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Withering Tights
Louise Rennison


The misadventures of Tallulah Casey…Hilarious series from Queen of Teen – laugh your tights off at the (VERY) amateur dramatic antics of Talullah and her bonkers mates. Boys, snogging and bad acting guaranteed!Picture the scene: Dother Hall performing arts college somewhere Up North, surrounded by rolling dales, bearded cheesemaking villagers (male and female) and wildlife of the squirrely-type.On the whole, it’s not quite the showbiz experience Tallulah was expecting… but once her mates turn up and they start their ‘FAME! I’m gonna liiiiive foreeeeeever, I’m gonna fill my tiiiiights’ summer course things are bound to perk up.Especially when the boys arrive. (When DO the boys arrive?)Six weeks of parent-free freedom. BOY freedom. Freedom of expression… cos it’s the THEATRE dahling, theatre!!









Withering Tights

Louise Rennison


the misadventures of Tallulah Casey













Dedication (#ulink_ce16dcbb-72a9-5aab-a906-0c434f2b21ad)


To all the Yorkshire heroes and hero-esses, the Cock and family,Leeds United past and present, Mum, Dad, sister, all cousinsand second cousins forty-times removed, nieces, grandparents,great-grandparents (with particular thanks for the hiddly diddlydiddly), Big Fat Bobbins and the Wilsons (particularly Mae,Queen of the tripe stall), Kaiser Chiefs. And of course to theinventors of Withering Tights, Em, Chazza and Anne Brontëxxxxxxxx

Special thanks to Clare, Gillon, Cassie and all the other big palsat Aitken Alexander. I promise I am going home now. Deepestlove and gratitude to Gillie – my editor – I also promise I amgoing home now. And to Lizzie – my editor – I am, I am reallygoing home now.




Contents


Title Page (#ua957967d-6e6c-57cf-ac0a-0a69cb6a8304)

Dedication (#ue8aa200c-2030-5243-8150-e142d5878d5f)

CHAPTER 1 On the showbiz express (#u4950c7bd-80b5-5c1a-b26d-e1c71ca38932)

CHAPTER 2 Summer of Love (#ubac30313-742e-5c96-8eda-0c146e70431f)

CHAPTER 3 Your feet will bleed (#u3f7004af-f094-513f-a978-b48f3b4e5f65)

CHAPTER 4 I don’t think I can go a whole thummer without boyth (#u8ba187f5-107a-5d3f-a58e-8733e6e67338)

CHAPTER 5 Into the bosoms of the Dother ship (#uedad7e9d-487c-5951-85fc-11008d87c376)

CHAPTER 6 Out of control yoof (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 7 He had everything a dream boy should have (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 8 I’m not an Irish dancing broom (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 9 I want to live! I want to live! (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 10 Lying in my squirrel room (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 11 Night of the Vampire Bats (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 12 Whooo-hoo-oooo (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 13 “Just call me Fox. Blaise Fox.” (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 14 Dance of the Sugar Plum Bikey (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 15 He’s like a wild animal (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 16 Heathcliff, it’s me (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 17 “Get your ears on, dudes!” (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 18 It was time to grow into my knees (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 19 Withering Tights (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER 1 On the showbiz express (#ulink_3f354b70-6910-5a33-a901-c16500ad898b)


I’ve come to Yorkshire by mistakeChugging towards Dother Hall

Wow. This is it. This is me growing up. On my own, going to Performing Arts College. This is goodbye Tallulah, you long, gangly thing and helloooooo Lullah, star of stage and…owwwwooo. Ow and ow.

The train lurched and I’ve nearly knocked myself out on the side of the door. I’m bound to get a massive lump. Oh good, I can start college with two heads…

In my brochure it has a picture of a big manor house and on the front it says:



Dother Hall, world-renowned for its excellence in the Arts. This magnificent centre of artistry is set amongst the beautiful Yorkshire Dales. With its friendly northern folk offering a warm welcome to visitors, think Wuthering Heights but with less moaning!

I’ve been looking over the top of my brochure at the bloke opposite. He is the grumpiest man in the universe probably.

He’s got no hair on his head, but he has loads of red hair shooting out of his ears. Like there are a couple of red squirrels nesting in there. Which would be quite good actually, as they are an endangered species.

His wife said to him, “Oooh look, Fred, the sun’s coming out.”

And he said, “It can please its bloody self.”

Is this what Yorkshire folk are like?

I wonder if anyone is missing me at home?

I wonder if they are saying, “Where is Tallulah?”

I think I know the answer to that question, and it is, “Who?”

Connor will just move into my bedroom and make it smelly and then leave.

It will be next week before my grandma notices that my egg-cup hasn’t been used. When I tried to explain to her that I was going to performing arts college in Yorkshire for the summer, she said, “Will you bring a trifle back?”

Maybe she thought I said I was going to Marks and Spencers for the summer.



Mum didn’t comment because as usual she wasn’t there. She’s gone to Norway to paint.

Not people’s houses. She’s doing her art.

When I stayed over with cousin Georgia, I asked her what sort of painting the Norwegians did and she said, “It’s mostly sledges.”

I thought she meant they painted sledges a lot, but she said, “No, my not-so-little cousy, they paint WITH sledges.”

She said the official term for that kind of work was ‘Sled-werk’, and that it was one of the reasons why Norwegians had such big arms and had therefore become Vikings (for the rowing). And that if I dropped ‘Sled-werk’ into a conversation at art college, people would be impressed and not notice my knees…

Georgia knows a lot of stuff. Not just about painting, but about life. And boys. She wears a bra. It’s a big one. She showed me her special disco inferno dancing and her lady bumps were jiggling quite a lot.

I wish I wore a bra. And jiggled.

It’s so boring being fourteen and a half.

She’s nice to me, but I know she thinks I’m just a kid.

When I left she gave me her ‘special’ comedy moustache. She’s grown out of it and thought it would suit me. She said, “Always remember, Lullah, if in doubt, get your moustache out.”



I do love Georgia and wish I lived near her. I haven’t got a sister and it’s not the same having a brother. Connor mostly likes to talk about what he’s going to kick next.

And that I am like a daddy long-legs in a skirt.

And how he could win a kicking contest with a daddy long-legs.

Is that normal in a boy?

Well, all will be revealed when I start my new life at Dother Hall.

Georgia’s also given me a secret note to read on my first day at college. She says she will write to me. But will she?



I will look at the college brochure again to get me in the creative zone.

Let me see.

Aaaaaah, yes, yes. These are my kind of people.

This is more like it.

Here is a photo of a girl leaping around in the dance studio. The caption says:



Eliza loses herself in the beauty of modern dance.

As far as dancewear is concerned Eliza has gone for big tights.

As indeed she needs to.

Oh and here’s a photo of a boy.

What on earth is he holding?

Let’s see.

The caption says:



Martin has made an instrument. Here he is holding his own small lute.

Crumbs.

Martin has got very bright lips.

Perhaps he is a mouth-breather, that makes your lips go very red.

Or perhaps it is lipstick.



I suppose anything goes in the crazy world of dance and theatre! Hey nonny no, this is my new world, the world of showbiz!

But what if the course is full of people who can sing and dance and everything, and are really confident?

And hate me because of my nobbly kneecaps?



Uh-oh, we are arriving at my station. I must get my bag down. I’ll get up on the seat and try and reach it…Oh great balls of fire, I’ve just accidentally kicked Mr Squirrel as he was getting up.

What does, “You great big dunderwhelp, use your bloody gogglers!” mean in English?

I bet it’s not nice.

His wife said, “Take no notice, love, if there was a moaning medal, he’d win it hands down.”

I let them get off first.



How come everyone else in my family is the right height and I have knees that are four feet above the ground?

I swung the train door open and saw the sign:

SKIPLEYhome of theWest Riding Otter

There was a little bus to take us into Heckmondwhite. I didn’t know sheep could go on buses, but they can. One was sitting next to me. Not on its own I mean. It hadn’t just got on with its bus pass. There was a woman in wellingtons holding it.

