First Fruits Read Online Free

interesting - except the odd fat person maybe, bursting
out of their holiday clothes. Or just occasionally, this one woman who crops up
time and time again. Miss Jamieson says she's only there to give a sense of
scale.
    Meanwhile she is still waiting for
another hand. But who in their right mind would want to give up their free
periods, not to mention lunch breaks? There's no-one here with a Dad like mine
to steer them in the right direction. All the same, suddenly I become aware of
a little local difficulty beside me. It's Hilary, taking gulp after gulp of air
as though in distress.
    And you know why, of course. Ever since
I had put up my hand, she had been struggling. I can read her mind. Hilary likes her lunchtimes. She even likes school mashed potato and rice pudding,
though she tries to pretend otherwise. Best of all, she likes doing absolutely
nothing - and yet even that is difficult for her. One lunch break is taken up
with piano lessons, and another is Sewing for the Disabled in the domestic
science block, which she does because there are biscuits provided.
    Now there's Greek. Yet it's not as if
she's even any use at Latin. But Hilary has read all the books about girls at
school, going through everything together, sticking close no matter what. No
wonder she's having problems.
    And I can't resist it.
    I lean across the desk and whisper, 'I
thought you were supposed to be my friend.'
    Well you have to have fun sometimes.
Poor old Hills-are-Alive. A slow despairing look at me, then up goes her hand.
    Miss Jamieson looks surprised, pursing
her lips which just for now are pale next to her skin, tanned by so much
unScottish, not to say Mediterranean, sun. Come to think of it, she looks quite
handsome, though you couldn't imagine anyone actually falling for her. Right
now, she's regarding Hilary in almost kindly fashion, the way she might some
poor animal she has found run over - before she pulls herself together and puts
it out of its misery. Miss Jamieson likes animals. She has a cat called
Cassandra that she mentions now and then.
    Then she remembers that Hilary is not a
cat and she frowns. 'Hilary Cross, I can't believe you have time for Greek.
You'll have no lunch breaks left to play with, child.'
    Now there's a surprise, Miss Jamieson
letting someone down lightly. When she could so easily have said, Hilary Cross
you don't have the brain for what Kate is doing . Hilary however puts down
her hand, and begins to perspire with sheer relief.
    But the relief only lasts a second.
Because now, behind us, we become aware of another hand climbing upwards,
calling attention to itself. Hilary freezes, then forces herself to turn round.
Sure enough, Lydia is holding up a scrawny wrist as though to test the air.
    Miss Jamieson smiles briefly. 'Lydia?'
    But the only sound that answers her is
the soft thud of Hilary's head hitting the desk in despair.
    Which Miss Jamieson ignored. She writes
down Lydia's name, and then drops the subject. I don't believe she wanted more
than two anyway. This was to be her treat to herself, teaching Greek. Can you believe
it?
    Trust Dad to know all about it. One
conversation, that's all he needed. He can do that, get people to tell him
things they would never dream of letting on to anyone else. He knew Miss Jamieson
was just itching to teach Greek.
    The trouble is, then you have to ask
yourself why I have to be the one who has to go and learn it. I mean, who in
their right mind would choose to learn Greek? (Well there's Lydia of
course. But then, she's hardly what you would call normal.)
    The answer is simple. Anyone can go to
school and learn French, or German or whatever. But I'm his daughter, and that
changes everything. That's what he says. It changes everything . That's
the reason for the Greek. It's important to have something special, something
no-one else has got, something that marks you out. He realised this when
he taught himself Greek years ago, Hebrew too.
    So that's why I will be learning