BEXHILL SCHOOL

 

It was typical of the girl: give her an inch and she'd seize a mile.

He and her mother had gone away for a few days and for the first time, instead of sending her to stay with one of her uncles, he'd thought she was old enough, and responsible enough, to stay on her own. Both he and his wife had left strict instructions about what time she was to go to bed, that the place must be kept clean and tidy, and the few chores that needed to be done. It wasn't asking very much.

As soon as they got back, he realised something was up. The sitting room was littered with dirty plates and glasses, the cushions from the sofa were all over the floor, and - astonishingly - the TV was missing.

Now he heard the sounds from her bedroom: a game-show being broadcast at full blast. Presumably that's why she hadn't heard them come back and hadn't come down to greet them. Just then, her mother appeared.

"She's done nothing, nothing at all. The clothes are still in a heap, unironed, and you should see the kitchen: it looks as though a bomb's gone off."

"Right," he said grimly, fetching the strap from it's hook in the cupboard and mounting the stairs. He tapped briefly on her bedroom door and strode in. What he saw made him even angrier. She was lying on the bed, almost naked, munching a packet of crisps and goggling at the blaring TV which she'd brought up from the sitting room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" her father roared, clicking the TV off. He didn't wait for a reply.

"Get those knickers down, right down, to your ankles. Turnover, lie on your tummy," he ordered. He pushed her shoulders roughly down, raised the strap, and lashed it across her bare buttocks. She yelled as the leather bit into her soft cheeks, leaving a wide red stripe.

It took him almost five minutes before he was satisfied that she'd been properly punished, and even then he wasn't quite sure. He stood back, fingering the strap and wondering whether she needed a few more swipes as she howled great wet sobs into the bedcover.