She said to me, “I’d sit upwind if I were thee, love.”

We bundled along on the bus on a road that went up and down dales. Along the skyline I could see the moorland dotted with craggy outcrops.

The sheep woman said, “That’s Grimbottom Peak, when a fog comes down you can’t see your chin in front of you. Perilous.”

Heckmondwhite was just like a proper village. It had a village green, and a pub, and a post office, a church and a hall and everything. Like a postcard of Emmerdale. But without the murders. Or a plane landing on it and wiping out the whole cast. So far.

I found the Dobbins’ house just off the green round the corner from the village shop, like the directions said. I’m not allowed to stay at Dother Hall because I was the last one to apply for the course and there was no room in the dormitory.

And do you know why? It’s because I haven’t got normal parents. If I had ordinary parents like everyone else they would have booked early. But oh no, I had to wait until Dad could get to the post office in Kathmandu so that we could phone him. Why is he there anyway? He’s probably found the only bearded ant on the planet. Or the last of the Ice Age big-bottomed goats. He loves that sort of thing. He is like a cross between David Bellamy and an excitable Great Dane.

And my parents don’t live together.

Why couldn’t they just stay together, in the same place?

And if they weren’t going to stay together, why couldn’t they hate each other, like normal people?

Why do they have to be such great mates?



Well, at least the Dobbins will be normal people, married and so on. They might turn out to be really cool. I expect they will be. They must be quite laid back and avant garde to take us ‘artists’ in.

I opened the little gate and walked up the path to knock on the front door. I wonder if I will be in my own sort of extension bit? I expect so. Maybe with that ‘loft living’ sort of furniture. All minimal and shiny surfaces and a Jacuzzi bath. I hope they’ve got Sky because…

The door opened. And a woman in a Brown Owl uniform said, “Tallulah! Yoo-hoo!! Aren’t you nice and tall!! Come in, come in. Mind your head on the low—Oh dear. Never mind. Harold is out running the Christian Youth Table Tennis Club, but the twins will be back from Playdough Hour in a minute.”

Mrs Dobbins, or ‘Call me Dibdobs, everyone does’, gave me a long hug. She’s very pink and enthusiastic. And covered in badges. One of them said, ‘Knots. Advanced.’

She took my bag in her sturdy arms and showed me up to my room at the top of the house.

My room is mostly wood, with wood extras. It is quite literally loft living in the sense that it IS a loft.

Dibdobs said, “I’m going to make us a traditional tea to welcome you. So make yourself at home. You can see for miles from your window.”

She beamed at me through her roundy glasses. She said, “Oooh isn’t this exciting??”

And gave me another big hug.

I wonder if she has got a ‘hugging’ badge? Probably.

As she went off down the steep wooden steps singing, “Bring me sunshine in your smile, Bring me laughter all the while…lalalalala,” I looked around my new bijoux home.

It’s a sweet room really, you know, good, but I thought going to performing arts college might be more…gooderer.

I went to the window.

Yep, you could see for miles.

And do you know what you could see for miles? Sheep.

Oh no, there are some pigs.



I put my bag down on the bed. My bed, by the way, is wooden. It’s got wood-carvings all over it. Even the bedhead has got furry things carved into it. Squirrels I think. Or maybe hairy, long-tailed slugs.

I unpacked my suitcase and hung my clothes up in the (wooden) wardrobe. I must start planning what to wear for my first day at Dother Hall. It will be weird not having to wear a really crap uniform. I wonder if we are allowed make-up? At my school, if we had worn make-up we would have had our heads cut off. And put on the school gates as a warning to others.

But hahahahaha I am on my own now.

I am flying solo.

I can cover myself in lipstick from head to foot if I feel like it.

Not that I will, actually, as I have only got one lipstick.

I need to get a lot more.

I wonder where Boots is in the village?



Dibdobs called me down for tea. I had changed into my jeans and a rib top and my Barely Pink lipstick. Live as you mean to go on, I say. In fact, I might go the whole hog and get some blusher.

Dibdobs had a frilly apron over her Brown Owl uniform when I went down into the kitchen. She was just dishing up sausages and she gave me a super-duper smile. I had no idea that teeth could be so…teethy.

She said, “They’re local.”

Meaning the sausages, not her teeth.

Or does she mean her teeth?

No, she means the sausages. No one has local teeth.

Anyway, does it matter that the sausages are local, I’m just going to eat them, not make friends and go to the cinema with them.

But she’s only trying to be nice, this is how most people live. I think. But how would I know?

I smiled at her as I sat down in front of my sausages. And said, “Oh, goodie.”

I’ve never said “Oh goodie” in my life.

It feels good.

I may say it a lot and make it something I am notorious for.

Because when I am famous I will have to have a quirky personality.

I can’t just rely on having sticky-out knees.

The door slammed open and a voice shouted, “I’ve brought ’em back, I’ve got most of the worst off, but they’ll need a good soak. Bye.”

Dibdobs shouted, “Thanks, Nora.”

The door slammed again and two toddlers shuffled into the kitchen.

Both with basin haircuts.

Basin hair with playdough in it.

Dibdobs was busy at the stove and said over her shoulder, “Hello boys, this is Tallulah.”



They came and looked at me for a bit whilst I was chewing.

One said, “Goo-morning, did you hear me clenin my teeef?”

Um, it wasn’t morning. And he didn’t have any teeth except for one waggly one right at the front. And he didn’t look like he would have that for long.

Mrs Dobby was beside herself with joy.

“Tallulah, this is Max and Sam. Say hello, boys.”

One started picking his nose and the other one, Max (or Sam), said, “They’ve gotten out, I’ve been feelin’ for ’em but I can’t find ’em.”

Mrs Dobby was getting a bit red in the face and her roundy glasses were steaming up, but she didn’t raise her voice, she just said, “What is it you were feeling for to find, darling?”

“Bogies.”

Mrs Dobby laughed, but not in a normal way, like a budgie-in-an-apron sort of way.

“No dear, not that, besides that naughty word, what were you looking for?”

“Bogies.”

“What else?”

I put my sausage to the side of my plate.

Max who had just been staring at me and waggling his loose tooth piped up.

“Snails. Great big sjuuuge ones with sjuuuge shells.”

“We put them to seep.”

Put them to seep?

Seep where?

They’d better not be seeping anywhere near me.

Mrs Dobby began sort of dusting the insane brothers with her tea towel, still smiling.

She said firmly, “Quiet now, boys, and go and play in…”

Sam slapped her a bit crossly across her calf with his dodie.

“Sjuuuge.”

“Be quiet!”

Max shouted back, “We WAS quietin’ before you came in!!!!!”



The boys stared at me all through my jelly and ice cream. And then, as a bit of light relief, my new dad, Harold, came home from his Christian table tennis.

He said, “Hello hello hello! Welcome welcome welcome. I’ll just pop my table tennis bat in the bat drawer and I’ll be with you.”

He’s jolly and beamy like Dibdobs and he’s obviously where the twins get their looks from.

He also had a pudding basin haircut.

Perhaps Dibdobs has got a badge in ‘basin cuts’. I bet she has.

Despite his haircut, Harold is so happy. When he heard that the sausages were local he almost had to go and have a lie down, he was so thrilled. I like the Dobbins already, but I don’t know what to do with them. I’m not the dibdobdib jolly sort of person, I’m more the dark nobbly sort of person. But I did smiling and nodding a lot. Maybe they think that I am a bit shy?

That’s good.

Shy is good.

I am going to be quite shy.

I will become known for my shyness.

And my quirky use of language, like saying ‘oh, goodie’ or ‘yum yum’. Or ‘Yarooo!’ Although I don’t want to overdo it and make people think I’m a bit simple.



The Dobbins don’t have Sky.

They don’t have any TV.

Dobbo said they made their own fun.

I made the mistake of saying, “What sort of thing?”

And she was off.

“Oh, gosh, where to start??? We do everything, don’t we, Harold?”

