To drink in its atmosphere of boyness.
Then I sniffed it.
And licked it.
I don’t know why.
I’m turning into Matilda.
Ooooh. I can imagine him writing it. With a quill pen probably. A candle guttering late at night in his room. He is wearing his usual late-night wear—velveteen breeches and flouncy shirt. I don’t know why his shirt is wet as he writes. Maybe he has been for a midnight swim. Or a late-night, fully clothed bath.
To cool his ardor and passions, which are running riot.
He looks out of his window over the moonlit dales, thinking of me as he last saw me in late summer. My long dark tresses framing my face. Looking up at him with my green eyes. And as he looks long and deep into my eyes, I feel an urge to raise my bottom eyelids and …
Hang on a minute—I have changed into an owlet!!!
Get a grip, Tallulah!!
I opened the envelope.
Here goes:
Dear Tallulah,
Hello, Green Eyes, welcome back to Heckmondwhite and the dizzy world of showbiz!
Well done for making it to the new term—personally, I think it was your spectacular Sugar Plum Bikey that did it. I don’t think any of us who were there will forget your skirt catching in the back spokes, and you flying off into the backstage area.
Top.
I am off to Liverpool tonight to start my course but hope to see you in a couple of weeks when I come home. Good luck.
Knock ’em dead, but try not to break a leg! OR ANYONE ELSE’S.
Lots of love,
Alex
xxx
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Outside in the dark I can hear an owl hooting. It will be big Connie out there, collecting food for the owlets.
She is holding her own mouse massacre. Ruby says the owlets will start hunting for themselves in a week or two. Having to do their own hunting will be a shock for them. They probably think there is a big owl in the sky that just hands them stuff.
I don’t think you would poo in front of the big owl in the sky. At the same time as eating. Pooing and eating doesn’t seem right to me.
Still, what does make sense in Nature?
Anyway to heck with Nature.
I’m not interested in Nature. I am only interested in Alex.
Alex in his velveteen breeches.
And flouncy shirt.
Alex who said, “Hello, Green Eyes.”
And, “Hope to see you in a couple of weeks.”
And who said, “Lots of love.”
And put three kisses.
That Alex.
I am keeping his letter under my pillow. Maybe I should write a letter back. Hmmm.
Night-night, Dream Boy.
Night-night, world.
I’m not an ice cream, I’m a human being!
THE NEXT DAY I woke up to the pitter-pattering of light hail on my window. The church bells chimed nine o’clock but it’s still so dark it could be nighttime. I got out of my snuggly squirrel bed and had a look out of the window. Brrrr. This is the life, minus fifty degrees. There is a slight frost on the window. On the inside. When I rubbed it away I could see that even the sheep are huddling together for warmth.
And they are practically walking jumpers.
I don’t know what to wear. Something cozy but glam. Thick tights and my new short green wool skirt, black top, and new leather over-the-knee boots?
And a hat so that the hail can’t take all the bouncy bounce out of my hair.
I don’t want the Tree Sisters to think I have let myself go.
When I was fully togged up, I went downstairs into the kitchen.
Even though it is Antarctic conditions, the Dobbinses have left a note to say that after church they are going out on their Earth Sky walk with the young Christian Table Tennis Team. They were sorry I was missing it. Well, they are on their own there!
I had a crumpet and some honey and milky coffee. The honey is local of course. Harold is obsessed with local produce. I bet he knows the bees by name. And has made them little winter cloaks like his. And is paying their tuition fees to Bee Academy. So they can better themselves and get out of the worker-bee trap.
Oooooh, I am so excited my legs are wiggling around for no reason. They are uncontrollable. They might calm down when I shove them in my boots.
I feel soooo lucky to be here. It feels great to have proper friends and to be on the brink of being a showbiz legend. Or, well, being on the course.
I know it’s childish but I wanted to dance and sing with pleasure. I only wish I could do either.
