Lowewood Academy

There is something particularly poignant about the realisation that you are doing something for the last time.  I felt almost reverential as I got my kit ready for the National Athletics Championships - threading new laces in my trainers, folding my freshly laundered trackies and hoodie and laying out my energy gels, Lucozade powder, sun cream, Lowewood headband and all the other paraphernalia associated with racing.  It was a routine that had to some extent dictated my life for the last couple of years as I’d got stronger and faster and the array of medals hanging off the bookshelf had steadily grown.  My running vest hung in front of the window, purple with purple and yellow trimmings with the Lowewood crest on the front and ‘FIRST TEAM’ emblazoned on the back in capital letters.  I couldn’t believe that it was two years since my first appearance in the firsts at this same race two years ago, though I could remember just how nervous I’d felt.  I’d finished fourth in the final and just missed out on a medal, which wasn’t bad for a fifteen year old.  Last year I’d won silver but this year I badly wanted the win, it was probably my last chance.

The problem with running is that it’s not inherently a team sport.  Unlike rowing or hockey where you all have to work together the responsibility for victory or defeat lies solely upon your own shoulders.  Winning comes at a price and it’s your decision whether or not to pay it.  The cost is taken in hours of training, breaking defeats, sweat, torn muscles, tears and early nights.  I’d done my best to measure up but wouldn’t know until I was out there on the track whether or not I’d done enough.  No one could say that I hadn’t tried; this year had been a chronicle of early morning runs, rushed lunchtime sprints and late night training sessions to fit in enough running around the pressures of hockey, rowing, music and school.  My average day saw me training twice, on a good day three times – I couldn’t have done any more, not that it made me feel much better.

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What a year.  Looking back I can’t quite believe all that has happened over the last three terms. I also find it hard to recognise the Harry Mallinson that I was back in September.  I’ve changed, and hopefully changed for the better.  It was what happened to Dad that brought that change about but when I look back it’s not Dad that comes to mind - it’s four different girls.

The first is Susannah Meadows.  She was foisted on me as my fag. I’m not sure who was more displeased about the arrangement – her or me.  I guess I’m still pretty fussy about how I like the room ordered and my stuff taken care of but back then I was a nightmare about it. Susannah was the first girl at Lowewood that I had to punish.  I still remember it very clearly.  I used a wooden spoon that I had brought in from home and it proved to be very effective.  She ended up in tears and with a very red bottom. It wasn’t the last time that she would find herself in that state. Indeed during that first term I must have spanked her two or three times a week at least. She hated being punished, especially when I applied the hairbrush to her bare bottom. But I considered that it was my duty to discipline her, her tears meant nothing to me. That it was also a pleasure to spank her, that it excited me every time was something that was rather more troubling to me.

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“Oh my God, we look amazing!”

The four of us crowded together in front of the full-length mirror in Gabby and Pippa’s room and I couldn’t help agreeing with Lydia’s summary.  One redhead, one blonde, two identical brunettes; all wreathed in grins, hair swept up and pinned, ballgowns brushing the floor in a rainbow of colour.  Pippa looked gorgeous in flowing powder blue chiffon; Lydia was stunning in a strapless sheath of purple satin, so dark it was almost black.  And my twin and I wore matching dresses: strapless taffeta gathered at the waist in a rose motif before dropping in a waterfall cascade of material to the ground.  Gabby’s was a dusky pink, mine in lilac.  Our accessories were reversed – cruel, I know!  But for this, the last big dressing-up event of our time at Lowewood, the Delameres were going as a team!

A rap at the door drew a round of girly squeals!

“Our dashing knights have arrived!” cried Pippa.  “Come hither, dashing knights!”

The handsome quartet joined us, each proffering a single, fragrant red rose to his partner for the evening.  Miss Marwood would be proud of them!

I don’t know what it is about a tux, but guys just look so different when they’re all dressed up too.  Much more…grown up.  Alex ap Iorwerth led the parade, sweeping Pips into his arms, all full of manly charm.  Sweet David hesitated only a moment in working out the Delamere conundrum before greeting the correct twin first!  Ned took Lyds on his arm with all his usual rakish ease.  And Chris, my lovely Chris, had eyes only for me…

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