was knackered already.

At least the kids were in bed.

Until two boys tried sneaking into a girls' tent. I got the impression Andy had only just resisted smashing their heads together.

"This week is going to be murder. Isn't there any way to replace Pete?" I asked Ali, as I warmed myself by the fire.

"How? We've got no budget! Agency people are always useless, anyhow."

"Bloody hell. Any ideas, Andy?"

"Mm? A miracle? Pete might have had a list of some other potential student volunteers, but I don't know where."

Bummer. Then I had an idea.

"You could use a student?"

"Sure. Like you. Why?"

"Richie's a student. And probably free for the week."

Andy blinked his long dark eyelashes. "Male. Could do it. It's a fine idea, love." Then a defeated sigh. "But I cannae drive you to anywhere with phone reception. Two of us need to stay here, one of 'em me." At this hour, Mr Jones's phone was for 999 levels of emergency only.

"I can run down to the pub to call him. It's only a mile! I'll take two torches."

"Aye, right. Huh. He's a qualified lifeguard with a CRB, he said?"

"Aye." It was catching. "He said he'd wangled paid lab work from the week after next, so didn't really need to work this, just wanted out the house..."

"Well, we would certainly be that!" Andy seemed to be on board. He'd liked Richie, I recalled.

"You reckon he can handle it?" Ali was less certain, probably more wary of Jude's reaction to a fait accompli. Jude was in charge of the camp and activities, while Pete ran the London centre and its budget.

Andy scoffed. "He's got that scornful look and a giant helping of don't-give-a-shit. He's sound. Aye, try anything to persuade him, Laura. We can cover his train fare, pick him up from Hereford if necessary."

I jogged down the pitch-dark dirt road towards the pub, idly wondering what Andy meant when he said 'anything'.

Three-quarters of the way there, my phone beeped to confirm I had reception, so I collapsed on a log and called Richie.

No answer on the mobile, so I rang his parents' house.

"This is a bit late, isn't it? Really!"

It was gone eleven, I realised. I explained it was an emergency, in my best posh parent-soothing tones. I'd last used that voice when I'd taken a dozen younger kids to a theme park, frisked them before leaving, then assured the police I'd 'found' the twenty credit cards, so we could all get home on time. They'd pretended to believe me. I'd let Sam give the children a severe bollocking. She was qualified.

Mrs Pardoe eventually let me speak to Rich, who had already picked up the extension. I explained our sticky situation.

"Male crew member needed, tent provided? No problem."

"You'll be sharing with me. There's no spares, now the one's burnt down."

"Oh noes, the hardship! I said, no problem. See you in Monmouth tomorrow afternoon. Call me for an ETA after lunch."

"We can pick you up from Hereford -- you don't have to get the bus."

"I said, Monmouth. A week. Not a problem. You go tell Andy and Ali. Bet they're snuggling up happily in that wee tent!"

"Right, out of exhaustion!"

"As I said. You watch, see. Bye." He hung up.

Startled, yet enormously relieved, I turned round and set off to wander wearily back to the camp. Where was the farmer when you wanted him, eh? He drove past in his Land Rover just as I reached our field. Typical.

"Well?" Andy queried.

Richie might have been right about Andy and Ali curling up closer together than necessary in the small tent. Though Ali was definitely asleep when I arrived.

"Richie will get to Monmouth tomorrow afternoon. Let's hope Sam and Jude get back soon."

"Mm. I wouldn't blame them for sleeping back at Jude's and coming back in the morning," Andy said. "Right, who's sleeping wi' me tonight?"

I shook Ali awake. "Al, you've had a rough evening. Go get some peace and quiet until we wake you," I told her. She often got migraines or something, and needed extra sleep, so I guessed it might be good.

She shrugged and didn't argue. We waited until her light disappeared safely into her tent.

"Best get some kip, aye? Some of them fuckers are going to wake up screaming when the birdsong starts." They always did.

