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The Taming Of The Tights
Louise Rennison
The tights run wild and free in this hilarious new novel from the Queen of Comedy!Tallulah Casey is putting all thoughts of wild boy Cain behind her. He is literally an animal in trousers… oo-er. Not like nice boy Charlie (who she’s totally not thinking about either).The Tree Sisters are chasing those golden slippers of applause at performing arts college but Dr Lightowler seems hell-bent on spoiling everything for Tallulah.And with all her mates loved up, can Tallulah resist the call of her wild boy?
Copyright (#ulink_1fd09708-3f09-531f-9176-1610f010ba2b)
First published in Great Britain in hardback
by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2013
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
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Copyright В© Louise Rennison 2013
Source ISBN 9780007323920
Ebook Edition В© July 2013 ISBN: 9780007476404
Version: 2018-07-16
Dear Eagle-eyed mates,
Some of you may remember that in �A Midsummer Tights Dream’
I hilariously (in my opinion) mentioned that my mum and sister
would not let me have the dead rabbit in Cain’s hand wave its
paw bye-bye to Tallulah.
I said at the time (and I’m not wrong) that it is a tip-top comedy idea.
But oh no – my so-called family said it would make me seem �childish’ – which clearly I am not. Anyway, I hid this book from them so
the crying rabbit is in, see here (#ulink_a498d4b7-f1bc-51d0-8a9b-2b014448a552).
So ha ha ha ha for calling me childish.
Peace.
To my Family Tree and my Tree Sisters and Tree Brothers and
to the various saps – I mean – saplings. Also to the naughty
Skipton Flossies (Katie and Eve).
And of course to the Tree Doctors with their Tree pruning,
Tree mulching and their Tree hugging: Gillie, Lizzie, Tara,
Elorine, Clare, Cassie (actually officially a sap) and Gillon xxxx
CONTENTS
Title Page (#u7bf01355-2fc4-53fe-8588-a2f994733565)
Copyright (#u2d01843a-82bd-5796-86a0-3b66c05c769e)
Dedication (#u47ad8f04-2432-592f-862f-6b07b541deab)
Chapter 1: Filling my tights again
Chapter 2: Lullah’s Lulu-luuuve List
Chapter 3: Return of the lunatic twins
Chapter 4: Snogs ahoy!
Chapter 5: The Blubberhouses Large Ladies Who Pole Dance For Fun Society
Chapter 6: Boy Ambush
Chapter 7: You don’t want to do any more winking back
Chapter 8: The fire escape of desire
Chapter 9: I’ve eaten snail shells
Chapter 10: Snogging and Jazzles
Chapter 11: The magic of puppetry
Chapter 12: Return of the beast in trousers
Chapter 13: See you there, cheeky miss
Chapter 14: My inner snogger
Chapter 15: Naughty bumberskite
Chapter 16: The church bells of doom
Chapter 17: Should I put nail varnish on my hoofs?
Chapter 18: The Dark Black Crow of Heckmondwhite
Chapter 19: He’s got the right amount of lip
Chapter 20: Praise the knees!
Chapter 21: Fir-cone earrings and knitted onesies
Chapter 22: The Taming of the Tights
Extract: The Corker-holding with winter socks scene
Georgia’s Ace Gang Snogging Scale
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 1 (#ubc3cfcec-62d4-5d61-97ef-455067d783e5)
Filling my tights again (#ubc3cfcec-62d4-5d61-97ef-455067d783e5)
Woo-hoo! And chug-a-lug-a-ding-dong. I’m on the train, chugging back to Dother Hall, the Theatre of Dreams.
Once more getting ready to fill my performance tights! Chasing the golden slippers of success! Preparing to let my feet bleed if necessary. That’s what Sidone Beaver, our headmistress, says we must do if we want to be stars in the thea-tah, dahlings!!! And this term I’m going to fill my tights as much as is humanly possible!!!!
Who would have thought that I, me, Tallulah Casey, a gangly Irish person, would be back here for the autumn term at a Performing Arts College in the heart of the famous Dales of Yorkshire? Ooh, I think we’re stopping at Skipley station. I’ll get my case down and hop off.
Uuuumph. Jumping Jehosophat and his dad, it’s bouncing down. Skipley is famous for its otters. I’m not surprised. If this rain keeps up, I’ll be part otter by Wednesday.
Skipley is so proud of its otters that the station sign reads Skipley Home of the West Riding Otter.
But last time I was here some Yorkshire hooligan altered the sign so it read Skipley Home of the West Riding Botty.
Honestly …
I am squelching across towards it. That’s where Cain was standing when I left at the end of last term. Cain Hinchcliff. Local bad boy made … er, bad.
I remember him winking at me as the train pulled out. With his dark hair whipping around his face and his dark eyes looking and looking at me. Licking his lips. Holding a dead rabbit in his hand. Making the dead rabbit he had in his hand wave its paw at me. And rub its eye with its paw as if it was crying.
He thinks that kind of thing is funny.
I dragged my case along the platform towards the sign. I hope it’s been cleaned up because it doesn’t give a very good impression of the … Hang on a minute, the hooligan has been at it again! Now the sign reads Skipley Home of the Brest Riding Otter.
That is just wrong.
That shouldn’t be allowed.
What if American people were on the train? They have a seizure if you say prat.
I left the station and trundled across the bridge to catch the bus to Heckmondwhite. Brrr, I am absolutely soaking now. The rain has got in through the front of my anorak and jumper and into my new bra. Or new �corker holder’ as me and my friends say. I hope my corkers don’t shrink.
Hahahaha. What larks! I’m going to put �corker shrinking’ in my Performance Art Diary, or as I call it, my �Darkly Demanding Damson Diary’. Under �Ideas for Modern Dance’.
A bus flew round the bend and screeched to a halt. The warm, welcoming bus opening its welcoming doors to welcome me back to my …
A cloud of smoke billowed out. The driver was smoking a pipe. Uh-oh, I recognised that balaclava. It belonged to Mrs Bottomley. She did part-time bus driving as well as cage fighting in Leeds. I said, “Single to Heckmondwhite, please.”
Mrs Bottomley repeated �single to Heckmondwhite, please’ in a horrible posh simpering way as she slammed the ticket down. Then she said, looking down at my legs, “Keep those bloody legs off my seats AND mind how you go!”
She accelerated violently before I had time to sit down and I fell onto the lap of a bloke with a guide dog.
I said, “I’m really sorry but the bus …”
He said, “Is it full then, the bus? Is there nowhere else to sit? You’re a bloody big lad. My legs’ll be numb by the time we get to Heckmondwhite.”
At a red traffic light I staggered to a spare seat.
Everyone on the bus was looking at me and grumbling. “From that bloody Dither Hall”, “simpleton, I think”, “they’re allus messing about in beards and tights. Sitting on blind people’s knees … bloody daft.”
It was raining so hard you couldn’t see the road ahead. It didn’t make Mrs Bottomley slow down though. There was a bump and I thought I saw a sheep fly past the window, but I can’t be sure. Then as we passed Grimbottom Peak it stopped raining and a watery sun came out and a little rainbow appeared.
Ooooooh, maybe the rainbow was a sign.
A sign that everything was going to be all right. All of my hopes and dreams would come true. I’d become a star but, more importantly, get a proper boyfriend. Oh, and also I’d have a corker growth spurt. Not just one corker. Both, I mean.
When we stopped at my bus stop, Mrs Bottomley was cleaning her nails with a penknife. She didn’t look up as I got off but she said, “Our Beverley dun’t like thee, so that meks me not like thee. Watch your sen, lady. Walls have ears and radishes repeat.”
I got my case down from the bus and there before me was Heckmondwhite in all its glory! The autumnal light shining on the bus stop! The village green! The shop! The church! And the pub – The Blind Pig.
My substitute parents the Dobbins, who I lodge with in term time, are away on a Young Christians’ Foraging weekend in Blubberhouses.
Harold and Dibdobs and the lunatic twins are nice but possibly the maddest people I have ever met. They’re away till tomorrow so I’m staying the night with my little mate Ruby at The Blind Pig. I’m really looking forward to seeing my fun-sized pal and her bulldog Matilda. Ruby told me that out of eighty breeds given an intelligence test, bulldogs come seventy-eighth. But that’s the intelligence-o-meter test not the love-o-meter test which Matilda would definitely win paws down.