Harold stopped looking at some sort of nut through a microscope and said, “Yes, it’s almost too busy in the country. We look at maps, we go and look at the river flowing. Or watch the clouds. You name it, we go look at it. Then of course there’s the Guides and the Young Christians. You should join, Tallulah!”

Dibdobs said, “Oh, yes, you should. We’re weaving a rope. Making it long enough to reach right across the village and seeing how many people we can get skipping.”

I said, “Gosh.”



So, here I am in a squirrel room near a place called Grimbottom.

I put all my books on the shelves. I am reading Wuthering Heights again. It’s a set book for the course. And my secret letter from Georgia is under my pillow. For luck.

I was beginning to feel really sorry for myself and lonely when Dibdobs knocked on my door. She has brought me a mug of hot milk and, yarooo!, some slippers shaped like squirrels to make me ‘feel at home’.

So she clearly thinks I live in a hole in a tree.

She said to me, “I hope you like them, Harold made them at his sewing class.”

I said, “Oh, yes, they’re, well, they’re very unusual…and spiffing.”

Spiffing? Where did that come from? I am even surprising myself with my quirky use of language.

Then the psycho twins silently appeared in their jim-jams and stood at the door doing more looking. I hope and pray their snails are not ‘seepin’ in my room. They were still staring as Dibdobs closed the door.

I didn’t have anything else to do, so after she had gone I tried my slippers on. You put your big toe into the snout and the ears stick out attractively at the sides. The tails nestle up the backs of your legs. Perhaps I should wear them to college for my first day, as a quirky fashion statement.

The zany, free world of a performer.

Hmmmmm. I could wear my false moustache AND the squirrel slippers on Monday. I could. If I wanted to make the girls laugh and the boys ignore me. The one thing I know about boys so far is that they don’t like ‘fun’ dressing in girls. I tried a cowboy hat on in Topshop and Connor practically wet himself.

I wonder what sort of boys will be at the college? Yeeha! A whole summer of boys. Painting, sculpting, dancing, leaping – leaping like gazelles pretending to be chasing birds. And of course, boys. It’s embarrassing not having ever been involved with, well, rumpty tumpty.

Not ever having had anyone, besides my hamster, actually kiss me on the mouth.



I’m going to take my slippers off and have them in bed for company. Toe-side up, because I don’t want to startle myself if I wake up in the night – and see a couple of tails.

I am feeling nervous about Monday. What if I am so rubbish at everything that I am asked to leave?

If I am asked to leave, I can never go home again. I would have to run away to sea.

Where is the sea?

Am I up or down?



I was lying on my bed waggling my slippers around, preparing to tuck them up in bed with me, when I heard laughter from somewhere outside, nearly below my window, and a sort of shuffling and rustling.

A girl’s voice grumpily said, “Oy Cain, stop it. Are we officially going out or what?”

Then a boy’s voice, quite deep and with a really strong accent, said, “There’s no need to be such a mardy bum. I’m off, see you around.”

The girl said, “When?”

And the boy’s voice said, “I don’t know, tha’s getting on me nerves, I dint realise tha’ were such a quakebottom. Why don’t tha just hang around with the usual garyboys?”

A quakebottom?

Someone had got a trembling bottom?

I must see this.

I got off the bed and crawled to look through the window. It was very dark out there and I couldn’t see much.

I heard the girl say, “Oy Cain, wait for me!”

Then there was a sudden loud fluttering of wings and flash of white and a horrible screech like something had been killed. And illuminated in the moonlight, I saw an eerie snowy barn owl fly up into a tree near my window. It settled on the branch facing me and I could see a mouse. Dangling out of its beak.

The owl looked at me and blinked really slowly. Then it shut its eyes completely. The mouse started disappearing, bit by bit. The owl was swallowing the mouse whole. Head first. And having a little snooze at the same time.

Crikey.



In my study notes it says:

“How any human being could have attempted to write Wuthering Heights without committing suicide before finishing two chapters is a mystery. It is a mixture of vulgar depravity and unnatural horrors.”

Gosh. I am going to write that in my performance art notebook.




CHAPTER 2 Summer of Love (#ulink_4fc96c9c-ea2a-5762-9df3-30143b91a039)


I’ve been awake since sunriseBut the sun hasn’t risen

How can it be foggy in July?

Maybe it’s not fog, it’s the mists coming in from the moors. Oooohhhhhh. The moors, the mysterious dark moors of Wuthering Heights. Out of the mist an enormous dog will come lolloping along with fangs and lit up eyes. Followed by a brutishly handsome boy. Heathcliff. His master. And the dog’s master will hurl aside the Dobbins’ protests and come charging up the stairs into my room. All moody in a big coat and galoshes. Underneath you will be able to see boy hair cascading out of his shirt.

And he will say harshly, “Get up, Lullah, I’ve come to get you. Leave your squirrel bed behind, lass, and come and prance around like a barm pot with me on the moors. Come on, you can sing your song.”

“Heathcliff, it’s me, dancin’ around the moors again. I’ve cum a tap, tap, tappin’ at your window pane. Oooooh!”

Then he…

Oh no hang on a minute, there isn’t a dog in Wuthering Heights is there? Well at least not with lit up eyes. I’ve got it mixed up with The Hound of the Baskervilles. It’s more like The Owl of the Baskervilles round here. There was hooting going on all night.

I don’t remember that being mentioned in the extensively illustrated Dother Hall brochure.

I got my brochure out again:



Heckmondwhite has its own ‘zany’ cosmopolitan atmosphere.

Oooh, that sounds good. I’d better get dressed and have a look round Heckmondwhite and check out its ‘zany’ atmosphere. I only saw the village green last night. The high street and Boots must be further on.

I looked in the mirror. Yes, there I am. It’s me again. This northern light certainly makes my eyes look green. Not just a bit light brown like some people have and say they are green.

Is that a good thing?

I’ve got the same colouring as my mum – very dark hair. She says it’s from the Irish side. I asked her which side my knees were from and she said, “the circus side,” which she thought was hilarious.

Why am I on this course heading for the West End? I didn’t really think I would get on it. To be perfectly honest, I’ve only been in a couple of school plays. The last one was my own special version of Alice In Wonderland and I cast myself as a playing card. So if there are any standing-around-stiffly parts going, I’ll be in like a ferret up a trouser leg.

What I must remember, to keep myself cheerful, is that this could be my Summer of Love.

Even though it is foggy.

So far this summer, all that’s happened is that one of Connor’s goofy mates (commonly known as the Idiot Boy) put his hand on my bottom at the bus stop.

When I asked him what he was doing he said, “Keep your hair on, love, I was resting my kitbag, that’s all.”

But he wasn’t. I know a hand when I feel one on my bottom.

What it does mean is that I have got something that sticks out enough to rest something on.

I started singing to myself. I couldn’t help it, even though I am a lanky girl with nobbly knees and pimples instead of breasts, I am at the beginning of a big adventure! I am becoming me!!!

I flung open my window and started singing, “Fame!!! I’m gonna live for ever, I’m going to learn how to fly…”



I’ve put my hair in a ponytail and I’ve got mascara on. What can I do about being so pale? I know, I can pop into Boots, because they are open on Sundays, and see if they do any ‘cheeky’ products.

Coming out of the door, Dibdobs said, “I think the sun’s trying to get out.”

I smiled at her and said, “Top of the morning to you!”

It seems to be brightening up. The fog has cleared so now you can see the sheep, and over there, some sheep and a pig. No sign of people, unless they are crouching down behind the sheep.

I’ll go to the top of the lane and explore the village before I go to the high street.

Two rough-looking, dark-haired lads were by the bus stop, arguing about something. One of them got the other round the neck, yelling, “Take that back, tha great garyboy.”

And the other one kicked him in the shin and then took off, shouting back, “Come and get me, tha manky pillock, I’ll brain you!”

It’s charming being in the country.

I wonder if one of them is that Cain boy. Who would call a person Cain? Wasn’t he the boy in the Bible that killed his own brother?

Cain. You might as well call him ‘Rottenhead’ and have done with it.



