What Have I Done? by Amanda Prowse

mile away from Francesca. Something stopped Kathryn from putting the two in touch. It was partly that she did not want to share her friend with anyone, knowing that she would have found it unbearable to hear of them having fun together without her. But there was also the unacknowledged fear that the two might sit over a cup of coffee or a glass of plonk and discuss her life. They mightcompare notes and between them reach the conclusion that nobody wanted to hear, especially not Kathryn.
    The day of Natasha’s arrival in her life was one that she would never forget. It had been an assembly day and the great and the good had gathered in Big Hall for the headmaster’s address and all the relevant notices. One or two pupils were decorated for achievements in music and foreign-verse speaking – the same four kids that were always honoured, in fact; kids whose talents were far reaching and renowned throughout the school. Kathryn was not convinced, however, that being able to speak Mandarin while fire juggling and completing a Rubik’s cube in record time was adequate compensation for having no mates. Mark had been rambling so much, loving the sound of his own voice and a stage on which to use it, that he had lost the pupils and most of the staff after about fifteen minutes, and she couldn’t recall the exact topic of his address now.
    As the staff filed out of the double doors and into the quadrangle, Natasha made a beeline for Kathryn, who was standing by herself, loitering and unsure of how quickly she could scuttle off without seeming impolite. These things mattered in a school like this; one had to be seen to be doing the right thing, at the right time and in the right way. Timing was everything.
    Kathryn watched the woman stride purposefully towards her and straightened her cardigan as she mentally prepared the answers to any questions that might be posed: ‘
Can you tell me where to find Art block C? What time is break? Where is the nearest staff loo?
’ But their first interaction could not have been more surprising.
    Kathryn saw both staff and pupils appraising Natasha as she walked away from them, quite unaware of the commotion she was causing – unaware or uncaring, Kathryn wasn’t so sure now. She wore a long, flowing, white cotton skirt andflat, clumpy sandals that looked like they had been made from recycled tyres and then painted pink. Her acid-green knitwear was unidentifiable as cardigan or jersey; it was more of a wool drape and was fastened at her shoulder with an enormous white flower. Her short brown hair was adorned with at least three hair clips, each with a sparkling butterfly attached – the sort of accessory you’d expect to find on a nine-year-old girl, but that was of no consequence to Natasha, who had seen them, liked them and so wore them. She was striking, different and fresh, and she looked lovely. It was as if she had not read the handbook of ‘What teachers in a school like this are expected to wear’ or, if she had, she had decided to disregard it. She made everyone and everything around her seem grey and dull and Kathryn would learn that this was something she achieved no matter what the occasion or the season. She was like light in a dark place.
    ‘Hi there, I’m Natasha Mortensen. Today is my first day, Art and Design.’ Her statement was confident and succinct.
    ‘Oh, yes! I knew you were coming, well, not you per se, but a new tutor. It’s very nice to meet you, Natasha. I’m Kathryn. Welcome to Mountbriers!’
    The two shook hands briefly, both a little uncomfortable with such a masculine greeting.
    ‘Thanks, Kathryn. I saw you in the hall and I have come to tell you that I’ve chosen you to be my friend because you look most like the sort of person that I would be friends with. Not like some of the antiques amongst that merry band. And what about that Mark Grade A Tosser Brooker! What an absolute arsehole! Does he ever shut up? Ye Gods – droning on and on. The kids were