What I am not looking forward to is seeing Mr Barraclough, Ruby’s dad. He’s the landlord of the pub but mostly chief tormentor of me and my legs – which I must admit sometimes have a life of their own. When I am nervous or excited they, my legs, well, they initiate Irish dancing. All by themselves. My brain has nothing to do with it. Also, because of my skinniness, Mr Barraclough keeps pretending I am a long lanky lad. In a dress.
In a nutshell, Mr Barraclough and most of the village people think that Dother Hall is for fools. That’s why they call it Dither Hall.
I went quietly in through the front door of the pub. There’s a real racket coming from the bar so I’ll just creepy creep up the stairs to Ruby’s room.
“Well, well, well, thank the Lord the thespians are back!!! I haven’t known WHAT to do with myself since tha left. By ’eck, is there a giant gene in your family, young man? You’ve sprung up again, haven’t you, lad! What are you practising being today? Dun’t tell me! Let me guess.” Oh dear. There he was. Ruby’s dad. In his leather trousers and Viking helmet.
He was looking at me, stroking his chin.
“Hmmm. Green trousers, rain hat, anorak. Big boots. Are you a Hobbit, is that it?”
I said, “Hello, Mr Barraclough.”
He put his hand to his ear. “Is that elfin you’re speaking?”
Just then Bob, the technician from Dother Hall, emerged from the �Stags’ door. He was also wearing a Viking helmet. Over his ponytail. He saw me and said, “Nice one, Tallulah. Great to see you back. Monday I’ll be there at Dother Hall, the dude with the know-how, the equipment king, the �facilitator’ … but tonight I’m the real me. The muso. The rhythm master. Be prepared for total madness. The vibe is going to be like awesome.”
Like awesome?
He went off into the front bar.
I said, “Why is Bob here?”
Mr Barraclough chucked me under the chin.
“Why is Bob here? Why is Bob here? I’ll tell you why he’s here, young man. He’s our new drummer for The Iron Pies. We are going to be a sound sensation. Good to see you back, young Bilbo.”
He went off into the bar shouting, “Hit it, lads!”
And an awful din of drums and guitars started up. It really did sound like Bob was just hitting things.
Ruby and Matilda came tumbling down from upstairs. Matilda was leaping up at my legs and Ruby was dancing around me, yelling, “It’s Tallulah-lebulla, Matilda, let’s mek her dance, do the dance, Tallulah-lebulla, do the dance!!!”
I said with dignity, “I don’t want to, you know I’ve sort of grown out of the Irish dancing thing.”
The Iron Pies crashed into their version of a James Bond theme. Mr Barraclough started singing, “From Russia with PIES I came to yooooooo.”
And Ruby had to yell over the top of it. “Oh, come on, just a little bit. For me! I’ll sing the Irish song. Hiddly diddly diddly diddle.”
So I let myself go. I did my Irish dancing. Ruby joined in and we were leaping and hopping around in the hallway. It was fun actually. There was no one to see me and I needed to relax so I let my knees go wherever they pleased.
When I was mid-hiddly, I noticed Matilda had got caught in the umbrella stand. Umbrellas were crashing around her. She looked up blinking at us. Ruby said, “What? What? Why are you blinking at me?’”
Then Matilda looked at the door and back at Ruby.
Ruby said, “No, I’m not taking you out now, it’s quiet time.”
Matilda started making a snuffling noise which sounded a bit like crying. Ruby gave in and picked her up.
“Oh, bloody hell, all right, Matilda, you daft ninny. Come on, I’ll tek you out, even though it’s going to be a tornado out there. C’mon, Lullah.”
She rammed a hat and coat on and dragged me outside with her. For an eleven year-old she’s quite strong.
Big black clouds were tumbling in again from Grimbottom and in the distance we could see lightning crackling. There was a rumble as we set off up the back path.
We reached the old tree with its branch that we sit on. Ruby pulled her coat round her and shouted above the gathering wind. “It’ll start pouring down in abaht five minutes so �go fetch!’ Matilda.” And Ruby flung a stick for Matilda to chase.
Matilda lay down like a splayed chicken.
Ruby said, “Oh, you!!! That’s not �go fetch’, is it? That’s lying down and dying for England!!!”
Ruby went running off into the bracken to get the stick, shouting, “And then you can start telling me abaht snogging and stuff, Lullah!”
Matilda’s not interested in stick fetching. She knows a stick is not a biscuit so why would she want to fetch it?
Gosh, it was wild up there with the lowering sky and the trees bending in the wind and the moors stretching off.
I sat down on the branch and snuggled into my anorak and put my hood up. I was sitting on the branch that HE had sat on.
I could feel his warm presence even through my anorak.
Alex the Good.
I was sitting where Alex the Good sat.
In a way, I was sitting on his knee.
Alex, Alex the Good. Ruby’s gorgey older brother.
I’ve got a bit of a crush on him. Even though he thinks I’m just a schoolgirl, he’s always nice to me. Really specially nice to me.
He’s not like the Hinchcliff brothers, Seth, Ruben and the other brother. Whose name I will never mention again. But the one who waved a dead rabbit’s paw. That one.
Yes, Alex is always nice to me, encouraging me to fill my tights. Not like Dr Lightowler the drama tutor who says, “Seeing you onstage makes me feel physically sick.”
Mmmmmm, Alex.
It was sunny when I last saw him, he was up here looking out to the moors. Like Mr Darcy. Only not in pantaloons and a ruffled shirt. He saw me and said, “Hey, Lullah!” and hugged me.
In a proper huggy way. I felt myself melt. I don’t mean I actually melted, I just mean … anyway, it doesn’t matter whether I melted or not. It was just me and him in Brontë country. Where Em Brontë wrote Withering Tights. It was a perfect opportunity for him to kiss me.
But then �she’ came wafting out of a field like a, like a twit. A twit in a floaty dress. He introduced us: “Meet Candice, she’s at college with me.” Then he kissed her on the lips.
Do boys like twits in floaty dresses? I haven’t asked Cousin Georgia that. She’s told me some number one rules that they do like. Boys, I mean.
Like when you want them to like you, you have to have �sticky eyes’. Not eyes with glue on, just eyes that do �looking up, looking down and then just looking, full-on looking at them’.
Georgia said you mustn’t accidentally do sticky eyes when a boy says something so stupid you are staring at him in disbelief. Because they will get the wrong impression and think that you actually like them. In an �I fancy you’ way.
Another top tip Georgia says is that boys like you to say nice things to them and praise them for stuff. Even if they unexpectedly do a back flip or something.
You have to say, “Golly, that’s the best back flip I’ve ever seen.”
I said to Georgia, “No fool would believe that you really liked people doing back flips.”
Georgia said, “Boys will. If you say something nice to them and give them praise, they are like jelly boys and you can do anything with them.”
My brother Connor thinks he is the world’s top farter. Which he probably is, but I’m not going to give him praise for that. Otherwise he’d do it all day.
He does do it all day.
I’ve got a photo from Georgia to remind me of her. I’ve stuck it in my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary. It’s of her and her Ace Gang sitting in one of those big teacups that go round and round at fairgrounds. They’re supposed to be for tiny toddlers. In fact, there were some little children in the background crying.
On the back of the photo it says, Send us the latest on the D. B. C. of H. Yours sincerely, A Friend. And some other friends. In our cups.
Georgia wants the latest on the D. B. C. of H who is Cain. He’s so awful I call him the Dark Black Crow of Heckmondwhite. But there won’t be anything to tell Georgia because I won’t be having anything to do with him.
EVER again.
Whoever he is.
And if I do see him, I’m going to make it clear that what happened, you know, the accidental snogging incident on the moorland path, was …
You know.
Erm, an act of madness brought on by low blood sugar.
Ruby and Matilda came bounding back. Suddenly there was a loud growling in the gorse. Ruby said hoarsely, “Maybe it’s a wild otter from Skipton? Gone mad. Say something to it. Calm it down.”
What do you say to otters?
Do otters go mad?
I said, “Ruby, how can it be a wild otter gone mad? You’ve just made that up.”
Ruby said, “It’s still rustling about, going to rip our throats out though, isn’t it? Make friends with it.”
Make friends with an otter? I called out shakily, “We come in peace, we mean you no harm.”
Cain’s big black dog bounded out with its tongue lolling. Cain calls his big black dog �Dog’.
Matilda shuffled behind Ruby and me. Dog thought she was playing a hiding game. His favourite. He barked and then rushed to one side of us. Matilda quickly toddled round the other side. But then Dog unexpectedly changed direction and he came up behind and started sniffing her bottom.
