I hadn’t meant it to be funny.
I was really trying to be an owl.
As we went out Blaise Fox said, “Come with me to the roof, Tallulah.”
Was I so bad that she was going to push me off?
We went up the winding stairs to the dorm, and then up some tiny narrow stone steps that led to the roof.
I had never been up to Mrs. Rochester land. You could walk along on the flat bits between the towering chimneys, and there was a parapet that went all the way round. And huge gargoyles on every corner of the roof. Blaise led the way and we went to lean on the stone balcony.
You could see for miles over the woods and moors, all the way to Grimbottom. There was a building to the left, beyond the woods, that looked a bit like Dother Hall. . . . Ooh, that must be where Phil and Charlie and Jack were. The mysterious Woolfe Academy.
Ms. Fox said, “Do you want to stay here, Tallulah Casey?”
I thought at first she meant “did I want to stay on the roof,” but then I realized she meant at Dother Hall.
So I said, “Well. At first I just came here so I didn’t have to go camping with my brother. And eat butterfly sandwiches.”
Ms. Fox said, “Butterfly sandwiches. Go on. . . .”
So I went on, “But now I sort of . . . well, love it here. I want to . . . you know, do something good.”
Ms. Fox lit a cheroot. But to be fair to her, there wasn’t a “strictly no smoking” sign on the roof.
I struggled on, “But you know, you’ve seen me, the bicycle thing . . . my horsie. The owl. It’s not enough to just think you want to do something, is it? You have to be able to do it.”
She said, “And do you know what I think you can do?”
I said, “Be an idiot?”
She smiled at me. “But I believe you have a special quality.”
Blimey.
She went on. “It’s a mix of energy and, I think . . . a talent for comedy.”
Yippee. Maybe.
Blaise looked at me and said, “I’ve been thinking about our end-of-summer-school Wuthering Heights. It’s going to be a musical. And I want you to be the lead.”
Crumbs.
Me?
Cathy?
I had the hair for it—I could swish it about. And I could sing my song:
I’m out on the moors, the windy moors,
Let’s roll about in mud pools,
Or sheep poo, I hate you, I love you, tooooo.
Heathcliff, it’s me, tap-tapping on your windooooow.
Then I came out of my made-up world.
Wuthering Heights, the musical.
I said, “Um, the only thing is, I can’t sing.”
And she said, “I know, it’s a comedy version. And I want you to be Heathcliff.”
When I got back to Heckmondwhite, the whole village was in a state of high excitement as there is going to be a mass skipathon at nine o’clock with tuba playing and the skipping rope is finished. And the village shop is staying open half an hour later, just in case someone needs a bag of humbugs.
I had walked home from Dother Hall in a dream. I was so shocked that I didn’t tell the girls what had happened in Mrs. Rochester land, I told them I was rushing off to see the owlets. They wanted to come and see them too, but they all had singing lessons.
As I tramped along the woodland path, I was confused.
What does Ms. Fox mean, she wants me to play Heath-cliff?
He’s a boy.
Does she mean I am like a boy?
I tried to ask her, but she said I have to figure it out for myself and to come back to her with my ideas, about how to “be” Heathcliff.
And to not feel sorry for myself because it is unattractive in a girl with my knees.
The Dobbinses were leaving the house as I got there, taking sandwiches for the skipping participants. Dibdobs gave me a big hug as she left.
She said, “Oooooohhhhhhhhhh.”
And the twins hugged my knees and went, “Ooooohhh, sjuuuge.”
They are wearing beanie hats. Which I think is a bit cruel of Dibdobs.
Beanie hats on bowl-headed boys.
I went up to my room to think about the Wuthering Heights thing.
And to make notes in my performance-art notebook. I spent about an hour on it.
It reads:
Breeches and a mustache.
I thought I would pop along to see the owlets again. It would take my mind off the Heathcliff thing. I was going to make bloody sure Connie wasn’t anywhere around, though. And by the way, where was the owl dad, when he was needed?
