Oh dear.
Ruby said, “That’s Ecclesiastica. You’re lucky she’s in a good mood.”
Mr. Barraclough came out of The Blind Pig and said to Ruby, “Rubes, say night-night to the thespians, it’s school tomorrow.”
The Bottomly sisters started laughing and going, “Oooooohhh, it’s SCHOOL t’morra. Say night-night.”
Mr. Barraclough glanced at the Bottomly sisters and said, “Hello, ladies.” Then he turned to go off into the pub.
Ecclesiastica drew on her fag and said, “Ay up, Grandad.”
Ruby sat down and said, “Oh, well, that’s done it.”
There was a bit of a quiet moment, then Mr. Barraclough turned around and said to Ecclesiastica, “Is my wall comfortable enough for your enormous arse, dear? Or is it time you took it somewhere else?” And the other two sisters sniggered. Eccles went a sort of dull red color but she didn’t move—she just kept looking at Mr. Barraclough.
He said, “Well, I’ve tried to be nice, but I can see I will have to go the whole hog.”
Ruby said, “Dad. Not the …”
He looked at her sorrowfully. “I’m as sorry as you are, Ruby, but it has to be done.”
Ted went into the pub and came back a moment later with his Viking helmet on and a photograph. He came and showed it to us. It was the picture of him with a gun standing on a pile of pies. Underneath it said, Ted Barraclough, champion pie eater. 22 steak and kidney, 4 pork.
Then he walked across and showed it to the Bottomly sisters, and said to them, “Have some respect, girls. Thy father only ate ten pies and then had to go and have a bit of a lie down, so bog off somewhere else.”
The Bottomly sisters looked at him and then they got up and sloped off.
Ted went back into the pub singing, “I am the king of hellfire!!! PIES, I’m gonna teach you to burn. PIES, I’m gonna teach you to learn!!”
I went to bed happy after seeing the Tree Sisters. But I gave my nose a good scrub in case any of Cain’s molecules had got into it. And besides, I am sleeping on Alex’s letter and don’t want to besmirch it.
There’s no people like show people
I WOKE UP EARLY the next day partly because I’m excited about starting college but also because it was like sleeping in a zoo.
Birds had been tweeting and carrying on in the trees outside my window practically since I’d gone to bed. How can anyone sleep in the country? I think some of the birds have got secret mouth organs. And drums. Like a really bad band rehearsing. A band of birds singing with no tune. Like those people in bygone days who wore black polo-necks and played jazz that had no tune. Beatniks they were called. I think my dad was one. Hey, perhaps the birds are … beakniks!!!
Not beatniks but BEAK-niks.
I must write that down in my notebook because one day it may be comedy gold.
Especially if I do a bird opera.
Which I might. Following on from the triumph of my bicycle ballet.
I could call it Feather!
Or maybe Saturday Night Feather!
We Will Flock You!
Grouse!
Pheasant of the Opera.
Right, so this is the official start to my performing-arts notebook.
I need a name for my secret notebook.
What shall I call it?
What does the book suggest? I looked at the cover. Plums, dark …
Dark, fruit … unanswered questions … questions that need answering.
Something like …
The Darkly Demanding Damson Diary.
That’s me, that is.
It’s going to be my spontaneous stream of consciousness. Here goes …
I’ll start a new page after the Labradad entry. I may need to add drawings, and so on, of the Labradad. So I’ll start a new blank page and begin. Right, I’m just going to go mad and improvise. I’m going to let myself go and not censor myself at all. Let my pen flow over the pages.
Oh, hang on, I’ll just get a pen that has a thicker point.
Hmmmm, good, good. Nice thick pen. Right.
Now, my stream of consciousness begins … No, no, my feet are all wrong. No one can improvise with squirrel slippers on. I’ll put my ballet shoes on for inspiration. Yes, good, good. Ballet shoes, good. And … oh, crikey, now I’ve got the squirrel slipper’s tail sticking in my bottom … I’ll just … anyway, off we jolly well go …
Aaaah, once again I can smell the crowd and hear the roar of the greasepaint. This is where I belong. I want to go to the tippy top of the toppermost. I know that Sidone Beaver has said that we will pay the price of fame.