Anything goes in the crazy world of theater, dahling. I might be discovered and asked to be Maria in The Sound of Music in the West End. That would make Alex know I was proper girlfriend material, and not some little girl with nobbly knees.
I can imagine myself in the Swiss Alps actually. In a big flouncy dress dancing with goats. “‘The hills are alive with the sound of music … lalalala … with songs they have sung for a thousand years …’”
I got bundled up in my coat and hat and left the house. I had to walk slightly bent because there was a mini gale blasting across the moors and fields. But at least it had stopped hailing.
The sheep were still huddled together against the wind.
Looking at me.
I shouted to the sheep. “I love you, my little woolly friends.”
They didn’t like it. They didn’t want to be my friends. They wanted to be my unfriends. They shuffled off as a group and tried to get in the hedge. And looked at me from there.
They are very cross-eyed.
Maybe it is so they can see round corners?
That would be handy if there were wolves creeping up behind you.
Hang on—your eyes should go outward to do that, not inward so that you just see your own looming nose. How useful would that be?
Anyway, I can’t be bothered about the animal kingdom, I am too busy being in a good mood. I’m going to do run-run-leap to The Sound of Music to keep me warm. Run, run, leap … “The hills are alive with the sound of …”
Oh great balls of fire. Leaning against the gate of the churchyard, like a great dark crow, was him. The Dark Force of Heckmondwhite. The Black Hearted Prince himself. Cain.
Cain Hinchcliff.
He was dressed all in black, a long black coat and black boots. He had his collar turned up against the wind. His hair is longer than when I last saw him. And it looks even blacker. He saw me, so I stopped leaping and started pretending that my boots were falling down. A half smile crossed his face. Not a nice beamy smile, a dark twisty smile. He pushed his hair back and looked me right in the eyes. His eyes are so black you can’t tell what he is thinking. I know what I am thinking. I am thinking, Oh, banana skins and bejesus, he’s seen me leaping, and talking to sheep.
Cain licked his lips like a hungry wolf and said, “Well, well, well … it’s the young Southern lass back.”
Then he ran his eyes up and down my body and said, “Tha’s grown a bit.”
Oh, how bloody well dare he?! How could he see through my coat? Maybe he had X-ray vision. What color pants had I got on? Oh, stop it, of course he couldn’t see through my coat and see my pants. He was just being him. Rude and crude and horrible.
If I had my handbag I would hit him with it. I only had my hat or my mittens and that didn’t seem nearly violent enough.
He was like an animal in trousers. Still, on the other hand, he had said I’d grown a bit, which means, I’d grown a bit. Not that I care what he thinks.
As the wind plucked at his hair and whipped it round his face, I remembered the last time I had seen him. It was in the barn and he was poking the owlets with a little stick.
All dark, with his dark broody eyes. And his black hair. And his long black eyelashes.
He’s not good like Alex. Good and tall and brown-haired Alex. With his frilly shirt and his eyes and so on … he’s …
He was still just staring at me.
<
br /> He doesn’t seem to know that staring is rude.
Well, two can play at that game.
I stared back.
And I’m not going to blink either. That will show him.
Then he stopped staring and came toward me and did up-close staring. His face was only about a foot away from mine.
Looking right in my eyes.
He said, “Tha’s got eyes like a wild cat.”
I could out-stare him any day.
Any day.
It suddenly started to hail quite heavily. I could hear the pattering and bouncing on my hat. I could see the hailstones on his dark hair, hanging there like handfuls of pearls. He didn’t seem to notice. Just went on staring right into my eyes. Then I felt a hailstone hit my face. It didn’t just ping off—it started slipping slowly down the middle of my forehead. Then it got to my eyebrows and I thought it had gone. But then I felt it start slipping down the side of my nose, like a tear. I went on staring. He was not going to win this staring competition. I could feel the hailstone had just got to my nostril when … still staring at me …
He did this thing.
He stepped right up to me, so I nearly went cross-eyed trying to keep staring and … then he licked his lips and put his tongue out and … and …
And he LICKED off the hailstone.