When I carefully went into the dark barn the owlets must have sensed I was there because they started cheeping and peeping. I went over to the nest. Oooooohhh, they are cute and fluffy. Still blindy, though. They were opening and closing their beaks, but I didn’t have any owl snacks for them. Ruby might know what they like.
I said softly, really close to their ears . . . Do they have ears?
Anyway, I said near to where ears would be if they had them, “It’s me, big Tallulah. And you are little Tallulah and little Ruby. I am not as furry as you but my eyes are quite big. And when you can open yours, that is what you will see. I love you, little owls.”
I stayed for a while, chirping with them. I did touch their little heads but then I thought that Connie might be able to track me down by my smell. And that made me think it was spooky and dark in the barn, so I thought I would go.
As I came out of the barn, I saw Cain with his arm around Beverley.
Cain, AGAIN.
I am haunted by him.
Shouldn’t he have a job, tupping sheep or whatever they do on the moors? Striding about with a big black surly dog, like him.
Oh, actually, he has got a dog.
A big black surly dog. Growly and black. It came bounding up to me and leapt up, and put both its huge paws on my chest. Ow.
Cain said, “Oy, dog. Get down. Mind your manners with the young miss. Nivver just jump up on a lady, you must always give her face a quick lick first.”
The dog got down and went behind Cain.
And he and Beverley laughed.
Oh, great balls of fire, I hoped she wasn’t with Cain when I had been doing the corkers rubbing. She was looking at me like she didn’t like me.
He was looking at me as well. He’s got incredibly long black eyelashes, like a girl’s.
He does a lot of looking.
Up and down he looked.
It was making me nervous, so I said, “What’s the dog called?”
And he said, “Dog.” Typical.
Thank Angel Gabriel and all his cohort, because Ruby came skipping along with Matilda. My two little pals.
Cain’s dog looked at Matilda.
Blimey, there was probably going to be a dogfight now. Dog growled. And Matilda lay on her back and put her legs in the air. She was doing “hooray.”
Cain laughed and said, “Bloody women.”
Cain is just like Heathcliff.
Then he said, “Come on, Dog.” And he started walking off.
Beverley said, “Aren’t tha gonna walk me back fust?”
And he said, “Does it look like it?”
Ruby tutted and went into the barn, to say good night to Tallulah and Ruby.
Beverley looked a bit sad and I didn’t know what to say.
When Ruby came back, Beverley said to her, “He’s a right pig, that Cain.”
Ruby said, “I know; why don’t tha know?”
And she said, “I dunt know, I just think that if he got tha right sort of girl, he’d happen be happy. See thee at skipping.” And she went off ahead of us.
On our way back, Rubes and I popped to the skipathon on the village green.
The villagers were lining up to skip with a fourteen-foot skipping rope.
Harold was holding one end. He had the Christian Table Tennis team hanging on to him. And Dibdobs was on the other end, and she had the whole of the Brownie pack holding her wais
t.
Two lines of people queued up to skip.
The aim was to get the whole village skipping at once.
I should have told the girls to come, it was hilarious. I was a bit worried that the Hinchcliffs might be there, but Rubes said they don’t join in with village stuff.
Back in my bed, I’ve written this in my performance-art notebook:
They are the dark outsiders.
Up on the moors.
The Wuthering moors.
Planning their dark deeds.
In their dark farm.
Ruben, Seth, and Heathcliff.
Hmmmmmmmmmmm.
It’s nearly midnight, but I can hear laughing and yelling from the green, people are carrying on skipping, and the Dobbinses are still out. I wonder if they have ever stayed up till midnight before?
The next morning when I got to Dother Hall, Vaisey came dashing out again to see me. I thought that Vaisey had hit her peak yesterday, but today she is on cloud nine. And her hair is on cloud ten. I’ve never seen it look so perky.
She’s got a little note. From Jack.
She was so excited and red and said, “He must have delivered it in the night. It was in my postbox this morning.”