OK, well here I am at the village green and there’s the village hall next to the pub, and then on this side is the grocer’s store, church and bus stop. I suppose the road to the main shopping bit is the one that goes off round the back of the pub.

The pub is called ‘The Blind Pig’. It’s got a sign with a pig on it. The piggy has dark glasses on and a walking stick in its trotter. Must be an olde Yorkshire story about a pig that saved the village single-handedly from the Vikings, even though it was blind.

Actually, it wouldn’t be single-handedly, it would be single-trotter-dly.

I have always been good at English, even if I say it myself. Which I have to because I haven’t spoken to anyone except myself for about two years.

You can’t count the Dobbins.

As I turned down the lane to the shops, a girl about my age came out of The Blind Pig. She had a mass of curly hair and a cute sticky-up nose.

She smiled at me and said, “Hello, do you live here?”

I smiled back and said, “No, I’m Tallulah and I’ve come to Yorkshire by mistake.”

She laughed and crinkled her nose up. She had a very gurgling hiccupping sort of laugh. She said, “My name’s Vaisey and I’m going to the performing arts summer school at Dother Hall.”

Hooray! Someone else on the planet besides Brown Owls and basin-headed people. Vaisey was staying at The Blind Pig because her bed wasn’t ready at the school.

I said, “Did you come with anyone, or do you know people there?”

She shook her hair. “Not yet, but I think it’s going to be great, don’t you? I feel a touch of the tap dancing coming on, I am so excited. The landlord of the pub says that they call it ‘Dither Hall’ in the village and that it’s all scarves and tambourines up there.”

I said, “Um…who’s the landlord? Is he a bit of a—”

At which point, a big, red-faced man in tweed breeches came out and looked at us.

“Oh…I see, another of you. Are you breeding?”

He shouted back into the pub, “Ruby, I said this would ’appen. The ‘artists’ are breeding already, there’ll be bloody hundreds of them by tomorrow. All miming their way to the bus stop.”

He went off in the direction of the village hall, laughing like a rusty goose.

A girl of about ten popped her head out of the pub door to look at us. She had pigtails and gap teeth and freckles, and a sweet little face.

She said in a broad accent, “Ullo, I’m Ruby. Who are you?”

I said, “I’m Tallulah.”

Ruby laughed and laughed and then said, “That’s a mad name. I think I’ll just call tha Loobylullah for short.”

I laughed as well. I felt sort of nice that she had made up a special name for me. I said to them both, “I was going to go to the shops. Do you fancy coming?”

Vaisey said, “Yes, that would be cool, let’s go. Which way is it?”

I said, “It must be down this road because I know there is only the village green thing here.”

Ruby was just looking at us.

I said, “Are you not coming?”

She said, “No, I’ll leave it.”

“See you later then.”

Ruby said, “Yep.”



Me and Vaisey set off down the road and passed the back of The Blind Pig and its outbuildings.

Then we came to a line of cottages and a barn.

Vaisey said, “Which do you like best: cappuccino or hot chocolate? I think I will have hot chocolate…”

And that’s when we saw the sheep. Fields of them, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Oh no, of course I am exaggerating, there was a sign as well and it said:

Blubberhouse Sewage Works 10 miles

We were back at The Blind Pig two minutes later and Ruby was sitting on the wall eating a bag of crisps.

She said, “Did you not go to the shops?”

We shook our heads.

Ruby said quite kindly, “Have you two ever bin in the country before?”

We shook our heads.

Ruby said, “The woolly things are sheep. See thee later, I’m off to the pie-eating contest, my dad’s in it.”

Vaisey and me decided to make the best of things by looking round what there was of the village. I’ll give you a thumbnail sketch of the high spots.

The post office. What we could see through the window: stamps, ten ‘amusing’ birthday cards, sellotape.

The village shop. Pies, milk, teabags, paint and a selection of boiled sweets.

I won’t bother you with the low spots.

As we passed, we could hear loud cheering and heckling from the village hall. It was decorated with a banner that said: ‘Pie eating’.

A loud voice bellowed from inside. It sounded like Ruby. “Come on, Dad, get it down you! Only twenty to go!!!”

I looked at Vaisey. She said, “Do you want to see my room?”



The pub smelt all beery when we went in. It didn’t have what you would call a ‘cosmopolitan atmosphere’. It had a darts board and skittles atmosphere. It looked like one of those pubs that you see in scary old films.

You know, when two lost travellers are on the moors. Suddenly a thunderstorm breaks. They are soaking and the lightning is crackling across the sky. Then they hear something terrible howling. And as they walk on, the howling gets nearer. A flash of lightning illuminates a slathering monstrous dog with fangs. And they start running, and the beast starts running, and one falls over and then…Heavens to Betsy, they see lights! And hear a piano. The welcoming lights of an old inn. The sign creaks backwards and forwards in the howling wind. A flash of lightning illuminates the sign.

It reads, ‘The Blind Pig’.



Anyway, that is what The Blind Pig was like. I was glad the landlord was out eating pies.

There were pictures of the landlord all over the walls. Mostly with dead things that he had shot. Foxes, stags, deer. Chickens. A cow. Surely he hadn’t shot a cow? In each one he was standing with his shotgun and his foot on whatever poor thing he had shot. There was even one of him with one foot on a pie. Underneath it said:

Ted Barraclough Champion Pie-Eater:22 steak and kidney and 4 pork.

We went up the steep stairs to Vaisey’s room. It had dark oak beams and slanting wooden floors, it was so old. Yorkshire people seem obsessed with wood. There is very little city loft-living style around here. Where are all the shiny surfaces?

Vaisey prattled about her family as we looked through her things. Two brothers and a sister. Blah blah. Dogs, two budgies, both called Joey. Blah. Ordinary every-day legs. She told me she could sing and dance a bit and that she had played Titania in Midsummer Night’s Dream and her mum had made her costume.

I just looked at her as the edges of our planets drew away from each other.

Her mum had made her costume?

I said, “Your dad doesn’t go to work on a bike that has a handy basket, does he?”

She blinked at me in amazement. “Yes, how on earth did you know that?”

I shrugged carelessly and went to look moodily out of the window. Perhaps you could see Grimbottom from here. Sadly I forgot to duck so struck my head on the low beam.

Then Vaisey asked about me and my family. I was a bit evasive.

I said, “Oh you know, they both, um…they go away a lot.” Even Vaisey couldn’t think of anything normal to say about that. Then I said quickly, “Vaisey, have you got a boyfriend?”

She went bright red. And twitched her nose, like a mop-haired bunny.

Then she got up from the bed and went to the window, put her hand to her forehead and whispered, “Aahhh, l’amour, l’amour, pour quoi? C’est une mystery.”

I said to her, “Um…did you just say in French, love, love, for why, it’s a mystery?”

She shook her curls and laughed sadly.

“It was a line from a piece we did last term at school. I was a suicidal nun.”

Gosh.

I didn’t think I’d mention my playing-card experience just yet.

“So does that mean you’ve been dumped by a boy?”

And Vaisey said, “No, it means it’s a mystery because I haven’t snogged a boy – yet.”

Vaisey and I have decided that we will try and have a joint Summer of Love.

Just then I heard Mr Barraclough coming in shouting “Pie! Pie! Pie!” Time to go home for tea.



Dibdobs has been face painting with the boys. She was a butterfly. It was quite a scary sight. Then the twins came in.

Not as scary as the basin-headed owls.

After tea – yes, it was local pies, Harold couldn’t believe his luck – the Dobbins thought a game of Cluedo might be fun, but I said, “I think I should get to bed early for my first day at college.”

Harold said, “At quarter to six?”

I think even they thought that quarter to six was early by anybody’s standards.

I gave my artistic laugh and also threw in some quirky language for good measure. “Lawks-a-mercy, no! I’m going to have a long bath and…”

I looked shyly down. Which is pretty impressive to have done artistic laugh, quirky language and shyness all in the space of ten seconds. Anyway, I looked shyly down, and then shyly up, because the lunatic owl brothers were lying on the floor looking up at me, blinking and sucking on their dodies.