He was licking my nose. I could feel his hot, soft tongue on my nose.
And he was staring at me while he did it.
What? What?!
This wasn’t right.
This wasn’t even on Cousin Georgia’s snogging scale.
This was just wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Then a girl’s voice behind him shouted, “Oy, Cain. What’s tha doing? I’ve been waiting by the bike shed like tha said for half a bloody hour.”
He was licking my face!
Like I was an ice cream!
I nearly said, “I am not an ice cream! I am a human being!”
He said softly to me, “Tasty.”
Then he took a step back and turned around slowly. Behind him I saw Beverley approaching. Cain turned back to me and smiled his mean smile. Then he smiled his mean smile and made a clicking noise like you do when you say giddyup to a horsie. As he swished his coat round and walked off up the hill toward the moors I could see that Beverley didn’t look pleased to see me.
She didn’t say, “Gosh, how nice to see you again, Tallulah, on this inclement morning.” Had she seen the licking incident? She just stood with her arms folded looking at me. Even though it was hailing, she only had on a short-sleeved jumper.
She had very big arms. Very big. Her dad had a potato farm so she probably did quite a bit of heavy lifting. Maybe if I said something nice to her, you know, like, “Ooooh, your arms are a … good … shape,” she might not hurt me.
Cain kept on walking up the hill while she stood there looking at me.
Cain called back, “Beverley, is tha coming wi’ me or are tha going to stand there gabbing all day?”
Beverley went after him but turned back and said in a loud, mean voice, “You and your posh stuckup mates keep your hands off our lads … or else. Think on.”
I was thinking of something to say when Cain whistled and his big black dog came bounding over the hedge with a rabbit in its mouth. Every time I saw Cain something died. Cain gave the dog a brief pat on its head and said, “Good Dog. You’ve got our supper then.”
Beverley caught up to him. She said to Cain, “You treat that dog better’n tha treats me.”
Cain said, “Beverley, the dog can fetch sticks, it can catch rabbits … it dun’t moan on. Can you do that? No.”
He was unbelievable.
I was so shocked at the nose-licking incident I was unable to move. As they disappeared off over the brow of the hill, Rubster came running along, her pigtails going berserk. Matilda was running alongside her and tried to stop when she saw me, but the momentum of her tummy made her go past me and collide with the hedge.
Ruby panted, “Were that Cain with Beverley? Uh-oh, he likes trouble that lad, Beverley’s mum will be on the warpath big-time if she finds out.”
I didn’t say anything to Ruby. What was there to say? “Cain has just licked my face?” I must never think of it again. I must put it out of my mind and think only of my letter from Alex. Alex the Good, who would never lick a girl’s face.
We got to the bus stop just as it came careering round the corner. Hurrah!!!! I was so excited about seeing my chums. The bus juddered to a stop and the door opened and … Jo jumped off! All little and dark and excited. With her dark eyes gleaming. Like a human conker, but with legs and arms. And a head. She hadn’t changed. Still as mad as a hen. A violent hen. She ran and punched Ruby’s arm, and then mine, and then both at the same time. She was yelling, “TALLULAH! THE RUBSTER!”
Vaisey was smoothing her red curls as she came down the steps. She looked at me as she got her rucksack down and smiled a little shy smile. Oh, I had missed that turnyup nose and freckles and that roundy waggly bottom (and the other bits in between). I ran over and hugged her to me, and then she hugged me and Ruby, going “Oh, Lullah, Lullah and little Ruby!!”
And a tear came out of the corner of her eye. She was saying, “Oh, oh, oh,” and jumping up in little jumps as we hugged. Jo was running round and round us in circles and Matilda was following her.
Flossie was last off. Blimey, I think she might have grown. Her fringe has. It is down to the middle of her glasses so that you can’t see if she’s got a forehead.
She gathered us all in a big bear hug. The comrades together again. A feast of talent! Our tights runneth over.