I lay down in the institutional sleeping bag. So much for a bed, the usual perk of being on night duty. On the other hand, Andy's warmth and reassuring deep breathing were always appreciated. Especially now we were in a small tent, close together. I could smell his fresh male sweat. Pungent but gorgeous. Beautiful black curls round his brown face, long dark lashes laid down under his eyes, sexy stubble over his chin.

I could have admired that face for a good long while, only a foot away. But with all the drama and exercise, I, too, was rapidly out like a light.

Until around six am, when we heard not only birds but children.

Time to get the fire blazing up again, provide hot drinks for all, get kids toasting bread over the fire and trying porridge, anything to keep them happy until Mr Jones came down with the tray of fresh eggs and a pack of bacon.

I could start frying mushrooms and tomatoes, but generally the kids never wanted to try any, not until later in the week. At least there were baked beans.

There were always catering-size tins of baked beans. Endless small white beans in dilute tomato cheap sauce. After this summer, I would avoid bloody baked beans for years.

Check on the kids, count them, learn the rest of their names, discreetly deal with someone who had wet their sleeping bag in the night -- there was always one. This week, only from spilling a bottle of lemonade, which was an improvement. One advantage of the older age group. I decided that, personally, I'd prefer more piss and fewer knives.

After a leisurely breakfast and many cups of tea, we told the kids what was up. The farmer had confirmed Sam and Jude would be driving back this morning, so we would have to start the first activity by ourselves.

"Thank fuck, it's caving. So we just have to get the wee fuckers down there and hand them over to the experts."

"Let's walk down the other side of the river." Away from the cliff edge, I meant. "The rope bridge will be enough excitement for day one."

So we set off early, coaxing all the kids across the swaying bridge across the river. It had two planks side by side to walk along, but otherwise was made of ropes. Netting prevented anyone falling through, but enough of the rushing water below was visible that the kids were often scared. This week, only two needed a strong arm to help get them across.

Once over on the other bank, it further reduced the chances of any of them running away. That was always my number one priority.

We took our time, admiring various ducks and flowers and watching small birds. In due course we reached the opening of the local cave network. It really wasn't impressive to anyone who had been caving before -- you could go in a loop in twenty minutes. With roping up all the kids, ensuring they all knew how to use torches, shuffling them all along and calming down someone's inevitable hysterics, it always took nearly two hours.

One large cave, two-thirds of the way round, had some mildly-impressive stalactites and minor stalagmites, a few salt crystals and an underground pond. It was a good place to get the kids admiring something they had never conceived of before. Doling out chocolate always helped with that bit.

"Hallo, Andy and friends! This your lot? Only nineteen, or am I wrong? Oh, good. Any of you coming with us? Here's your boiler suits, then."

Ali offered. She liked the exercise. I'd done the circuit a few times and was very happy to opt out -- crawling through mud under a rock that was touching my face wasn't really my idea of fun.

"I'll stay here with Laura," Andy said.

Once the last qualified caver disappeared at the end of the line, Andy visibly exhaled. "Phew."

"Yeah."

We sat down on rocks in the sunshine. It was a rare chance to relax, with no kids about. I soaked up the warmth, brain-dead. After around twenty minutes of silence, Andy lit a cigarette, and offered me one.

"No, thanks."

"Ah, I shouldn't tempt you, but after this day..."

"Too right. I'm impressed you manage to smoke only a couple times a week."

He shrugged. "Used to not having the chance, I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah. Aye, you wouldn't know. Huh. Truly, you din' ken what I was up to, before getting taken on by this lot?"

"I'd noticed you don't talk about it. I'd vaguely guessed... military?"

He clearly found that amusing. "Heh. No way."

"So...?"

"I was inside. Served five years." He took a deep drag of his fag.

"Oh." What should I say? "Bit different from the army, then?"

"The jail? Aye, no travel! But, though: full of men with too much testosterone and nae qualifications. And uniforms. And the shite food. Not so different, I suppose."

There was the obvious question hanging between us. I'd heard you weren't supposed to ask, but Andy told me anyway, after another long pause, smoking half his Mayfair.