I said, “I need to prepare myself. You know, limber up…my artistic…muscles. Soak up the atmosphere, maybe read Jane Eyre. Anyway, have a lovely evening guessing who bludgeoned who to death.”

I left Dibdobs stuffing the insane brothers into their nightshirts. They didn’t even take their dodies out when she pulled their owl heads through.



I’ve painted my nails a midnight blue colour and I think I will wear mostly black tomorrow. To blend in. It will be funny not wearing a uniform to go to school. And to wear a bit of make-up.

I stayed for ages in the bath. Some of the girls at my school at home were really ‘mature’ for their age. Kate and Siobhan had bras. And a few of them were getting hair under their arms.

If you don’t get bosomy bits by a certain age does that mean you won’t ever get them? I read in one of the magazines that handling them makes them grow.

Maybe I will try rubbing mine about a bit with the soap. To encourage them.



Half an hour later.

My arms are killing me.

Even if my lady chest bits don’t grow I am going to have strong arms. If there is a trapeze class I will be very good at it.

Also I will have very clean lady chest bits.

When I came out of the bathroom the twins were staring at me from the hall. Sucking on their dodies. They’re not tall enough to look through the keyhole of the bathroom door, are they? They couldn’t have seen me making my lady chest bits grow, could they?

I went off to my room.

I could chart my progress.

Maybe do a bit of measuring.

You know, legs: 8ft high. Lady chest bits: one inch each.

I wonder if I can find another word for my non-chest bits…?

Norkers?

Ping-pong balls in a string bag?

Honkers?

Corkers?

Actually, I quite like corkers. Well, I would if I actually had any corkers.

But I am in fact corker-less.



I went into my squirrel room and was just looking for a book to read when the door creaked open and revealed the twins. Sucking and looking. I don’t know why they like to look at me so much. Just looking and sucking. I looked back at them and then Dibdobs came bustling in and said, “Boys, there you are! What do you say at nightie-night time to Tallulah?”

Sam said, “Bogie.”

Dibdobs went a bit red and she said, “No, that’s a silly word, isn’t it? We say ‘Night night, Tallulah’. You boys say it now. Night night, Tallulah…”

The boys just stared, then Max said, “Ug oo.”

And turned and went off.

Dibdobs said, “Yes, that’s right, but say ‘Ug oo, Tallulah’.”

Sam said, “Ug oo.”

And Dibdobs said, “Tallulah.”

And Sam said, “Bogie.”

Dibdobs ushered him out. “Silly, silly word. Don’t say it any more. Let’s have a little story. Shall we read about Thomas the Tank Engine?”

“Bogie.”

I’m reading Jane Eyre tonight for that Yorkshire grimness. I’ve got up to the bit when Jane goes back to see Mr Rochester, and the hall is burnt to smithereens and he is blind.

Yarooo!

And it is probably raining and foggy.




CHAPTER 3 Your feet will bleed (#ulink_883ef4f4-54ff-5d72-9022-b56b7a1fa221)


Before you experience the golden slippers of applause

When I woke up I was all of a tremble. I’m going to open my note from Georgia to calm me down. A bit of grown-up advice from someone older and wiser. Who has snogged.



Dear Tallulah,

Remember. A boy in the hand is worth two on the bus.

Luuurve Georgia x



What bus?

I washed my hair and it’s still damp, but at least it’s swishy. Swishy hair can get you a long way.

The Dobbins gave me a family hug and I went off to meet Vaisey by the post office. It was a bright, sunny day and she was wearing a little red skirt, leggings, a red denim jacket and a cheeky little hat.

She said, “I didn’t sleep much, did you?”

I said, “No, I had this dream that I went on stage and realised that I’d forgotten my knees, so my legs were all floppy, and I was flopping around.”

Vaisey looked at me.

As we walked along the woodland path to Dother Hall, we saw another sign pointing in the opposite direction. It said:



‘Woolfe Academy for Young Men’



Cor, love a duck. And also Lawks-a-mercy. I said that inwardly, but outwardly I said, “Blimey, and also, what larks, it looks like there’s going to be tons of boys around.”

Vaisey’s face went as red as her little hat.

And I must say I had butterflies playing ping-pong in my tummy. But what if the boys were like Connor and his mates, farting and tripping us up?



It only took us twenty minutes to walk to the Hall. It was a lovely walk if you like baa-ing. Which I sort of did this morning.

Then we rounded a corner and saw before us the ‘magnificent centre of artistry’, Dother Hall. I couldn’t help noticing its fine Edwardian front and the fact that its roof was on fire.

As we looked up at the flames and smoke a figure emerged on to the roof in between the high chimney pots.

I said to Vaisey, “Bloody hell, it’s Mrs Rochester. Bagsie I’m not Jane Eyre, I don’t want to get married to some blind bloke who shouts a lot.”

Vaisey said, “It can’t really be Mrs Rochester, can it?”

I said, “Well, you say that, but it all adds up, doesn’t it? We’re in Yorkshire on some moors at a big house, the roof’s on fire and someone, who may or may not have been banged up in the attic for years, has just come out on to the roof. I’m only stating the obvious. Who else could it be?”

Then we noticed that ‘Mrs Rochester’ was wearing a macintosh and carrying a fire extinguisher. And she started putting the fire out with foam.

After the fire was out Mrs Rochester disappeared amongst the chimneys.



We went up the steep front steps into a huge entrance hall where about twenty girls were giggling and shuffling about. It’s funny being in a place where you don’t know one single person. Well, apart from a person you only met the day before.

Vaisey said, “That girl over there by the bust of Nelson is standing in first position from ballet.”

Never mind about ballet positions, where were all the boys?

Suddenly a woman in a pinafore dress, with her hair in a mad bun, burst through the door. She had a clipboard.

Over the noise she yelled, “Guten tag, fräulein und wilkommen.”

Then she started laughing. Well, honking really to be accurate.

She said, “The joke is, girls, I’m not German. You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps!!!!!”

And she was off hooting again.

“So, let’s get to know each other. I am Gudrun Sachs and I pretty much run the place! Well, I am the principal’s secretary. First of all, I want to take your names and tick you off!! No, no, not tell you off, just put a little tick next to your names. Off we jolly well gehen.”

She pointed to Vaisey, “You dear, name, dear?”

Vaisey went red and said, “Vaisey Davenport.”

Gudrun did a big tick on her list.

Then she pointed her pen at me.

I said, “Tallulah Casey.”

Gudrun said, “Oh Begorrah, begorrah, to be sure.”

Crumbs.

She went round the group, and I tried to remember some of the girls; there was Jo and Flossie and Pippy and Becka, Honey, I think, I do remember Milly and Tilly because they rhymed. But unfortunately I was so busy thinking that their names rhymed I can’t remember who is who.



As we were being ticked off, Mrs Rochester came barging through, covered in foam. Gudrun said, “Everything back to normal in the fire department, Bob?”

Mrs Rochester, otherwise known as Bob, said, “The fire’s out but I’ve singed my ponytail in the process.”

He had actually. Well, not so much singed as burnt half of it off. The ends were all frazzled. He said, “I’ve been growing it since Wizard split. It’s an old friend.”

Gudrun said, “Perhaps if you trimmed off the singed bits it could be more of a…a…bob?”

Then she started chortling with laughter. “Do you see what I did there…Bob is called Bob and then I made a wordplay about his ponytail.”

After he’d gone, Gudrun said, “Bob is our technician-come-handyman. We have this very funny joke about Bob. If we are looking for him, someone might say, ‘Bob about?’ and that is the signal for the rest of us to start, you know, ‘Bob-ing about’.”

And she started jumping up and down and bobbing about.

“Do you see? Taking the expression ‘bob about’ literally. Do you see?”

We all just looked at her.



As she led us into the main hall, I said to Vaisey, “Where are the boys? Where is Martin and his tiny instrument?”

Vaisey said, “I don’t know, perhaps he was just a model.”

I looked at her. “What, you mean, made out of plasticine?”

Vaisey said, “No, you know, not really a student, but a model pretending to be a student.”

I didn’t know what to say.