Ruby shouted into the dark moors, “Cain! I know you’re out there, stop messing abaht and come and get yer bloody dog. It’s got its nose up Matilda’s bum!”
Oh Dear Mother of Baby Jesus.
The Dark Black Crow of Heckmondwhite.
He was here.
What should I do?
I must be very cool with him.
Which is not going to be easy with my anorak hood up.
But nothing happened. There was no noise except the wind whistling and Dog sniffing.
Ruby shouted again, “Come on Cain, stop messing about.”
But the moors were silent.
Then Dog cocked his ear as if he could hear something we couldn’t and bounded off.
It started to pelt down, and we ran and stumbled down the hill, almost blinded by the rain.
By the time we got back to The Blind Pig, the rain was thunderous, pounding on the roof like it would break through. We got dried and had our supper in the back room. The Iron Pies were still �rehearsing’. Well, shouting and banging.
We went up the two flights of stairs and snuggled into bed in Ruby’s room high up in the attic. Matilda was tucked up at the bottom of the bed and Ruby put a little nightcap on her head. She almost immediately nodded off. Oooooh, she is sweet.
She reminds me of the owlets. Not her big puggy face and snoring, just the general feeling of lovey-doveyness.
I said to Ruby, “Hey, I’m dying to see the owlets. Shall we pop down to the barn tomorrow? Cor, I bet little Rubes and little Lullah will be pleased as anything to see us.”
Ruby started plaiting her hair.
“They’re not there. Connie has chucked them out. They’ve flown the nest.”
I looked at her.
“Our little owlets have flown the nest? But …”
Ruby said, “Well, when I say �flown’ the nest, what I mean is they’re crashing abaht in the woods somewhere. Tha’s nivver seen such rubbish flying in your life. Little Rubes knocked herself out on the barn door the first time she tried to get out.”
Our little owlets. Gone?
But they hadn’t even said goodbye.
Not even, “Woo-hoo, see you later.”
Ruby said, “And guess what, Beverley Bottomley has gone on hunger strike, and she says she won’t stop until her mum stops stalking Cain with her shotgun.”
I said, “Isn’t Beverley glad about the stalking thing? She must hate Cain after what he’s done to her. He’s awful. He dumped her twice. And he made that song up about her called Put your coat on, girl, you’re leaving. And the second line was �You were all right in the dark but then I put the light on’. At The Jones gig. He sang it straight at her. Everyone could see.”
Ruby said, “I know. But she LUUUUUVES him. She thinks he’s a dog wi’ a bad name.”
“He IS a dog with a bad name – that’s because he’s a bad dog.”
Ruby said, “I know. But you let Cain the bad dog lick your nose.”
Oh no, the nose-licking incident rears its head again! What would Ruby say if she knew about the accidental snogging on the moors incident?
As we lay in the dark with the wind howling and the rain sluicing down, I quickly said, “I wouldn’t like to be out in this. I hope the owlets have got little owl umbrellas.”
Ruby went on snuggling down. I couldn’t settle though, I kept thinking about Cain.
“Do you think he saw us – Cain? Do you think he was out there with his dog, watching us?”
I shivered.
Ruby said, “Mebbe. You know those Hinchcliffs. They can be anywhere at any time. Like a reight bad smell.”
As she said that, I nearly fell out of bed because there was a massive farty noise from Matilda. It was so loud it even woke Matilda up. Ruby went mad.
“Get down, Matilda!! Bad girl, you’ve let yourself down AND you’ve let the bulldog breed down.”
Matilda looked all shamefaced and tottered about on the side of the bed. She got tangled up in her nightcap and then one leg got stuck. It took so long that in the end Ruby unfastened the stuck leg and said, “Oh for goodness’ sake, get in bed again. And no more trumping.”
Matilda blinked sorrowfully at Ruby, who was still harrumphing about. “She hates it when I’m cross with her. Serves her right for trumping, she’ll worry all night and not get any slee—”
She was interrupted by little snuffling snoring noises from Matilda.
We settled down again.
I said casually in the dark, “Have you … er, heard how Alex, you know your brother … erm, is getting on?”
Ruby said sleepily, “Dun’t start that again. Anyway, I thought you liked that Charlie?”
Ah yes, Charlie. I do like that Charlie.
The boy from Woolfe Academy for naughty boys.
But he was gorgeous. Not naughty.
Well, not very naughty.
Where’s the harm in wiring up your headmaster’s door handle to a minor electrical circuit? As Charlie said, “It was just high spirits, an innocent schoolboy prank.”
Charlie was lovely in every way and had given me my very first proper kiss. It was dreamy but the only thing is he has a girlfriend already.
As I drifted off to sleep next to Ruby, lulled by the rain pattering on the roof, I dreamed of Charlie … Zzz
… I was up on the moorland path behind The Blind Pig. Looking through my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary. I was dressed in a black mini skirt and green tights. Thinking of doing a performance about being a person with corkers, not a silly schoolgirl any more.
Hmmmm, perhaps through the medium of dance I could show the things I’d learned from my wise Cousin Georgia.
How to do sticky eyes and �look interested’ when boys do things.
I started wafting my arms from side to side (in my dream, otherwise Ruby would have kicked me out of bed) and sweet music began floating across the moors. So lovely and magical and otherworldly, but somehow familiar.
I looked up into the tree where the music was coming from and …
… there they were, the owlets with tiny electric guitars. Hurrah!
Little Lullah was on rhythm guitar and little Rubes on bass. They were playing Dancing Queen by Abba!
I began to dance more wildly. Drawn by the inescapable rhythms of Sweden, lost in a world of my own.
The owlets turned up their amplifiers. (Not easy when you haven’t got any hands.)
I sang my version of Dancing Queen.
“Friday night and it’s got late
I’m out here without a mate
Got my new green tights on
You can see them from Skipton
They’re in the mood for a dance
And when I get the chaaaance …
I am the dancing queen
My Irish legs have a lovely sheeeen!!!!
Oh yeah, you can dance, you can …”
And I began to spin and kick wildly, I was doing my Irish dancing on a hillock to the cool sounds of The Owlets when … Charlie! There was Charlie!
He smiled his special smile and gave a thumbs-up to the owlets. Then he danced towards me. (In time to the music, but carefully as his lurex flares were quite snug.)
Charlie looked into my eyes and then lowered his lips towards mine. Just as he’d touched my lips with his, he drew back and said (in that weird slow voice like in dreams), “No … I caaan’t … I haaaaave a girlfrieeeeeend.”
And he got a tiny girl out of his pocket. She waved at me.
He left with the tiny girl in his hand and sadness filled my tights. The owlets played a slow version of Dancing Queen on pan-pipes.
But the show must always go on. That’s what Sidone tells us.
I began singing again, even though my heart was breaking.
“I am the dancing queen
My Irish legs have a lovely shhheeeeeen!!”
And someone started whistling along.
Who could this be?
Alex came up the path. In a flouncy shirt!
He danced towards me in time to the music and put his hand to my face. The frills on his sleeve temporarily blinded me. He said in a deep voice, “Hello, Tallulah, you’ve grown up. You are the dancing queen. Your Irish legs have a lovely sheen.”
Then there was a loud growling and Cain’s big black dog bounded out – ridden by Cain.
CHAPTER 2 (#ubc3cfcec-62d4-5d61-97ef-455067d783e5)
Lullah’s Lulu-luuuve List (#ubc3cfcec-62d4-5d61-97ef-455067d783e5)
I woke up on Sunday morning to the light pattering of hail on the roof. I feel a bit tired. As if I’ve been dancing to Abba all night.
Rubes and Matilda were snoozing nose to nose at the bottom of the bed. So I quietly crept downstairs and unbolted the door without anyone hearing me. The church bells rang for early morning service as I crossed the village green to the Dobbins’ house.
Dandelion Cottage looked sweet in the early morning hail. The trees in the garden were losing their leaves and a wisp of smoke came from the chimney. There’s some ducks in the garden, but no sign of little Lullah and Ruby. I hope they’re all right.
Would they even know how to build a nest? Could they catch stuff to eat?
I don’t think their mum Connie has really shown them domestic skills. I’ve seen her eat a mouse head first, but I haven’t seen her teach them grooming or home-making. Bit like my mum and dad.
