Withering Tights with Bonus Material

by Louise Rennison

  I said, “All I noticed was you bouncing around on Phil’s knee and giggling.”

  Jo said, “Well, it’s very soothing actually, sitting on someone’s knee and them jogging you about. I was thinking he could be Mr. Darcy. And I could say, ‘Oh, Mr. Darcy, I fear you are making fun of a poor London girl not used to country ways.’”

  Vaisey said, quickly, “Well nothing much happened to me, but you tell, Lullah.”

  I felt a bit red. And my legs were aching. Pray God it wasn’t growing pains.

  Flossie said, “Go on. Tell.”

  I said, “Well . . . you know when you have your first snog, and it feels like a tiny bat is barging around in your mouth? Well, it felt like that.”

  They just looked at me.

  Then Jo said, “Anyway, can I get on to serious stuff? Phil walked back to Dother Hall with me. It was a dark, soft night, the moon blushing in the sky.” She was leaning against the tree. Lost in Loveland.

  “As we drew near to the gates of Dother Hall the old bell in the belfry rang out. I said, ‘I must go in, it’s nigh on ten of the clock.’ He half turned away from me, his jacket collar hiding his expression. Was he angry? Disappointed?”

  I said, “Hungry?”

  Jo ignored me, but as she passed by acting out walking away from Phil, she allowed her hand to slap against my head.

  “As I turned to enter the gates, feeling shaken and weak, I felt his hand on my arm.” She mimed feeling his hand on her arm.

  Flossie said, “It wasn’t Bob, was it, out for a late-night rubbish run?”

  Jo slapped her on her head as she passed.

  Then in a soft voice she said, “And it was then that he gently pulled me toward him. I felt powerless to resist and he kissed me on the mouth.”

  Wooooooohoooooooooo.

  Wooooo-hooo-hooooooo.

  Just as things were about to get really good on the snogging information, there was a crunching twig sort of noise, and Phil and Charlie came slowly jogging into the copse.

  I felt a bit shy seeing Charlie, I don’t know why. I wonder if he can tell that I have kissed someone. They both jogged on the spot for a minute, which I thought was very funny.

  Charlie said, “Hey hey, Tree Sisters. Please let us lie down, we’re pooped.”

  And they both flung themselves down under our tree.

  Phil winked at Jo.

  “Did you get back into Dither Hall all right?”

  Jo looked sort of pleased and pink and shy all at the same time. She didn’t say anything. Just nodded. And did a high-pitched sort of snort.

  Vaisey said, “Have you been made to go jogging again?”

  Charlie said, “No, it’s far, far worse than that. We’re on a grueling six-mile run.”

  I felt a bit funny. Charlie was nice and seemed pleased to see us, but not particularly interested in me. When Phil was talking about the Vampire Bats thing and doing his impression of a vampire being attacked by bats (which looked like a mad teddy bear waving off some bees), Charlie said, “Yeah, Ben said you had a laugh.”

  What did he know?

  Were boys like girls? Did they tell each other everything?

  Maybe Ben had said, “Yes, that Tallulah was rubbish at kissing, she just stood there and pulled hair out off her mouth.”

  When Gudrun sounded her gong for the afternoon sesh, Phil said to Jo, “We’ve been confined to barracks at nights.”

  Jo said, “Oh my God, what did you do?”

  Charlie said, “A couple of the prefects, also known as the Posh Trevs, caught us accidentally juggling with West Riding otters.”

  We looked at them both.

  Vaisey said, “Juggling is not a crime.”

  I said, “It should be.”

  And Charlie and Phil laughed.

  I felt quite proud that they thought I had said something funny.

  Flossie said, “Did you really juggle with otters?”

  Charlie said, “Nah. But we did change a country sign on our marathon and the Posh Trevs rode their mountain bikes into the river.”

  Phil said, “Yeah, it’s really, really serious . . . we are forbidden to go out after hours for the next week.”

  Jo looked a bit sad, even though she tried to hide it.

  Then Phil said, “Or to put it another way, see you after college. Bye, small bouncy person.”

  And Jo blushed and bounced off proudly.