We went to sit down.

The hall had a stage at the end of it with a film screen set up. I sat on the end of a row, and Vaisey was next to a small black-haired girl. She had black shiny eyes as well. A bit like a human conker. I don’t mean she didn’t have any arms and legs and was on a piece of string, but anyway…

Vaisey and I said hello to her, and she said, “I’m Jo. I know you think I’m quite short, but I’m deceptively strong.”

Um.

She said, “I am.”

I said, “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

Jo said, “No, but because I’m short you’re thinking, she can’t really be that strong. She might be quite strong for a short-arse, but she’s not ordinarily strong.”

What was she going on about? I said, “I hadn’t noticed that you were short, anyway.”

She said, “Well I am.”

I said, “I’m not saying you’re not, I am just saying that I hadn’t noticed, so if I hadn’t noticed that might mean that…”

She stood up and I said, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you are short, aren’t you? Are you sure you’re not crouching down?”

Jo said, “You see, you see! You do think I’m short.”

I said, “Well, you are. Compared to me, I mean. But then I’m too tall, really.”

She’d gone a bit red now and said, “Alright, but you just have a go at pushing me over, then we’ll see who’s short.”

Vaisey said, “I don’t think that…pushing and so on is…”

Jo said to me, “Go on.”

This was less Fame!!! And more ‘Fight!’

I said, “I don’t want to, I might hurt you.”

She said, “That is what you think, but you just wait. Honestly, you’ll get a surprise.”

I thought I would give her a bit of a shove to be polite. Unfortunately, I did it just as she was turning round to put her bag on her seat. I didn’t push her very hard, but she still careered sideways over two empty chairs and headfirst into a big girl’s lap. Who said, “Oy.”

When Jo got up her face was nearly as red as Vaisey’s hat. But she had pluck, I would give her that. She smoothed down her hair and said, “I wasn’t ready, try again.”

I said, “Look, can we just leave it that I think you are really strong and—”

She said, “You’re scared you’ll hurt yourself.”

I said, “Oh, alright.”

This time she tensed herself. I stepped back to get a proper run up and said to Vaisey, “Would you mind moving, Vaisey, so I can knock this person, who I have only just met, into the middle of next week!”

At which point I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked round and up to see a tall thin woman in a cloak. She said, “Name?” And not in a nice interested way.

I said, “Tallulah Casey.”

And she got out a little notepad, and said out loud as she wrote…“Ta-llu-lah Caaaaasee-y.”

Then she shut the notepad with a snap and said, “Now let me tell you my name, it’s Doctor Lightowler.”

I kept my face straight and didn’t say really slowly, “Aaaaah Doooooctor Liiiiightowwwwler.”

The Doctor said, “We shall come to know each other very well, Ta-llu-lah Caaa-sey.”

And she didn’t seem to mean, getting to know each other in a friendy-wendy way.

As she went off, Jo said, “Well I thought that went well, didn’t you? I think she secretly likes you. But don’t worry, I will protect you from her.”

And she put her arm in mine. I think things were going quite well. In a friendy-wendy way.



A funny clock chimed somewhere and a door to the right of the stage opened. A woman in white suede cowboy boots and a fringed jacket walked slowly to the front of the stage and looked out intently.

We looked back at her.

She looked back at us.

Then finally, in a throaty posh voice she said, “Welcome, fellow artistes. You see how I have got your attention. I have made this stage my own. In a few short weeks, we will teach you the same skills. You too will fill the stage.”

I nudged Vaisey, but she seemed to be hypnotised by the stage-filling idea.

The woman went on, “I am Sidone Beaver. Not Sid-one Beaver, or Sid-ony Beaver but Sid-o-nee Beaver, principal of Dother Hall. Here to guide you to the theatre of dreams. Think of me less as a headmistress and more like…the keeper of the gateway…of your flight to…the stars.”

Jeepers creepers.

Sid-o-nee was still filling the stage.

“I know you sit before me, young, nervous. You think, how could I ever be like her? But I can still remember my own beginnings in this crazy, heartbreaking, cruel, wonderful, mad, mad world of art. The highs, the lows…let me not mince words, let me not blind you with dreams. There is no easy passage, no free lunch, this is a tough path…Your feet will bleed before you experience the golden slippers of applause!”

We looked at our feet.

Soon to be bleeding.

Sidone went on, “By the end of these few short weeks, some of you will be the ‘chosen’ and some of you will be the ‘unchosen’.”

When Sidone left the stage we were shown a film of students working at different projects at Dother Hall.

Ooh, look, here were students tap dancing, and some sword fighting in the woods. Students making a papier mâché sculpture.

Jo whispered, “Why are they making a big stool?”

Vaisey said, “It’s an elephant.”

Jolly students painting outdoors. What a hoot! There was one photo of students dressed in black jumpsuits with painted white faces, looking at a motorbike.

I said to Vaisey, “What are they supposed to be?”

She shrugged.

The caption said at the end: Students produce a mime version of Grease.

Of course.

But funnily enough, although there were one or two shots of male teachers – oh, and Bob banging at stuff with a wrench – there were no boys around.

Until right at the end.

At last.

There was Martin making his tiny instrument. I elbowed Vaisey. “Look, there’s Martin with his lute!”



There was a break afterwards. I felt quite dazed. ‘Chosen’ – ‘unchosen’ – ‘bleeding feet’ – ‘golden slippers of applause’?

We followed the signs to the café. Vaisey, me and Jo.

Jo said, “I’m really, really excited, aren’t you? I didn’t sleep a wink last night, well it wasn’t the excitement of course, it was because of the whole dorm thing.”

Vaisey nodded. “I’d quite like to see the dorm, actually. I wonder if…”

Jo said, “Oh, you weren’t here last night, were you?

Vaisey said, “No. I was supposed to be here, but my bed wasn’t quite ready, or something.”

Jo laughed grimly. “Be glad you weren’t in it, because that’s where the roof came in – over your bed. Bob nailed up an old blanket to keep the bats out and I think that is what caught fire. I’m not surprised, really, when Milly switched on her bedside lamp, it was giving off sparks. There was a dead pigeon in the loo. Maybe electrocuted.”

As we got our tea and biccies I said to the other girls, “I don’t want to go on about Martin and his lute, but, where is Martin and his lute? And where are Martin’s mates?”

We looked at Jo.

Jo said, “Ahh, you mean Martin and his mates. Well, Dother Hall used to be mixed, but there was some sort of incident involving a game called ‘twenty-five in a duvet cover’ and since then boys are banned.”

I said, “What a swizz. Still, at least there’s Woolfe Academy.”

We asked Jo if she knew anything about it.

She said, “No, but I would like to. At home, I’m at an all-girls school.”



After break we were taken on a tour of the theatre department by Bob. I think he has given his ponytail a quick trim.

He was wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Fat men are harder to kidnap’.

Bob said, “Sit down on the floor, Mr de Courcy will be with you in a minute. Don’t play around with the lights, dudes.”

As he went out, we saw that his T-shirt had ROCK on the back and that he was wearing very low-slung jeans with a belt that had all sorts of hammers and stuff hanging off it. And unfortunately, I think it is pulling his trousers down. I didn’t want to look but there was something pale peeping out under his T-shirt. I think it may be his bottom.

One of the other girls said, “It’s theatre in the round.”

I didn’t like to ask what that was. Only round people are allowed to be in it? Probably.

The girl who had said “theatre in the round” was the big girl who Jo had fallen into the lap of. So perhaps that is why she was so au fait with theatre in the round. She had thick-framed glasses on and dark hair in a ponytail with a big, clunky fringe. So that you couldn’t see if she had eyebrows or not. She was looking at me.

I don’t know why, I had my knees covered up.

I looked back. I was trying not to blink.

She didn’t blink either.

I had accidentally entered a no blinking competition. On my first day at performing arts college. Things were hotting up.

Then the girl made her eyes go upwards so you could just see the white bits. Like in Night of the Zombies. It made me laugh. And that was the official end of the no blinking competition. We shook hands and she said, “Hello. You’ve got green eyes.”