When I opened the unlatched door into the kitchen, Mrs Dobbins looked up from the stove. Wearing a hat covered in dead leaves and brown stuff. She was so pleased to see me she started jumping up and down. And the hugging began immediately. She is very huggy.
“Oh, Tallulah, I have SO missed you!! You darling girl!! You’ve grown AGAIN!! Look at you! You are GORGEOUS. What a shame you’ve just missed the twins and Harold – they’ve gone to church. They’ve got Micky and Dicky with them because it’s Tortoise Sunday. Ooh, we’ve had foraging fun, we found a badger’s set. Thrilling!!! Harold followed the droppings … actually, he brought some home, I’m drying them in the airing cupboard so be careful with your undies. We’re going to make sculptures with them.”
I said, from underneath her arms, “That sounds, er, spiffing.”
Dibdobs kissed me on the hair.
“Oooooh, you smell soooo Tallulah-ish. The twins will be so pleased to see you. Are you coming to church?”
I said, “Er, well, I’d love to but, er, I haven’t got a tortoise.”
Dibdobs said, “The boys would let you hold Micky and Dicky, I’m sure! Or you could take a duck.”
I said quickly, “Ooooh, that would be nice, but I have to, erm, prepare myself for Dother Hall tomorrow. Check my tights and so on.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I understand. Do you like my hat? It’s got dried mushrooms in it.”
I said, “Gosh, yes, it’s spiffing. I’m just going to unpack. Toodle-pips for nowsies.”
Toodle-pips?
I’d turned into Mary Poppins. I don’t know why the Dobbins have that effect on me, but they do.
They are nice though, even if they’re mad. It’s nice to have someone so glad to see you. When I phoned Mum to tell her I’d got here last night, she didn’t even know I’d gone back to college. I said, “But didn’t you think it was odd that I didn’t say anything? Or eat anything?”
She said, “�Oh no, I just thought you were in one of your quiet moods.”
The Dobbins are not going to be back until teatime because they’re going to play table tennis in Pocklington after church.
I unpacked in my old familiar squirrel room, with its window looking out over the back woods. So many memories there. The last one of Cain leaving me a poem with a knife pinning it to the old oak tree.
Huh.
He needn’t think that writing a bit of a poem makes up for all those other things that I will never, ever be thinking about.
The nose-licking incident for instance or the corker-rubbing thing and the other terrible, terrible thing. That I will never, ever mention, even to myself.
I’ve put my private Darkly Demanding Damson Diary behind a secret panel next to my squirrel bed.
Then I had a hot chocolate and a mooch around downstairs. It looks like the lunatic twins have made a tortoise home for Micky and Dicky behind the sofa.
It can’t be made out of a cabbage, can it?
Yes, it is.
By eleven, the hail had eased off so I got togged up again to look around and see if I could find the owlets. Ruby’s curtains in the attic are still closed so she must be having a little lie-in.
I walked down the back path to the barn. There were no signs of life in there, just the old nest where the owlets had hatched. How sad. I shut the door and walked on past the back field.
The sheep started trying to get into the hedge when they saw me. If I didn’t know for a fact that they are very, very stupid, I would think that they remember me singing �The hills are alive with the sound of music’ to them last term.
I thought I’d go down to the river and look for the owlets there. I went to the little bridge, and I can see the path that leads up to Dother Hall. Underneath me is the Heck River. That Beverley threw herself in because of Cain.
Yes, there it is, the mighty Heck River, swollen to twice its depth by the incessant rain. So now it’s four inches deep. What a fool that Beverley is. When she threw herself into the river, she just ruined her frock. The water only came up to her bottom.
I wonder what size her bottom is now after her hunger strike.
Anyway I’m not going to be intimidated by the Bottomley sisters this term. I am, after all, fifteen and not a kid who …
And that’s when I saw them.
The Bottomley sisters.
Well, three of them – Beverley wasn’t with them.
Ecclesiastica, Diligence and Chastity were eating pies. In fact, Chastity had one in each hand. And it wasn’t even lunchtime. They were eating pre-lunch pies.
And I bet they’re having pies for lunch.
When Eccles saw me she said, “Oooh, look, it’s the long dunderwhelp.”
Chas said, with her mouth full, “My mum said she saw you, sitting on blind people on her bus.”
Dil said, “Come on, let’s go, she’s putting me off me pie.”
And they went past me, eating and giving me the evils.
Eccles turned back and said, “Oh, I forgot, our Beverley told me to give you this. So here you are, you lanky idiot.”
And she gave me a grubby bit of paper.
As they lumbered off, Ruby and Matilda came tumbling along. Ruby was out of breath. And Matilda had to have a little lie-down.
“I saw you. I drew me curtains, I was up in my room and I thought, ay up, there’ll be trouble. So we came to your rescue. What did the big daft lasses say?”
“They gave me a note from Beverley.”
Ruby said, “Can she write? Is it a death threat? Give us a look.”
She took the note from me and read it slowly, tutting, and then she said, “That Beverley can’t really do joined-up writing, but I think it says, �To the lanky streak of lard’.”
What?
Ruby said, “That’s you, Tallulah.”
“What is?”
“You are the lanky streak of lard.”
“What’s lard?”
“It’s fat made from bits of cow.”
Nice.
She went on. “Then it says, �If tha knows what’s good for thee tha’ll shut it and sling yer ’ook.’”
I looked at her as if she was speaking rubbish.
Which she was.
She explained, “Erm, well, in a nutshell it says, �Shut up and clear off.’”
Charming.
There was more. Ruby read out, “�He’s not interested in a bumberskite like you, it’s only because tha threw your sen at ’im and gallivant around like a tit.’”
“When have I ever done that? I don’t even know how to gallivant, let alone like a … and what is a bumberskite?”
Ruby had really got into it now. She went on.
“Yes, he, that’s Cain, isn’t interested in a bumberskite like you. Cain’s not interested in you because you’re like a sort of bum in a skirt.”
“Thank you, Ruby.”
“And secondly, because you threw yourself at him.”
I started going red. This was so awful.
“Threw myself at him? Threw myself at him!!!”
I was getting redder than red, this was a nightmare come true, then Mr Barraclough shouted from the pub, “Ay up, Ruby, it’s nearly dinnertime. Stop prattling with that big lad – next thing you know you’ll be wearing his clown shoes.”
Ruby started pulling on Matilda’s lead. “I’d better go before he sees his socks that Matilda ate.”
Ruby and Matilda tore off towards The Blind Pig.
I looked at the note. I suppose it’s like a threatening letter. I’ve never had one of those before.
What does Beverley know?
She can’t know about the thing that even I have forgotten about.
Can she?
Anyway, I’m not going to be blackmailed by the Bottomleys.
I’ve got my own little gang. The Tree Sisters. Wait till I tell them about the note.
Except that I can’t tell them about the note because then I’d have to tell them about the thing that I can’t remember.
And that even if I could remember I wouldn’t mention it to myself. I’ll keep the letter from Beverley as evidence, in case of an unexpected pie attack by the Bottomleys.
To cheer myself up after the horrid letter, I thought I’d go back and get my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary from its secret hiding place, and look at my ideas and notes from last term.
I calmed down a bit as I looked over all the notes I’d made. Here are my poems and short stories. Ooooh, I’d forgotten about writing The Daughter of Fang.
And here are some sketches for my dance tribute to Withering Tights.
Oh, teehee, here’s a sketch of Dr Lightowler.
In the name of Baby Jesus’s nostrils, she has got ENORMOUS glasses on. Perched on the end of her beak. I don’t know why she’s taken against me so much. Ho hummity hum.
I’ll put Beverley’s letter in my secret hiding place right at the back.
Oooh – here’s the James Bond book that Dad gave me. He said, “Best you learn the real facts of life” and I had read it last term, and re-enacted a corker-holding scene
and Cain saw me through my window and … but I won’t think about that.
Talking of corkers, Cousin Georgia said she could certainly see signs of life in my T-shirt when I ran for the bus. And in fact, as a celebration, she bought me a special packet of crisps that are actually called �Corkers’. It said on the packet, �Hand-cooked in sunflower oil, we’re sure you agree that Corkers are another great British tradition in the making.’
I’ve got Georgia’s Ace Gang �snogging scale’ in here somewhere.
See corker-holding with winter socks scene in the back of this book
Don’t look in the back of this book. Oh go on then.
I’ve stuck it in on a page right in the middle of my diary underneath a picture of the Dalai Lama. Although the Ace Gang’s snogging scale doesn’t really fit with mine, so far. I’ve written mine on the next page.