  We had art all afternoon with Dr. Lightowler. I wasn’t feeling great, because she hadn’t really taken to me. But as we were waiting for her, Sidone swept into the studio, all in black—capri trousers, bolero top, and a matador hat. She stopped and looked at us.

  “Girls, Dr. Lightowler is covering for Madame Frances with the lower sixth group. Madame Frances is, I am afraid, still a little under the weather. So . . . use the time to ‘experiment’ in different forms. There’s paper, paints, chicken wire, plaster. . . . Think of where you are, think of what the experience of Dother Hall means to you.”

  Flossie did a sketch of a giant ironing board and iron that she’s going to make out of chicken wire. Vaisey went off to do moody sketches of the dales and the clouds over Grimbottom. It was quite jolly having no one to tell us what to do.

  Jo and Honey started singing and chatting.

  Jo said, “I love it here now, I want to come and be here full-time, more than anything in the world.”

  Honey said, “It would be fun, to be here full-time weally. I weally hope and pway I get chothen to thtay. I hope we all do.”

  And she started singing, “Thomewhere over the wainbow faw-a-way.”

  And Jo joined in and they ended up standing on the desk singing, “Why, oh, why can’t I?”

  Originally, I thought of wrapping the whole of Dother Hall in brown paper. That would get me noticed. There is a French artist who does stuff like that. He wrapped up the White Cliffs of Dover in clingfilm, or something. I don’t know why, but I know I liked it. However, when I went and asked Bob where the brown paper was kept he said, “In Gudrun’s top drawer.”

  So I had to think of something else on a smaller scale for the time being.

  I decided to make a cover for my performance-art/ summer-of-love notebook. I have collaged the front and back of it with a mixture of leaves and sheep’s wool, and stuck on some bits of slate I found that had fallen off the roof.

  To me it says “Yorkshire, the beginning of my dream.”

  I am going to pour my heart and soul into it.

  All right, I can’t dance or sing, but I have got something to offer, I know I have, and I don’t mean my knees.

  Gudrun came to tell Vaisey that her bed in the dorm was ready at last and that Bob will drive down later to get her stuff from The Blind Pig. Vaisey is really excited.

  After the bell went, Vaisey and I walked home together, probably for the last time this summer.

  Maybe forever.

  We were both a bit quiet. Me, because I was thinking I would miss walking along with my new friend, but I think Vaisey was thinking about Jack. Or her hair. Or what larks she would have in the dorm.

  I’m a bit jealous.

  The trees were full of birds singing and you could see the moors rising above Heckmondwhite. Some of the higher crags had bits of snow on the top still.

  I hadn’t really noticed how many birds sang in the woods, or the moors, probably because Vaisey and I didn’t stop talking or acting things out as we walked along together. Or she was riding Black Beauty and I was revving my Harley. And doing wheelies.

  Funny how quickly you get to be good friends with someone. I was going to miss trying not to alarm Black Beauty with my bike in the mornings.

  When we reached Heckmondwhite, Vaisey scampered off. She yelled, “Got to dash because Bob is coming for me in his dude-mobile and I have to pack.”

  After my supper of “local” fish-and-chips from The Wetherby Whaler, it was nice to have Dibdobs around. She was by herself because Harold and the twins had gone to look at some cloud fo
rmations.

  Dibdobs looked at me through her roundy glasses and said, “Tallulah, it’s been so lovely having you here. The boys adore you, and so do I.”

  And she came and hugged me from the back, which made it a bit tricky because I was finishing my mushy peas. She said, “I just don’t want to think about you not being here anymore.”

  That makes two of us.

  I thought I would go and see Ruby.

  Maybe the owls have hatched.

  But there was no one around.

  I tried calling her from the door of The Blind Pig. I didn’t like to go in when she wasn’t there. Partly because I was so shy about seeing Alex, but also because . . . oh dear. Mr. Barraclough was there. He was cleaning his pie-eating trophies in the bar.

  I said, “I was just looking for Ruby.”

  He said, “She’s up back, wi’ Matilda.”