She said, “Your feet will bleed before you wear the golden slippers of applause.”
I am ready. I am girding my feet and my loins to suffer what I have to for my art. Here in the wilds of Yorkshire I feel the spirit of Charlotte Brontë filling my snug winter tights. And in my heart I hold the letter from Alex. And so my Winter of Love begins with his letter.
Performance note:
When I say I am holding the letter from Alex with my heart, I don’t mean this in a weird way.
I know that hearts can’t hold letters really.
Although I could make a papier-mâché heart with little arms.
I hid the diary under my pillow with Alex’s letter in the back of it. I will start my letter to him tonight.
When I went down the wooden stairs to the kitchen, Dobbins was trying to dress the lunatic twins for school. Max looked at me and smiled his sock animal smile.
He looks even more not normal.
Oh, I see. He’s got goggles on. And a swimming hat. Cripes, it’s scary. Goggle Boy came for his morning knee hug.
“Ug oo, Lullah. I’s a wimmen.”
What? He’s a woman now? Overnight?
I managed to escape with minimal hugging. Dibdobs was red-faced and breathless.
“Hello, Tallulah dear, there’s a boiley egg for you, but I … Will you take the goggles off, Sam dear, I can’t get your beret on.”
Sam biffed her with his snorkel and knocked her glasses sideways.
“NO, LADY. I’s a WIMMEN too!!!!!”
Dibdobs was trying to put a beret over the top of his swimming hat.
You can’t say she doesn’t try.
Dibdobs said, “It’s not swimming till this afternoon.”
Max said, “Shhhh, lady.”
They were wearing snorkels and berets when they left. They’ll never make any normal friends.
Five minutes later, I was staggering through the village to the path that leads to Dother Hall. For once it isn’t snowing or raining but there is a gale force wind blowing. Ruby yelled across at me from The Blind Pig, “Ay, come and say good-bye to Matilda, she wants to show you summat.”
When I struggled over to the shelter of Ruby’s front door, Matilda went dogtastic.
Leaping up at me.
She has her ballet tutu on! It really suits her. And I notice she is wearing a little satchel on top of it.
Ruby said, “She’s got her playtime snacks in it.”
I said to Matilda, “Have you got your doggie treats in there? Have you got your ickle doggie bickies in there, have you?” She nuzzled me with her snout. Aaaah. I don’t normally like animals nuzzling me, but she is so cute.
Then Ruby said, “Yep, she’s got her snack hoofs.”
“Hoofs?”
Ruby was going off down the path toward Blubberhouse. “Dad gets them from the farm when they slaughter a cow. He has the cow heels and Matilda has the cow hoofs.”
This is not the kind of talk that a creative artiste listens to.
Especially one who has had her face licked by a hoof eater (Matilda).
And an animal in trousers (Cain).
Two face-lickings in as many days.
I was halfway to college in about ten minutes because the wind was behind me. As I passed by the sign that read Woolfe Academy for Boys (at about twenty miles an hour), I couldn’t help thinking about Charlie again.
> What was it going to be like when we bumped into each other?
I wish I could say he was a rubbish kisser.
Like bat boy.
But he wasn’t. It was softy and made my legs feel a bit droopy and … it was the best kiss I’ve ever had. Well, in fact, it was the second kiss I’ve ever had. For all I know it might have been a Number 4 on Georgia’s snogging scale, “a kiss lasting over three minutes without a break.” I will never know though, because I didn’t have a watch.
Anyway, I’m not going to ever think about it again. About how he kissed me, and then said this is wrong, I’ve got a girlfriend.
And another thing, has nose-licking even happened to anyone else? There is no mention of it in Jane Eyre, is there? Even when Mr. Rochester is blinded, he doesn’t go for Jane’s nose.
I might have to write to Cousin Georgia, like an agony snogging aunt, and ask her advice about nose-licking.
I still can’t believe he did that.
Cain Hinchcliff.
Perhaps he’s one of Fang’s adopted children. Only he’s half-dog, half–complete moron. Only.