It’s called �Lullah’s Lulu-luuuve List’.
This is it:
1. Hand resting
(A friend of my brother’s put his hand on my bottom at the bus stop and when I said �what are you doing?’, he said his hand was tired and he was resting it.)
2. Corker-holder release
(On the bus, the same boy undid my corker holder. And I had to sit there jiggling about, as the tissues that I’d put in it for extra corker-ness worked their way into my armpits.)
3. Bat kiss
(Floppy Ben from Woolfe Academy kissed me after we went to see �Night of the Vampire Bats’ and tried to put his tongue in my mouth. And it felt like a bit in the film when a bat was trapped in someone’s mouth, just barging around.)
4. Nose-licking
(Cain licked a hailstone off my nose. I can’t discuss this.)
5. Proper kiss possibly lasting two minutes, with additional praise for knees
(Boy (Charlie) kissed me really nicely so that I felt wobbly and he also said he liked my knees.)
6. Cain Hinchcliff came up unexpectedly on the moorland path and he … and he … ooooh, proper kiss, lip nibbling and tongues
(Oh Holy Mother of God, bless me for I have sinned. With the Dark Black Crow of Heckmondwhite.)
CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_1fd09708-3f09-531f-9176-1610f010ba2b)
Return of the lunatic twins (#ulink_1fd09708-3f09-531f-9176-1610f010ba2b)
It was already dark when the Dobbins came back.
I was in my squirrel room and heard heavy breathing outside my door.
Dibdobs whispered, “Do you know who’s in there, boys? Shall we knock on the door and see who answers it?”
One of the twins said, “Eth.”
There was knocking near the bottom of my door. I got up and opened it.
The lunatic twins were in their fun-fur hats in the shape of otter heads. And sucking on their dodies. They looked at me and then both grabbed me round the knees and put their heads into my legs. Dibdobs was almost crying at the beauty of it all.
“Ooooh, boys, it’s Lullah, she’s come home!!!”
Max (or Sam) looked up and said, “Ug oo.”
And put his head back in my leg.
Then Sam (or Max) looked up and said, “Ug oo.”
And put his head back down.
Then Max (or Sam) said, “Ug oo.”
This could have gone on for years.
Dibdobs took charge.
“Right, boys, split splot, let’s get your jimmy-jams on and then have our tea with …”
They looked up and said, “Ug oo.”
And put their heads back into my legs.
We managed to prise them off at last and half an hour later Dibdobs called me down to tea.
The boys were in their jimjams now. Still with their otter hats on.
They started shuffling towards me for more knee–hugging, but Dibdobs stepped in firmly and said, “Let Lullah sit down, boys, and have her supper. Lullah, it’s a local supper.”
Max said, “Bogie supper.”
Dibdobs ignored him although she went a bit red. “The eggs are from Jessica and Maureen. Maureen’s the one with the club foot.”
I was just thinking I don’t know any woman with a club foot when I realised she meant Maureen the chicken.
As I ate my supper, the boys stood about an inch away from me, looking at me and sucking. It was very unnerving. They certainly do not get any less odd.
Dibdobs was prattling on.
“So much going on, Tallulah!! I must tell you about …”
At that point Max fell over Micky the tortoise.
Dibdobs laughed and said, “You silly old chap, Max, you just fell over Micky on to your bottom!!!”
The lunatic twins rocked with laughter. It was like being in the House of the Mad.
Max said out of the side of his dodie, “An’ sjuuuge bumbums. Look at my bumbums!!!!”
And he pulled down his pyjama bottoms.
Sam started laughing so much I thought he would choke. And both the boys began yelling, “Bum bum bum bum!”
Dibdobs said, with a fixed smile, “Yes, it is funny, boys, but pull up your jimmies now, that’s enough. You’re BIG boys now, aren’t you, and …”
Then they both started rubbing their bottoms together and shouting, “Bummity bum bum.”
Dibdobs lost her rag and flicked at them with her tea towel. “Boys, boys, that’s not funny.”
I quickly finished off Maureen’s egg and stood up. “Well, that was a lovely supper … I think I’ll turn in now, just do a bit more creative thinking for tomorrow. Night-night.”
As I went up the wooden stairs, I heard Harold come in. The boys were still squealing and Dibdobs yelled, “Now what will your father say???”
Harold’s voice rumbled up as I opened my bedroom door. “Put your bottoms away, boys. I’ve got some live maggots in my pocket.”
When I got into my bed, I flicked through my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary to look at my Lulu-Luuuve List again, and it fell open at the last page.
There was the poem that Cain had pinned to the tree with a knife.
Written in thick untidy writing.
Like he’d got a twig and dipped it in ink.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
And underneath:
I know tha likes this sort of thing
See thee later.
Did it mean he knew I’d liked kissing him?
Did he even know we’d got to Number 6 on my Lulu-Luuuve List?
No, he couldn’t know that because I’ve just made it up.
I could do with some proper girl company. Thank goodness I’ll see the Tree Sisters tomorrow.
Hurray!! The Tree Sisters together again. Vaisey, Flossie, Jo and me. We used to be five, but Honey, dear lovely Honey, has gone to Hollywood. She’s been, what do you call it? Talent-spotted by an American entrepreneur.
Hey, I’ve just thought of what you’d call it if the owlets had been spotted by an American entrepreneur looking for talent in the bird world.
Talon-spotted!!!!
They’d be talon-spotted!
I’m going to write that down in my diary.
I may turn out to be a comedy genius.
CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_ea9e26f5-d35e-5d9a-8500-9d9ff4398e23)
Snogs ahoy! (#ulink_ea9e26f5-d35e-5d9a-8500-9d9ff4398e23)
On Monday morning, I struggled against the wind walking over the bridge to Dother Hall. I’m early so I’ll go and stash my stuff in my locker then find the Tree Sisters. If Bob hasn’t burned the lockers as fuel. I hope the money thing is better than it was last term. Or at least we’ve still got a roof. I dread to think what would have happened if Honey’s manager hadn’t come up trumps with cash to keep Dother Hall going.
I miss Honey. She is sooo Honeyish.
And knows such a lot about boys.
Maybe she’ll come back and visit. Or we could visit her!
Yarooo, I feel like a real performing artist. I am one of an elite gang of �entertainers’ our sole purpose in life is to give give give of ourselves.
My only worry is that I’m not sure I’ve anything to give.
The rest of the Tree Sisters have special talents. Vaisey can sing and dance and act and Jo can sing and act and Flossie can sing and act and she’s really great at art. And Honey is so good at everything that she’s been taken to Hollywood to be in films, and then there’s me.
Ms Fox (“Just call me Fox. Blaise Fox”) our dance tutor believes in me. She thinks I have my own very special quality. Well, what she actually said was “Watching you perform is like watching someone set fire to their own pants. Strangely riveting.”
So that’s good, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?
Dr Lightowler has hated me ever since I accidentally flew off my bicycle and destroyed the backstage area during my Sugar Plum Bikey ballet. Oh and because I did spontaneous Irish dancing in her class. When we were doing a tragic improvisation of the BrontГ« sisters dying of consumption.
And maybe because I pretend she actually IS an owl.
But this term I’m going to show her and everyone else that I am Tallulah Casey, superstar in the making. Bleeding feet at the ready.
Walking along the woodland path I passed the sign �Woolfe Academy for Boys’.
That’s where Charlie goes.
Oh, Charlie. I hope I can be friends with him. The last thing he said to me was, “See you next term, gorgeous.” And he said I was a really good kisser.
It’s just that he’s got a girlfriend.
I can be grown up though. You know, so what if he’s got a girlfriend?
Girls and boys can be mates.
We can be mates.
I might even be mates with his girlfriend. That’s how matey I can be.
I don’t mind tiny people. I like them.
I turned the next corner and saw Dother Hall. With its towering ramparts and cock-eyed spiralling chimneys. High up on the roof, if it wasn’t sleeting, you could see all the way to Grimbottom. And past the woods to the grey brick walls and mullioned windows of Woolfe Academy.
The place where naughty boys were sent. Bad boys like our friends Charlie, Phil, Jack and Ben.
Naughty boys who are watched over by a stern and strict one-legged headmaster.
A man that Charlie says demands and gets their full respect.
A man that he and Phil call �Hoppy’.