  I set off up the track behind The Blind Pig toward Blubberhouse, and before I saw her Matilda came hurtling down the track and crashed straight past me, because she couldn’t stop her little bow legs.

  Ruby shouted, “She couldn’t stop a pig in a ginnel.”

  Whatever that means.

  Ruby was hanging upside down from a low-lying branch.

  You couldn’t actually see her head, but you could see her knickers.

  I said, “Hello, it’s me. I can see your knickers.”

  She said from upside down, “I know, I’ve got my special apple catchers on.”

  I said, “I feel all miserable now because Vaisey has gone to stay at Dother Hall.”

  Ruby said, “I know, I miss her a bit, too. You should hang upside down, it doesn’t half cheer you up.”

  “Does it?”

  “Oh, aye.”

  I had my trousers on, so I thought I would give it a whirl.

  As we hung there, I said to Ruby, “You’re right, I do feel a bit better. I feel a lot redder, too.”

  She said, “Try swinging a bit at the same time. It makes you laugh.”

  Soon we were both giggling like upside-down loonies.

  Ruby said, “Try swinging and putting your hands over your eyes at the same time. It’s brilliant, you won’t know which way up you are.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  She was right, swinging upside down with your hands over your eyes does make you not know which way up you are.

  Ruby said, “What happened last night? Vaisey wunt tell me owt, but her hair looked like she’d bin electrocuted.”

  I said, “Actually the film was a bit like this. Lots of hanging around upside down.”

  Ruby said, “I’m not interested in the film. I’m interested in hanky-panky with boys.”

  It felt like being in a cosmic confessional. Just voices in the dark. Ruby threw a stick for Matilda upside down, but Matilda just watched it fly off past her. Then went back to trying to lick my face.

  I said, “Well . . . it happened.”

  “Ooooooo.”

  “Yes. There was actual kissing.” Ruby’s voice said, “What sort of kissing? Open-mouthed? How long for? Tongues?”

  “Ruby, this a private thing.”

  “I know, I wunt to know the private thing, that is why I am hanging around waiting for you to tell me.”

  I went on.

  “Jo did arm-around and snogging.”

  Ruby whistled. “With that Phil boy? The little cheeky one?”

  I said, “Affirmative.”

  Ruby said, “I quite fancy him mysen.”

  “Ruby, you’re only ten.”

  “I’m big for my age.”

  “OK, so you’re a big ten-year-old. Phil’s fifteen.”

  “I like older men.”

  “Stop being daft, Ruby, you barm pot.”

  “Shuffle over and say that to me face.”

  “I can’t even see your face.”

  Ruby said, “Well, anyway, tell me what happened to you.”

  “Well, Jo got Phil, Vaisey got Jack, and I got this boy called Ben.”

  “Ben, what’s he like when he’s at home?”

  “Well, he’s quite tall and floppy.”

  Ruby said, “Good, good. Tall is good . . . floppy, well, floppy can be all right, s’long as you don’t mean he’s a noddy niddy noddy.”

  “What?”

  “You know, a bit simple in the noddle department.”

  Just then a male voice shouted, “Oy, you two, what the bloody hell are you doing?”

  It was Mr. Barraclough. “I said this would happen, Ruby, if you mixed with the artists. The next thing you know I’ll see you in the streets in Skipley with Matilda playing the piano whilst you pretend to stand very, very still.”

  Eventually he puffed off and we went back to sitting on the branch.

  It was a lovely night with stuff tweeting, sheep scampering, cows frolicking. And then it got to be an even lovelier night because Alex turned up in his car. He got out and saw us up the hill on our branch and waved . . . and then started walking toward us.

  I said to Ruby, “Is my hair all right?”

  Ruby said, “Yes, a lot of folk like that matted look.”

  I tried to smooth it down casually, but my heart was thumping as Alex approached.

  He is sooo good-looking, and he’s smiling.

  I hadn’t seen him for ages.

  Ruby said, “Shut your mouth, a bee might fly in it, and make a little bee house in there.”

  I tried to arrange my legs so that they looked less gangly.

  Alex came and stood in front of us and crossed his arms.

  “What are you two up to?”