Flossie said, in a deep Texan accent, which is weird as she’s from Blackpool, “Why, y’all, here we damned are—the Tree Sisters and li’l old Ruby Mae, back again at the old corral!!! This calls for a damn special celebration dance, let’s show these here people our rootin’ tootin’ dance. Come on, Lullah Mae, we’ll do the tune. And you dance.”
So I did it.
I did the thing that I can do.
My special talent.
I did my spontaneous Irish dancing.
And as I flung my legs around with gay abandon my thespian chums sang, “Hiddly diddly diddly diddle.”
That well-known Irish song that no one has ever heard of because it doesn’t exist.
Happy days.
I felt once more the golden slippers of applause.
Cain Hinchcliff will not be spoiling my life.
In fact, I will never be thinking about him again.
With his nose-licking ways.
Why would he do that? Why.
Bob the technician from Dother Hall was coming to pick the girls up later in his Bobmobile, so we had time to swap news before he arrived. We went and sat on the wall next to The Blind Pig while Rubes went to get some nourishing, warming winter snacks. It’s handy having a little pub friend.
Oooh, it’s good to be back. It had stopped hailing and we snuggled into our coats for a goss.
Vaisey is looking forward to seeing Jack again, her maybe boyfriend.
She said, “He gave me his plectrum to remind me of him.”
I put my arm around her and said, “That’s plucky of him.”
And they all laughed. Which is nice. I felt all warmy. Even my knees. Rubes came back with the nourishing winter snacks—cheese and onion crisps, salt and vinegar crisps, two pickled eggs, and some pork scratchings. It was like being in heaven.
Flossie said, “This is my plan for the term—I am going to become a superstar and have three or four boyfriends. I’ve grown my fringe especially.”
Jo was chomping through two packets of crisps at the same time but managed to say, “I’ve had loads of letters and phone calls from Phil!! Loads. Every day.”
I said, “Woo-hoo! So is he like your official boyfriend?”
Jo went a bit red and said, “Well, he told me about his campaign to let people know that he’s not all bad and that he has a serious
side.”
We looked at her.
I said, “But he doesn’t have a serious side.”
Jo got a bit defensive. “He has, actually, he’s joining in with the police to help them … with the out-of-control yoof.”
I said, “He IS the out-of-control yoof.”
Vaisey said, “Help the police? What, like an informer?”
Flossie said, “Is he called ‘Phil-the-policeman’s-friend’ now?”
Jo went red. “No, it’s a campaign. It’s to let the police know that teenage boys are people too.”
I said, “But that’s a lie, isn’t it? My brother isn’t a person.”
Flossie said, “I’m not being rude or anything, but what could Phil help the police with?”
Jo said, “Phil’s good at loads of things.”
We looked at her.
Jo said, going even redder, “Well, he’s really excellent at … erm … kissing.”
I said, “That’s not what policemen like, is it though? They don’t like being kissed by teenage boys.”
Vaisey said, “Policemen don’t like being kissed by babies but Phil, er, he’s quite, well, he’s not a baby, is he?”
Flossie said, “If he’s going around kissing policemen, he’s a dead man.”
As we chomped away, thinking about kissing policemen, three very big girls I had never seen before came lumbering up. They looked at us like we were snot girls, then they sat on the wall at the other side of the Blind Pig courtyard and started chewing gum.
Ruby said quietly, “Oh, bloody hell, it’s the other Bottomly sisters, Chastity, Diligence, and Ecclesiastica.”
I started to laugh.
“Ecclesiastica? Does she get called Eccles for short?”
Ruby said, “No. Dun’t start, they’re Bible names and they don’t think it’s funny. The Bottomlys dun’t think owt is funny, except fighting. In between bus driving, their mam does cage fighting in Leeds.”
Chas, Dil, and Eccles, as I called them (quietly in my brain), were looking at us and then they lit up fags.
I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, “Are they going to get their pipes out next?”
One of them shouted across, “What are you stuckup madams looking at?”
A Midsummer Tight's Dream Page 3