Which reminds me, Phil, Jo’s boyfriend, is officially back. After serving his time at Woolfe, he was sent off to ordinary school. But it was a short stay because he dug a secret tunnel under the rugby pitch. He was going to unexpectedly pop his head up during a match for a laugh. But sadly the tunnel collapsed and the rugby squad fell into the hole.
Phil had done it for Jo. He said freedom was nothing to him if she wasn’t there, punching him on the arm and shouting at him.
I wish someone felt like that about me.
I wonder if they ever will.
They won’t get a chance if the Bottomleys get to me first.
As soon as I walked through the gates, Jo came running out of the front door. All little and shiny and dark, jumping up and down like a mad terrier, shouting, “Loopy Lullah!!!!”
She gave me the usual dead arm. Violence is her way of showing affection.
She was followed by Flossie, who has such a long fringe that her face really only begins at her glasses. For some reason she often finds herself (in her mind) in Texas.
Flossie was in Texas now.
I knew because she was walking really slowly and fanning her face like it was a thousand degrees, and drawling in a Deep South accent, “Why, Miss Lullabelle, I do declare, it’s too goddam hot. I was axing and axing, �Where in the name of hominy grits is Miss Lullabelle?’ And here y’all are!”
Vaisey was at the back, dear Vaisey, with her curls bouncing and her little bottom … er … bouncing as well. She came running to me and threw her arms round me. “Oh, Lulles, Lulles, I’ve missed you.”
And we had our first official Tree Sisters hug. It was so good to be with my pals again. Nothing can go wrong when you have your little girl gang around you. Nothing!!!!
Back in the Theatre of Dreams with my gang!!!!
I started singing “There’s no business like show business, we smile when we are down …”
And doing high skipping. I don’t know why, but my legs got excited.
A voice behind me said, “I might have known. Tallulah Casey. WALK properly, you are not a silly baby.”
Oh, how I remembered that voice. I didn’t have to turn round to see who it was. I could feel beaky eyes staring into the back of me.
Dr Lightowler.
Half woman, half owl, half really, really horrible to me.
Well this term she was going to see a big change in me. She wasn’t dealing with a little kid any more. I had grown and not only in the corker department.
Vaisey whispered, “Don’t say anything to annoy her.”
I stopped and turned round. Blimey, I must say, and this didn’t seem possible, Dr Lightowler looked even more owly. Had she got a new winter cloak?
She glared down her thin nose unblinkingly. I smiled cordially, my legs together.
“Ah, Dr Lightowler how marvellous to see you again. You look rested. The rest has done you good. In fact, you look in beak condition.” (Oh sweet Jesus!) “Er. Hahaha, woopity doodah … peak, PEAK condition.”
The girls were snuffling and putting their heads down to hide their laughter.
Dr Lightowler wasn’t laughing. She was looking and not blinking. She hissed, “It’s a shame that the rest of us aren’t as impressed with you as you are, Tallulah Casey. Remember, I am watching you. And I don’t like what I see.”
And she swished off.
Flossie said, “I think deep down, really deep down, so deep down that she’d have to get a rope and the emergency services to get there, she’s very, very fond of you.”
Vaisey put her arm round me. “It’s so unfair, just because you fell off a bike once she never gives you a chance.”
How right she is.
Jo was jumping up and down. “Oh, shhhh, shhhhh. Don’t let’s start talking about Lullah. I want to snog Phil. He phoned me and said he’d be at our Special Tree!!! So snogs ahoy!!!!”
As we walked into the main hall, Vaisey said shyly, “I got a postcard from Jack. I think he might like me.”
I gave her a hug. “Who doesn’t like you, missy?”
Flossie said, “Fiddle-de-dee, I just want to see some menfolk. LOTS of menfolk. ANY menfolk. It’s this goddam relentless heat.”
I didn’t point out that there was ice on the inside of the windows.
The main hall was full of babbling girls. Milly and Tilly, Honsy, Bibby. It was nice to see everyone again. Groovy to see the �showbiz’ crowd.
I was leaning against the stage, queuing up when a posh voice said, “Oh, Tallulah, begorrah, bejesus. Did you have a noice time in your holidays?”
It was Lavinia and her mates, Davinia and Anoushka.
Lav, Dav and Noos.
For some reason, Lavinia pretends she’s Irish like me and treats me like I’m a half-witted five-year-old. I can’t really not like her because she’s so �nice’ to me. But it’s only because I know Alex and she rates him.
In fact, as I was thinking that, she said, “We must see that friend of yours again. What was his name … Alex? When he next comes home, to be sure, to be sure.”
She swished her copper hair as she went off.
Flossie said, “SHE loves you as well. There’s a lot of love in the room for you, Tallulah.”
Gudrun, Sidone’s assistant, came onstage with the register. She was covered in knitwear from top to toe, including a knitted beret. Flossie said, “Is she a knitted person?”
Gudrun shouted at us, “Achtung, Fräuleins!!! Bitte!! Achtung! Ve mussen sign the register!!!” (She always gets a bit German when she’s left in charge, it goes to her head.)
We carried on chatting. Gudrun shouted again, “Wilkommen, girls. Danke for your attention. Erm, those girls at the back, will you just come down from the stag’s head? It’s an heirloom and not for sitting on. I don’t know how you got up there in the first place, and we don’t want any accidents …”
At that moment the stag’s head and the girls on it crashed to the floor. We all cheered.
After registration, we went to the loos. It was freezing in there. And when I went to use one of the taps it fell off in my hand. There were no towels, just a notice written by Bob:
No paper towels this term – we are saving the rainforest, dudes.
Remember,
Be a shaker
Not an endangered resource taker.
I had to dry my hands on my leggings.
As we came out, Bob was dragging a big roll of plastic sheeting up the stairs that led to the roof. I said, “Hi, Bob, didn’t recognise you without your horns.”
He said, “Yeah, it’s a bummer because my first love is the band, but hey, you’ve got to earn your bread.”
Flossie said, “What’s the plastic sheeting for?”
Bob said, “There’s been, like, a roof incident.”
Jo said, “What incident?”
Bob said, as he huffed and puffed away, “Well, dudes, it’s essentially blown off.”
I said to the Tree Sisters, “Get your umbrellas out, you’re going to need them when you go to bed.”
The rest of the morning we had tutorials and sorted out rehearsal times and class syllabuses and book lists, so we didn’t see much of each other until lunchtime. Still no sign of Sidone. Apparently, she’s doing some community-work thing.
Jo said, “She thinks the community will try to help keep Dother Hall going.”
We laughed.
At lunchtime bell, we all met in the cafГ©. Vaisey is mad keen to go to the Special Tree to see Jack and Jo looks like her head has exploded she is soooo excited about seeing Phil.
Flossie said, “I just want to see some boys. Any boys. Let’s go let’s go let’s go!!!!”
After a bit of lip gloss and hair shaking and a reviving lunch on the run (Cheesy Wotsits), the Tree Sisters were ready to face the boys of Woolfe Academy.
Well, most of us were.
I felt shy about seeing Charlie again. I know he said he was sorry and had handled the whole snogging-me-but-having-a-girlfriend thing badly. And he’d said, “You’re top, Tallulah and don’t let anyone tell you any different.” But that sort of implies that other people WILL tell you different, doesn’t it?
If you say “Don’t let them tell you”, that means they might tell you.
And that … oh, I don’t know.
And also, should I ask about his girlfriend? Like a mate would.
Do I ask politely if she’s still tiny?
Hang on, is that my dream or has he actually said she’s tiny?
I mustn’t say she’s tiny if she isn’t tiny because that would be … tiny-ist.
No one noticed I wasn’t as keen as they were.
Vaisey and Jo were doing very fast walking, crunching through the leaves and bracken to get to Phil and Jack.
Flossie said to me, “So do you think about those Hinchcliff boys, Miss Lullabelle?”
Uh-oh.
I said, “No, I don’t. They’re wild, uncontrollable animals.”
Flossie said, “I know, that’s why I like them so much. I’d like to see that Seth boy again. I wonder where he is.”
I stumped on and said, “In a cave somewhere, I should think. Or prison.”
We reached our secret place, our secret meeting place in the forest. Where we danced around our Special Tree.
The Special Tree where Honey told us we should be proud of every part of ourselves. Flossie’s glasses, Jo’s conker hair, Vaisey’s wiggly bottom, even my knees! Yes, even my knees!
A chill breeze rustled the leaves left on the trees, there were no signs of life. No birds or creatures and certainly no boys.