How romantic, to have a note delivered to you.
I said, “What did it say?”
Vaisey was all pink and her hair was dancing about.
“It was really nice.”
I said, “But what did it say!!!”
“He’s been busy with The Jones and he says he’ll be here on Friday, and will see me then.”
Wooohooo. Vaisey’s first date!!
This afternoon we “brainstormed” the Wuthering Heights production with Ms. Fox. And she announced to everyone that I was going to be Heathcliff and that Vaisey is Cathy. We are going to improvise toward a production. It’s going to be about wildness and youth and passion. With music.
Ms. Fox said, “Let’s start now. I want you to ‘go wild,’ in whatever way you like. I’m going to put ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ on, so just let yourselves go. Find your inner gorilla.”
So we crashed around the studio, fighting and running and shaking everything to music. It was really good fun.
Then we had to do “contained violence and anger.” To the “1812 Overture.”
Flossie was very good at it. And Jo had to be hauled off one of the lighting stands.
Then we had to lose our tempers in a foreign language.
I tried Norwegian because of my mum. And was able to use “Sled-werk” in a sentence:
“Du grossen biggen Sled-werk nit.”
I haven’t laughed so much for ages.
Ms. Fox was falling about.
We went and sat under our tree at lunchtime. Even though it did look like there was a storm brewing.
Everyone was jabbering on about Wuthering Heights. Ms. Fox has got us all talking ideas. Flossie and Honey are the wind-singers. And the heavenly chorus. And Jo is thunder and lightning. She’s got loads of drums to bang and a wrestling match with one of the village folk, so she is made up.
The whole thing is an all-singing, all-dancing extravaganza.
It’s going to be filmed.
For posterity.
With me as a boy.
In a mustache.
I said, “Why are none of you surprised that I am Heathcliff?”
Jo said, “Well, you did the owl, and that was good.”
I said, “You thought I was a space hopper.”
Vaisey said, “Well, what about your horsie thing? I liked that.”
And Flossie said, “You’ve got your own mustache.”
Ms. Fox said she thinks my Irish dancing should be the finale. I started to say something about, where did that fit into Wuthering Heights, I don’t remember Heathcliff (or Cathy) being Irish, but no one was paying attention. Vaisey wanted to talk about what she should wear on Friday. And also how to keep her hair under control.
I said, “Don’t any of you think it’s a bit out of the blue?”
They looked at me.
I went on. “Choosing me for the lead role. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
Flossie said, “Ms. Fox says it was inspired by your bicycle ballet performance. But without the bicycle or you crashing into the wings.”
Harold and Dibdobs are very interested in my portrayal of Heathcliff.
Harold went on a lot about his inner “female.” He said, “It is something we explore a lot at our Iron Man camps. This is a really very interesting topic. In fact, I have a book that we were reading round the campfire that I must rootle out for you. We used to dress the twins in dresses until they started playschool.”
I didn’t know what to say. Except, “Golly.”
The book that Harold gave me is called, A Real Man’s Guide to Soft Goods: How to Knit Your Own Socks.
Why was he so interested in socks? What did he know? Had Cain spread the word around the village?
On Thursday, after I had accidentally stepped through an imaginary wall into the fireplace in her French play, Dr. Lightowler said to me, “Have you thought about what you will do in show business when you leave here, Tallulah? Perhaps the box office? Or theater cloakroom attendant?”
She hates me.
“Get your ears on, dudes!”
PRACTICALLY THE WHOLE COLLEGE was hanging around the sound studio at lunchtime. The Jones were supposed to have come in this morning, and Bob was fretting around. He had a T-shirt on with a teacup on the front of it. It said underneath, I’m the mug with the band.
On the back it said, Duh.
We could hear him in the sound studio, going “One two one two . . . Let’s hit it, lads!!!!!” And then smashing the drums and cymbals like a madman.
It was a really hot day. Even Gudrun had let her bun down. Bumblebees were dozily bonking about, and that is when The Jones drove up the driveway. On a tractor.