"Armed robbery. Plus a pile of previous, for being a wee scrote wi' no sense. I could have been out a year, even two, earlier, if I'd shown good behaviour at the start."

"Did anyone get hurt?"

"Nah. Don't think the guns could even fire. Replicas. They might have been re-tooled, but why bother? Whole thing was a daft plan, but I'd drunk enough to be led along... The jail wasn't all bad -- once I stopped beating people up thinkin' I was keeping them off me, I used the library, got me Standard Grades, then a few Highers. Wanted to start with the Open University, but I was about to be released so they wouldn't let."

"What did you miss? Was it really boring?"

"Ah, we had a wee TV, and the newspapers. It's the loss of freedom. You wouldn't understand."

I chuckled. "I dunno! I got sent to boarding school, age ten. OK, technically you're not locked up, but you've seen these kids -- we weren't going to try walking out across the dark fields to the nearest town... Everyone always said it was good practice for prison! We had bars on the windows, too, in the junior dorm. White-painted, though."

"Ah, white paint. Makes all the difference." His sarcastic humour wasn't that different from Richie's.

"The food was shit, too. It's why I learnt to cook. Amazing what you can do with a kettle, toaster, microwave and someone's smuggled-in hot plate."

"Amazing what you can do with hot water pipes, too."

I nodded. "We tried with just those, in the juniors. Not really warm enough. The senior boarding houses were better."

"Mm. Or privs from behaving, in my case. Allowed a kettle, once they didn't think you'd use it as a weapon. Let me tell you, love, you really appreciate the first mug of tea you've made in a year. Not to mention the packet noodles."

"Oh, man! Doll Instant Noodles with the wee sachet of powder!"

"That's them. Course, chicken was the only edible one."

"Oh, come on! Wonton flavour, man!"

"Now, that's fighting talk!" Andy stubbed out his cigarette and put the fag-end in a little tin. "I knew we had very different backgrounds, but wonton flavour noodles? I don't think I can be getting over that..."

"Chicken filth pervert!" I told him, equally indignant. "No, it's OK as long as we agree the vegetable ones are shit."

He laughed, put his arm round me. "You're all right, Laura." I definitely rated as a friend, not just colleague, now.

It occurred to me, he'd never asked why I was living on a camp site, either. I could tell him, but he'd probably guessed my family life was a right downer.

"Tell me," he said.

"Mm?"

"Girls' boarding schools. Was it really the hotbed of lesbian action they lead you to believe in the films?"

"You been nicking porn videos off the youth again? Sadly, no."

"None at all?" Definite disbelief on his face.

"Well -- I can't speak for everyone of course, but if you're surrounded by people you've known since they were eleven... I mean, it would be like shagging your sister! Yuck! And it was something people kept very quiet, if they were gay or wondering..."

Certainly I'd never let on to a soul. Not even my best friend Sonya, until after we'd left.

"Shame. I mean, I knew a whole classload of nymphos wasn't going to be real..."

"Oh, that's realistic enough! You should have seen some of the sixth-form mixers!" He looked confused; I'd forgotten he was Scottish. "Last year of school, in England. Everyone's eighteen, then they'd ship in coachloads of equivalent boys for dances or choir or whatever social event. They'd pre-load with booze, certain teachers would spike the punch if forced to be on duty... we'd have a few drinkies first, too... Anyway, I've seen some terrified lads surrounded by posses of lairy drunk girls in heels and their Little Black Dresses... not to mention one poor housemaster. Took three of us to pull one girl off from sucking his face!"

Andy chuckled. "May I apply my imagination, now?"

"Pretty much! The worst scandal *had* been when some lads held a pissing competition up the wall, but then there was this one dance where half the attendees disappeared, because someone left a back door unlocked... When they came back in pairs, most of them looked extremely dishevelled!"

"But you were a good girl and didn't sneak out?"

"Me? No. I was horribly shy back then. I got a snog by the end of the night -- even saw the guy again -- and that was a big step forward!" Repressing any desire towards women probably hadn't helped.