After five minutes of kicking leaves and hunching her shoulders against the cold, Jo said, “Where are they? Phil promised he’d come to see me on our first day back.”
I was sort of disappointed and relieved at the same time. I said, “Well, they’re not here so …”
Vaisey shouted from behind the tree, “Do sausages grow on trees?”
Flossie said, “Vaisey, is this like �why did the sausage cross the road?’ because I’m not interested in sausages, I’m interested in boys. If you’d said �do boys grow on trees’ you would have got my attention. But the sausage thing – no.”
That’s when we saw what Vaisey meant. Attached to the back of our Special Tree was a sausage with a ribbon round it and underneath it, an envelope.
Jo grabbed the envelope and ripped it open. Then started jumping up and down saying, “Ohohohoh!”
I said, “What? What? WHAT?!!!”
Jo’s face had gone all pink. Flossie put a hand on her shoulder to hold her down. Jo panted, “It’s from Phil. It’s his writing. He sent me lots of photos of himself over the holidays. In unusual poses.”
Vaisey started to say, “What sort of unusual …” until I shook my head at her.
Jo was in full flow reading out the sausage letter.
“Dear Tree Sisters,
Yes, I do mean you, Vaisey, Jo, Lullah and Flossie, this letter is from us. The lads. The top lads of all time. The bad lads. The lads … sorry, I had to stop there because Charlie got me in a headlock until I stopped writing �lads’. What’s he like? He’s such a lad … sorry, another break there, he did it again. Anyway, we can’t be with you because we are on a special bonding workshop all day with no breaks.
Hoppy says it will give us an identity as a group and respect for others. Mostly it’s press-ups and stabbing sacks with sticks.”
Flossie said, “Cor.”
Jo continued.
“I know for a fact you like that sort of thing, you naughty girls. Anyway, we can’t get away till tomorrow so I crept out and left this note and a sausage in case you were peckish.
See you tomorrow.
Phil, Charlie, Jack and Ben.
PS Big snog, Jo, you tiger (that’s me Phil by the way) xx
PPS Charlie here. Hi everybody x
PPPS Cheers, Vaisey, Jack x
PPPPS Hi, everyone and Flossie, very much looking forward to seeing you again. Ben x”
As we walked back to Dother Hall, Jo was jumping around in front of us, telling us about the photos that Phil had sent.
“There was this one of him with a human-sized inflatable banana he’d taken shopping. He bought it some shoes in a shoe shop and …”
Flossie had learned to juggle in the holidays. She said, “I think you’ll find it very entertaining.”
I made the mistake of saying, “I don’t really know how juggling can be – erm – entertaining.”
Flossie put her arm round me, which was a bit alarming. She said, “I’ll illustrate for you, my little chum, how very, VERY entertaining juggling is. Everyone give me your tights.”
I said, “No way, I’m not going to take my tights off – it’s bloody freezing.”
Vaisey and Jo both said no, they wouldn’t either.
Five minutes later, Flossie showed us how she could make our tights into little juggling balls. She juggled our three tights balls with one hand and threw her tights ball up in the air from behind her back. She was doing four-tights ball juggling. After she bowed, we clapped and quickly put our tights back on.
She said, “You see? Do you? How Very Entertaining that was?”
Vaisey said, “Oooooh, I tell you what I did in the holidays, I learned to play the guitar and I used my lucky plectrum that Jack gave me. If The Jones play any gigs soon, maybe I could jam along.”
I could imagine what the Hinchcliffs would say to a girl �jamming along’ to one of their songs. I laughed and said, “Yeah, you could �jam’ that one Cain wrote especially for Beverley Bottomley when he dumped her, Put your coat on, girl, you’re leaving and the follow-up when he dumped her again, Is it so very wrong to want you dead?”
Jo said, “What’s happened about the Cain thing – is he still on the run, Lullah?”
I went a bit red and quickly said, “I’ve no idea. With a bit of luck Mrs Bottomley will shoot him.”
Flossie said, “Oh, you are sooooo unreasonable, Miss Lullah. Yes, those boys are BAAADDD, but they are so goddam handsome.”
I said huffily, “Yeah, if you like Dark Black … animals in trousers.”
Flossie said, “I do, as it happens.”
Vaisey was trying to be nice. “P’raps they’re just a bit misunderstood.”
I snorted. “Vaisey, do you remember that Cain got Jack to dump you because no girlfriends were allowed in The Jones? He said it was a band rule.”
Vaisey blushed.
Flossie sashayed about. “I am looking forward to seeing that bad Seth Hinchcliff again, oh and Bat boy. He’s not quite so floppy since Honey gave him the snogging lesson.”
I said, “You’re insatiable.”
Flossie said, “I know, but remember what Honey said about boys: �alwayth have one ow two on the go. Theth thafety in numbeth.’”
We walked along, thinking about lovely golden Honey in her new golden life in Hollywood. Then Flossie said, “What about you, Miss Tallulah, what did you get up to in your holidays?”
“Well, I was staying with Cousin Georgia and she told me how to do sticky eyes and showed me her snogging scale. It’s from one to ten.”
Go on. Have another look.
Jo said, “Yeah so, are we going to use your cousin’s snogging scale?”
I said, “Well, it doesn’t really fit with my Lulu-Luuuve List so …”
They all looked at me.
Jo said, “What’s your Lulu-Luuuve List then?”
I wanted to tell them about it but not all of it, so I said, “Er, well, I’ve written it down and I was going to bring it in … but I forgot because I got a threatening letter!”
Flossie said, “What? From someone who thinks you should keep your Lulu-Luuuve List to yourself?”
“No, honestly, a real threatening letter saying I was like a bum in a skirt and if I knew what was good for me I would clear off.”
Jo said, “Was it from Dr Lightowler?”
I went red. “No, it was from … from Beverley Bottomley. She said I gallivant around like a tit.”
Flossie said, “Well, she does have a point, Lullah.”
Just then Gudrun came out of the front door of Dother Hall, wildly tinging her hand bell, and shouted, “Go straight to your classes, girls, Ms Beaver has double-booked herself with the Blubberhouses Large Ladies Who Pole Dance For Fun Society, but she will definitely be in to welcome you at some stage today.”
Thankfully, I’d got away with the Lulu-Luuuve List thing for now.
But then Jo said quietly to me as we went in, “Did your Cousin Georgia tell you what number �nose-licking’ was on her snogging scale? Is Cain licking your nose on your list?”
She’s like an elephant in a dress.
How on earth could I tell them that nose-licking was quite literally the tip of the … er, the tip of the … nose on the face of the snogging Cain list?
I know I should tell the Tree Sisters everything, and I will.
Soon.
CHAPTER 5 (#ulink_c841a415-1165-5350-a672-db84a4415079)
The Blubberhouses Large Ladies Who Pole Dance For Fun Society (#ulink_c841a415-1165-5350-a672-db84a4415079)
Monty was our tutor for the afternoon. He bustled in. “Hello, hello, girls!!! Happy days!!! Le Show RE-commence!!!”
He was wearing a tartan suit and pink waistcoat. The waistcoat was hanging on round his tummy for dear life. Just by one button.
He went to sit down on his chair but then paused and took to standing and leaning against his desk. I suspect the spirit was willing to sit down, but the suit wasn’t.
He was beyond himself with enthusiasm. His chubby hands clapped together in delight.
“Girls, I am THRILLED, absolutely thrilled about the project this term. Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, the Bard’s masterpiece about the battle of the sexes. Of course this is often misunderstood as a battle between a man and a woman.
“For the more artistic and creative soul like myself it can of course be interpreted as the battle between our masculine and feminine parts. As a man, I, of course, have a delicate female part hidden. And you girls have a secret male part hidden in a secret place.”
Flossie said, “Is he saying I have a goddam man lurking about in my dance tights?”
Jo said, “You might have. Monty definitely looks like he’s got more than one person in his suit.”
And we began laughing uncontrollably. It didn’t matter though because Monty was off in Italy with his mates.
“I first saw The Shrew as a young man in a nightclub production in Italy. Ah, gilded youth! Biffo and Sprogsy, my great pals, were with me. It was our first trip abroad and we didn’t know it was an all-male production. The boy in the part of Kate was most convincing. The Italians are much more at ease with finding their Inner Woman.”
Monty got us to discuss what we thought �Being a Woman’ meant.
