Room 2D

By Tim Starfield from Februs 6 What am I doing here? Well, that’s two questions really, isn’t it. One practical, one psychological. To deal with the practicalities first. What I’m actually doing, right now, is looking intently at a small speck of dirt under the third fingernail of my left hand. I don’t suppose anyone else would notice it; it has only swum into my consciousness in the last thirty seconds or so, and I’ve been staring at the backs of my hands now for about an hour-and-a-half. I’ve also had plenty of time to inspect the rest of my rather limited field of vision. This comprises a white sheet, a brass bed-head, an expanse of white-painted wall, halfway up which there is a small Victorian photograph of an unsmiling family group. Mother, father, and two daughters, glowering glum and stiff-necked into the future. The frame is jet black. I can also see, on either side of the bed, that there is grey cord carpet on the fl...

From Uniform Girls 15 ‘Something has to be done. The reputation of the School…’ ‘There’s no need to go on, Mr Farley. As Head of Graingers, I hold our reputation most sacrosanct.’ Indeed I do, he said to himself. Lose your reputation and you lose a lot of fat fees. ‘Sorry, Head… I was only trying to point out…’ But the Head had lost interest in Farley and turned towards the third member of the Committee which sat around that table. ‘What do you think, Johnson?’ The man addressed was more mature than the others. Grey-haired, watery-eyed, with a weak chin. ‘We must be firm,’ he said, without any great show of resolution. ‘What do you mean by that?’ The Head leaned forward, arms on the table, hands clasping together. Johnson cleared his throat. ‘It is my view, we should deal with this matter ourselves. In private. Strictly secret.’ He paused. ‘I, and my colleagues, dealt with a similar incident — many years ago now.’ ‘A...