I said, “I know.”

She said, “I know you know, but now I know.”

And I said, “I know.”



Two minutes later it seemed that everyone was chatting to each other. The zombie girl is called Florence, although her mates call her Flossie and she is from Blackpool.

I said, “Do you go on the pier and get candy, Flossie?”

She said, “Do you do that a lot?”

I said, “What?”

And she said, “Make really, really crap jokes?”

Jo and Vaisey said, “Yes.”

And she said, “I think I might like you quite a lot.”

A few people were doing handstands against the wall and the volume had gone up by a million when the door banged open to reveal a fat bloke. (I say things as I see things, and I couldn’t see the door any more, so I know I am right about the fatness.)

The bloke had little roundy cheeks, you know, the ones that look like there is a snack concealed in each one, for later. He was wearing a suit with a waistcoat. And a bow-tie. And he had tiny sort of piggy eyes. Or maybe they weren’t really piggy eyes, they were just squashed up by his cheeks.

He clapped his pudgy hands together. “Mes enfants, mes enfants!! Tranquil! Tranquil!”

Everyone did go quiet, but I don’t think it was because he had said ‘be quiet’ in French. I think it was the sheer size of his trousers.

He said, “I am Monty de Courcy, I have the privilege and the honour to teach you the wonders of theatre.

The magic of the-atre.

The language of the-a-tre.

You and I shall eat live breathe the the-a-tre. Let’s to work!”




CHAPTER 4 I don’t think I can go a whole thummer without boyth (#ulink_b595da4d-7340-5431-9d0a-e9dfed7223ad)


Where is Martin and his tiny instrument?

In the afternoon we were told that we could have the rest of the day to explore, but first we would be given our assignment for tomorrow. We were to gather in the entrance hall in twenty minutes.

When we arrived, Sidone was playing a cello dressed in a velvet trouser suit. Sidone, not the cello.

Monty de Courcy entered wearing a top hat and stopped in front of us.

Was he wearing eye-liner?

He took the top hat off and put his finger to his lips.

Then he shook the hat.

Had he got a rabbit in there?

He beckoned to us, so we shuffled over.

And stood in front of the hat. Looking at the hat.

After about twenty seconds, Monty started shaking the hat and nodding his head.

Jo said, “Sir, shall we take—”

Monty shook his head and put his finger over his lips again.

Jo said very quietly, “But, Sir, shall we take—”

Again Monty shook his hat, raising his eyebrows like he had had a tremendous surprise.

Then he started winking and tapping his nose and raising his eyebrows all at the same time.

Then, he came over to me and pointed a finger into the hat. Oh…there were envelopes in there.

Vaisey looked at me and shrugged. I shrugged back. We all shrugged.

Finally Monty lost his rag silently and handed the envelopes out himself.

On the front of the envelope it said: Open me just before you go to sleep. Dream on the contents.

We walked past Sidone, still playing the cello, and as we passed she said in a whispering voice, “Girls, my girls…soft, soft, what dreams are these?”

She looked at us.

And raised her eyebrows.

I have no idea. What dreams? What soft?



We popped to the loos to find that Bob had pinned a notice up in there, it said:

Listen up, dudes, Dother Hall is seriously green.

THINK: Finished your bath? Wait! Why not rinse out your smalls in the bathwater? Bob

Vaisey went red because Bob had written ‘smalls’.

We all got together on the grass to eat our sandwiches. I was lying on my back with one leg over the other, looking up at the sky. I’m beginning to feel really great now. New friends, freedom and everything. I am ready to start filling my tights. I’m not a little girl any more. I am trembling on the edge of womanhood. As the rest of them were chomping away, I said, “I feel like I’m really growing up now.”

And I uncrossed my legs and unfortunately kicked Flossie in the back of her head. She nearly choked on her tuna surprise.

Jo said, “Lullah, are you starting to grow up from the waist down? Your legs are about a million feet long.”

I said, “I know, I really hate my legs.”

Jo sat up. “You’ve got cracking legs, really long. Look at mine.”

We looked at hers. I thought they were nice legs, actually, with dimples in her knees. Not long – well, short, to be frank.

Vaisey said, “Look at my bum, look how it sticks out. And if I jump up and down and shake at the same time, it waggles about.”

Jo said, “I think it’s horrid how everything is to do with looks and it doesn’t count if you are a nice person. Why should it matter what your legs are like?”

I said, “I agree with you, but…look at these!”

I rolled up my trousers and let my legs be free and wild in the summer air.

They looked at them.

Flossie said, “My cousin Jenet has legs like yours, and my auntie took her to a doctor.”

I said, “Am I going to like this story?”

Flossie said, “Shhh, I’m talking. Anyway, the doctor said Jenet was like a race horse.”

I said, “What, she had four really long, thin legs?”

Flossie came and sat on me. I think she is what is known in showbiz as ‘violent’.

She said, “No, what he meant was that she will grow into her legs. And you will grow into yours and then that will be good. And you will stop moaning.”

Vaisey was pulling at her hair, which, and I don’t mean this unkindly, did look like a really badly knitted hat.

She said, “And you’ve got very attractive hair, not like mine.”

I know I should have said, ‘No, no, no, no you’ve got lovely hair!’ But really I wanted to hear more about mine first. So I said, “How do you mean ‘attractive hair’?”

Flossie said, “You know very well what she means. She means you’ve got very attractive hair.”

I said, in a shy surprised voice, “Have I?”

Flossie said, “Yes, you have, but you’ve got very bad acting skills. You KNOW that your hair is all glossy and black as a hearth.”

I couldn’t help doing a secret tee hee.

And Jo said, “And you’ve got green eyes. If you wanted, you could be like a traffic light or something, they are so green.”

I felt a bit cheered up.

I said, in a fit of general loving the world-ness, “I think we are all very, very lovely.”



Honey came and sat with us. She walks slowly and softly, so that you don’t notice her coming. Not in a creepy ‘I’m going to rob your handbag’ way, just in a softy way. It’s nice.

Honey seems just like her name. Sort of golden and smoothy. Her skin is golden and her hair is thick and gold. And she has quite big corkers. And she’s sweet, just like honey made by bees. Except that that kind of honey doesn’t have a lisp.

Honey said, “Theth no thign of any boyth, awound?”

I said, “No boyth?”

She said, “Yeth.”

Vaisey had got interested now. She said, “Honey, do you know about boys? Have you got a boyfriend?”

Honey said, “Oh yeth, I’ve got two on the go, actually. Thafety in numbeth, my mum thayth. I don’t think I can go a whole thummer without boyth.”



After lunch, we walked off towards Heckmondwhite. Vaisey, Jo, Flossie and I were slightly ahead of the others. Flossie said, “Oooh, look, a couple of jolly farmers in their fields. One of them is cheerily waving his stick at us. Would it be a stick or a crook? It’s not a gun, is it?”

I said, “Oh, what larks, it’s the grumpy bloke I accidentally kicked on the train.”

As we ambled along, Jo said, “Do you think that Honey really has got two boyfriends?”

Vaisey said, “She seems a bit more ‘mature’ than us, more experienced, don’t you think?”

I said, “I’ve had my bottom felt.”

Flossie said, “Who by? Not your mum?”

I said, “No, it was an actual boy.”

Vaisey said, “Was it nice?”

I said, “Well, not really, because he pretended it wasn’t his hand, it was his kitbag.”

Jo said, “I’ve had my bra undone through my T-shirt.”

I said, “Great balls of fire, who did that?”

Jo said, “I don’t know which one, because they all bombed off on their bikes before I could see.”

Vaisey said, “My cousin put an ice cube down the front of my T-shirt and then offered to get it out for me.”

I said, “Is that it then? A maybe fondling of a bum, a hit-and-run undone thing, and an ice cube incident?”

Flossie said, “No, not quite…”

We turned to look at her.

She said, “Well, this is how it happened. It was a hot steamy night, you know, those kind of nights when you feel restless. You want something to happen and you don’t quite know what? Like you were in a play set in Mississippi and you can hear the damn crickets. Going on and on.”