Flossie said, “Well, ah don’t rightly know if ah could say, sir, maybe ah could show you …” And she started her Southern belle routine, sashaying around the room.
Monty clapped his pudgy hands. “Marvellous, marvellous, Flossie. I know, girls, let’s go with physical expression to feel our way into the mood. Let’s pursue Flossie’s idea of being a spoilt Southern belle! I’ll start.”
At the very last bell, Sidone burst into the classroom.
She was a vision in fur.
Well, she was in fur.
I don’t know what kind of animal is purple.
She leaned against the door, panting.
Monty flung his arms wide. “Girls, girls, here we have it, before us, Woman!!!”
Sidone blew kisses to us all individually which went on for quite a long time, then said, “So sorry, my dears, not to be here to welcome you back, but the Blubberhouses ladies were very demanding. Such big, big women. The poles will have to be replaced of course.
“Anyway, I wanted to be here to welcome you, but such is life. In order to keep Dother Hall going sometimes I must rent my services out to amateur groups. I do it willingly, of course, but the headaches are quite violent afterwards. But … what do I matter??? It is you, my dears, who are the hope for the future. I am just a dim light from the past, blinking in the firmament of you bright little starlets.”
Monty leapt in. “Nay, nay, madam, you remain the brightest light, the brightest!”
Sidone tinkled with laughter and shook her head at him. “Too kind. And yet perhaps I still have some of the old skills.”
She suddenly did a high kick which only just missed Monty’s chin. He was ecstatic and clapped like a seal in a suit.
I noticed Sidone was holding her leg as she said, “Girls, here are your instructions for tonight, your FIRST night of many first nights, if you will excuse the theatrical pun.”
Which we did because we had no idea what she was talking about.
She handed us each an envelope.
“Open it this evening and bring your ideas for Ms Fox tomorrow. Till then, my dears, my dearie dears.” Kissing her hands, she withdrew from the room.
I said to Flossie, “Did you think she was limping slightly as she went out?”
We were all tired at the end of the day. The Tree Sisters gave me a hug and went off for supper and a lie-down. Flossie said, “If Bob hasn’t burned our beds for firewood.”
I wish I could just have my dinner and pop upstairs instead of trailing all the way into the village. Even though the Dobbins are nice.
When I got to the village I kept my eyes peeled for the Bottomleys, but they weren’t around. I saw Ruby bundled up in her coat on the doorstep of The Blind Pig with Matilda. They both looked glum.
I said, “What’s up, Rubes?”
She said, “Me dad went spare, we have to stay out of his sight. I can’t have any tea and when he’s had his, I have to go straight to bed. All because Matilda chewed his Viking helmet. She thought it was a hoofy snack.”
I said, “That’s bad, little pal.”
I sat down beside her and Matilda put her sad, crumpled-up face on my knee.
“Maybe we could go and have a proper look for little Lullah and …”
Then I heard Mr Barraclough shouting, “Look at the state of this!!! One of my horns is a stump.”
I thought I’d better nip off.
Eccles and Dil were sitting on the church wall. Stuffing crisps into their mouths and looking at me.
Ecclesiastica yelled out, “Are you not gone yet, lanky loser?”
And Dil said, “Yeah, we’re watching you.”
And she did that pointing at her eyes and then pointing her fingers at me.
Charming.
In the kitchen of Dandelion Cottage, Dibdobs had her head in a cupboard.
I said, “Hello.”
And she said from the cupboard, “Hello, Lullah. Nature has many treasures we can use to beautify our lives. At no cost at all!!! Look at this. I’ve attached some copper wire to these and …”
She came out of the cupboard with fir cones dangling from her ears, smiling in an enormously smiley way. She said, “Fir-cone earrings!!! Paint them with a bit of silver and voilà ! I don’t think I’d feel out of place at the palace!!”
The twins came out of the cupboard.
I managed to get to my room by first of all saying how marvellous the twins’ new leaf hats were and then that I had homework to do.
I lay down on my squirrel bed and tucked a squirrel slipper beside me. I’m going to do my homework. Right, I’m opening the envelope from Sidone.
Girls, my girls,
Start to explore your feelings through Art and Theatre. Get used to tapping into your Inner You-ness. The You that makes you you-nique. Access your feelings and bring them to the surface.
How do we do this? How do we share this inner world with our audience?
Well, some examples:
Are you happy? Happy to be back at Dother Hall? Feeling full of creative juices? Of course you are. Why not experiment with coloured scarves or tambourines.
Or maybe you are angry? Frustrated by a world which is disinterested in art and artists. I myself often do an expressive stamping dance. To let my feelings free. I growl or shake my hair about angrily. You may feel like swishing your hair about. You need accompaniment. Choose an unusual instrument to pluck.
A comb perhaps?
And so on.
That’s the bit, isn’t it?
The �and so on’ bit. That’s when you’re on your own.
Right, I’m going to express what I am feeling.
What am I feeling?
The wind is whining in the trees. I’m sitting in bed with a squirrel slipper and little Lullah and little Ruby have left me.
I’m feeling lonely. Yeah, lonely.
Lone-lee.
So how shall I express that physically?
I’ll stand up and slouch around in a lonely way. Slouch slouch. Yeah.
Yeah, dragging my feet, good.
Sighing.
But I’m also feeling angry. Angry that Dr Lightowler hates me for no reason. Angry that the owls have left me. Angry that the Bottomleys have sent me a threatening letter.
Anger-ee.
Saying it out loud is quite good.
“Lone-lee.”
“Anger-ee.”
It’s got a rhythm to it. Maybe I could do a sort of rap song. About anger and loneliness but …
But the twist is – the words are about owlets, but it’s really about Dr Lightowler and the Bottomleys. I’m not going to think too much. I’m going to pace about and bang stuff like rappers do.
Right, I’m pacing.
Up to the door, back to the window, up to the door, back to the …
Ow. I’ve just banged my toe on the bed leg. It’s making me quite angry actually. Because I can only do about four paces before I bump into something wooden.
I want to hit something.
I’m going to hit something. I’m banging a squirrel slipper on the dressing table. Yeah! It feels good.
Right, I’m pacing, pacing and banging the slipper on the bed end. Now on the wardrobe door. Yeah yeah!! I’m stepping up the rhythm now, pacing and banging anything I pass. Pace, pace, bang, bang.
Bang the window sill.
Bang the door.
Bang the bedhead.
Bang the lamp … oh damn … pick up the lamp.
It’s about owlets leaving and not even bothering to say goodbye after all I’ve done for them. Here we go:
Oh yeah
Everything leaves
Oh yes uh
(bang bang)
Without warning
Oh yes uh
(bang bang)
Squeaks from a beak
Crunch in a cheek
Mouse gone
Owl gone
Oh yes uh
(bang bang)
Everything goes
Oh yes uh
(bang bang)
Without warning
Not even in the morning
Rastafari
Uh.
I wrote it down quickly in my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary. It looks quite cool. But why have I turned into a Rastafarian at the end?
It was swishing my hair around that did it. I think I was imagining dreadlocks. Maybe that’s what Monty means about finding your Inner Maleness.
Maybe I have an Inner Rastafarian Bloke.
I think Blaise will get my rap though. At least she likes me. Well, she thinks I’m unusual.
The wind had gathered, the temperature had dropped and it felt like snow was on its way. Brrr.
I put my feet on the hot-water bottle that Dibdobs brought me. It’s got a knitted jacket on it. Harold made it at his men’s knitting circle. And I do mean a jacket. With a collar and buttons.
I bet Harold will be able to help me a lot with The Taming of the Shrew – he’s constantly talking about his Inner Woman.
Then something thudded against my window. Maybe it’s a branch blown off by the wind. Or … no …
It had better not be Cain up to his old tricks!
I flung back my curtains and opened a window to the chill night air. There on the window sill was little Lullah!
Or maybe Ruby?
No, it was defo little Lullah because her legs were so long and gangly.
I felt tears prick my eyes as I looked at her. Her owly yellow eyes were staring and blinking back at me. Oh, oh, she’d come to see me!! Because she loves me. I hope she didn’t hear the rap song.
I said, “Little Lullah, it’s me, your big owly friend. You remember me; I give you nice mice snacks.”
She raised her lower eyelids and fluffed out her feathers. “Woooooo.”
I felt so proud. She was wooing at me.
I said, “Wooo to youuuuu tooo. I didn’t mean it about the rap song, it was about other owlets, not you.” And I went to kiss the top of her head.
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