  Ruby said, “Lullah was telling me that last night she—”

  I interrupted really quickly, “I . . . um . . . I was just going to tell Rube that I wanted to wrap the whole of Dother Hall in brown paper, as an, um, Art Statement.”

  They were both looking at me, not saying anything. So I burbled on.

  “But there were only two pieces left, so I covered my book instead.”

  Alex said, “I can tell you’re loving it, dahling, loving it at Dither Hall.”

  I said, “Well, yes I do. But I only came for a laugh really and now . . . now I . . .”

  He looked at me right in the eyes and said, “Now you want to stay?”

  I said, “Well, yes but—I couldn’t do anything! Dr. Lightowler hates me because of my spontaneous legs.”

  Why was I telling him all this?

  I just felt hypnotized when he looked in my eyes.

  I mustn’t start quacking or anything.

  Alex looked at me again. Right in the eyes.

  “Your eyes are the most amazing color, aren’t they?”

  Ruby said, “Oh no, now you’ve done it.”

  Alex suddenly pushed Ruby off the branch and she disappeared into the field. It really made me laugh, she looked so shocked. Alex grinned and then he did the same to me.

  Pushed me off the branch!

  As we were lying there in the field we could hear him go whistling off.

  I looked at Ruby and said, “He, he pushed you, and then he pushed me. But didn’t he say something about my eyes or something? What was it, I don’t quite remember. . . .”

  Ruby dusted herself down and pulled her apple catchers up.

  She said, “Don’t even think about it.”

  I did think about it, though. A lot.

  Looking in the mirror in my squirrel room. He said I had “amazing” eyes.

  Well, he said the color was amazing.

  But that was as good, wasn’t it?

  I mean, why would you say “amazing” if you didn’t mean it as good?

  If you thought someone had really nonamazing eyes, you wouldn’t mention it, would you?

  Out of politeness.

  You wouldn’t say, “You’ve got the crappest eyes I’ve ever seen. Your eyes make me feel physically sick.”

  But on the other hand, say someone did have really crap eyes, you might distract them by mentioning a good
feature to make up for it. Like their ears or something.

  Maybe he was distracting me from my knees by mentioning my eyes.

  Oh, I don’t know.

  And second of all he had pushed me off the branch.

  Which in anyone’s language is not what people do to grown-ups.

  So . . .

  And also what about Ben?

  Even if I didn’t want to go out with him, I wanted him to want to go out with me so that I could say sadly, “I’m afraid my heart is with another. I am wedded to Heath-cliff, or Alex, as I know him.”

  That night as the owls hooted outside, I read about Wuthering Heights in my study notes about the Brontës. It said that Emily and Charlotte and Anne had to pretend to be blokes so that they could get their books published.

  They had to display northern grit.

  As I lay there with my squirrels and my budding corkies, I decided something.

  I am going to display northern grit. Like the Brontë sisters. I’m not going to be put off by a bit of, “You’re useless.”

  I bet they wouldn’t be.

  When Emily went in to her publisher and said, “I’ve written a book about some madman who lives on the moors. There’s a lot of moaning and so on, and then the girl dies. I shall call it Wuthering Heights.”

  And they said, “Go home, love, and tell your sister not to come back with another story about a girl called Jane Eyre, because that will be rubbish as well. Get tha sen a little dog.”

  I wrote in my notebook:

  I’m going to laugh in the face of fear, like the Brontë sisters.

  “Just call me Fox. Blaise Fox.”

  I DREAMT ALL NIGHT that I was out on the moors like Cathy after she died. Trying to find Heathcliff. I was singing a special song: “I’m out on the moors, the wild moors.” I’m going to write the lyrics in my notebook.

  It took me ages to decide what to wear because you never know when you might bump into, um, someone’s brother. We’ve got our first ballet class today so I need to have leggings and my special ballet shoes.

  I am enjoying my special ballet shoes.

  Looking at my special ballet shoes in their special ballet shoe box.

  And I am enjoying them.

  Special ballet shoes.

  I put my special ballet shoes on. They feel good.

  I feel like doing ballet!