Jo said, “They don’t play cricket in Mississippi.”

Flossie said, “Someone kill her while I carry on.”

We stopped walking.

Flossie took off her glasses. And loosened her hair and tossed it about. Then she stretched her arms above her head and sighed and went on in a sort of Texan drawl. “Now y’all know how damn hoooooottttt it can get in high summer. To get some air, I decided to peg out some washing. My smalls, actually. Although I hadn’t washed them in dirty bathwater. What a fool I feel now.”

I said, “Will you get on with it?”

Flossie went on in a quiet voice. “I was peggin’ out some of my pants when I saw a couple of young fellas watchin’ me. One of them was quite handsome. When I turned round, he ducked behind a bush. I thought, ah, he’s kinda shy. So I kinda half-smiled in the direction of the bush and set off, slowly into the house.”

Flossie mimed picking up a washing basket and sashaying down the road. “Then I heard a rustlin’ behind me. Aah, I thought, now he will say ‘Miss Flossie, you are so goddam beautiful’. But the rustlin’ was followed by pingin’ and one of those boys was wearin’ my pants on his head. And ran off wearin’ them.”



When we got to Heckmondwhite it took us the usual minute and a half to go round the village. Some of the girls pretended to be interested in the cards in the post office. But it is very hard to be interested in ten copies of a card that has a picture of that fat bloke from Little Britain on the front. And you open it and it says, “I want that one.”

Vaisey wanted to go home and go to bed and start dreaming on whatever our assignment is. Which I think is slightly cheating because it’s only six o’clock. The other girls had to be back at Dother Hall for tea, so I slumped off home to the Dobbins’ house.

I am exhausted. I could hardly eat my ham sandwiches. And trifle. And Eccles cake. The Dobbins were on rope-weaving duty and so they went out after tea. Dibdobs gave me a little huglet as she went.

“Come and do a bit of weaving, Tallulah, it’s fun! Mr Barraclough often brings us ginger beer and does impressions. He did a very funny one of a ferret up his trouser leg last time.”

I said I would pass.

In my squirrel room, I looked out across the moorlands. Some of the pigs are being herded down the path at the back. The boy who was driving them along looked familiar, sort of wild and dark. As he passed by, two of the piglets charged off and he went after them with a stick to prod them. He shouted, “Ay up, Smoky and Streaky, get tha sens back on to path.”

Smoky and Streaky.

How mean was that?



Everything is so different here. And even though the girls are only messing about, I know for a fact that Honey plays the piano, and so does Vaisey. And Vaisey has been a suicidal nun.

Should I drop that thing that cousin Georgia said about Norwegian art into the conversation? What did she say it was called? Sled-werk.

There must be something I am good at. Besides being able to get stuff down from the top shelf.



Maybe there’s going to be a violent thunderstorm. I’m glad I’m not in the dorm with a blanket over my head. It’s hot and sticky, even though it’s after nine o’clock. I’ve done my corkies-rubbing exercises and I can’t say I can see any difference yet. Although my arms look slightly bigger.

Right, I am going to open my envelope to find out about the assignment for tomorrow:



Tomorrow we begin our big adventure. Be prepared. Sleep.Bring comfortable workout clothes.And now…think of a word, or words, that sum you up.Dream on it.Bring it to the college tomorrow.

A word or words that sum me up?

I lay in the squirrel bed thinking.

Nobbly?

Long?

Corkie-less?

Oh, that’s attractive, isn’t it? In conclusion, I am a long, nobbly person with no corkers.

Help!



I can’t sleep, it’s no use. I’m too hot. And I’m too worried (and nobbly and long).

I’ll think about something else. What though?

Oh, I know. Dad sent me a book through the post from wherever he is. Anyway, it turns out to be a James Bond book. In his note, Dad said I would learn a lot from it. He says he did.

I’ll just open it randomly.

Oh, here’s some stuff about boy things. James Bond and Honeychile. Ooh, that’s funny, isn’t it? Being a bit like Honey.



It was unbearably hot in the hotel bedroom in Jamaica. Outside, the geckos and parakeets were settling down noisily for the night.

I’ll just have to try and imagine the noise of the parakeets above the baa-ing and grunting outside my window.



Honeychile got up from the bed and took off all her clothes. She went and stood next to the window.

Crumbs.



Bond went across to her and took a breast in each hand. But still she looked away from him out of the window.

“Not now,” she said in a low voice.

Is that what you’re supposed to do?



I went to the open window. And when I looked down I saw a boy and girl, um, snogging. The girl had her back to me and her arms wrapped round the boy’s neck. I couldn’t see his face. I wondered if it was like in the James Bond book and he was holding one of her breasts in each hand?

If he was, she would turn her head away in a minute and say, “Not now”. I couldn’t see because of the angle…And that’s when she snuggled into his shoulder and he looked up at my window.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

I was like a rabbit in a headlight.

Maybe I can pretend I’m just drawing the curtains.

There aren’t any curtains.

Perhaps I could pretend to be cleaning the windows.

I haven’t got a duster.

I could use the sleeve of my jim-jams.

Good. Good idea.

Creative.

Improvise cleaning a window.

He was still looking at me.

As I started cleaning the window with my sleeve.

Then he winked at me.

How disgusting.

To be snogging one girl and winking at another.

What sort of person did that?

He is like a wild animal.

A winking, snogging, wild animal.

Then the girl said, “Oy Cain, what are you looking at?”

I shut the window quickly.

Cain. Why is he always underneath my window?




CHAPTER 5 Into the bosoms of the Dother ship (#ulink_08b8790f-a00f-56a4-9a76-2c781c9cb98e)


We first learn to fill our tights

I woke up early the next day. I’d been dreaming that I had a bra made out of soap. It slipped off when I did my special audition dance and everyone laughed.

I am going to tie my hair up and wear a hat. Cain won’t recognise me again out of my jim-jams, will he?

Oh Lord, he has seen me in my jim-jams. Watching him snog.

I went down to breakfast and the Dobbins were all as cheerful as people who hadn’t been caught in their jim-jams in the middle of the night. Pretending to clean windows. But really watching people snog.

The twins were ready for an action-packed day of being really odd. Dibdobs said in her beamy way, “Morning, Tallulah! Say morning, boys. To Tallulah.”

They looked at me.

Sam said, “Oo been seeping?”

Dibdobs laughed, “Yes, clever boy, Tallulah has been sleeping and now she’s awake and going to school. Hurrah!!!”

But I don’t think Sam meant had I been sleeping. I think he meant had I been seeping. Because then he said, “I been seeping a lot.”

Dobbs said, “Yes, clever boy, you’ve been sleeping too. Like Tallulah. You’ve been sleeping in your beddy-byes and now you are up and dressed!”

Max said, “No! Lady!!! He not seeped in his beddy-byes, he seeped in his pants!”

I had to go.



I met Vaisey by the post office. She had her hair in a plait so it didn’t stick out.

She said, “Ruby plaited it for me, do you think it looks alright?”

I said, “Yes, it looks nice.”

I think she is wearing a bra, she seems more sticky-outy somehow. I didn’t ask her, but I might sneak a look later on.

I do like her, she’s so friendly. And she seems all excited and happy.

She said, “Did you do your assignment? What words did you come up with?”

Before I could tell her she went on. “At first I was thinking about what people said about me, you know…nice. Bit young. Mad red hair, sticky-out bottom. But somehow, nice, young, red hair, big bum didn’t make me feel good. And then I thought the words that sum me up are Black Beauty.”

I said, “Um, that’s a horse.”

As we walked through the woods she said, “Black Beauty was my all-time top favourite book when I was little.”

I said, “Yes, but you didn’t want to BE a horse, did you? You wanted to HAVE a horse.”

Vaisey said, “No, I wanted to be the horse. I was Black Beauty.”

“You were Black Beauty?”

“Yes, you know, free and galloping and so on. With black hair like yours. Not red hair. Sometimes just trotting along. Or cantering in high spirits. Look, I can even do dressage.”




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