When the rest of the girls heard the tractor they rushed out screaming, and I nearly choked on my banana. Seth was driving and Ruben and Cain were standing on the running board. All of them dressed in black. They got down from the tractor with their guitars and looked as if they always had sixty girls gawping at them.
Honey said, “Vewy cool.”
As Seth went in, he looked at Flossie, and winked and said, “Oh yes.”
Flossie took off her glasses, tossed her hair, and said, “Hi, y’all,” in her Texan accent.
Cain came last, walking really slowly up the steps. He looked at the “Absolutely No Smoking” sign.
He got a cigarette out and lit it. He let the smoke curl out of his lips.
Oh crumbs.
He was smoking in a “no smoking” area. He was smoking by the “Absolutely No Smoking” sign.
He took a drag, and then he stubbed it out on the sign!
He said in his deep dark voice, “I dunt even smoke, but I do what I want, when I want. Because I am The Jones.”
And he pushed through the crowd, who backed away from him.
I rolled my eyes at the girls.
“‘I AM The Jones’? What he should have said is ‘I AM the prat.’”
Jo said, “He is bloody good-looking, though, isn’t he?”
And then coming up the driveway, we saw Jack. Vaisey went bright red to match her hair.
He was a bit red-faced himself and carrying a cymbally thing. He said “Hello” when he saw us, and stopped.
Vaisey seemed to have lost the power of speech, so I said, “All right, Jack? What are you doing here?”
And he said to me, although I could tell he was looking at Vaisey, “I’ve come to play percussion for The Jones, I’m, you know, maybe going to be in the band, or something.”
We were doing enthusiastic backup nodding and trying to get behind Vaisey at the same time.
Jack said, “Yeah, well, I’ve got to do a lot of catching up because there’s a gig next week and . . . but . . . anyway, are you all right, Vaisey?”
Vaisey looked like a
startled earwig. “Yeah, I, er, I got sixty-five percent for my singing. . . .”
He looked genuinely pleased.
“Great, that’s great. . . . I meant to, you know, after the, erm, vampire bats, I was going . . .”
Then Cain appeared back at the top of the steps.
Jack sort of hesitated for a minute, and then said, “Er, I’d better go in . . . I . . . er . . . See you later.”
And he did a little wave to Vaisey. And went after Cain.
Vaisey has been driving us mad all afternoon. Talking about Jack.
At one point, Bob popped his head round the door and said, “Get your ears on. The Jones will be live at five. In the main theater. Rock and roll!!!”
I was certainly not going to go.
Cain might already have written a song about me: “She’s Got Those Corker-Rubbing Blues.”
But on the other hand I could stand at the back, where he couldn’t see me.
And crouch down a bit.
And look at him.
And see what he did.
Vaisey has been up to the dorm about eight times and come down in something different every time. We crowded into the theater after college. All the students were there, and the teachers.
It was like going to a proper gig.
Probably.
Sidone had got dressed up in pedal pushers and a Lurex top. She was already practicing doing the jive with Monty.
Jo said, “That is one of the oddest things I have ever seen.”
I decided I am going to really observe Cain and base my Heathcliff on him.
There was still no sign of them at quarter to six. We could hear shouting going on in the passage. Not excited shouting, more like “having a barney” shouting.
The lights went up onstage and Jack went to sit at his drum kit. Vaisey applauded like mad. Then went bright red.
Then Seth came on with his guitar. He didn’t even look at us, he just started tuning up. Flossie wolf whistled. The girls oohed and aaahed.
Then Ruben came on. And they oohed and aaahed again.
Five minutes went by, and eventually Cain came on.
And just stood there. In black. Moody and black and dangerous.
There was silence as Cain looked out into the audience. He shook his head, like he’d seen a bunch of idiots, and said into the microphone, “This one is called, ‘Is It So Very Wrong to Want You Dead.’”
Withering Tights with Bonus Material Page 15