There is a poster on the village hall to say that his band, The Jones, is playing on Saturday night.
Ruby said that she doesn’t think they will play, though, because of the big fight they had when Cain got off with Ruben’s girlfriend. She thinks they have split up again.
They are like wild animals. The whole family, Seth, Ruben, Cain. They are all bad.
Not good.
Not like Alex. He wouldn’t lick someone’s nose.
Or destroy an outdoor lavatory.
He’s not a nose-licking, lavatory-destroying sort of guy.
He is a dreamy sort of guy.
And good.
Then I rounded the corner and there it was, just as I remembered, Dother Hall. The rambling manor house with its turrets and its mullioned windows. Its magnificent Gothic chimneys towering into the wind-tossed sky. Blaise Fox took me up there and told me I could be Heathcliff. She said I had a “special quality” and …
Hang on a minute!
A spooky figure was staggering about up there on the roof. Dancing? A mad person dancing on the roof. Like a scene from Jane Eyre. Could it be the ghost of mad Mrs. Rochester?
I had a strange sense of déjà vu.
As I got closer, I could see that it wasn’t Mrs. Rochester. It was Bob the technician.
Up on the roof. Like he was the first time I turned up at Dother Hall.
In fact it wasn’t déjà vu.
It was déjà Bob.
What was going on? He seemed to be fighting a black parachute. On the roof. I don’t think gale force conditions are a time to go parachuting.
I pushed the heavy front door open and went into the front hall, which was a tumbling mass of hysterical girls. The noise level was a million decibels. Gudrun Sachs, Sidone’s assistant, looked even madder than I remember. She was in dungarees and had her clipboard out. She was shouting, “Girls, girls, calm down, let’s have some quiet while I take the register.”
No one took any notice. Everyone was too busy screeching, although some girls were practicing ballet positions. Or a bit of tap.
In the end Gudrun blew a whistle and shouted, “Achtung!!!!”
I was looking for the Tree Sisters when I heard a really posh voice behind me say, “Railly, railly nice to see you again.”
There they were—Lavinia, Anoushka, and Davinia. Lav, Noos, and Dav. The girls from the year above.
Lav was smiling at me. She looks even slimmer than she did last term and her hair’s all sleek and coppery. Even though she has a skirt and top on like mine, hers look about a million times more expensive. She said in a really bad Irish accent, “Bejesus, Tallulah, did you have a nice time in the old country, in Oireland, begorrah, begosh, bejesus?”
And she ruffled my hair.
Oh God.
I forced myself to smile and said, “Oh yes, well, hello.”
Gudrun started waving at us like a maniac and yelling, “Come and get registered, girls. Schnell, schnell!!”
Lavinia snaked her arm around my shoulder like I was her bestie, and said to me, “I railly, railly want to see more of your performances this term, Lulles.”
Lulles? Maybe I should call her “Lavs” as my own little joke. Yeah, I could say, “I’m just going round to the Lavs,” and so on, hahahaha … oh, she is still going on.
“I know you had like a railly hard time last term, you know with your Sugar Plum Bikey.” She looked at me and smiled a sympathetic smile. Which somehow made me want to poke my finger up her nose.
But she was STILL banging on.
“So I am railly determined to help you through this term. We could get together and try some ideas out.”
Oh no.
She was still talking.
“Hey, Lulles, begorrah, bejesus, I have just had an IDEA. Doh, how stupid am I? Why didn’t I think of it before? We could get our friend, you know, the boy from the pub, the one who has gone to Liverpool … Alex, that’s it, isn’t it? Yah, we could get him to come in and give us his professional opinion.”
I said, “Oh yes, that is a great idea.”
Oh yes, get Alex to come in so you can fawn all over my Alex.
My good Alex.
My Alex, who gives me three kisses on his letter.
Yes, I will let you fawn over him just as soon as I hear that hell is freezing over and has opened up a skating rink for fools.
I didn’t actually say that, I said, “Hmmmmm mmmmmm.”
Anyway, he wrote a letter to me, not her, and when I write back, I will not mention her.
Then the assembly bell rang and Lav, Dav, and Noos went off into the main hall.
Flossie came over and put her arm around me and said, “What does she want? Does she love you?”
I said, “She ruffled my hair and she talked about eggs.”
We finally got into the main hall—nothing seemed to have changed. The stage still has papier-mâché boulders on it from our end-of-term Wuthering Heights.
I based my Heathcliff on Cain Hinchcliff. Not the Irish dancing, that was just something my legs did all by themselves, but the shouting and stroppy badness. And the moaning was based on him. No licking though. Because I didn’t know about it at the time.
It was quite gloomy in the hall because not many of the lights seemed to be working.
Flossie said, “Brr, it’s cold in here. I got rained on in the dorm last night.”
Jo said, “Wait till it snows, they will have to chip us out of our sheets. This place is falling down.”
Vaisey was bobbling around, all excited. “Oh, Lullah, wasn’t it good when you were Heathcliff and you came back from London all moody and mean and then you called for your dog, and Matilda came on in shades and a leather jacket!!!”
Vaisey was right, I was spiffing.
We linked up and looked about. There were loads of familiar faces, Milly and Tilly, Pippy and Becka. I couldn’t believe my luck really. Here I was at a proper performing arts college. Away from home. Boys around! My own little gang.
I was so overcome with happiness that I gave a spontaneous girl hug to Vaisey and said, “Pass it on.” And she passed it on to Jo, and Flossie, and they passed it back. We started swaying and singing, “There’s no people like show people!! They smile when they are down!”
I had my arm around Flossie and she was back in Texas in her head and she yelled, “Why, Miss Tallulah, take your goddam hand off my corker, I’m not that sort of laydee.”
I shouted above the hubbub, “You know you love it, you lezzie.”
I thought I would just try out some new words from my cousin Georgia. I’m not completely sure what they mean but … hey, I’m improvising!!!
At which point I felt a looming presence. Something behind me. A cold chill went through my body as I heard that dreaded familiar voice.
“So, Talluuuuulah Casey, regrettably we meet again. Remember I am watching you. I hav
e my eyes on you. Always. Sit down.”
I looked up into the stern, forbidding, beak-like face of Dr. Lightowler. We all sat down.
As she walked past us and up toward the front of the hall, Jo said softly, “She still hates you times-a-million.”
Vaisey said, “She just loomed up from nowhere. Did she frighten you? She frightens me.”
Flossie said, “Her beaky eyes are watching you wherever you go, even on the lavatory.”
I said, “I think she is part owl because her hearing is—”
Blimey, she is part owl because as I spoke her head turned back toward me, but her body didn’t! Just her head. Spooky dooky.
She looked at me, not blinking.
I looked back at her, not blinking. I couldn’t help it.
We were two owls looking at each other.
I felt a little twitch in my lower lids.
A voice inside my head warned me, “No! Don’t start raising your lower eyelids like your owl impression. It’s not funny. It isn’t funny.”
Then another voice in my head said, “It IS funny. Go on, do it. It is very, very funny.”
The first voice said, “Just do one eyelid, just a little eyelid raise. Or a slow blink. She’ll never notice that.”
Then my legs began to feel tingly and restless.
No, heavens, no! Not an owl impression and Irish dancing at the same time. She’ll eat me alive!!!! Bit by bit … head first …
Save me!
But then thankfully she walked on. (Not with her head facing backward.)
As we sat there waiting for Sidone to arrive, Jo said, “Did you get a postcard from Honey?”
We all nodded.
Vaisey said, “I wonder what her big news is?”
I said, “She’s probably done multiple snogging.”
Vaisey said, “Multiple? Is that …” Then Monty came onto the stage. Good Lord, he’s wearing a pink leotard. Just. He is quite porky. He looks like he has got little snacks in his cheeks that he is saving for later.
Flossie said, “He’s goddam beautiful.”
But I don’t think she really means it. Anyway, we gave Monty a big round of applause.
Monty was delighted to be back. His little piggy eyes were sparkly with enthusiasm for the theater.
A Midsummer Tight's Dream Page 4